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    dots Submission Name: the firstborn is deaddots

    Author: image
    Elite Ratio:    1.62 - 0/0/1
    Words: 181
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 456
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1033

       "...on the tenth floor, down the back stairs..."

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    dotsthe firstborn is deaddots

    i could never precisely recall the place or moment when i became aware of the unfamiliar presence that lived and breathed underneath, the little arsonist trapped behind the iron bars of my own prison. he was a little liar, my arsonist, and found a dissolute delight in dangling me from strings and directing my impulses with a sharp precision. an acquired taste, just like me.
    but sometimes we spent hours together, drinking our small cups of black tea, secretly fantasizing sweet drops of freedom. for we understood each other, the arsonist and me, two liars with the purest intentions. and what is more, we both knew there was no need or reason to make sense. the lights were on, but the curtains were always pulled shut. never let a stranger inside your head.
    ...but then it came back to me, the raw piercing of a sudden burn, and i knew it was him, my arsonist, for i could hear him screaming, driven by rage under the oppression of his remote captivity, the unrequited victim who got a matchbox for his birthday...

    Submitted on 2010-06-03 03:51:28     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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