Profanely Powered (Episode 2)

Posted: June 22, 2011 by luzob in Uncategorized, Writing
Tags: ,

Well I have lived long enough to write out my second entry for some reason, but maybe I am being too bleak?

To all of you (if there is any of you) my name is Wayne. To others, I have been given other monikers. That Disturbed Guy. The Problem Patient. Mr. Angry (one I personally enjoy*), That Thing, and an entire laundry list of other psychocentrism. Such a lovely term: psychocentrism has become. I believe it to be the zenith of the hatred we must endure on a daily basis from the Norm. To think that they are far more superior just because they can hide us in similar institutions such as this and deem us “Profanely Powered”? I suppose I am becoming off track (of what track I have no idea) from what I really wanted to accomplish tonight within this entry.

Have you ever felt the extacy of revealing the inner most blight of the human soul? Can you possibly imagine how it could feel to watch a man bury a camping axe within his own cranium just because you told him it is a good idea? Call it sociopathic, but I believe that the image of two individuals clawing and gouging in a screaming fury at one another due to the thoughts you can easily implant in them is quite freeing. Now I will not justify my actions as being “just” or “fair,” and certainly not from some form of “divine calling” like the Celests believe, but I may eagerly admit that I feel a rush from deep inside my heart at the Power I have been given.

I hear the other patients, whom we must call our fellow “room-mates,” of things I have never witnessed before in my short existence. Everything from different, more colorful vocabulary (I have learned many ways to insult the doctors*) to forms of kinship that is completely alien to me. I can but only listen to most of these experiences, though, do to the fact that for roughly twenty hours of my day I am visually isolated from the rest of the room-mates, unable to see or speak to them. I can indeed hear them.

This morning I have obtained yet another name: Suggestive. There are slang-terms for every Power variant, and apparently that is mine. Something else interesting to note is that I am the only Suggestive within the confines of this facility, a truly intriguing realization, and one that can either become a boon or a liability. Being the only of one’s sort in here can mean constant agonizing attention, but can also garner respect.

The name Suggestive is quite appropriate, for the Power I control is a dominion of the mind through my voice (why they silence me) and through certain facial expressions (why they obscure my eyes). The human mind, more-so the Norm mind, is somewhat difficult to break, yet can easily become malleable. The inner thoughts that most disregard as fleeting moments I completely utilize. If one has a small amount of doubt in one’s mind, I can turn that into doubt for oneself, one’s actions, and one’s existence. Doubt turns quickly into hatred, and it is only a matter of time before a man, utterly confident on the outside, is plunging a scalpel into his own throat, shedding hot tears of water and blood from anguish previously unknown. Before I was in solitary at the Norm prison I had little to no control of this Power, but countless hours with only my own thoughts allowed a greater knowledge of my blessing. Before he knew it, the Warden’s pawns began to suffer from “acute episodes of profound depression and suicidal tenancies.” These officers weren’t a threat, really, but merely the only entertainment I could acquire. One of them men really stick out to me.

“Chow time, freak.” The tactful lawman grumbled as a tin pan of gruel slid under the door for me.
“I appreciate the meal, sir, but I could certainly use a friend around here, I grow so tired of eating alone.”
“What the fuck are you on about, freak? You tryin’ some mind trick shit again?!?”
“I was solely just explaining my loneliness, which I am sure you can relate?”
“I… uh… what do you want?” His voice shook, and I knew I already had him.
“What is your name?”
“Greg.” He whispered.
“Well, Gregory. I would just enjoy to see another human’s face whilst I take in my sustenance.”
“I’ll open the vent at least, but only for a sec.” Off came the spitter guard, and our eyes met. I knew I could destroy him at that moment…
…but i wanted more… “I would like actual company, I know you need a friend as well.”
“I know…” He trembled, resisting a sob. “I’m just so damn lonely.” Now it was time to make an attack.
“It’s not fair what she had done to you. You were such a good husband.”
Now unlocking the large iron door. “It’s so hard to be a good person around her!” He began crying as the door creaked open.
“She took the kids too, right? Do you think she’ll ever come back Gregory?”
“No, I really don’t think she’ll ever come back, it’s as if it’s not even worth it anymore.” There we go.
“Perhaps it is not, Gregory. But what shall you do?”
He stood there, in a melancholic daze, hands shaking and fingers in unrest. Greg grit his teeth as if wracked by one-thousand painful deliberations. He knew only sadness for that few minutes that would become his final. He whimpered, unable to create a coherent string of words.
“Greger… miss… wife. No good… nothing… no good!” He kept screaming those two words over and over, and began slapping himself between breaths.
“NO (slap) GOOD (slap) NO!!!” The smacking noises became guttural thuds which in turn evolved into sickening cracks as his fists balled up. Blood saturated his pressed uniform as he spoke in partial words and broken teeth.
“Grrrraaaaaahhh! Maaaaaamargh! Nnnnnn…GRRRRRAAHHH!” Soon he dug his dirty nails directly into the flesh of his cheeks, and deeper, spewing blood in a slick pool on the concrete, punching a few fingers through the walls of his mouth, creating holes larger than his own mouth. Eventually a couple other officers came running to the sound of his grating swan-song and stood there, yelling at him. Greg vomited a grisly combination of blood, flesh and molars at them, and before any sense could be made of the scenario the others pulled their guns and commenced firing into his chest. In a panic, one of them decided it would be a wonderful idea to place his barrel against the forehead of his partner, and a red cloud erupted from the other side. Soon enough he shoved the weapon into his own mouth and their skull fragments and medullas met against the dark cement walls of my cell. I had obtained the company, and entertainment, I desired. I sat in the midst of the beautiful gore, bodies twitching mere inches from me, and I bellowed in laughter. My attention was concentrated so much upon this that I barely noticed the prick at my back, and the upwards of one-hundred thousand volts ejaculated into my muscles.
Take in this scene, my friends. Three eviscerated individuals, untouched by their murderer. Before this incident I was mostly ignored, forgotten by my captors and left to decay in ths putrid… hole? Oviosly this was to change, ad within the month I was transferredddddd…

Te durgs ar begingn t kkick in noow.. Teime for bde.



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