The Wrong Kind of Broken

Pain eclipses thought.

It’s the only good thing about it. When the pain dulls enough for thought to creep back in, he fights it. The agony is bad, but the litany of hurt hate hurt fear despair hurt hate hurt is worse.

When it hurts too much to think, it’s almost like time doesn’t pass.

It does, of course. The seconds crawl excruciatingly by. But the mindless animal that inhabits each eternity doesn’t reflect on the past or the future. Doesn’t communicate with the self of the next second, or the second gone by. So there may as well only be one moment.

It’s a little like not existing.

He never thought he would want to not exist. He always thought he would prefer to live for the smallest of mercies, the least of blessings, those rare moments of bliss or at least relief. He thought it was better to have that than nothing at all. Worth the suffering, if only barely.

Now he chases the closest thing he has to oblivion. Because even the blessings of cool water or fresh air or a reduction in the constant pain, even these things are tainted by hate hate hate.

He barely remembers who or what he hates. But he loathes them more than he loves life. Hate fury pain despair hate hate hurt hate.

No mercy is worth the curse of thought.

And it’s easy, so easy, to slip back into that near-oblivion. Just force his torn muscles to tug on the shattered bones. Just drag seared skin over seared skin, or over whatever surface comes to hand. Just shift, and the flash of agony wipes away all else.

Sometimes chemical relief is forced into his veins. Sometimes that agony is out of reach and he hates he hates whoever did this to him he hates whoever took it away. Fury despair loathing rage misery hate.

He only wants one thing, besides escape from himself.

It’s not mercy or relief or love or approval. What would the point even be? Life is suffering, in the end, and death is worse. There will only ever be hate fear despair fury PAIN. Anything else is a lie, a brief distraction from the truth.

All he wants, besides oblivion, is to tear it down.

Tear it all down, especially the ones who hurt him especially the monsters that feed on his hurt hate misery fear despair. Tear them down to his level. Make them suffer as he suffers. Rip them apart as he has been ripped apart.

There is only fury loathing pain. And he wants to share.