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wolven7Ideals
"I honestly don't think it's about control."
(She exhaled smoke, in no particular direction)
"There are certain proclivities, which,
when indulged, cause a pleasurable
reaction..
"Does this make us deviants?
The simple fact that we enjoy these things
which seem to disturb others?
Is that a strong enough case for a claim of "Deviant"?
I think not."
(She shifted, slightly, in her chair, seeming
ill at ease, with her surroundings.
Surely, neither was the line of questioning
calming her troubles.
She put out the cigarette.
Hands in her lap,
she tried again.)
"When we take pleasure, in our activities,
we are satisfying a natural drive,
which lies in everyone:
The desire to be happy.
"We may reach that happiness, in different ways,
or our happiness may impede that,
of those around us,
but, mutually exclusive, or no,
the ends are the same. Whatever meanness it takes,
to get there, right?"
"And these hands...
have delved into the most secret recesses
of the Soul."
(She held up her hands, then,
and as she stared at her fingers,
he thought he glimpsed something dark
and wet.
Her hands went back to her lap.)
(She chuckled to herself,
then, deep, and dark.
It was as if she were seeing her situation,
for the first time,
and had found some horrible irony,
in all of it.)
"In the end..."
(she spoke as if the bitterness would spray,
venom-like, from her tongue.)
"In the end, I just want to get off.
Isn't that what we all
want?
In the end?
Like everyone else, sometimes,
I need another person, to help with that."
(Her wrists were moving, under the table.)
"But sometimes..."
(Her breathing was getting heavier, and her hands,
moving faster.)
"Sometimes i have to do it myself..."
(She closed her eyes, and shuddered,
and was still.
As she was led away, the detective shook his head
marvelling at the woman's ideals.
Beneath the table, she had used the cuffs
to cut open her wrists, and slide her fingers into the hole.)
(c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
"I honestly don't think it's about control."
(She exhaled smoke, in no particular direction)
"There are certain proclivities, which,
when indulged, cause a pleasurable
reaction..
"Does this make us deviants?
The simple fact that we enjoy these things
which seem to disturb others?
Is that a strong enough case for a claim of "Deviant"?
I think not."
(She shifted, slightly, in her chair, seeming
ill at ease, with her surroundings.
Surely, neither was the line of questioning
calming her troubles.
She put out the cigarette.
Hands in her lap,
she tried again.)
"When we take pleasure, in our activities,
we are satisfying a natural drive,
which lies in everyone:
The desire to be happy.
"We may reach that happiness, in different ways,
or our happiness may impede that,
of those around us,
but, mutually exclusive, or no,
the ends are the same. Whatever meanness it takes,
to get there, right?"
"And these hands...
have delved into the most secret recesses
of the Soul."
(She held up her hands, then,
and as she stared at her fingers,
he thought he glimpsed something dark
and wet.
Her hands went back to her lap.)
(She chuckled to herself,
then, deep, and dark.
It was as if she were seeing her situation,
for the first time,
and had found some horrible irony,
in all of it.)
"In the end..."
(she spoke as if the bitterness would spray,
venom-like, from her tongue.)
"In the end, I just want to get off.
Isn't that what we all
want?
In the end?
Like everyone else, sometimes,
I need another person, to help with that."
(Her wrists were moving, under the table.)
"But sometimes..."
(Her breathing was getting heavier, and her hands,
moving faster.)
"Sometimes i have to do it myself..."
(She closed her eyes, and shuddered,
and was still.
As she was led away, the detective shook his head
marvelling at the woman's ideals.
Beneath the table, she had used the cuffs
to cut open her wrists, and slide her fingers into the hole.)
(c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
