Mope.

Gripe.

Moan and groan.

My ego—center of much gossip—is taunted and challenged as if a puppy to its master.

But I am no puppy.

One such as I! being compared to such a…minuscule, pathetic creature?

Revolting.

No body nor mind on this earth could challenge me, yet the wretched bile of society only writhe to sink their teeth into me.

Expected.

But I am no Victim—no, no!

I am beyond ruler and man

A god.

yes...!

No woman nor man could strike up such a feud—such a passion.

The fiery spirit that gnaws at my heart, adrenaline pumping through me at the mere thought of it.

A new fixation, one I’d let myself die to.

But, I hate it.

And I love it—no.

It’s more than love—every waking hour I dream not of popularity nor money nor my basic necessities—all I’ve ever dreamed of is wrapped into that synthetic leather sphere.

It controls me in no way sleep or lust could—but a deep, revolting hunger to sweat and cry over an inanimate object.

I love no man, but a simple court of which I control with the flick of a wrist.

The other woman next to me, she was quiet and unnerving—eerily gazing into the dark abyss that lay past the plasticky glass.

A low hum emitted from the bus’ engine, muted to a vibrating tune. However, in the deafening silence, it was a battle relay.

Framed and propped, she was ethereal; a beauty that didn’t deserve the title of woman—no! Instead, a nymph or, a goddess.

She was thin, her skin sinking ’round her collarbones with bony wrists and nimble fingers. Black (mirroring that of the deep evening) danced in her hair, and reflection pressed her dusty grey eyes to my own.

A soft, haunting gaze.

I’d have fallen in love, if it weren’t for the silver band that stained her ring finger.

Ring finger.

Strange name for an appendage. As though its only purpose was to hold that scared metal.

But, to a woman like her, it served no purpose. Instead, a greeting and welcoming to any grime that could so shamelessly kiss down the neck of a betrothed.

Perhaps I couldn’t blame her— I mean, look at her!

I wouldn’t let her slip through my fingers.

Grasping the cold metal, my fingers burned with a sharp press to the small knife.

Horn of the clown—death of my dignity.

Once mine, now lost among the shifts sea of heads.

Horror of shame slams onto the fragile sandcastle.

The floor swallowing me into its depths—a shell dusted into the sand.

Once a rocking melody that kept from wreck swarms into heavy waves, nomads of nature.

A tyrant.

A factory machine—loading and packaging the visceral, raw cries of humanity into presents of perfection.

Beating heart in one, eyes of a loon in another, tragedy flows like a river.

Dam, burdened and blundered, spits and chews its own reminisce.

Humanity, replaced by the gore of metal—no longer holds the rite of creation.

Puppet on a string—small ant in the stage of life—is made easily replaceable.

By machine.

Not Machine. machine. simple machine.

(loved writing this one)

Plunged into the lurking waters, filled with past memories and remnants of a gold plated past.

Now, replaced by jeers of the pitiful—plucking and tearing me apart.

When did I begin to fear

Complacent and eager became shameful and estranged.

Crossed between mediocrity and the crawling disgust of a jester‘s roll—to which shall I succumb?

Unresponsive as the days continue—ego crumbling yet playing dead as I yearn for dignity.

Nauseated by needs; gluttony making me a host to weakness. Haunted by perpetual disgust, my body will soon fail.

An eye twitch to the rolling hunger of a devil—I fight for what is not mine and sob for what I could not contain.

Roaring with pride, renewed in spirit and faith, the devil jumps from my arm. It’s whispers drowning me in vice.

As air breathes and waters swims—gills keep me wrapped in my self conscience.

Though cold and frigid, adaptation pushing the standard that lay so close.

Once more, I shall drown.

Starry nights with bleary eyes

Withdrawing the censor of contact—

A defense crumbled with lies

Abandoned.

A meek creature left to retract

An embrace as a noose, loose and unfitting

Beauty serves her a contract

Though now withered,

By screaming lies and moonless nights.

Found cold and unsure—left breaking by sun rise

Im-possible!

As if!

Am I some joke?

A scowl overlapped my usual apathetic expression, a low scoff growled from my throat.

Advisors stood before me, antsy and worrisome under my scathing gaze—an iron to sore skin.

They commanded the impossible, the idea of sweet summer bliss.

Fools.

I employed fools!

Incompetent,

Lackluster,

Idiotic

Jesters.

Peace was as millions of soft, endearing kisses.

I never liked kisses—nor physical affection.

Plip!

Millenium of ear piercing war cries and the prayers of the desperate, yet precipitation is what greeted me back into the world.

Color bounced from the jagged walls of the cave in which I kept myself entombed, a self made prison. The vibrant deep green flora and bright flowers awaited my gaze, like actors awaiting a show.

Or, that’s how I imagined it.

Instead, I was welcomed with darkness, my eyes long gone to the curse of a cruel being.

The pristine form I took pride in was reduced to a forgotten statue, cold and heavy. The old air wrapped around my lungs, filled with an uncomfortable humidity that caused my garments to clamp to my skin, and the aged scent of packed earth.

The air constricted around me, the bandages of my tomb that kept me in this cask. With the waters still, my thoughts became deafening in their loudness.

The rock on which I stood was surrounded by clear waters, lily pads scarcely scattered across the surface of the liquid, and was a solid stump in the large lake, smoothed by time. Silence stretched over the stone walls, a small sigh brushing my lips.

The expensive fabric draped down my forearms, cold and damp to the touch of reality. The space dripped with humidity, an earthy smell sticking to the walls, and the air old with time.

I had no sense of time, no purpose to propel my forward. Forced to lay dormant in an enclosure as the world flourished without me.

My story was tossed to the books, a life once sharp with adventure and conquest, was now a monochromatic and static existence. I wished for excitement, to reignite the spark that kept me moving previously— the thrill of the unknown.

They say curiosity killed the cat. I never died.

I am instead stuck; rewatching the film of the universe as it burns into my mind like an unending fire. Which is not only worse in comparison, but forces my hand to actively take part in reality, a reality who was a lover to me, and destiny my paramour.

But I have no need for such earthly desires, because if knowledge was power,

I was divine.

Yet I felt more godlike when I had a specter that casted doom upon my enemies, a gaze that made the most mighty tremble, and a cult of admirers. I derailed my heroic, linear destruction story of failure— taking in all the universe had to offer for an eternity of suffering.

At first, the proposal was enticing. Over time, I learned my one perk was the chance to live— rather than die as a coward. Yet forgotten and forsaken, I was a distasteful beast to historians, not that their ignorance chipped my image.

Not a long rest— but a time to regroup, as retaining eternal life was one easy feat. Though, even my slumber was haunted by thoughts— thoughts that were not even human, but pure bred information.

The only comfort I took from slumber was an expectation for a minor existence. But it was now cut short, revived by a

raindrop…

Remaining underground seemed my only option after the disorienting experience. A hollowing yell cut through my thoughts. I was breathless despite the internal struggle, the dusted air aging my lungs as anger burned.

Why? A raindrop awoke me of all things. Something so… insignificant?

Outrageous.

Did I mean so little to the universe that I could be awoken by something so simple?

A kingdom in my name was pitched across the valleys. I conquered land and sea, like wild animals in need of trainers. My armies were vast and ever expanding while I sat upon a throne: a throne carved from the most precious stone.

I was subjected to an unprecedented evil— a torture that forced me to memorize each millisecond in the expanse of time, and now I was being discarded? Bullshit.

The longer I stood idle, the more I wished to rip apart the being that cursed me to such a fate. Redemption and revenge crawled through my veins.

I was forgotten and discarded, the universe was jeering with reality and destiny, a trio that despised my being, finding entertainment to my expense.

How dare they.

A sharp exhale sliced the silence, a once well oiled machine rusted to a porcelain doll. My limbs were strung to my torso, weak without use.

Yet anger coiled within my stomach.

My body moved with little but the purpose of destruction. Whether that be of civilization or the universe, I did not know yet.

I would crawl my way back to the surface if I must, Zaphira would be carved into the bones of the earth, a testament to my survival, to my greatness.

I refuse to be discarded.

I will make the universe remember, reality fear me, and destiny plead to me once more.

Sore and tired, my muscles strained to prop up my wings. The large black feathers were slow to spread, the stolen flesh was mounted to my body, melted into my nerves, and made my own.

Time passed as water did a river, it was unclear to me how long my struggle lasted. My back twitching with sweat dripping to my brows. The air was sliced, mixed and renewed as black feathers danced in the water, my body lifting from its static state.

My breathing had grown labored, thoughts white noise as I struggled to steady myself, my back spasming. Pathetic.

This was a mere moment of weakness, none were to follow from now till… death. And upon the fateful day my soul transcends this Earth, the heavens will bellow under my might.

I refused to be forgotten once more— not till I died.

title: echo chamber

genre: psychological horror, fiction,

word count: 959