One (Oneshot)
Posted: Mon Sep 17, 2012 4:47 am
The world is gone; I am one, and I am all. It’s like I’m back in the womb; darkness has taken my sight, taken my speech, taken my hearing. I can’t feel my arms, either. Or my legs. The darkness must have taken them, too. It’s surreal to be deprived of everything. Everything except my me. I guess you call that a soul. I dunno. I never was one for spiritual bullshit.
I can’t remember anything. Where am I? Who am I? Is this real, or some kind of strange dream? I can’t tell. But it sure does sting. The pain is blinding. I must be injured. I want to scream. I can feel it echoing out of me, from deep down inside, but all I hear is silence. Terrible silence. Actually, not silence. Ringing. Everything is ringing.
How did I end up like this? Did I die? Wait, it’s coming back. A landmine! There was a landmine! I stood on it, and… then what? I should have died, landmines kill people. But dead people don’t think. I don’t think they think, anyway. I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been dead before. So let’s say I’m still alive. But if I’m alive, I should be able to see, to hear, to feel. So, that must mean I’m asleep. Or in a coma.
I have to wake up. If I wake up, I know I’ll be alive. There’s not much left of me right now, but if I wake up I’ll be able to figure out everything I don’t remember. Probably. Right. Wake up! Come on, me, open your eyes! Or something. Ugh, this is hopeless. Well, I guess now is a better time than ever to sell out my beliefs. Hey! God! Get up off your fat ass and wake me up! Come on… Please, God, wake me…
It tingles. I feel stiff, like I haven’t moved in a long time. And… bound? Psh, nah. It must just be me waking up. Maybe. I still can’t see. Wait. It’s bright. Too bright. Okay, now it’s coming into focus.
Oh, God, help me.
Absolute horror. That’s all I see. There’s light, but Darkness still imprisons me. A different Darkness. Darkness personified. Evil personified. I know not her name, but I know she is the reason I’m here. Doubly so; I remember that I came here to kill her, and now she has me as her prisoner, tied to some machine and fed some clear liquid intravenously from a tube; probably a poison.
She presses the barrel of a M1911 against my forehead, arm outstretched and eyes devoid of reason. I struggle against my restraints, to no avail. She smiles menacingly at me; a killer’s smile if ever I saw it. When she speaks, her voice chills me to the core.
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
It’s not a real question. She and I both know that I know who she is. I can’t remember her name, but I can remember what kind of person she is; the most despicable kind. I refuse to dignify her with a response. Instead, I scream with my eyes just how much I hate her.
“What’s that, cat got your tongue? No matter, I know you know me. And I know that you must also realise that with me being here, the war is through. We have won.”
The war! I remember now. Years ago, I told them it would happen. They didn’t listen, and they were vulnerable when war was declared. But I wasn’t. I was prepared. I formed a plan to reclaim what we had lost. I planned to kill her. And I failed.
“Any last words, before I kill you?”
You bet I do, you feminist bitch. I scream as loud as I can, hoping to drown out the sound of the gunshot.
“My name is Kenji Setou, and I am the one sane man left in this insane w-”
Blam.
“One” is a song by Metallica.
Yeah, it seems a bit clichéd to write a story inspired by a song, as a few others have recently, but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I really like One, as well as many other Metallica songs. Now usually I don’t particularly care for lyrics, favouring the instrumental aspects of music, but the thought of the war, and the suffering, and the hopelessness in the words of One really resonated as a kind of situation that could eventuate as the result of a global feminist war.
It’s a real shame that I can’t use that epic solo here though. Well, I could have, but I don’t think “widdly widdly widdly widdly wewewewew waaaaaaaaaaah” would preserve the tone of the piece. You’ll just have to listen to it yourself some other time. For now, this is it.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.
I can’t remember anything. Where am I? Who am I? Is this real, or some kind of strange dream? I can’t tell. But it sure does sting. The pain is blinding. I must be injured. I want to scream. I can feel it echoing out of me, from deep down inside, but all I hear is silence. Terrible silence. Actually, not silence. Ringing. Everything is ringing.
How did I end up like this? Did I die? Wait, it’s coming back. A landmine! There was a landmine! I stood on it, and… then what? I should have died, landmines kill people. But dead people don’t think. I don’t think they think, anyway. I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been dead before. So let’s say I’m still alive. But if I’m alive, I should be able to see, to hear, to feel. So, that must mean I’m asleep. Or in a coma.
I have to wake up. If I wake up, I know I’ll be alive. There’s not much left of me right now, but if I wake up I’ll be able to figure out everything I don’t remember. Probably. Right. Wake up! Come on, me, open your eyes! Or something. Ugh, this is hopeless. Well, I guess now is a better time than ever to sell out my beliefs. Hey! God! Get up off your fat ass and wake me up! Come on… Please, God, wake me…
It tingles. I feel stiff, like I haven’t moved in a long time. And… bound? Psh, nah. It must just be me waking up. Maybe. I still can’t see. Wait. It’s bright. Too bright. Okay, now it’s coming into focus.
Oh, God, help me.
Absolute horror. That’s all I see. There’s light, but Darkness still imprisons me. A different Darkness. Darkness personified. Evil personified. I know not her name, but I know she is the reason I’m here. Doubly so; I remember that I came here to kill her, and now she has me as her prisoner, tied to some machine and fed some clear liquid intravenously from a tube; probably a poison.
She presses the barrel of a M1911 against my forehead, arm outstretched and eyes devoid of reason. I struggle against my restraints, to no avail. She smiles menacingly at me; a killer’s smile if ever I saw it. When she speaks, her voice chills me to the core.
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
It’s not a real question. She and I both know that I know who she is. I can’t remember her name, but I can remember what kind of person she is; the most despicable kind. I refuse to dignify her with a response. Instead, I scream with my eyes just how much I hate her.
“What’s that, cat got your tongue? No matter, I know you know me. And I know that you must also realise that with me being here, the war is through. We have won.”
The war! I remember now. Years ago, I told them it would happen. They didn’t listen, and they were vulnerable when war was declared. But I wasn’t. I was prepared. I formed a plan to reclaim what we had lost. I planned to kill her. And I failed.
“Any last words, before I kill you?”
You bet I do, you feminist bitch. I scream as loud as I can, hoping to drown out the sound of the gunshot.
“My name is Kenji Setou, and I am the one sane man left in this insane w-”
Blam.
“One” is a song by Metallica.
Yeah, it seems a bit clichéd to write a story inspired by a song, as a few others have recently, but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I really like One, as well as many other Metallica songs. Now usually I don’t particularly care for lyrics, favouring the instrumental aspects of music, but the thought of the war, and the suffering, and the hopelessness in the words of One really resonated as a kind of situation that could eventuate as the result of a global feminist war.
It’s a real shame that I can’t use that epic solo here though. Well, I could have, but I don’t think “widdly widdly widdly widdly wewewewew waaaaaaaaaaah” would preserve the tone of the piece. You’ll just have to listen to it yourself some other time. For now, this is it.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.