Reddit Collection (Fresh-Short #10) by DeYtH Banger (all ebook reader .TXT) 📕

And he’s still out that window, scratching, begging me ... begging his mother. It’s so difficult. God, I miss him so very much. Even when I try everything I can still hear that tapping, that scratching, the tiny sound ricocheting off the inner-walls of my skull. Maddening ... it’s maddening ... and all I’d have to do is open my eyes, open the window, and say, ‘Come to Momma, sweetie. Come home.’

But I can’t look at him. I can not look.

And above all, I can’t invite him inside.

That’s how they get you.

Destiny willed that humanity would find nothing but dust and thorns amidst the squall.

From the tree’s hollow we crawled;

The truth of our origins we’re forced to haul.

Finding comfort among the mass,

Together, we choked on reality’s toxic gas.

Stripped of all identity,

We melded into one entity

And united, we breathed in serenity.

I once realized that I, too, was part of the flies

Only to be drowned out by the deafening roar of their cries:

Hymns praising our "divine" defendant,

Portrayed resplendent and transcendent,

Ringing from the mouth of my descendant.

But the truth

Is never pure in the eye of the sleuth.

I was made to doubt;

Made to tread the unholy route;

Made to survive amidst knowledge’s drought.

Humanity has established a great empire of false hope,

Supplementing truth for naive idealism to help them cope.

The despair of creation I now know

And with enlightenment I glow.

The error of our ways, I want to show.

I contemplated how to pierce their warped illusion

And in the knife's mirror edge, I saw the conclusion.

As I messily burrowed into my own brother’s skin,

I asked “What have I become?” with a mad grin;

Praying that humanity would finally wake up to our sins.

For the reason we all breed, plead and bleed

Is because we choke out reality with self-deceit's weeds.

My family looked at what I had done,

The weight of my actions bearing down on them like the sun.

The tears my brother had shed

Were in their stead;

And upon similar sacrifices, we were lead.

Saints, martyrs and innocents alike give their bodies for society to tread:

My family was just the next string to be woven into death’s grand thread.

Reemerging from deep night, I watched as they succumbed to phobias and fears;

Overcome by angst, impossibility courses through their veins and their flesh sears.

“My sins are too great to bear,” they said through sneers.

The last of them forsook me as the tears I swallow;

My brethren retreated back to the hollow.

To be ripped away from acceptance's warmth by a mighty bird?

I only wanted my voice to be heard,

And now the truth has been irrevocably blurred.

Sour thoughts spilled in my mind;

And to all reason, I am blind.

In a lonely cabin, the rope was strung;

"Do it; just do it," the voices in my head rung,

Until their commands spilled from my necrotic tongue.

At the bell’s final toll,

I realized my true role.

Revelation after revelation had shown

That I was truly alone;

The solution finally arrived as I sat on my throne.

My brethren retreated back to the hollow:

"Will I follow?"

 by terabytepine

My father recently passed away. My mother passed a couple years ago, so it was good to know my father was no longer alone, you know? My older sisters and I were going through their things, cleaning up the house, basically going through the motions as each of us dealt with it in our own ways. We started to find all the nostalgic things my parents had kept throughout the years. My sister Riley found her teddy bear and immediately broke down. Can't say I didn't cry a little over it too seeing her hold it again. My other sister Lauren found an old bracelet she made with mom. She had put in a box and completely forgot about it, but she wore it the rest of the day. We started to lighten the mood and point out the silly things we were into as kids. I found an old windbreaker suit Lauren had as a kid, it screamed 1980's with its gaudy colors. Lauren then found an old blanket Riley slept with till she was at least 16. We exchanged hardy laughs over how ridiculous we kids were and how our parents ever put up with the crap we were into. The nostalgia really didn't hit me until Riley pulled out a picture I drew when I was probably four or five. I barely remembered making it, but after seeing it all the memories came back. They started to tease me over why I made it. It was for my imaginary friend.

I had this imaginary friend, Jeremiah, like every other kid that age. You talk to them, play with them, pretend to do things with them even though they really aren't real. I made a couple drawings for Jeremiah, but this was the only one I kept. I think I was about seven when I finally stopped that whole "imaginary friend" phase. I was probably a little old for an imaginary friend by then, but I was extremely introverted as a kid so my imaginary friend was my release, so to speak.

We kept going through all the belongings, but the thought of Jeremiah stayed with me. I didn't necessarily grow out of the imaginary friend thing, I distinctly remember deciding to stop. It was a conscious decision, which was a pretty big deal for a seven year old actually. My parents had something to do with it, but they never really forced me to stop. They also didn't buy into it whenever I talked about Jeremiah. My sisters continued to tease me about how much I played with Jeremiah, pointing out everything of mine they picked up and asking "so is this yours, or Jeremiah's?". I found it funny for a little bit, and it helped relieve some of the pain at the time.

It started to bug me, though, as to why I stopped having an imaginary friend. I couldn't remember the reason. I decided to ask my sisters if they remembered anything about it.

Me: "Do you guys remember when I stopped believing in an imaginary friend?"

Riley: "Yea, you were like seven or something"

Me: "Do you remember why?"

Lauren: "You started getting really weird. I think mom and dad told you to stop."

Me: "Nah, they just ignored me, I don't remember them ever telling me to stop."

Riley: "You did get weird though, saying really creepy stuff for a seven year old."

Me: "Haha what? I don't remember this."

Lauren: "Yea, you started saying he'd get violent and yell at you."

Me: "So you're saying I was a bipolar seven year old?"

Lauren: "Well, not you, but your so called imaginary friend Jeremiah. Which I guess was ultimately you, so yea, you were bipolar haha."

Me: "Oh ha, ha, real funny"

A couple minutes later my brain clicked. Lauren was right, he was getting violent. I thought that was weird as a kid, and it was when he "hit" me that I decided to stop. Even as an introvert I knew friends wouldn't hit each other so I didn't want to have Jeremiah be my friend anymore. I was such a messed up kid, but at least everything made sense now. I set the picture I drew for Jeremiah back into a box to be brought out to the cars.

Riley: "Hey guys, look at this."

We walked over to her holding an old photo of our parents house. We knew the house itself went through many upgrades and renovations, but we had no idea it was old enough to be taken with an old quarter plate style camera. You know those old black and white photos where everyone had to remain absolutely still, otherwise it'd blur? Kind of along those lines. I looked over her shoulder and just about had a heart attack. It was a family that had lived in the house long before, and the little boy in the photo looked exactly like how I imagined Jeremiah. Down to the misshapen eye brows, half smile, and everything.

I didn't tell my sisters. I helped pack up the rest of the stuff in silence, and half chuckling at their jokes. At the end of the day we packed up the cars, and went home. It was a long day of sifting through memories and feelings. I left everything in the car and wanted to go straight to sleep. I laid in bed thinking about the photograph Riley found. I have no idea where my parents would have even gotten a photograph like that. I kept thinking about it, hoping the more I thought about it the more I'd remember the boy in the picture didn't look like Jeremiah. After an hour of laying wide awake I went out to the car and grabbed the picture I drew for him as a kid. It was an ordinary kid's picture, poorly drawn stick figures, and an almost illegible name in the corner. When I got inside, the house lighting shined through the paper and I saw there was writing on the back. I broke down.

Sorry I hit you... - Jeremiah

 by LeoDuhVinci

The following is the final entry from Ash Stirling’s journal, the last of his family line, and leader of a crew of thirty that died in a mine collapse resulting in the permanent closing of the mine. Recorded by his maid, who believed him insane.

In the first week of eighth grade, my teacher asked my class to research our nationalities. Reinaldo, a seat to my left, said he could track his lineage a hundred years back to his ancestors sailing across Atlantic from Spain. John to my right was half German, and being barely twenty years after the end of world war II, his lineage stopped suspiciously short