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STORY
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This is a short chapter I’ve written mostly for myself. You are not entitled to read it. I attempted to edit it to make more sense, and failed miserably. So, trouble through it if you wish. It is not necessary.
I’m having trouble deciding what to write. I am frustrated. Each phrase comes through like a ton of bricks. I’m mentally constipated.
I have a feeling when this collection is published, it will not gain the same praise as some of my other works. At least, nothing worthy of the Neo-Pulitzer. Then again, that never mattered to me. I write for myself.
I feel what used to be in my heart was more innocent. Now, I find coming up with sentences and wording difficult, so much more than I can ever remember. I’ve tried to go over and edit my own writing, but each time I do I can barely understand it. Most of the time, I don’t even remember what I wrote. It is almost insensible... Ever since the incident, insensible. Maybe my basic grasp on reality has changed.
I will share something with you that is true amongst all poets and artists. It cannot be put into words, just as god cannot be put into words. It is something of the mind and soul; it is an alternate explanation, and an expansion based off of that explanation. The space that is filled where nothing was before, or is ours reshaped and reformed. An entirely different world, and in it is the only thing in which man has ever created: the idea.
It is really an amazing ability. Of course, it is also the most horrific of man’s abilities. Some come to an understanding of this, and expand on it in richness, and create tokens and expressions that pound out their world in the simplest of terms: art. Mine used to be clear like that. Now, it is jumbled again, lost in the darkness of... something else.
I’m saying too much, as usual. A puzzle always starts in pieces. I could very well erase this... I’ll consider it before the end.
The Kharaa...
The Kharaa almost feel like a materialization of this aspect of man. The species is a piece of art. I say that with only the smallest amount of admiration. To be true, I fear it, just as I fear the workings of any human mind. The idea of the Kharaa is insane. They should not exist...
They are wrong. Wrong is, at least, something dead. Here, though; here there is wrong as something living. Wrong as a being. Rape embodiment.
I realized this in a medical bed, some time after the incident. I curled into a ball in the corner. The being is a violation. I know now what it is to be a rape victim.
Yet, in time I will grow numb again. I don’t have a closure for this yet, I haven’t found it. What the hell am I talking about? I don’t remember. On with the story.
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Disclaimer
Monster is © Edan Koch. The Universe in which it takes place is based upon Natural-Selection. All characters and locations are fictional. Any association with actual persons or places is coincidental.
Natural-Selection and all artwork, screenshots, text and code associated with it are © Charles G. Cleveland, 2001.