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The Joy of Oblivion, A Short Story. (Complete)


Osku
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What did I do instead of reading the next chapter of Advent of Shadows? (Sorry, no offense Ar! I'll read the rest of it tommorow, or at least as much as I can, ) I wrote a horror story, inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's The Rats in The Walls. Although it's nothing similar in plot to Rats, it is similar in genre. I went for the creepy insane fiction on this one, hope you like it, I'd like some feedback in the large numbers, please!

 

Title : The Joy of Oblivion

Rating: PG-13

Rated for: One mention of drug use, some sensitive material, but other then that, a normal horror story.

Critique level: [CRITIQUE ENCOURAGED]

 

The Joy of Oblivion

 

The air whistling past my ears as I descended was like the echo of a thousand voices screaming out in horror. Their shrieking noise deafened me to the point, where, for but a few seconds, I was left with the only noise being the thoughts in my head.

 

This, I find, was probably the most horrific thing. For there were no thoughts in my head, rather that there was nothing but a crying lamentation from what remained of my thoughts that shattered all of my understanding of Human, and my own psychology. For a brief second, all there was, was naught but pure despair embodied by the chasm before me. And then? Well, then the sound kicked in. And the chrous of invisible bellows welcomed me as I plunged ever deeper into the black maw of oblivion that was set all around me. It was if I had been swallowed by a Great Beast, but at this point, I dare say that it is worthy to state that I would have preferred that such were the case. After all, knowing where you were was at least better than not. And this place, not unlike that blasphemous Hell I was always forewarned about on those awkward Sunday mornings, was like terror I could have never imagined.

 

But as time went by, I found that there truly was nothing. Nothing but shadow and the shrieking chorus, which now lay silent. I looked below now, and the onyx mouth of oblivion did not move. Rather, the great mouth was now the face. And I looked upon it with eyes so fearful that I almost cringed at it's vacant expression of lingering doom that tormented and disturbed me so. Yet still, I faced it with eyes unmoving, granted, they were paralyzed with horror, but still unmoving.

 

 

It was after I began looking oblivion in the face that my hallucinations of morbid fear began to subside. Slowly, but surely, I saw that the black void around me was not so invincible as I had once thought. The iconoclast of this amorphous deity was, without a doubt, the fact that mayhaps I never truly was in any danger at all. Merely that the life I had once known was now non-existent. And maybe that was truly the thing I felt an insane form of terror about. The obliteration of everything I had once known. Not the eternal country of descending that I was now a reluctant citizen of.

 

 

However, as time began to move on, my fears slowly returned like a raven to feast upon a ruined corpse. To scavenge whatever meat was left upon the bones already bleached by fate's cruel sun. And it was then I noticed that my fears were not that of loss or of an unknown fate, but of the terribly relevant one that was now so very apparent. For what remained of my reason demanded that I immediately cease my lamented thoughts and focus upon what was eventually going to occur to me. The inevitable eventuality was that I would be falling forever, but I would not live forever. Indeed, I would either die from thirst or malnourishment first. My stomach would eat itself, and effectively implode..oh, God! I could already feel the gnawing presence in my stomach as I traversed the endless mouth of nothingness.

 

 

There was only one resolution I could take from this. I would either commit suicide or die through the painful deaths I have listed above. Almost immediately my hands came to my throat, I say almost only because I had begun to think about what this would truly mean. Given the alternatives, however, I decided I had no choice. Reaching my sweaty palms to my jugular vein, I proceeded to catch a grip on my neck as the wind rushed past me. The chorus of shrieks appeared to be egging me on, their voices that were once an orgy of miscellaneous chaos were now a daemoniac choir chanting a sentence that was fit together so well it seemed almost like one word.

 

 

"Do it."

 

 

And I only had plans to conform to this statement, assuming I knew what it was. For by the time I had heard their repetative command of incarceration within death's cold prison, I had already been choking myself for a few moments. My vision began to enclose all around me as the shadows surrounding leap forth and tore out all of my eyesight, filling every centimetre with pure blackness. My instincts demanded that I scream, but whatever I yelled was consumed by their mad ravings of that one, wretched, statement.

 

 

"Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it."

 

 

Over and over again now, like an instruction tape that was ruined in one spot. My mind could not think, and my hearing surrendered to the shutdown of my central nervous system, along with everything else. Soon, all was as a blurred hallucination and the only thing I could on to, my tether in this wind of discord, were the words of my tormentors.

 

 

"Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it!"

"Do it!"

 

 

"DO IT!" Shouted a Human voice, and all was now clear in my sight. My vision displayed flashing lights, so many of them, two men in white uniforms, and one of them was now slamming his hands into my abdomen. Strangely enough, there was no pain when I puked after he removed his hands. No shame when the festerous vomit remained in my mouth and I heard the sound of gurgling, realizing I was choking on my own filth. No fear when someone shouted for a stretcher. No self-hate when they brought me to the ambulance and sucked out all of the vomit from my mouth and found the LSD in it, and when they told me I had fallen out of my aparment's fourth story window and landed upon my back, paralyzing myself and shattering my spine. I could still feel only a half-dead melancholy sorrow that was not even half there. It was lingering. Like a spectre.

 

 

And now? I lay upon my back in my hospital bed in this sterile, white room. I've regained the control of my fingers, but I still cannot eat or drink or even speak without assistance. I am a parasite. Yet still, I will not be able to regain my ability of speech before I die, for I am too old now. It took me fourty years of physical therapy to gain the use of my hands and fingers back from the clutches of the very thing that now grips me and holds me like a ragdoll. Upon a seperate piece of paper, I plan on pleading for them to kill me when I finish writing this.

 

 

But it is not my paralysis that so influences my strange desires. But the endless maw of oblivion that stares me in the face every day now. It is inescapble. It is omnipresent. It is EVERYWHERE. I cannot escape it, I cannot run from it, it is just as it was in the dream. The only true way I can escape the maw is to escape myself. And when the nurse gives me my injection and I die, I shall find nothing but peace. Peace, and..

 

...The Joy of Oblivion.

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Maybe it's just me but I didn't see that as a horror story

 

I did enjoy it though. You did really well at describing that voidish oblivion LSD tripout. Not that I would know from personal experience but you get that feeling of just complete blackness and nothingness really.

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looking forward to tit
One flash of my perfect chest and he'll be knocked out in a happytime daydream.
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Maybe it's just me but I didn't see that as a horror story

 

I did enjoy it though. You did really well at describing that voidish oblivion LSD tripout. Not that I would know from personal experience but you get that feeling of just complete blackness and nothingness really.

 

I suppose the only reason it truly was a horror story was because of it's ending.

 

Thanks for the comment.

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I wouldn't say horror, no, but it definately had a bit of a Lovecraftian feel to it. I enjoyed it.

 

The descriptions were nice and haunting. Nightmarish. Not horror, just horrific, maybe. I think you did a good job of making it creepy.

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Just when I thought it was over, I watched Tiana kick Almira in the head, effectively putting her out of her misery. I did not expect that.
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I wouldn't say horror, no, but it definately had a bit of a Lovecraftian feel to it. I enjoyed it.

 

The descriptions were nice and haunting. Nightmarish. Not horror, just horrific, maybe. I think you did a good job of making it creepy.

 

 

I wouldn't say horror, no, but it definately had a bit of a Lovecraftian feel to it. I enjoyed it.

 

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  • 1 year later...
What did I do instead of reading the next chapter of Advent of Shadows? (Sorry, no offense Ar! I'll read the rest of it tommorow, or at least as much as I can, )

What an interesting nugget of information that is. I'll have to check the dates and see if you posted and find out if you actually did read the next chapter of my story.

 

Now, don't get offended, but this story didn't really do anything for me. Though, it's not that I didn't like the way it was written, but because of the content. For me, there is no art in suicide. I'm not asserting that you made that claim necessarily, but ”œjoy in oblivion”

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[Associate of the Illinois Mafia since November 2002.]

Member of the Four Horsemen

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