Mud-Wallowers Delusion

A fragment of fast fuzzy fiction

A Turbulent Triffle by rhoda anne young

I'm stuck in a quagmire. My head pinned down swallowing the tidal mud slick. Gasping for air. I see no way out ... but death.

I can't live here anymore!

I'm suffocating. I must die and then be reborn into a new life! 
That was the thought that filled his mind as he laid on the floor, eyes closed, breathing ragged from lack of oxygen and their thoughts, spiralling him into something deeper than human depression. He tried to breathe. The dense air rasping, rattling through the room as he gasped in desperation.

What have I done.

How can I live with that thought.

How can I ascend all those years of hatred that have filled the air with their dense omniscient fog. Will their depressive vapour ever lift. Why did I not see the truth before.

It's not my fault. They brought this on me. They hide in the darkness but, I know they are there. Waiting .... Watching. I can feel their gaze. They watch me as I suffer. As I crawl under my bed, they whisper in my ear.

I hate you.

I hate him.

I hate myself!

The words clatter in my head like a cacophonous distant echo. His mind already hollowed out by them.

That's how they work. hiding there true identity. Hoping you'll be fooled into there terrorism. That you'll do their dirty deeds for them. But it's not you. The voices in your head, they are not your own. They are the mud wallowers voices telling you these lies. The truth hidden from your intelligence. Masked by their brain fog.

Is there any escape? You can't give up hope. Hoping you'll escape them. But, you cannot get up, you can't move. So many times you've tried to outrun them. But nothing happens. You struggle and struggle....and then you die!

I have watched so many die.

A sob brakes free from his throat before he can stop it. The truth has just dawned on him .. in his dying hour. He couldn't help himself and I had no choice.

It was his life or mine. I have grown wise to their plot. But now I watch as he suffers. For what. I am the last left alive. And I'm dying... Or perhaps I am already dead. Maybe it is better this way.

I deserve it.

I deserve to die and not have anyone else think badly of him. No one will blame him. He will never have to worry about anyone thinking ill of him...
Another sob shook his whole frame.

As I watch praying for a swift end, I see them skimming in the dark corner hoping to return to their host. I don't know how much longer I can maintain the light that keeps them at bay.

Their playing tricks with the air. Expiring the oxygen. Trying to kill the light. They grow in their wisdom each day.

I don't think I'll ever outrun them.

Perhaps I shall just sit and await death.

I already live in hell.

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Turbulent telling tales from my life. Pompous purple poetry (coz — I — can !!!).A cabin of chaotic curiosities to explore. And Fast fuzzy fiction from my frantic mind !!

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rhoda anne young

rhoda anne young

A R.A.Y of Hope amidst a Sea of Cerebral Turbulence! An enigmatic rose, forever graceful, forever young, forever learning. Fiction, Poetry, Art, Culture & Life

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