Look on the bright side: three posts this week!
To make sure something goes up today, I'm going to torture you all with some creepy thoughts that were rolling around my brain pan. How is this relevant to Mainstreamin'? Because someone should totally pay me to turn this into a Masters of Horror or a new Tales From The Darkside episode.
Without further ado, here's what happens when you spend too much time wondering about all those sounds your house makes at night.
My Desire
By Taras Butrej
There is only one way a person achieves their desire.
Those men that you see on film? You know the ones. Huge, rippling biceps? Entire bodies slabs of marble?
They didn't get that way by accident.
The suave, sinuous men who seem to be made of water, their movements elegant yet hypnotic? Appearing just as comfortable on the dance floor as they are walking through a crowd as if it wasn't there.
There's a secret to it.
The businessman? The rich entrepreneur? Discounting those born with the proverbial silver spoon, the rest sweat and toil for their gains. Working endless hours and putting up with the sort of entitled assholes that they one day hope to become.
They are the same.
They never, ever give up.
That's what it takes, you know. You are not born knowing how to make money, or with talent, or muscles. You earn them by trying again and again and again and again.
If you never try, you will never fail.
Of course, if you do try, the odds say you will still fail.
But you must try. Never give up if you wish to attain your desire. If you try hard enough, often enough, you will get it.
You will get it.
Exactly....what....you....desi
I never give up. I always try, again and again and again and again. Every single night.
I am not lucky enough to have been destined for muscles or success or talents. No, no, no. I was born to dig. To...extricate. To scratch.
Scratching, scratching, scratching. I will scratch until the jagged edges of my nails crack. Until they are worn down to meet the flesh of my fingertips. I will scratch until my flesh wears down. Then I will scratch with the exposed bone.
Eventually, I will be free. I will have freed myself from the prison I was placed in, so long ago. I will be free from this horrible enclosure that has housed me.
Free from the walls that I have slept inside for so long. Out into a new, larger prison. One I share with my only desire.
Then, I will drag myself. Inch by inch. My legs haven't worked for some time, you see. I was twisted and wrenched when they shoved me into my prison, heedless and uncaring as to how I was positioned. Because of this I can stand but I cannot walk.
It matters not. I will never give up. I will move forward. I will drag myself with bloody, ravaged hands.
I will crawl forward, then I will pull myself up. Never mind the bloody trail. It is the price I happily pay.
Up the wooden post. Up, up, up I climb, scratching, grabbing, scrambling, panting. Exposed bones clacking against the hollow wood of the bannister, such a different sound against my exposed finger bones. So much different than the sounds of my escape from the walls. The scratching no longer evident, now a scritching, skittering sound. This pleases me, for the only sound I had known for days or years or months in my tiny little cell within the walls was scratching. this is a new sound. A sound of promise. A sound of hope.
Finally I will be there. Where I wanted to be so, so long ago.
I will succeed because I never give up.
Bonus M. Night Shamalamadingdong ending: It was a spork all along.
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