ID 08433906
"You were destined for a purpose weren't you?"
I stuttered small streaks of breath out. "I... I guess... yeah."
"We all are. Do you know what you are destined to do?"
What a strange question. I was talking to somebody I barely knew. All I knew was I was trapped in ropes, bars and spikes. I thought I saw something eerie in the corner of my eye but I didn't catch it. I couldn't even move my head. I was tied down to a wall, being interrogated by some stranger.
"I honestly don't think I'm destined to do anything now that I'm tied up like this."
"No, you do have a big purpose. You have large shoes to fill; you will change the world one day."
I heard the pacing footsteps stop for a second. I felt a little uncomfortable like he was staring at me intensely. "Well, maybe not all the world."
"What do you mean...?" My heart was beating so hard against my chest, it felt like a beast trying to escape.
"You know what they say?"
"Who is 'they'?"
"They say to chase your destiny in the young ages."
"I don't see how that's relevant."
"I can help you chase your destiny, you know."
"I still don't know what the hell my destiny is yet."
"I will literally rip apart all the bone and marrow inside your pathetic life system, tear out all your flesh and shove down your own throat."
"What the—what on earth? Seriously, where are you getting at?"
"I love you."
"Please let me free."
"No, I love you too much for you to leave."
"If you love me, you will tell me why I'm here and what my destiny is."
"Okay fine. Your destiny is to die."
I think at that moment he said 'die' I felt a rusty pitchfork begin to stab its way into my back swiftly. I tried to scream but something was covering my mouth. Once it was inside me, it slowly twirled around, stirring my organs, spilling my blood everywhere. It was like a waterfall, except without the water. Just layers and layers of blood. My stomach made its way up to my heart, and I passed out. I heard the long, demonic scream yell in its high-pitched voice.
How am I writing this you ask?
I'm not the one who survived it. I didn't write it either. I found it in your ash pot. I should be asking you how you're living.
Or was it even you, the reader? The reader is out there somewhere, and he knows of himself and his stories. Hopefully I see him. Hope.
Credited to Pay For Your Sins
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