I enjoy writing from the perspective of a bonkers asshole
×13
Thirsting, longing, huddling. There was not much a transient could do for warmth in the latter seasons, so he shivered. The rumor that he’d vacated the city was spreading unfortunately, with every ridiculous statement from claims of death, to the usual “bedding someone”.
Ero-Sensei, oh Ero-sensei, oh how he remained in their intoxicatingly laughable words. They had nary an idea just how much brutality there was, and how many unwilling there were who’d actually been pinned underneath, fresh cuts.
Cling to what you can, they said. Latch unto what you have, they warned. Or what is fragile will break underneath the weight of your wrongs, or the weight of your debts, or the weight of your…
“Shut up. Shut up. Shuuuut upppp.” Nothing had rattled, nothing had been spoken, nothing had filled the confined space aside from silence, yet he laughed furiously in response to a wispy, indistinguishable thought.
Two weeks without proper medication, due to the steadfast refusal of Tokiwa, the reluctant shrink, to refill it. What was it again? An antipsychotic? Something meant to lessen urges? As if it would somehow be so saving!! Two weeks, spare interaction with anyone, truly, without an addiction to serve!! It was torment!!! It was torment!! The only thing to service his aching pelvis was a series of reminders he’d managed to tote along, and the book containing a realm of information.
“Oh, you disgraced lunatic, oh woe is you, over forty years of this bullshit, and yet you skip out at the last possible minute to not face the wrath of the Yakuza. Cowardly you are, cowardly you will be, because you know your bounds, and that there is no authority, no authority, that can kill like you, except the corrupt system of cops, or god forbid, the Yakuza, the fuckin’ mafiaaaaaa!!! You are no virtuoso; you can hardly function without the assistance of a pill without going absolutely bat!!”
The bells that toll in hell, will one day toll, the day he died, as supposed to heavenly chimes, the heavy iron would clang, deafening the naysayers, hopefully. Perhaps, one day, so unlucky would he be as to meet Orihara, the broker, in hell, muttering indistinctively underneath the tape permanently melted to mouth, a punishment for the sour unspoken words in life. What would be a fitting eternity in a fiery pit for Nasujima?? Constant whippings by small framed ghosts that already hung so suffocatingly overhead?
There was not even one aspect left in life, not one preventative measure, to stop the onslaught of evil coursing through him- an ugly rawness, dripping salivation of the beast’s mouth. For insanity, which had already plagued him for years to come, something suppressed, had caught up, and reared an ugly head.
“They’re all gonna fuckin’ DIE!!! They’re all gonna fuckin’ DIE!!!! Rest assured, rest assured, when I escape this incarceration, I will promisingly take every life that intended even slightly to ruin my own!!! Every one, every person, they are worthless, they are ants, and I will crush them!! I will crush them!! I will crush the Broker!! I will strangle the Strongest!! The little boys will struggle underneath me, but the girls moreso!! Ohhhh… what forces are out there… you will truly be dealing with a wrath… you will truly be dealing with a wrath!!!”
A city of fantastical proportion housing some of the most terrifying enchantments known to Humanity, an elder being whose head was tossed about from one possession to another, a man so unbearably strong that they all cowered, a girl whose arm from which was drawn a blade streaked by intangible blood, and boys of normalcy with nothing to give except a dire sickness contracted as a result of forcibly being branded “normal”. Yet, in a city so vastly large, if there was truly one dysfunction that not even the inhabitants were fully prepared for, it was a wrathful vindication harbored in the bowels of a disgruntled schoolteacher of slim body and feminine, elder face, whose laughter passionately and rudely erupted beneath the surface of boiling tensions.
Truly, there was a surprise that no one was prepared for. The rise of single man’s vengeance to the top of a chain of complexity. Perhaps truly, the strongest force in the city was not supernatural, nor based from exhaustion with normalcy, but the hidden abnormal who’d been swindling them all, masked by an apparent amity and sanity.
Nasujima Takashi for once was not taken aback by a stench that permeated the city, accepting absorption of the pathetic kisses of their undesirable, their horror, their pasts, spilled fluid, and of the evil that seemingly no one could refuse, refute, or take control of. The blade.
Guess who, bitches.
Here I come to hijack you,
hijack you…
…I love you….
I love the Monogatari series, but I do not find the light novels to be well written. They are clumsy, confusing, and its hard to tell who is speaking at times. The best parts are when Araragi monologues to himself. >_>
