Lament Of A Corpse.

" I want that thing out of my body!!!" This desperate plea echoes in the mind of a troubled soul.

Amidst the frozen wastelands of Northern Ireland, the protagonist stands as a figure of defiance. His unwavering determination, a beacon of hope amid the desolation, is a tangible force as he seeks anyone or anything to free him from the torment that consumes his every moment. The struggle to keep his footing, the mud that clings to his feet, and the weight of his existence crush his spirit, but he remains steadfast, refusing to succumb.

As the days slip away into the eternal hunger of time, this pathetic shape of life drags his corpse within the strong winter storm - brutal, heavy, with a merciless rain pouring down upon him, testing his strength and will to live on God's sacred Earth. Occasionally, a self-mind vehicle would be charged by the stranger, crashing a large amount of burning, cold, icy water upon him, sending him to his knees. Rapidly, the dirty water eats away at the thin warmth of the stranger's poor, aged clothes; likewise, thick clumps of mud thrust deep between his nails, cracking them violently. An element shared by the trauma that spawns his cowardly mother's hatred of him. Followed by the stranger's skull being launched sharply into the frozen muddy earth, a brutal act that symbolizes his isolation and the pain that he cannot express, swallowing his screams of pain, a painful reminder that he was now, and forever will be, alone. Then, that horrible memory of being cast from his mother's womb and uncompassionately thrown away amongst the expressionless dead with a heartless statement of a surgeon's pride whispers into the stranger's soul. His childhood, a series of cruel rejections and neglect, had sown the seeds of his current despair. 

" See? You don't need to worry about that anymore, miss."

Painfully raising his head from the muddy earth, the stranger studies his surroundings for the source of the voice, but no one is there to claim ownership. Accepting it as nothing more than another lie, the stranger, his body aching and his spirit broken, climbs to his exhausted feet and continues his journey into the night. Each step is a battle, each breath a victory over the suffocating darkness that threatens to consume him.

As the weather showed no change, it did not ease the stranger's long journey, nor did it improve his mental state or his spirit. An eerie and ever-present silence follows the stranger, stating that there was no one for him, no companion to talk to, no angel to save him from the Hell that was consuming him. The stranger's pale, emotionless face is concealed behind a soaked hood and raised coat collar, a fool's attempt to hide his identity from God's watchful eyes. But unbeknownst to this confused and hurt soul, the darkness could not be trusted to seek salvation. He was truly alone in this world, a solitary figure in a world devoid of comfort or solace.

In time, the day's dim sunlight dimmed from his towering illumination, allowing an untrusting night, filled with unseen dangers and malevolent forces, to commence, dropping the stranger deep into darkness. Yet, in a bizarre twist of fate, the dark and macabre surroundings of the wild did not impair the stranger's vision; for he could see everything as if it were the brightest of summer's realm. Not long after, the stranger stumbled upon a worn wooden sign that read: "The Town of Kelly." Blowing his shivering gloveless hands with hollow and unnatural breath, as hesitation over the forthcoming action he was about to express deceived him. Ignoring the exhaustion and aches that tattooed his person, the stranger knew there was no turning back. Spitting fresh blood from his drying mouth, the stranger trudged down the trail towards the slumbering town. 

Only a single hour was needed before the stranger dragged himself into the town's sleeping streets. Guided by an untamed rage that no hellhound could express, the stranger searches for the house that should have been his home. No one knew he was there, nor did anyone seem to be about the night's realm. That is, until the stranger came upon a relatively simple farmhouse with a single dim light illuminating from a tiny square window on the left side of the building. 

Blending within the dark orb that spawned from the night, the stranger flows with unnatural movements towards the light. For only a moment, he ceased as a shadow grew from the warm light beneath the frosty glass. An uncomfortable sensation taps the stranger's heart as he draws closer.

There, sitting with her back to the window, was a young, seemingly innocent lady; a soul unaware of the monster she had created, the stranger's own mother. The one who had rejected him, the one who had abandoned him to a life of suffering. 

Motivated by his anger and scars of abandonment, the stranger reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a double-action Ruger SP 101 revolver and a single bullet.

Firmly taking hold of the firearm in one hand, the stranger broke the cylinder, dropped a bullet into a chamber, and closed it shut. Locking his pale, sickly white eyes upon the lady, the stranger calmly raises the pistol at her as he gently lowers the trigger... " Click!!!" The trigger strikes a failed chamber. Spitting an enraged growl, the stranger lowers the hammer a second time, again, a failed chamber. His heart, a tumultuous storm of anger, despair, and confusion, breaks down in emotional anguish, a testament to the depth of his inner conflict. He is torn between seeking revenge and the realization that violence will not heal his wounds.

With fate mocking him once more, the night's storm grew worse, and a more prime concept of destruction spawned from his mind. Catching a glimpse of a somewhat obsessive rock, the stranger picked it up. But before he threw the rock at the lady's unsuspecting skull, an unexpected event occurred.

Readjusting her position, the lady revealed a tiny infant sleeping peacefully upon her chest. The unaware mother attends to her precious child with warmth, gentleness, and the purest expression of love. The infant, a symbol of innocence and hope, stands in stark contrast to the stranger's childhood of neglect and despair. Dropping the rock back on its earthly home, Shame gripped the stranger by his undying heart. Confused, the stranger steps away from the farmhouse as he mutters a haunting statement... He realizes that the infant, like him, is innocent and undeserving of the suffering he had contemplated.

" No... no... it wasn't supposed to be like this!!!"

Sensing she wasn't alone, the lady turned her gaze to the window, catching a dark silhouette of the stranger. Gasping softly, the lady rose to her feet, tightening her grip upon the child she cherished so. 

" Damn You!!!" The Stranger moans with a ghoulish expression.

Shifting his rage inward, the stranger calmly rests the barrel in his mouth, allowing the awful taste of cold metal to invade his senses; keeping his eyes locked tightly upon her, the stranger lowers the trigger. At last, the firearm speaks only once...

Beware: the new gothic tragedy, inspired by Mary Shelley's famous story Frankenstein. The story, which I am still in the middle of writing, will focus on the sins of abortion in the shape of an unnatural reborn corpse torn by hatred of the family who rejected him and the desire for purpose in God's world.