______ ______ ______________ | | | | \ | \ / \ / ____ \ ______| | |________| | / \ | |____ | ________ | ( {} ) | _____) /~~~~~~~~~~~ | | | | \____/ | |______ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~\ | |~~~~~~~ / \ / \ / | ~~~~~~~~~| | | | |______| |______| /_____________| | | | | | | | | ...Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | | | | | | | | "The Smile that Couldn't be Forgotten" | | | | | | | | | | | | By: Mogel | | | | | | \ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ / ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He didn't want to see anymore. He hated himself. He hated his life. He hated everything. He closed his eyes tightly. He squeezed with all his might to make them close more and more. He bit into his lip. He felt his head vibrate. The blood rushed to his head and he became very hot. and he fell. He had no idea how long it had been dark. He opened his eyes again, bringing bright light and air back into them, and his eyes had their brief moment of pleasureful relief. "What's going on?" he thought to himself. He slowly pulled himself up by holding onto the toilet. The room seemed brighter than he remembered it before he fell. Looking around, he saw this was the bathroom. The cold, purple walls, the stupid blue rug, and, of coarse the toilet. He took a step over to the mirror above the sink and gazed into his eyes. He was sad. His eyes were bloodshot. He knew he was sad about something, but he couldn't remember what exactly. He didn't recall anything, not even his name. "HELLO!?" he said in an almost weeping voice. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't remember who I am. Like in books and in movies and in Television and I can't remember anything and who am I!" were the thoughts racing through His head. He looked directly into the mirror again to see his eyes, pushing his long brown hair away and gazing into his young confused blue eyes. Were those tears in his eyes? Tears from what? "HELLO?!!!" He screamed out in desperation for someone, anyone that he might know to come running to help him. What if he lived alone? What if he didn't know anyone? Who could help him remember something? Anything!? "I just need to relax. That's all. If I relaxed then I'd remember. If someone was there then they'dve come." No one came. "I need to look around this place. I'll 'member things..." he thought. He began to open up the rickety bathroom door, but then while turning the doorknob, he stopped. This was a scary prospect. Whatever he would find out here was HIS. He would see himself as someone else. He could be anyone. What if he was a monster? What if he was horrible? He could be some devil worshipper with chained, molested children and sheep in his living room. Anything could be there. And what made it worse was that he remembered anger. Rage. He remembered feeling very sad about something. He had to remember who he was, but at what cost? He put it out of his mind and turned the old doorknob and took a step out. He saw, what seemed to be an old man's den. There was a stuffed head of a deer over the fireplace and an old wooden desk in the far corner. He wasn't old, so the likeliness of this being HIS house seemed to vanish. There were still an uncountable amount of unknowns. He shuffled through the papers in the desk. Someone named Arthur Talon. Was that HIS name? Nothing was there, but bank papers. Bills. Money to pay. No information. He looked on the desk. There was a single, solitary picture of a woman. A beautiful, red-haired woman that smiled to the camera. A smile that couldn't be forgotten, and yet he had. His heart melted at her. He knew her. He loved her. WHO WAS SHE!? He threw the picture frame against the wall, cracking it to pieces, and slid the inner picture out. He stuffed it into his pocket and when on rummaging through the desk to find nothing helpful. He moved onto the living room. A large room with three couches and several doors. One open with steps leading to a basement. Another to a bright blue kitchen, and still others leading to hallways. He took a step toward the kitchen when he noticed something in the doorway of the Basement. Blood. Fresh, red blood. A rush of anxiety hit straight to his stomach. He saw a flash of white. He began to shake, unconsciously at first, and breathe fast. "Oh my god." he thought to himself. "What is going on? What has happened? What am I going to find down there?" Every instinct in his mind told him to run away as fast as he could, and to hide. Hide forever, for he had done something unspeakable. Now it was something unrecallable. WHAT WAS IT!? He took his first step down to the Basement. There were no obvious light switches, so hopefully he'd find one at the bottom. It was dark. Another step. It would be so easy to run away. It would be so easy to not see or remember whatever was down there. But every ounce of intelligence told him to go on. Another step. He felt faint. He felt like he was a spirit. He imagined flying above the city and psychically forcing every door in every home to come flying off the hinges, and he wanted to run across ever single one and look at people's lives. Each home a different universe, and yet they were all the same. He thought about how easy it would be to just jump into another man's soul and live their life. Not his own. Another step. What was down there? What was he going to see? Another step. He began shaking. He saw his hands tremble. He saw his hand's shadow tremble. Another Step. He could still run away and hide and never come back. Another Step. His stomach began to ache intensely. If he only could remember his identity it would become so easy. He could just remember and he wouldn't have to walk down these stairs and he wouldn't have to see what he had done. What had he done? Maybe it was nothing. Maybe that was just red paint there. Another Step. Fear griped him. He stopped walking. He turned his head up to the light of the doorway above him. Would this be too much for him? He held his breath, and went down the stairs. There was a light switch. He trembled. There was a foul smell in the air. Melissa. Her name was Melissa. He remembered it. The fear pushed it out of him. Yes! He could remember. Like an instantaneous blur of cool air, he remembered it all and it all flushed back in him in a second. His name was John Blevins, he lived in Washington, Maryland. He was a Musician. Guitar. Bass. He played in a Band. He was 25 years old. His father died 2 years ago. He was married last year. Melissa. He loved his wife. Loved her with all his heart. RAGE. He remembered that too. He hated. He hated her and loved her. He hated him totally. Arthur had destroyed them. Arthur had stolen her. RAGE. He bit his lip feverishly again. He gripped his fist tight and felt his finger nails dig into his palms. He hurt himself. RAGE. The pain was back. The light. He forgot to turn on the light. He forgot even the worst of coarse. How could he have wanted to remember? The rage, the rage..it had soaked into his soul. He burned inside. He burned forever because of her. He flipped on the light. Melissa was dead. John didn't want to see it anymore. He didn't want to see anything anymore. He went numb. He walked to the kitchen in a ghost-like state. He pulled out a kitchen knife and stabbed himself. He staggered back to the bathroom and looked one last time into his eyes. He couldn't believe that he had done it. He couldn't believe that he was now looking into the eyes of a murderer and he cried his last tear. |=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=| | _____ Call Goat Blowers Anonymous for the LATEST HOE! _____ | | 6/ ^..^ (215) 750 - 0392 ^..^ \9 | | \_____(oo) This Issues Featured Support Board is: (oo)_____/ | | WW WW I Forget [Bong Software] WW WW | | (610) 544 - 8001 | | ...the kings of modern goofiness... | |=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=| Copyright (c) 1994 HoE Publications and Mogel #58 --> 02/04/95 All rights Reserved.