A/N: Well, this is a bit of a piece I started a long time ago but I’ve had absolutely no motivation to finish so if you like it leave me a review and that might be the swift kick I need. I figured if I ever finished it I could enter it the creative writing contest that’s coming up so tell me if you like it or not.

Oh yea, all this writing is mind so if I find it’s been stolen or plagiarized I will hunt you down and chop off your head, ok?

Pensive Thinking of a Shattered Mind

The rain pounded ominously against the window casting an already foreboding feeling into the dark room. It beat against the glass hoping to shatter it into a million sharp-edged pieces that could rip skin right open. Lightning cracked and illuminated the cloudy sky. Thunder roared and the rain continued on restlessly with still larger and heavier drops. The rain quickly turned to hail, and if the water couldn’t break through the thick glass the hail could. The panes were crushed under the thick force and the small and large pieces that were left flew across the room embedding themselves into anything that dared get into their way. They wedged themselves into old and musty furniture, books, walls, a mirror; which in turn combusted and fell apart, and the small jagged objects bit into my skin as well.

I knew the pain was there but I couldn’t feel it. I stood listening to the howling wind outside; it was much more defined now that the window was broken. I could hear the screeches it made as it blew through the trees that stood outside, and the low wails that cried out so humanly it was almost unnerving. And there I stood with glass lodged into my skin not caring one bit. I might have a few years ago, I might have screamed and fallen to the floor; but even then this would have never happened. I would have been somewhere else than this old and run-down house where rats and spiders crawled oblivious to its other guest. But it wasn’t a few years ago, and I still stood in the house I hated with a passion with parts of a window biting me.

I quietly sat in an old moth eaten recliner to my left and pulled the glass out of me. The red liquid seeped from my body like poison down my arms, legs, and face mixing with the rain that soaked my skin and bedraggled clothes. And the stench, the unpleasant odor that emitted from the room was unbearable. It circled my head in a constant reminder as to what my life had become. Who in there right mind would live in this hellhole of a house? Me.

Well I’m not really in my right mind. Who is though? What is normal? What is abnormal? Nobody’s really crazy, and nobody’s really sane. Pensive thinking of a shattered mind. If someone would be truly normal, truly sane, they would be most uninteresting and bland. Could we live in this world with no differences of personality? To have no humor, depression, and happiness could only lead to being truly crazy. The crazy ones, my friends, are the very people who declare themselves sane. And so, without the quirks of life, we would be nothing and the nothingness would consume our minds. What are our minds for but to express our differences and emphasize them?

The majority do not believe this; they believe I live in an upset state of mind. If I really live in a state of mind I must be making this all up. And if I was making this all up, you could declare me a pathological liar. Call me what you must, but for more contemplative thinking first identify the difference between a truth and a lie. A truth is lacking falseness. Falseness is indeed a lie. A lie is lacking truth. We have gone in a circle in which the truth becomes a lie, which turns to a truth. And if this was truly a lie, well, it was excruciatingly painful. I’ll leave the truths and lies to others and think of what only I know.

They want me to tell you what I know. They’re back...