View source for A Narrative of an Addict: a Tale of Compulsive Stocking Placing.

By: Davio  Posted on: December 08, 2010




It's dark. The red fog stirs all around me filling my senses with calm awareness
of my surroundings. I keep my body low and with each step I never stray far from
the ground.


With a smooth, practised expertise I prowl through the streets. I am dancing
with the shadows, my well known friends. My breathing a steady, focused flow,
gently singing yet never audible. I am a master of my body and mind. Thoughts on
my goal, I scan the area and my ears perk up. In enemy territory my hands are
steady and my heart rate is slow. No whisper or scent will derail the madness
within. With each step I am closer to my target. With each step a trickling of
excitement runs down my spine. Goosebumps overwhelm my smooth, pale skin from my
head to toe. Forgetting my plan, forgetting my discretion, throwing caution to
the wind, I start to step too forcefully upon the ground. Quickening my pace too
much - footprints appear out of nowhere chasing me with screams of joy. Reality
seems to slow all around me while I break free of my sanity. I quickly place my
stocking upon the wall, quickly noting how wonderful the colours look in
contrast to the red fog...


FLASH!


In one moment every ounce of me was drained from the hairs on my arm, the sweat
on my brow, the breath in my lungs. Everything sped up, everything came crashing
back in waves of terror. As fast as panic and horror came, calmness leapt to my
rescue. Never far behind, never out of reach, my practice and experience guided
me. Evading my enemies and the whispers of terror, I run. Footsteps follow.
Whispers and nearly silent laughter travel just out of reach of my ears. Do I
run to a warp? No. Too crowded. Too well known. Just a bit faster than the rest,
I escape.


I keep my breathing steady. I casually blink my eyes to control my thoughts. I
was stupid. I was foolish. I always lose control. I can't keep myself on track.
Hours, days, weeks wasted in planning, double crossed by my spirit, by my
excitement for Logosmas.


Days later. It's bright out. The sun mercicessly blasts revealing light upon the
ground. Dirt hinders my normally invisible steps. Distantly I hear the rattling
of snakes, the laughs of hyenas. Underground there's the familar clicking and
crawling. Clearing my head I focus on the task ahead. The trip is half over but
the determination to succeed helps me push on. The last remnant of the Mhojave
behind me, I press on into the hills. The trail visible only in my memory, I
speed up my progress with hidden shortcuts. Never slipping on rocks, never
losing my place, I reach the forest. My goal is near. Using a secret entrance,
the use a second nature, I enter the Dungeon. I double my efforts and hide my
steps. I reflexively set up defenses, cloaking my actions. Keeping near the
walls, once againg dancing with the shadows, I pass through corridors. Pillars
all around me, I continue on, continuing to slow my heart rate, and reel in my
breathing. In no time at all I am back in my familar state. A calm, beautiful
peace of mind, far from mistake. Easing myself down a collapsed stairway I
quicken my pace. No whisper or scent will derail my thirst or need. Turning
quickly and silently, I follow my path to the graveyard. Eagerly through a
rusted gate, carefully into the crypt I walk on air. In a short, unexplainable
moment I speed up in desperation. Once again losing my sanity I rush towards my
target, too close, too near. The very scent of death is in the air. The air is
thick with suffering and anger, grasping at my mind with practiced tenacity. I
reach my goal and shudder uncontrollably at the sight of the large, death driven
vampire Lord. With the taste of joy in my mouth nearly causing me to drool I
place my stocking carefully on the wall, noting the brilliant flash of colours
against the dark, decaying walls...


SMASH!


In another painful moment every comfortable sensation in my body was torn
asunder with a disgusting gust of horror. Time catching up to me with a hint of
fear I evade away in an all too familar way. Quickly running, slowly controlling the unhinged,
uncontrolled gasping for air I expertly step through an old friend, a warp to
safety. A ringing of barely heard shouts and laughter are left behind. I
reluctantly control my breathing. I casually blink my eyes to control my
thoughts. I was stupid. I was foolish. I once again lost control. Days of
planning ruined by the feelings within, the subconscious desire to place another
stocking, to leave a treat in the shadows of the very dangers that most
intelligent minds fear. Double crossed by my spirit, by my excitement for
Logosmas.


The day nears. It's colourful in the streets. The sky is bright with flickering
lights and stars. My defenses down, I stroll the light hearted streets I hold
dear. Stopping at the pyre to burn some books and a spider, I think back on the
recent adventures. The future plans. I close my eyes to relish in the
satisfaction of my endeavors. Visions of red fog and deadly streets flood by. As
vivid as reality, dreams of wind flowing gently across my skin, flowing my hair
wildly behind me as I run take over my thoughts. I see terrible, unimaginable
terrors near shops and homes. And behind it all I see a wonderful, bright
stocking. Instantly I smell fear and death as a scene of death and creatures of
undeath surround me. Ignoring all fear I remember the smell, the feeling of
suffering and anger. But in the darkness I see a brilliant flash of light and
colour, my stocking untouched and beautiful. A smile creeping onto my face...


CRACK!


All of a sudden reality returns with a snap of a branch. Whispers start to break
into my daydream. Shrugging off my foolishness, I start to run. Passing by a
familar smell of fish I traverse the streets I am so accustomed to. Driven by
the memories of my recent chases I continue to run past Inn and shops. No target
in mind, I start to feel more confident in my path. Blinded by arrogance I
glance back, smirking at my talented escape...


BELCH!


With a flash of confusion I run into my pursuer. Losing conciousness for only a
moment, I shake off the daze to notice a heavy iron-linked giftbag in my hands
and in the distance I hear laughter...


- A mhun serpent, humbled compulsive stocking placer.

[[Category:Bardic Runners Up]][[Category:2010 Bardics]]