What happens to these kids when they get older, when they grow up and have kids of their own? Do they look back on this childhood of lonliness, the lack of a mother's soft voice in the background that helps instill the feeling that you're safe, that nothing can hurt you when she's there? Do they grow to see their parents for what they were, for the cold, selfish degenerates that let them out in the world before they were ready? That allowed them to see things, hear things and experience things way before they should have done. Do they look back bitterly and remember the loss of innocence, the loss of carefree childhood and how they became these hardened little creatures, neither child nor adult that did not know it's place in the world, that did not know what was right and what was wrong? Or do they just drift along and take the easy road, learn from the example given to them and become a fresh generation of hopeless people who are happy to just stay down and put up with squalour because they don't know how to escape it? Then one day their own children will be on the streets just so they can have some peace and quiet, just so they don't have a constant reminder of what they were and what they have in turn become. The vicious circle keeps turning until one person, one tiny person has the strength to break free and get out and it's like suddenly realising that all this time you haven't been breathing at all. Your lungs were just full of this thick, black smog, tiring you out and breaking you down and the air outside tastes so sweet. It's like bursting out of the water when you think you're going to drown and it hits you that you hadn't been living you'd been merely existing.
Death In Neon
A story for the masses
Previous Posts
- ....For a moment the whole pub holds its breath as...
- ...A glass clinks by the bar. His low throaty voic...
- ...his eyes are heavy with adrenaline, stung with ...
- ...She looked at him with a look of slightly bored...
- ...the music in the pub pulses through me, and the...
- ...His eyes are narrow in his face as he surveys t...
- ...they filter off into the night leaving a void o...
- I can hear it now, the low rhythmic throb of the m...
- *merry christmas!*
- ...the uneasy guilt of my voyeurism turns my head ...
Archives
- Wednesday, December 31, 2003
- Friday, January 02, 2004
- Monday, January 05, 2004
- Wednesday, January 07, 2004
- Thursday, January 08, 2004
- Thursday, January 15, 2004
- Friday, January 23, 2004
- Tuesday, February 24, 2004
- Thursday, March 11, 2004
- Wednesday, March 17, 2004
- Friday, March 19, 2004
- Monday, April 05, 2004
- Wednesday, April 07, 2004
- Wednesday, April 14, 2004
- Friday, April 23, 2004
- Monday, April 26, 2004
- Wednesday, April 28, 2004
- Tuesday, June 15, 2004
- Wednesday, June 16, 2004
- Tuesday, June 29, 2004
- Tuesday, July 13, 2004
- Wednesday, August 04, 2004
- Thursday, August 19, 2004
- Tuesday, August 24, 2004
- Wednesday, August 25, 2004
- Friday, August 27, 2004
- Tuesday, August 31, 2004
- Friday, September 03, 2004
- Wednesday, September 08, 2004
- Friday, September 17, 2004
- Sunday, October 03, 2004
- Tuesday, October 26, 2004
- Tuesday, November 02, 2004
- Friday, December 17, 2004
- Monday, December 20, 2004
- Friday, December 24, 2004
- Thursday, December 30, 2004
- Thursday, January 13, 2005
- Monday, January 24, 2005
- Friday, January 28, 2005
- Thursday, February 24, 2005
- Thursday, March 03, 2005
- Thursday, March 24, 2005
- Monday, July 11, 2005
Tuesday, June 15, 2004

