10-18-2019, 06:20 PM
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, And eyes squeezed shut ‘neath rusty mane; His rebirth was mostly cruelty – he did not want to live again, see – but there was a small kindness. His mind did not come back fully. Much of it has returned, and moreso, there are dreams – one full of bodies, dead and alive, and he wrongs them, again and again, in a variety of ways, but the common denominator is him and his wrongdoing. Don’t touch the boy, don’t kill the woman, don’t come closer, don’t - There are so many faces, for there are so many sins, and some of them are sharp and distinct (his mother, gold and then red, then dead), but many of them are indistinct, nightmares floating on a distant shore that he has not yet landed upon. He sees the woman, dark and scarred, and his heart speeds up and his throat closes, but he does not recognize her, her name does not rise to his tongue. There is something, though, because he looks at her and feels – what is it? Lust or guilt or both, but these are emotions that haunt him constantly, so he does not know the validity of them, he does not yet know that once her bones crushed beneath his hooves. (Don’t come closer.) He smiles, or tries to, his lips pulling in a mimicry, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. He pretends this is because he is shy, respectful, but really it’s fear, fear that he might meet her eyes and see things he does not want to see. “Mordgeld,” he repeats, and his lips form around the name with no trouble, as if it’s been spoken before, or screamed. “I’m Garbage.” Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. |
it's not your homework but here's a good formula:
=SUM(garbage + mordgeld + convenient rebirth semi amnesia)