Professional Documents
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Final Manuscript For Senior Seminar
Final Manuscript For Senior Seminar
Final Manuscript For Senior Seminar
Mark Bogumil
Undulate
Morality
Blurs
On invisible spiderwebs
Their vibrations
Undulate
<3
I acted myself
Reinvigorate
Monsters lurking
I’ve slipped.
I was once
In near past
Strong
I will be again
In near future
Strong
A single
Grateful
Positive
Thought.
A solid compliment.
Frustration
A pitter, a patter
I am cute
I am tough
In the buff
My nose shakes
My nose wiggles
For I am a hedgehog
What I want
Is just to be you.
Terminal Velocity
Ruthlessly benign
Puddle of warmth,
I am alone
When it subsides,
Salvation unreachable
My thoughts race
My heart pounds
meandered about, murmuring amongst themselves. Where was I? The way these people stood,
the hushed but hurried voices, how their glances darted around like frightened animals in a
slaughter house. It reeked of desperation. In moments, I felt it, too. It was an infectious fear,
shared unknowingly simply by existing, a herd instinct that said “leave now.” As much as I
resisted, an aura of negativity immediately consumed me. Primal fear, anger, and hopelessness
loomed over the landscape – as if the very air itself was poisoned with fetid emotion, given life
I began to regain some small semblance of composure, relearning the ability to separate
myself from this terrible feeling, I took in my surroundings further. I found myself upon a quaint
hill, damp grass beneath me, with a group of strangers that stood – nervously fidgeting, mind you
- around me. We observe the environment together. It is… eerily in itself… ‘unspoken’ that we
are trapped here. With whatever ancient reflex, whatever sense that feels the energy at a funeral
and absorbs you into compassion and sadness, I realized something. That each and every one of
us is here against our will, and desperately want to escape. To anywhere but here. It is well
understood that this is not a pleasant place – that something is very, very wrong here. That
feeling that something very, very bad has happened, will happen, or is happening – that feeling
happened here.
I found it unsettling… yet somehow at the same time, comforting, that my new
companion-prisoners were not panicking. If I was anywhere but here, in this tiny group that
seems to have their shit together, I would be curled into a fetal ball begging for maternal aid that
No, I am no longer afraid. Nobody in this small group, the few who can keep their wits
about them during dangerous times, they all felt it too. Mothers, daughters, soldiers, peasants,
miners, bankers, men, children – we are no longer these things. For this place, it far surpasses
the limits of fear. There is only so much a mind can take before fear evolves into something else.
This place, and the spectacles within it, lands me squarely into depths of despair I have never felt
before. My heart sinks, and I do not fear death. I do not fear no longer existing. I do not fear the
end, nor for my friends and family and what would happen if I were to die. My mind folds upon
itself selfishly inward, to my own still living body, and I fear everything else that may happen to
me before deaths sweet embrace erases my existence into a long peaceful slumber. I scramble,
I see trees, but none like I have ever born witness to before. These trees are ancient, their
trunks wider that I am tall. They… glisten? I look away. I hesitate to look a bit closer… but I
must, and as I do, I see their gnarled and slimy bark – so infested with rot that one could strip it
bare with nothing but a finger. Like a coat of algae on a backyard pool forgotten for years,
rancorous, but somehow indeed still alive. The leaves among them grow, a dark, deep green,
almost black – but they grow their serrated edges. How do they survive in this place, what sort
of energy are these behemoth growths absorbing? This confuses me greatly - because as I look
around, I realize there is no sun to fuel them. We are in a perpetual, monotone twilight, lit dimly
Fitting lighting for a forever static realm where the urgency and fear of what is to come
ascend to higher importance than death. I breath deeply, considering the emotions that shake my
body to its core, attempting lucidity, attempting in desperate fashion to determine something
normal to ground me. Have I gone insane, drugged, dying, all three at the same time? No,
this… I do not know what this is, and I do not know why, yet I even know that asking the others
would be a fruitless endevour as words bubble from my mouth like soap bubbles bursting above
a sink – bursting as soon as they are formed, their components dropping into the void and down
an unseen drain before they can reach their listeners. Only I can hear their meaning - the sounds
I can create seem not to connect together as I am overwhelmed with a sense of dread and sadness
worse than a grieving a thousand loved ones deaths. This feeling, this.. connection.. keeps
causing me to slip in and out of being able to communicate anything at all besides the most basic
grunts, reverted to the primal mind of tribal antiquity, my mind slipping, slipping away, myself
powerless to stop it. I need to escape this place, this I know. But how?
I look at the sky and notice the reason for the melancholy droll light that forsakes color
into shades of cold colors – I look, and watch… the sky is a dark, twilight lit purple – ribbons of
brighter purple ebb and flow through it. They brighten and darken as if it was a moving
surrealist painting of the Northern Lights - one that echoes the artists ever decaying sanity.
The stars in the sky somehow warp, move and pulse slightly as time passes, creating new
unsettling constellations. There is no Orien, big dipper, Jupiter, or moon. There never will be,
as the flickers of light given by what I assume are stars somewhere far off in the galaxies,
shifting independently of each other. Closer, farther away, ever so slowly, without pattern,
rhyme, or reason. As I am hypnotized by the dark, surreal beauty of this scene, I feel cursed by
the very sky - as if it did this on purpose to ensure that there is no comforting constant here, no
grounding familiarity. Nothing is familiar anymore, and with the feelings inside of me, even I
As I hold back my shivering once again, fighting for ownership of my own mind, I push
back the most dreadful, melancholy, tortuous sensation of dread I have I have ever felt. One
more time, into the brink, I regain control of my decaying will – I am determined to escape - I
see a river surging in the distance. I hear the faint sound of moving water… a babbling brook,
bringing back memories of childhood playing in the smooth rocks worn by time near the Finger
Lakes. As I listen, I am comforted for a mere moment of lucidity. Oh, so sweet memories can
become when faced with the unreconcilable pain and torment I feel and know is coming.
I step towards the stream, it beckons me with memories of upturning rocks, crawfish,
newts and waterbugs. I have finally anchored a memory of myself, and who I was, hope. Until I
smell the scent. The scent of bile, putrid, acidic. If I had not felt this feeling of utter despair, I
would have retched in the aroma of vile week old vomit, feces, and dead animals. I get close
enough to the stream, the grass around it is flourishing. Taller than the rest, lighter in color…
and I look into the flowing waters. What I gaze upon is something I will never forget.
A thick, viscous yellow liquid laced with… solids, moves before me. The smell assaults
my senses as I step slowly, stammer forward to near the waters edge. Liquid enough to be called
liquid, it is more like a terrible porridge made of… is that a human foot? It is. Now, I do not
struggle to comprehend. All I know is that I abandoned the group of gurgling, gesturing people
in order to be a several seconds walk closer to this abomination. I look back, they are no longer
there.
I wonder why a river would have a leg flowing upon it’s disgusting surface… carried
along with it. I see the occasional corpse float by, nearly whole (which somehow, gives me hope
I do not understand,) and realize as my logical mind fades back into a place I can find it, another
horror. That this river – this river is made of some sort of acid. The corpses and body parts are
being eaten, dissolved into a putrid soup. An absolute, unpassable barrier. Trapping us here, on
this side of this… whatever it is. I wonder about the truncated anatomy, soft around the edges,
veins and muscle fibers hanging out are floating… I pass in an out of consciousness.
I am awake again, somehow still standing. As I turn away from the river in which whose
stench burns my eyes and nostrils, my eyes widen when I notice that there are corpses, corpses
that are chained to the trees. Rotting and eviscerated, the eye sockets of various large animals
stare deeply and I feel they, too, understand what I feel. Not understood, but understand, as if
they are still passing in and out of lucidity… like myself. Lifeless bodies of goats, deer and other
horned animals seem to empathize with me, as well as others too far decomposed to have the
I notice the remains dangle, delicately arranged on the trees. As if your most
psychopathic ex-lover decided to forego the pretty glass ornaments for Christmas, and instead
opted to use the bodies of animals they had slaughtered during that night last October that your
phone died and you stayed the night at your friends. Arranged in a psychopathic manner to warn
I speak with the group and discover that there.. there may be a a way out of this awful
torturous purgatory. There is a pathway by the creek that is rumored to be the only route in and
out. A pathway that begins between two trees. Two trees that nobody has ever stepped between
before, out of sheer fear of the consequences. Two trees, posts to a gate. A gateway that nobody
can pass. A gateway, of sorts. Our only way out. I had to try.
I gathered a few souls desperate enough to not heed the warnings of the sky, the rotting
corpses, or the creek made of bile and acid. Two women, one in her late 40s and one in her early
I notice something odd about the trees. As I move in to examine them closer, the sound of
thunder so loud that the vibrations throw me off balance. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with an
aura of sadistic malice. As if I had just stepped into the territory of an insane god who's idea of
fun was flaying the skin off of animals at disco-themed dinner parties, videotaping their screams
to his torture buddies. A sense of fear stronger than I have ever feared before courses through my
veins with a tempo quick enough to make me dizzy. That is when I noticed it.
These trees, the corpses are different. Arranged in a more intricate manner. The tree
farther from the creek- it was lined with the corpses of goats. Chained together by their hooves,
they hung. Hung so tightly together around the trunk that they suspend themselves several feet
off the ground, forming a twisted wreath of bodies around the trunk. They are suspended
vertically, interlaced – one with it's head facing the dark miasmatic sky, the next upside down
The tree closer to the creek is daisy chained in a similar manner – except with naked
eviscerated human bodies. Their guts spill from their stomachs, oozing wounds adorn their
bodies. As I inch my way closer, another burst of thunder surprises me and knocks me off my
feet. A flash of lightning blinds me. When I am able to see again, I glance up at the trees and
realize that in a split second, things have changed. Every corpse now has crude stitches around
their necks, and I see it. The rotting corpses have swapped heads. It is now the human bodies that
have heads of goats haphazardly sewn onto their bodies, and goats now have the heads of
humans.
As I check on my companions after this blinding flash, I see out of the corner of my eye –
the corpses. Their faces. Their lips... they curl up at the corners, as if each body had to invisible
fish hooks grasping at the corners of their mouth. Realizing that these are no longer just lifeless
bodies, I begin to grab my two friends to make a mad dash for it.
As my foot hits the ground, the very earth we stand on begins to cave in beneath our feet.
Chunks of grass are swallowed by a schism in this incorporeal ground. They sink into a fetid,
rotting quicksand of viscera, bodily fluids, and acid. Piece by piece, large squares of grass are
sucked down into the deadly concoction. Only seconds later, we are left with no more ground to
All three of us struggle to exit as the acid begins to melt our skin. Intolerable pain
overwhelms us, each centimeter of our skin sending cries of agony through our nervous systems.
We claw like wild animals, madly grabbing at the sides of the pit – only pulling more of the earth
into the pit. Every desperate grasp we make causes the pit to grow. Unable to hold onto the side
of the pit, we sink deeper. Unable to keep our heads over the surface, we begin to drown. We
bob up and down, uselessly flopping around in the viscous mixture of decayed matter as we gasp
madly for air in the moments we can keep out heads above the fluid. Soon, we are unable to keep
ourselves afloat. Our lungs frantically convulse, and the acid begins to fill our lungs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the older woman. She is standing still, and she is able
to keep her head above the caustic bath! It dawns upon me, and my mind is filled with the
realization that if I stand at the side of the pit, and do not attempt escape – we can barely keep
our heads above the surface. If we do not struggle against this hell that we are entombed in, we
will be saved an even worse one. We resign ourselves to our fates, and stand, barely able to
The younger lady, a skinny girl with light hair, does not grasp this concept. She flails
madly, trying to stay afloat. I realize she is going to die, so I reach out my hand to her, in an
She grasps it. I pull her to my side of the pit, where I am able to grasp a root poking down
the side. I cannot speak, as I am drowning in viscera. I can not tell her "Stand still!" and she
continues to struggle. She then attempts to climb up my back, shoving my head into the acidic
bile with her weight as her nails dig into my flesh in vapid desperation for salvation. I gasp for
air, head hunched forward, face ever so slightly out of the liquid. She perches on my back,
scrambling to find her way out, as she kicks and fights. We are going to die.
The last thing I see before I die is the older woman. She is standing calmly, accepting her
Tedium
Wake up to the sound of your neighbors lovemaking. Reset the alarm clock to an hour
later. Sleep is important. Stand up and shake off the feeling of disbelief. Walk to the bathroom,
use it, walk out. Forget to flush. Walk back in, flush, walk out.
Lay back in bed. Decide on a different blanket. It's too hot in here. Turn the heater
down. Lay the blanket across your lap, but not over your chest. Turn onto your side so the
sweat can dry off your back. Nightmares. Nightmares of monsters and screaming fill your
mind.
Fall back asleep, wake up in a different world. Find out you are dreaming after several
implausible events begin not to add up. Friends in your dream have blue tongues, but yours is
green so embarrassment ensues. Embarrassed about what? Green is so much better than red.
Decide on that, and you won't feel ashamed for being green. Wake up an hour before your
Go downstairs, speak to the neighbors. Feed them lies and half truths. Tell them their
TV was too loud last night. Tell them the movie they had on was really bland, that it sounded
like the story of two zombies having a slap-fight over a fresh meal. Wailing, moaning,
thumping. Must have been real boring. Did you fall asleep? Because I didn't. Hint, hint.
Walk outside, see other neighbor get into car. Hear her moans in your head. Fight the
inner demon compelling you to let her know you know her bedroom fantasies by now. Fight
vs. turkey, google it on your phone. Consider the ethical ramifications of eating meat, disregard
My first paycheck
Two weeks. Two weeks of hell. Two weeks spent organizing knick-knacks to what
amounted to a glorified flea market – a glorified flea market that just happened to be positioned
“I never should have took this job” is a phrase that repeated itself, that echoed through
what remained of my weary over-worked mind as I ceaselessly organized the near worthless
Chinese imported decorations and novelties. For junk the owner ordered on an obscure Chinese
(at least I think that's where it came from) drop shipping website, it sure was flying off the
It was all worth it, every order barked at me, every-ill concieved bohemian query. The
pay was legit. I'm talking three times what my friends made legit. Thirty-two dollars an hour
legit – and that was after I figured taxes into the equation. For the life of me, I didn't know what
I did to land this job. I was just in the right palce at the right time, I guess.
I was walking down the street, thousand dollar bicycles whizzing by me, well groomed
dogs strutting past when I came upon an elderly gentlemen dressed in black. Black slacks, black
shoes, black tie, black vest. Only thing that wasn't black was a silver chain attached to a peculiar
I asked him was he was doing as he stared emptily at the vacant storefront. He replied, in
a somewhat devious tone, “This... is my future. I own this building now.” I paused, hesitated for
a bit and settled on a ever-so-slightly snide question. “What are you going to do with 'your
future', open a Hot Topic?” His gaze transferred from being fixed on the storefront, to being
fixed on me.
He glanced from my eyes, to my feet, to my eyes – not once moving his head. I fought
the urge to squirm as an uncomfortable sensation shook through me. He waited a moment, eyes
locked on mine as if he were trying to scare me off. When I didn't move for several seconds, he
smiled wryly. As if to acknowledge my courage, he gingerly took his watch out of his pocket,
depressed the button on top and then began walking in the direction I came. As he strode by me,
best advice I've ever received. “Mind you're own god damn business.”
Editorial note: This is the beginning of a story regarding a girl who’s first job is at a curio shop