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Entry #2

Dead inside. Dead outside.

2008-04-27 21:42:18 by mike-enterprises
Updated

This is a translation of one of my most recent pieces of work "Muerta por Dentro. Muerta por Fuera " If you know spanish, you'll notice the title sounds much better since you can include the subject in the verb, a more literal translation would be" He's dead inside, she's dead outside" but that just doesn't soud right. Now I don't like translating my work but i wanted to show this to you Newgrounds, so if you know spanish i'll include the original below, read that one. And now Enjoy:...

---------------Dead inside. Dead outside-------------------------------

I never felt her kisses, I always loved her, but she didn't care. She always knew, but she never cared. Now, I guess, I don't care either. I didn't care while I did it. Why should I care now? I didn't care because, at that moment, I hated her. Whilst I did it, I didn't love her captivating smile, or her magnificent pink lips, or her deep eyes whose stare I remember even now that they've closed. But that wasn't the stare that at one time accompanied her smile. No, this was the most afraid stare I've seen my whole life. And, at that moment, that was what I loved. Her fear, her pain. The same pain I once hated as I loved her, she now felt and I loved it, I enjoyed it. I loved every moment from the time I lifted the heavy hammer, to when I sank it in her skull. I loved the light thud with which it struck, I loved the crimson droplets that stained my shirt. I loved the scream I never let escape her lips. Now, as I look at what's left, as I look at her body, left lifeless by my own hand. I don't care that she never loved me, I don't care that I never felt her kisses. Nor that, now... I never will.

--------Muerto por dentro. Muerta por fuera---------------------------------

Nunca Sentí sus besos, siempre la Amé pero a ella no le importó. Siempre lo supo pero nunca le importó. Ahora, supongo, a mí tampoco me importa. No me importó mientras lo hice ¿Cómo me va a importar ahora? No me importó porque, entonces, ya la odiaba. Mientras lo hice, no Amé su cautivante sonrisa, ni sus magníficos labios rosa, ni sus profundos ojos cuya mirada recuerdo aun ahora que se han cerrado. Pero no era esta la mirada que una vez acompaño a su sonrisa. Era la mirada más asustada que he visto en mi vida. Y en ese momento, eso fue lo que Amé. Su miedo, su dolor. El mismo dolor que una vez odie mientras la amaba, ahora lo sentía ella y yo lo amaba, lo disfrutaba. Amé cada momento desde que levante el pesado martillo y lo hundí en su cráneo. Amé el ruido sordo que hizo al caer, Amé las gotas carmesí que mancharon mi ropa. Amé el grito que no deje escapar de sus labios. Ahora, al ver lo que quedó, al ver su cuerpo, sin vida por mi propia mano. Ya no me importa que nunca me hubiera amado y no me importa que nunca sentí sus besos. Ni que, ahora,... nunca lo haré.


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