Dexter’s Laboratory Porn Story: A Beautiful Oblivion Chapter 1

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BEAUTIFUL OBLIVION

By Lennon Karma

My first songfic. You may think it sux, and I don’t really blame you cuz it’s kinda sick and twisted. I love writing Dexter’s Lab fics even though I don’t own any of da people at all! But it’s all gravy. This one’s a songfic, and I wrote the song myself. Be warned: NOT A HAPPY FIC. In my stuff, Mandark commits enough suicide to keep the newspapers busy for a while. You’ve been warned. Heed my word, then do as ye will. Let me reiterate sick and twisted. Enjoy! Pleez r & r.

His pain threshold crossed

He yearned to be free

Confused and lost

It didn’t matter what cost

Relief from this would be

After the troubled night

He awakes to the bleak day

Now he sees the light

That had just been so bright

Fade to dark, fade away

No one breaks stride

For his crumbling soul

With no one to confide

Of the torment inside

That dissolves his heart and whole

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine

Mandark reached a standstill in his life, and wondered if he would ever come out. Gradually, too slow for his perception to even pick up on, he sank into an all-time low. Nothing was possible, every road a dead end. His love for science dulled by these constant feelings of persecution, of hatred directed at him, separate from himself, and from inside himself. These were the ones that pained him the most. His self-induced wounds deepened, and even Mandark himself couldn’t pick up on them. He saw it as something natural Something everyone thought about him. Every day he made excuses for his revulsion. “Everyone else feels this way; so should I.” His lab weakened without his skillful hand caring for it. “What does it matter to anyone? I’m wasting my time trying.” He could see no purpose within himself. No will to carry on.

Something has shut every door

It let his world diffuse

Seized and shook his core

Nothing mattered anymore

To him it was no use

His spirit would descend

Beyond his mortal being

He could no longer pretend

It didn’t need to end

His spirit was swiftly fleeing

No one showed him heed

Not a care, not a damn

They were unknown indeed

To his cold, heartless creed

“I will always revile who I am.”

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine

No one else saw it coming. Mandark had always been ‘the quiet, sketchy one.’ Classmates would fear his erratic energies, and his dark personality. He loved the feel of power, but this fear was not of power, it was of the paranormal nature he possessed. He rarely spoke unless he was answering a question. When he did, it was usually to no one in particular, as if he was speaking to someone no one could see. He perceived it as another part of himself, trying to bring him out of this despair. But what could? Those who didn’t fear him made his life miserable by taunting him, which only pushed him farther to the ledge he so longed to leap from.

He stares at his reflection

Stares in hostile spite

Life was perfection

Until the dissection

From when his life was right

May nights he spent crying

Out in hollow pain

His life is flying

Since he’d rather be dying

He was crying out in vain

His heart had always been pure

But shadows replace the sunbeams

He couldn’t endure

Death’s jaded allure

But should he embrace such extremes?

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine

It was then it occurred to him. He had found a way out. It should have come to him before, but now that it had, he was delighted with his brilliance. Death could bring him out of the life he wasn’t living into somewhere limitless. It was the emotional ache that ate away at his life, but physical suffering5that was delicious. In his darkened bedroom, he lit a candle, speaking consolingly to himself. “Now is the time. Everything is all right.” He extended his fingers over the flame, warming them sensuously above it. Then he brought them down, and watched the flame lick at his skin, charring its once silken surface. Finally, the sting overcame him, and he removed his hand. The raw, blistered flesh was incredible. A rind of dead skin curled around his little finger. In an instant, he tore it loose, which left several more pieces remaining. He peeled them away leaving a scathing empty space on the back of his left hand. Applying pressure to it with his right thumbnail, he dug a groove into it, which pooled with a spring of blood. This overflowed, trickling down his arm. He watched the blood, entranced in its splendor. This moment was golden.

Now the dour decision was made

He determined suffer no longer

The set was laid

He was not afraid

The angst he felt made his will stronger

After tormented burning years

He doggedly raised his knife

To the malice and the tears

The anguish and the fears

That possessed him to take his own life

He would never be resurrected

Not another breath would he take

Soul’s wounds infected

Corpse lashed and neglected

From this sleep he awake would never awake

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine

In a rush of adrenaline, Mandark grasped a firm hold of his destiny; a destiny free of pain, hatred, or suffering. Burning himself had been a miraculous event, but his next endeavor would put it to shame. In a drawer of the desk in the den, Mandark’s father, Wind Bear kept his pocket knife. Slinking down the stairs after his parents and sister had gone to bed, he retrieved it, bringing it back to his room. He stroked its blade lovingly, cooing to it, “This will make everyone so happy.” He first pointed the tip of the knife straight into the burn from the night before. Wincing only slightly, he watched as pus welled up in the wound, rising to the surface followed by the blood. This sight pleased him; it was what he wanted to see. In a twisted compulsion, he nicked cuts across his arms and legs. Admiring the slashes, he let them bleed, bearing every moment of the intense pain with a gallant face. Mandark swore to himself he deserved this; the reason didn’t matter. All he knew was it must be so. Now, he knew the time had come to complete his mission. He held up the knife, watching the moonlight that poured in the window reflect back off it. Without another moment’s hesitation, he held the knife to his throat, running a quick slit across it. His mind was a blur from there as he became faint. Leaning on his dresser to support himself, he looked again at his reflection. Blood. All he saw was a waterfall, a downpour of blood from his neck to his chest. Drawing a shuddery breath, Mandark attempted another exhalation, but as he forced the breath out, another gush of blood accompanied it. His blood, which was his life, was killing him. Choking on his turncoat blood, he staggered back across the room to his bed, where he collapsed. He wanted to get his final thoughts from his mind to his tongue, but he had to settle with them remaining hostage in his psyche, “For once, I have done the right thing.” His senses dimmed, and he left his body where it lay.

The funeral service was a small one; comprised only of family and other close relatives who knew him. Despite their presence, shock, and despair, there wasn’t much to say of him as he kept his life a secret from all, and that was how he managed to slip away. He looked at peace as he lay in his coffin, which was not the case in the final weeks of his life.

Now that he lay in the earth, he had left people’s lives, left their world. He was sure he would not be missed. He was sure that would be the case; in fact, that was the reason he did this to himself. That was his perspective. Yet what would he have done if he had seen me kneeling down on the grass before his headstone, singing the song I wrote for him? Would it have made the difference; would it be enough to change it? I’ll never know; I only wish I had one chance to go back and change it. One chance to let him know how much I cared. I know it won’t bring him back, but would it have been enough to save him?

Would it have made an alteration, would it have saved the life you dissed

Would you have reached a revelation, if you knew how much you’re missed?

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine

You played with your life, you put it on the line

You slashed it with a knife, forget it, you’ll be fine