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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #68 - "Unrequited"
- Thread starter bengraven
- Start date
- Status
crowphoenix
Banned
Whoa! You can speak at last!Tangent said:
viciouskillersquirrel
Member
I'll have to sit this one out, guys 
I have a full day of work ahead of me and my day ends only an hour before the deadline.
I have a full day of work ahead of me and my day ends only an hour before the deadline.Tim the Wiz
Banned
Tangent is real? All this time I thought Cyan was... this changes everything.
crowphoenix
Banned
I think that says something about us: we're all awesome.ronito said:
bengraven said:
When he brings on a third account, we'll have to take steps to get him the help he needs.
crowphoenix
Banned
Oh, I'm not discouraging him. I'm just think worried about eventual problems. There is only one body after all. What if one gets angry and deletes all of the others work? That right there is a problem that needs a solution before it happens.bengraven said:
John Dunbar
correct about everything
Heartless Jacob
(1,900 words)
”Jacob, I was just wondering, would you like to go out with me sometime?”
”Oh, Suzy, I can’t... I...”
”That’s fine Jacob, you don’t have to explain.”
”No, it’s not you. It’s just that... My heart belongs to someone else...”
”Oh please.”
”Suzy... Wait...”
*
”Where were you?” asked a cold high voice. ”I’ve been waiting for you.”
”I was at work,” said Jacob. ”You know that.”
”You haven’t been talking to some hussies, have you? I felt your heart racing.”
In her wheelchair an old woman was fondling with her long narrow fingers a jar full of carnelian liquid. Inside was a beating heart.
”No, Gertrude.” said Jacob. ”I was just out of breath, that’s all.”
”Then come here and give us a kiss.”
Jacob approached the old woman, who was wearing a purple scarf over the few grey wispy hairs of her balding head. He bent over and put his lips on her small dry and cracked mouth. She grabbed his cheek with her withered pale hand which was covered with spots and lined with flowing stygian veins and pulled him closer.
”Don’t you see we belong together, Jacob?” said Gertrude. ”I own your heart. Why don’t you love me?”
”The heart is a muscle that pumps blood, not feelings.”
”You’re mine, d’hear!” She crowed as Jacob hastily retreated into his room. ”Mine! Mine!”
*
That night, supine on his bed, Jacob stared at the ceiling, dreading what he knew would soon come. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his heart was racing in its liquid home. As the lights of the world go out, the lights of the mind are set a-blaze. Memories rush up in the dark: memories that cannot be fought or re-arranged, regrets that only magnify the agony.
Jacob recalled moving to the neighbourhood, and the peculiar but harmless old lady in a wheelchair next door, whose fondness for strangers was to be expected from an elderly woman whose contemporaries had long since preceded her to the grave. The old lady had a very strange sense of humour, referring to him as his ”young beau”, but Jacob had dismissed this as mere geriatric folly. But one day she had invited Jacob to her house and served him tea and biscuits. Soon after eating, Jacob woke up in her guest room with an aching chest. By what antediluvian magic she had removed his heart, he did not know, but when he left the guest room and made his way to the living room, he was met with the same wheelchair-bound apparition with a heart container that now greeted him every day of his life.
”Oh Jakey,” came Gertrude’s crowing which interrupted these sordid remembrances, the attempt at melodious affection in the voice merely making the summons more blood-curling. ”Jaaaakey, come to Gertie.”
Jacob lay still, hoping to make the old woman think he’s asleep, knowing full well his heart would give him away. Suddenly he felt such pressure in his empty chest which caused him to roll out of bed on all fours, gasping for breath.
”Jacob!” called the now-impetuous voice. ”You naughty boy, you know I don’t like to wait! I’m not getting any younger!”
Still holding his aching chest, Jacob dragged himself to the door of Gertrude’s room. She was waiting for him on the bed.
”Jakey, come to bed, pet.”
Jacob looked at the naked wrinkly body, almost formless in its flabbiness, with utter disgust. Tempests of his heart known day and night to this wretched creature, her all-devouring lust his master. But he knew he could do nothing: you cannot hurt someone your heart belongs to.
”Gertrude, not tonight, please,” he pleaded.
Gertrude reached for her nightstand and took a brown-handled knife with a long, thin, curved blade.
”You know I only do this because I love you," she said. ”I would never leave you alone. I love you too much. We will live together as a man and a woman. And we will die together, Jacob.”
”Please...”
”Make me feel good, Jacob. Make me feel loved,” she hung the knife above the jar.
Jacob closed his eyes and approached the bed.
*
”Suzy, I wanted to talk about yesterday,” said Jacob.
”That’s fine, Jacob. There’s nothing to talk about.”
”But, I wanted to explain. I wasn’t lying. I really aren’t... available.”
”But we’ve been working together for two months and you never once have mentioned a girlfriend.”
They worked in a small astrology shop near Gertrude's home. In the beginning of their relationship Gertrude had not allowed Jacob to leave the house, but in a desperate bid to win his affection she had arranged him a job at her acquaintance's store, which she had thought was both near enough to her and a place not often frequented by her younger and fairer competition. But unbeknownst to her, the owner had also hired Suzy two months ago.
”We... have a complicated relationship," said Jacob, stocking the shelves.
”You don't sound happy," she said, placing her hand on his, which was resting on a box on the shelf.
He couldn't feel his heart, but he knew who could. But before he could do anything, the all too familiar pain struck.
Jacob went down, his face distorted with agony, but barely making a sound, the pressure in his chest suppressing his screams. Pulling down a box of planispheres which scattered on the floor, the tiny stars glimmering in the oblique rays of the sun, he crashed down on them.
”Jacob! What's wrong?"
”My... chest...”
”I'm going to call an ambulance!"
”No! I got... go home..."
”But Jacob...”
But Jacob, barely able to stand, rushed out the door.
*
”I was young once, Jacob!” Gertrude howled. ”I know what the beating of a young lover’s heart feels like! You’ve been going around with some slut from the store, haven’t you?”
”Gertrude, no...”
”Don’t lie to me! You will quit that job of yours, and you will never leave this house again! Never!”
The door bell rang, surprising both Jacob and Gertrude, neither of whom ever received visitors. The unexpected event left them both speechless for a moment, not knowing what to do.
”Let them leave,” said Gertrude finally. ”Must be some salesman.”
”Jacob?” came a voice behind the door. ”Jacob? Are you home?”
Recognizing Suzy’s voice, Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Gertrude, feeling this, became enraged.
”Have you been giving your address out to some little tarts?” she demanded. ”Bad enough that you run around behind my back, you invite them to my home!”
”Gertrude, I haven’t!”
”I will sort this out, let her in!”
”No! I won’t!”
Gertrude swiftly removed the lid from the jar, staring at him with her small cruel eyes. Jacob knew he had no choice. He went to the door, and opened it slightly.
”Suzy, what are you doing here?” Jacob asked through narrow opening.
”I was worried for you, so I found your address in the store files and came to check up on you.”
”Suzy, you got to...”
”Tell her to come in, Jacob,” came the best imitation of an inviting voice Gertrude was capable of.
”Who is that?” asked Suzy.
Jacob tried to answer, but sudden pain made him slump forward. Suzy caught him, and led him inside. Despite Jacob’s weak protests, they made their way into the living room.
Gertrude, still in her wheelchair, had covered her lap with a knitted quilt. Between her legs, a distinct bulge was visible through the coverlet.
”If I had known to expect guests, I would have had Jacob clean up the place,” cackled Gertrude.
”Who is she?” Suzy whispered.
”She’s...”
”You really care for her, don’t you, Jacob?” interposed Gertrude. ”I can feel you, Jacob, beating between my thighs, so many emotions, Jacob. Embarrassment, fear, anxiety, and, yes, Jacob, love, Jacob. Love!”
”Jacob,” asked the disturbed Suzy, ”What is she talking about?”
Gertrude threw away her quilt, revealing the open container. Suzy stared at the beating heart, stunned.
”Don’t you see, you little slut?” screamed Gertrude. ”Jacob’s heart belongs to me! You can’t steal him away from me!”
”Gertrude, please..."
”Please nothing, Jacob! It’s time for you to show where your heart really lies. Kill that little whore. Strangle her with your bare hands!"
Suzy looked with horror from Gertrude to Jacob. Jacob looked sicker every moment.
”Gertrude... I won’t...”
Gertrude plunged her hand swiftly into the liquid and then held the dripping heart high in the air. Jacob wavered, and the little colour remaining in his face vanished.
”That’s the problem with you young people,” Gertrude said, brandishing the muscle. ”From books and movies you think love is tender and sweet, when it’s actually violent and cruel. Hearts are depicted as pink, freshly-spanked bottoms of young girls, when in reality they’re like bloody, throbbing fists!” She gave the heart a firm squeeze, which brought Jacob to his knees.
”Jacob!” Suzy screamed, trying to hold Jacob up. ”Why do you let her do this?”
”Silly girl,” said Gertrude. ”Jacob’s heart is with me. He can’t do anything to me.”
”But I can.”
Suzy rushed towards Gertrude, her wheelchair keeled over and the heart flew across the room, sliding under a couch. The liquid flowed over the floor and the jar rolled away. Suzy and Gertrude were struggling to reach the heart.
”Jacob! Your little trollop is hurting me!” yelled Gertrude as she sank her brittle nails in Suzy’s flesh. But just as she had managed to fight off her young assailant, she grabbed her breast, her eyes open wide. Her ancient body had finally failed her. She tried to stand up, but fell on her back in the puddle on the floor.
”I told you we would die together, Jacob. Give me your hand, Jacob, give me your...," and she spoke no more.
Suzy ran to Jacob lying on the floor, but he was barely breathing.
”The heart...” he said softly, and then closed his eyes.
Suzy hurried to the couch, and reached for the heart. It was almost still. She took the jar from the floor and ran to the kitchen and filled the jar with water, and dropped the heart in. Nothing happened. Desperately she looked around for whatever Gertrude had used to store the heart in, but found nothing. But then she saw her hand, a scratch from the old woman’s nails. She took a kitchen knife, sliced deep across her palm, and sank the bleeding hand in the container. Blood diffused in the water.
For a moment the heart was still. Then a throb. Then steady beating. Suzy ran to the living room, and saw Jacob was sitting up. She helped him up, and gave him the jar.
Suzy and Jacob, him firmly holding the vessel for his heart, looked at Gertrude sprawling on the floor in a pool of her ghastly red fluid, one hand clutching her chest and the other desperately reaching for the spot where a moment ago her young love had lain. They turned away and left.
”What are you going to do with that?” Suzy asked.
Jacob looked at the steadily beating organ in its liquid haven. He handed it over to Suzy.
”I’m going to give it to someone I trust.”
(1,900 words)
”Jacob, I was just wondering, would you like to go out with me sometime?”
”Oh, Suzy, I can’t... I...”
”That’s fine Jacob, you don’t have to explain.”
”No, it’s not you. It’s just that... My heart belongs to someone else...”
”Oh please.”
”Suzy... Wait...”
*
”Where were you?” asked a cold high voice. ”I’ve been waiting for you.”
”I was at work,” said Jacob. ”You know that.”
”You haven’t been talking to some hussies, have you? I felt your heart racing.”
In her wheelchair an old woman was fondling with her long narrow fingers a jar full of carnelian liquid. Inside was a beating heart.
”No, Gertrude.” said Jacob. ”I was just out of breath, that’s all.”
”Then come here and give us a kiss.”
Jacob approached the old woman, who was wearing a purple scarf over the few grey wispy hairs of her balding head. He bent over and put his lips on her small dry and cracked mouth. She grabbed his cheek with her withered pale hand which was covered with spots and lined with flowing stygian veins and pulled him closer.
”Don’t you see we belong together, Jacob?” said Gertrude. ”I own your heart. Why don’t you love me?”
”The heart is a muscle that pumps blood, not feelings.”
”You’re mine, d’hear!” She crowed as Jacob hastily retreated into his room. ”Mine! Mine!”
*
That night, supine on his bed, Jacob stared at the ceiling, dreading what he knew would soon come. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his heart was racing in its liquid home. As the lights of the world go out, the lights of the mind are set a-blaze. Memories rush up in the dark: memories that cannot be fought or re-arranged, regrets that only magnify the agony.
Jacob recalled moving to the neighbourhood, and the peculiar but harmless old lady in a wheelchair next door, whose fondness for strangers was to be expected from an elderly woman whose contemporaries had long since preceded her to the grave. The old lady had a very strange sense of humour, referring to him as his ”young beau”, but Jacob had dismissed this as mere geriatric folly. But one day she had invited Jacob to her house and served him tea and biscuits. Soon after eating, Jacob woke up in her guest room with an aching chest. By what antediluvian magic she had removed his heart, he did not know, but when he left the guest room and made his way to the living room, he was met with the same wheelchair-bound apparition with a heart container that now greeted him every day of his life.
”Oh Jakey,” came Gertrude’s crowing which interrupted these sordid remembrances, the attempt at melodious affection in the voice merely making the summons more blood-curling. ”Jaaaakey, come to Gertie.”
Jacob lay still, hoping to make the old woman think he’s asleep, knowing full well his heart would give him away. Suddenly he felt such pressure in his empty chest which caused him to roll out of bed on all fours, gasping for breath.
”Jacob!” called the now-impetuous voice. ”You naughty boy, you know I don’t like to wait! I’m not getting any younger!”
Still holding his aching chest, Jacob dragged himself to the door of Gertrude’s room. She was waiting for him on the bed.
”Jakey, come to bed, pet.”
Jacob looked at the naked wrinkly body, almost formless in its flabbiness, with utter disgust. Tempests of his heart known day and night to this wretched creature, her all-devouring lust his master. But he knew he could do nothing: you cannot hurt someone your heart belongs to.
”Gertrude, not tonight, please,” he pleaded.
Gertrude reached for her nightstand and took a brown-handled knife with a long, thin, curved blade.
”You know I only do this because I love you," she said. ”I would never leave you alone. I love you too much. We will live together as a man and a woman. And we will die together, Jacob.”
”Please...”
”Make me feel good, Jacob. Make me feel loved,” she hung the knife above the jar.
Jacob closed his eyes and approached the bed.
*
”Suzy, I wanted to talk about yesterday,” said Jacob.
”That’s fine, Jacob. There’s nothing to talk about.”
”But, I wanted to explain. I wasn’t lying. I really aren’t... available.”
”But we’ve been working together for two months and you never once have mentioned a girlfriend.”
They worked in a small astrology shop near Gertrude's home. In the beginning of their relationship Gertrude had not allowed Jacob to leave the house, but in a desperate bid to win his affection she had arranged him a job at her acquaintance's store, which she had thought was both near enough to her and a place not often frequented by her younger and fairer competition. But unbeknownst to her, the owner had also hired Suzy two months ago.
”We... have a complicated relationship," said Jacob, stocking the shelves.
”You don't sound happy," she said, placing her hand on his, which was resting on a box on the shelf.
He couldn't feel his heart, but he knew who could. But before he could do anything, the all too familiar pain struck.
Jacob went down, his face distorted with agony, but barely making a sound, the pressure in his chest suppressing his screams. Pulling down a box of planispheres which scattered on the floor, the tiny stars glimmering in the oblique rays of the sun, he crashed down on them.
”Jacob! What's wrong?"
”My... chest...”
”I'm going to call an ambulance!"
”No! I got... go home..."
”But Jacob...”
But Jacob, barely able to stand, rushed out the door.
*
”I was young once, Jacob!” Gertrude howled. ”I know what the beating of a young lover’s heart feels like! You’ve been going around with some slut from the store, haven’t you?”
”Gertrude, no...”
”Don’t lie to me! You will quit that job of yours, and you will never leave this house again! Never!”
The door bell rang, surprising both Jacob and Gertrude, neither of whom ever received visitors. The unexpected event left them both speechless for a moment, not knowing what to do.
”Let them leave,” said Gertrude finally. ”Must be some salesman.”
”Jacob?” came a voice behind the door. ”Jacob? Are you home?”
Recognizing Suzy’s voice, Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Gertrude, feeling this, became enraged.
”Have you been giving your address out to some little tarts?” she demanded. ”Bad enough that you run around behind my back, you invite them to my home!”
”Gertrude, I haven’t!”
”I will sort this out, let her in!”
”No! I won’t!”
Gertrude swiftly removed the lid from the jar, staring at him with her small cruel eyes. Jacob knew he had no choice. He went to the door, and opened it slightly.
”Suzy, what are you doing here?” Jacob asked through narrow opening.
”I was worried for you, so I found your address in the store files and came to check up on you.”
”Suzy, you got to...”
”Tell her to come in, Jacob,” came the best imitation of an inviting voice Gertrude was capable of.
”Who is that?” asked Suzy.
Jacob tried to answer, but sudden pain made him slump forward. Suzy caught him, and led him inside. Despite Jacob’s weak protests, they made their way into the living room.
Gertrude, still in her wheelchair, had covered her lap with a knitted quilt. Between her legs, a distinct bulge was visible through the coverlet.
”If I had known to expect guests, I would have had Jacob clean up the place,” cackled Gertrude.
”Who is she?” Suzy whispered.
”She’s...”
”You really care for her, don’t you, Jacob?” interposed Gertrude. ”I can feel you, Jacob, beating between my thighs, so many emotions, Jacob. Embarrassment, fear, anxiety, and, yes, Jacob, love, Jacob. Love!”
”Jacob,” asked the disturbed Suzy, ”What is she talking about?”
Gertrude threw away her quilt, revealing the open container. Suzy stared at the beating heart, stunned.
”Don’t you see, you little slut?” screamed Gertrude. ”Jacob’s heart belongs to me! You can’t steal him away from me!”
”Gertrude, please..."
”Please nothing, Jacob! It’s time for you to show where your heart really lies. Kill that little whore. Strangle her with your bare hands!"
Suzy looked with horror from Gertrude to Jacob. Jacob looked sicker every moment.
”Gertrude... I won’t...”
Gertrude plunged her hand swiftly into the liquid and then held the dripping heart high in the air. Jacob wavered, and the little colour remaining in his face vanished.
”That’s the problem with you young people,” Gertrude said, brandishing the muscle. ”From books and movies you think love is tender and sweet, when it’s actually violent and cruel. Hearts are depicted as pink, freshly-spanked bottoms of young girls, when in reality they’re like bloody, throbbing fists!” She gave the heart a firm squeeze, which brought Jacob to his knees.
”Jacob!” Suzy screamed, trying to hold Jacob up. ”Why do you let her do this?”
”Silly girl,” said Gertrude. ”Jacob’s heart is with me. He can’t do anything to me.”
”But I can.”
Suzy rushed towards Gertrude, her wheelchair keeled over and the heart flew across the room, sliding under a couch. The liquid flowed over the floor and the jar rolled away. Suzy and Gertrude were struggling to reach the heart.
”Jacob! Your little trollop is hurting me!” yelled Gertrude as she sank her brittle nails in Suzy’s flesh. But just as she had managed to fight off her young assailant, she grabbed her breast, her eyes open wide. Her ancient body had finally failed her. She tried to stand up, but fell on her back in the puddle on the floor.
”I told you we would die together, Jacob. Give me your hand, Jacob, give me your...," and she spoke no more.
Suzy ran to Jacob lying on the floor, but he was barely breathing.
”The heart...” he said softly, and then closed his eyes.
Suzy hurried to the couch, and reached for the heart. It was almost still. She took the jar from the floor and ran to the kitchen and filled the jar with water, and dropped the heart in. Nothing happened. Desperately she looked around for whatever Gertrude had used to store the heart in, but found nothing. But then she saw her hand, a scratch from the old woman’s nails. She took a kitchen knife, sliced deep across her palm, and sank the bleeding hand in the container. Blood diffused in the water.
For a moment the heart was still. Then a throb. Then steady beating. Suzy ran to the living room, and saw Jacob was sitting up. She helped him up, and gave him the jar.
Suzy and Jacob, him firmly holding the vessel for his heart, looked at Gertrude sprawling on the floor in a pool of her ghastly red fluid, one hand clutching her chest and the other desperately reaching for the spot where a moment ago her young love had lain. They turned away and left.
”What are you going to do with that?” Suzy asked.
Jacob looked at the steadily beating organ in its liquid haven. He handed it over to Suzy.
”I’m going to give it to someone I trust.”
This is hilarious. And yes, in real life, I think Cyan does have multiple personalities. So your theories might just pan out. Great, now I might get bullied... in real life.)
Okok, now onto writing.... hmm. What to write. Perhaps I should stall by looking for an avatar.
sincerely yours,
GetYourOwnDamnAccountAlready
Okok, now onto writing.... hmm. What to write. Perhaps I should stall by looking for an avatar.
sincerely yours,
GetYourOwnDamnAccountAlready
Hey guys, kind of new here and this is the first thing I've written that I've actually shown to anyone. I tried to incorporate the bonus objective a bit, not sure how it turned out.
Le Raison d'etre
1,943 words.
Lidia picked up a stack of papers to move to the recycling bin. It was spring cleaning time and she worked diligently as she sorted through a pyramid of papers, magazines, documents and discarded mail. She brushed aside a stack of papers and saw something that didn't belong. She picked up a red notebook and held it up to the sunlight that peered in through the window. The front bore the name of her son Francis and the title "English Journal." Lidia remembered hearing about this journal at parent-teacher conferences a few months before. Francis' teacher had described the project in detail.
"It's a way for students to work on their writing skills through a confidential, 'stream of consciousness' approach. Students will write every day before class in their journals whatever comes to mind. It is my hope that as students get in the habit of writing every day, they will be able to better articulate themselves in other things they'll write for class."
The semester had just come to an end and Lidia remembered that Francis had gotten an A in his English class. Eager to see what types of things her son had written, she sat down at the table and opened the book. The first few entries consisted of common developments in the life of a teenager. Lidia flipped through page after page of musings about failed romances, stress over grades and reviews of films and albums. She stopped on the entry dated February 12th. This was the day her mother had died. Lidia remembered how affected Francis had seemed during that time. He seemed to come detached from his surroundings. Lidia never had the nerve to say anything, but she could tell her son wasn't quite the same. Like a thick sheet of snow, something had covered him up. The same shape was there, but its face had changed. Interested to see what he was feeling, she began to read.
February 12
My grandma died today. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Her incessant smoking led to her decline in health. It was something that I think everyone in my family saw coming, but it was long and painful, not just for her but for all of us. We all sat around her bed last night knowing that she didn't have much time left. My grandpa held her hand and started sobbing uncontrollably. I've never seen my grandpa cry like that.
My grandma was probably my favorite person growing up. She loved to spoil me and never passed up an opportunity to make my cousins and I happy. I remembered those days as I sat at her bedside and watched her take one gasping, wheezing breath after another. Every so often a nurse would come in to drain her mouth of fluid so she wouldn't choke on the flem that would back up in her throat. She wasn't conscious and couldn't swallow or turn her head. Drugs and painkillers had knocked her out a few days before I got to see her. I never got to say goodbye. All I could see now was a pathetic human body that had been robbed of all its spirit. Her hair had all fallen out and she had lost a lot of weight since I had last seen her. Her skinny legs barely made ripples in the blanket that covered her. I remember watching her take one deep breath after another and wondering if it would be her last. I wondered if she would die right there in front of me. But she didn't.
Lidia's eyes began to water. She too remembered the way her mother's health had declined. She remembered the traumatic experience of having to hospitalize her mother and see a once loving and confident woman be reduced to a lifeless shell. She flipped through the pages to find another entry about her mother. She stopped on February 23rd, almost two weeks after her mother's death.
February 23
I've been thinking about death a lot lately. At first I didn't think anything about my grandma dying. I guess I was kind of numb to everything. I've never really thought about an afterlife, but it doesn't seem very likely. It has just occurred to me that I won't ever see my grandma again. Everything that happened to her, all her choices and all her experiences are gone forever and won't be remembered by anyone in a few years. I can't seem to look at anything the same way now. Every person I meet and everything I see that was created by another person just makes me think about how nothing around me will be here in a hundred years time. All these people and all the things they do will be forgotten and will fade away.
I went to church last week to try and pray. I figured maybe I would find something to believe in or something to answer my questions. But all I was told was that God would guide me. I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. God didn't stop my grandma from dying and he won't stop me from dying either.
I think I've really become obsessed with death lately. I keep thinking about how I'll die. I wonder if it will be painful. Will I get sick like my grandma or will I die instantly in a car crash? The worst part about it is that all the thought I give to death and all the time I spend trying to find an answer doesn't mean anything. In the end I care about death so much but it doesn't care about me at all. It's cold and indifferent. It's the ultimate unrequited devotion.
Lidia decided that she had to talk to her son. She had to get him help. But as she thought about what she might say to console her son, she found herself at a loss. She couldn't help but think that her son was right. Death had an uncanny way of finalizing and eliminating things. Just like Francis had said, everything will die, and everything will be forgotten. She tried to shake this bereaved thought from her head and turned the page to an entry on February 26th.
February 26
I was outside with some people on a smoke break today at work. I obviously don't smoke myself, but it's a nice excuse to get out of the restaurant once in a while. Someone out there was smoking and caught me looking at him. "Don't ever want to try this stuff man, bad habit right here." I left without saying a word to him. I can't stand when people talk to me about smoking as if I don't understand. In fifty years when that guy is on his death bed with his family grieving all around him, then maybe he'll understand exactly what kind of habit smoking is. Asshole.
Lidia flipped ahead and saw more about death.
March 3
My grades have been slipping lately. My math teacher had a talk with me after I failed a test in his class. I know he means well but I just don't see the point in school or tests anymore. My parents look at me weird sometimes, as if I'll be going away for a long time and they don't want to see me go. I just don't understand why I should care about things anymore. None of this will matter. All my memories and experiences will be gone when I die. All I want is to be left alone.
Lidia couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She had let her son down. She had failed as a parent. She couldn't bear to read anymore. She closed the book and slammed it down on the table, sending echoes across the entire house that seemed to reverberate and vociferate her own mood. She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. When she opened them, she saw through the liquid veil a piece of paper that had fallen out of the notebook. She picked it up and realized that it was a letter from her father. She could see that the letter had tear stains scattered across it.
Dear Francis,
I am writing this to you from sunny Florida. I felt I had to get away for a while after your grandmother passed away and this was always one of our favorite places to vacation. I'm getting by alright without her, but I've heard from your mother that you've seemed a bit distant lately, that you're upset about her death.
I want to let you know son, that your grandmother loved you very much. She wasted away her health by smoking yes, we all have our flaws. But I can tell you that you and your cousins meant the world to her. All she wanted since you all were born was to see you grow up and become successful. She never got that chance because of the choices she made in her life; because of her smoking habit.
I want to make sure that her death does let you feel despair and grief beyond reason. I know it can be difficult to deal with death, especially at your age. Everything seems so new and foreign as you become an adult. Experiencing the death of a loved one at such a young age can only contribute to that feeling of uneasiness and confusion. But you need to know that life is not just to die. You will serve no one by wasting your time worrying about the inevitable end of life. None of us will last forever. Those that we love and who remember us will die just as we will. This is not a fact to be troubled or bothered by, but it is one that should teach us an important lesson.
The lesson we can learn from our mortality is simply this: that our Selves are only temporary, frail things. The important things in life; love, courage, integrity, joy, pleasure, are not owned by us and are much greater forces than we can ever hope to be. These things can never die so long as people believe in them and devote themselves to them. That is how your grandmother lived and that is how she would want you to live.
Think about how lucky you are, think of all the things you have that others don't. You have health, you have love, you have talent and intelligence. Don't let these things be forgotten in your quest to overcome or to comprehend the great unknown that is death. No one knows what death truly means or where it will take us, if anywhere. But what we do know is what we have here on this earth. And you have a lot, son. I hope that you will use your grandmother's death as a chance to learn and a chance to begin anew; to be grateful for the things you have and to devote yourself entirely to them.
I love you very much,
Grandpa
Lidia set the letter down carefully as more silent tears fell from her cheeks. She was woken from her awe by the sound of a key being fidgeted into the front door. She quickly wiped her eyes and buried the letter and the notebook under a stack of papers as her son walked into the house.
Francis stopped when he saw her.
"Hey ma."
"Hey hun. How are you doing?"
Francis paused for a moment as if trying to choose his words carefully. Then he smiled with a radiance he hadn't shown in months.
"I'm doing alright."
Le Raison d'etre
1,943 words.
Lidia picked up a stack of papers to move to the recycling bin. It was spring cleaning time and she worked diligently as she sorted through a pyramid of papers, magazines, documents and discarded mail. She brushed aside a stack of papers and saw something that didn't belong. She picked up a red notebook and held it up to the sunlight that peered in through the window. The front bore the name of her son Francis and the title "English Journal." Lidia remembered hearing about this journal at parent-teacher conferences a few months before. Francis' teacher had described the project in detail.
"It's a way for students to work on their writing skills through a confidential, 'stream of consciousness' approach. Students will write every day before class in their journals whatever comes to mind. It is my hope that as students get in the habit of writing every day, they will be able to better articulate themselves in other things they'll write for class."
The semester had just come to an end and Lidia remembered that Francis had gotten an A in his English class. Eager to see what types of things her son had written, she sat down at the table and opened the book. The first few entries consisted of common developments in the life of a teenager. Lidia flipped through page after page of musings about failed romances, stress over grades and reviews of films and albums. She stopped on the entry dated February 12th. This was the day her mother had died. Lidia remembered how affected Francis had seemed during that time. He seemed to come detached from his surroundings. Lidia never had the nerve to say anything, but she could tell her son wasn't quite the same. Like a thick sheet of snow, something had covered him up. The same shape was there, but its face had changed. Interested to see what he was feeling, she began to read.
February 12
My grandma died today. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Her incessant smoking led to her decline in health. It was something that I think everyone in my family saw coming, but it was long and painful, not just for her but for all of us. We all sat around her bed last night knowing that she didn't have much time left. My grandpa held her hand and started sobbing uncontrollably. I've never seen my grandpa cry like that.
My grandma was probably my favorite person growing up. She loved to spoil me and never passed up an opportunity to make my cousins and I happy. I remembered those days as I sat at her bedside and watched her take one gasping, wheezing breath after another. Every so often a nurse would come in to drain her mouth of fluid so she wouldn't choke on the flem that would back up in her throat. She wasn't conscious and couldn't swallow or turn her head. Drugs and painkillers had knocked her out a few days before I got to see her. I never got to say goodbye. All I could see now was a pathetic human body that had been robbed of all its spirit. Her hair had all fallen out and she had lost a lot of weight since I had last seen her. Her skinny legs barely made ripples in the blanket that covered her. I remember watching her take one deep breath after another and wondering if it would be her last. I wondered if she would die right there in front of me. But she didn't.
Lidia's eyes began to water. She too remembered the way her mother's health had declined. She remembered the traumatic experience of having to hospitalize her mother and see a once loving and confident woman be reduced to a lifeless shell. She flipped through the pages to find another entry about her mother. She stopped on February 23rd, almost two weeks after her mother's death.
February 23
I've been thinking about death a lot lately. At first I didn't think anything about my grandma dying. I guess I was kind of numb to everything. I've never really thought about an afterlife, but it doesn't seem very likely. It has just occurred to me that I won't ever see my grandma again. Everything that happened to her, all her choices and all her experiences are gone forever and won't be remembered by anyone in a few years. I can't seem to look at anything the same way now. Every person I meet and everything I see that was created by another person just makes me think about how nothing around me will be here in a hundred years time. All these people and all the things they do will be forgotten and will fade away.
I went to church last week to try and pray. I figured maybe I would find something to believe in or something to answer my questions. But all I was told was that God would guide me. I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. God didn't stop my grandma from dying and he won't stop me from dying either.
I think I've really become obsessed with death lately. I keep thinking about how I'll die. I wonder if it will be painful. Will I get sick like my grandma or will I die instantly in a car crash? The worst part about it is that all the thought I give to death and all the time I spend trying to find an answer doesn't mean anything. In the end I care about death so much but it doesn't care about me at all. It's cold and indifferent. It's the ultimate unrequited devotion.
Lidia decided that she had to talk to her son. She had to get him help. But as she thought about what she might say to console her son, she found herself at a loss. She couldn't help but think that her son was right. Death had an uncanny way of finalizing and eliminating things. Just like Francis had said, everything will die, and everything will be forgotten. She tried to shake this bereaved thought from her head and turned the page to an entry on February 26th.
February 26
I was outside with some people on a smoke break today at work. I obviously don't smoke myself, but it's a nice excuse to get out of the restaurant once in a while. Someone out there was smoking and caught me looking at him. "Don't ever want to try this stuff man, bad habit right here." I left without saying a word to him. I can't stand when people talk to me about smoking as if I don't understand. In fifty years when that guy is on his death bed with his family grieving all around him, then maybe he'll understand exactly what kind of habit smoking is. Asshole.
Lidia flipped ahead and saw more about death.
March 3
My grades have been slipping lately. My math teacher had a talk with me after I failed a test in his class. I know he means well but I just don't see the point in school or tests anymore. My parents look at me weird sometimes, as if I'll be going away for a long time and they don't want to see me go. I just don't understand why I should care about things anymore. None of this will matter. All my memories and experiences will be gone when I die. All I want is to be left alone.
Lidia couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She had let her son down. She had failed as a parent. She couldn't bear to read anymore. She closed the book and slammed it down on the table, sending echoes across the entire house that seemed to reverberate and vociferate her own mood. She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. When she opened them, she saw through the liquid veil a piece of paper that had fallen out of the notebook. She picked it up and realized that it was a letter from her father. She could see that the letter had tear stains scattered across it.
Dear Francis,
I am writing this to you from sunny Florida. I felt I had to get away for a while after your grandmother passed away and this was always one of our favorite places to vacation. I'm getting by alright without her, but I've heard from your mother that you've seemed a bit distant lately, that you're upset about her death.
I want to let you know son, that your grandmother loved you very much. She wasted away her health by smoking yes, we all have our flaws. But I can tell you that you and your cousins meant the world to her. All she wanted since you all were born was to see you grow up and become successful. She never got that chance because of the choices she made in her life; because of her smoking habit.
I want to make sure that her death does let you feel despair and grief beyond reason. I know it can be difficult to deal with death, especially at your age. Everything seems so new and foreign as you become an adult. Experiencing the death of a loved one at such a young age can only contribute to that feeling of uneasiness and confusion. But you need to know that life is not just to die. You will serve no one by wasting your time worrying about the inevitable end of life. None of us will last forever. Those that we love and who remember us will die just as we will. This is not a fact to be troubled or bothered by, but it is one that should teach us an important lesson.
The lesson we can learn from our mortality is simply this: that our Selves are only temporary, frail things. The important things in life; love, courage, integrity, joy, pleasure, are not owned by us and are much greater forces than we can ever hope to be. These things can never die so long as people believe in them and devote themselves to them. That is how your grandmother lived and that is how she would want you to live.
Think about how lucky you are, think of all the things you have that others don't. You have health, you have love, you have talent and intelligence. Don't let these things be forgotten in your quest to overcome or to comprehend the great unknown that is death. No one knows what death truly means or where it will take us, if anywhere. But what we do know is what we have here on this earth. And you have a lot, son. I hope that you will use your grandmother's death as a chance to learn and a chance to begin anew; to be grateful for the things you have and to devote yourself entirely to them.
I love you very much,
Grandpa
Lidia set the letter down carefully as more silent tears fell from her cheeks. She was woken from her awe by the sound of a key being fidgeted into the front door. She quickly wiped her eyes and buried the letter and the notebook under a stack of papers as her son walked into the house.
Francis stopped when he saw her.
"Hey ma."
"Hey hun. How are you doing?"
Francis paused for a moment as if trying to choose his words carefully. Then he smiled with a radiance he hadn't shown in months.
"I'm doing alright."
bengraven
Member
Oh I suppose we're supposed to be writing stories here.
Good call, I've never even heard of Imgur. I kept Photobucket because it was the only pic sharing site I knew was okay on GAF and frankly? I was a bit too lazy to switch providers. haha
New avatar, too, since I may be getting my old one tattooed on my skin.
ronito said:
Good call, I've never even heard of Imgur. I kept Photobucket because it was the only pic sharing site I knew was okay on GAF and frankly? I was a bit too lazy to switch providers. haha
New avatar, too, since I may be getting my old one tattooed on my skin.
RurouniZel
Asks questions so Ezalc doesn't have to
Goddamn it, forgot to write something. I'll have to check out the entries later. ;-;
bengraven said:
I think therefore I am.
But how do you define the I, in I am.
Identity is phlisophically difficult. Whether you adhere to the personality theory, the body theory, the physicalist view, or the dualist view, or whatever else theory that is out there, that hasn't come immediately to my mind. Which wouldn't be altogether suprising.
RurouniZel said:
Lol, you haven't forgotten to write anything until it is 3:30 am EST on Thursday.
I haven't started yet myself, however, I'm beginning to question whether I should be writing this or redoing my paper. Now, this is a group project and I don't want to sound like an ass (even though I am one), but after reading through the sections my groupmates did, I just feel compelled to rewrite everything they did to actually make it readable. I mean, I didn't think it was possible to start a dozen different sentences without finishing a single one. I don't want to piss them off though. :/
I guess I'll do both.
ZephyrFate
Banned
No.-COOLIO- said:
crowphoenix
Banned
Deleted due to TOS change.
bengraven
Member
Suck
by bengraven
Tidypub: http://tidypub.org/QAmaR
Wordcount: 1445
[Two Years Ago
An email from Scara Schere to Bryan Li via Facebook:]
Looks like we "like" the same things. Want to fuck?
[Same day,
Bryan Li's Facebook status update:]
"Um, I think I'm going to be busy the next few hours. Tell Jason if I don't come back he can have my old DVD collection and that I borrow that box of condoms from his dresser drawer. lol"
[19 months ago
Jason Scott, via Livejournal]
I miss my best friend.
God, this is going to sound like such a Livejournal entry.
I had a shitty childhood, but Bryan was my refuge. He would let me stay in his parents' basement and I could be alone down there and yet still know that I wasn't alone really. I will always love him for that.
And now he's spending every moment with this big-tittied punk girl he met at the tattoo parlor. God, what a whore I mean not that tattoos are bad, okay, but she's just trashy and covered in them. I'm sorry, but someone once told me girls have three times the sex partners as tattoos on their skin. So again, she has a lot of tattoos.
Bryan and I, it's like we broke up and I'm not saying that because I'm in love with him, okay!?!!! He doesn't even know I'm gay. I don't think.
This really does sound like a Livejournal entry.
God, I should tell my best friend I'm gay, shouldn't I? I wish I knew where he was...
[17 months ago
Jason Scott, via Livejournal]
Jesus Christ, I know I've been talking about Bryan every day here, but something is wrong. He's not been the same since he's been with this girl. I used to sigh and stare into his eyes when he was not looking and I swear to you, I could see his heart. *sigh*
Our friend Dizzy think his girlfriend's evil. I don't think she's evil: you have to choose to be evil. She was born this way. What's that called, a sociopath or something? Right, she's a sociopath. She looks at you with those big, brown eyes and your entire body shakes.
She's scary.
[One Year Ago
Jason Scott, via Tumblr]
New journal. I'm hiding. He's been trying to get in touch with me, but I won't let him. I hear him pounding on my door late at night, drunk and angry, demanding I let him inside. It's not going to happen. I don't think I've ever been this scared of a man in my life.
Bryan's...wasting away. He used to be a big, big man. Not fat, really, but tall and wide and strong. Now he's skinnier, pounds have literally melted away from him like wax on a candle. He's only 19 and God dammit, he's getting wrinkles already. And his eyes are yellowing. That's jaundice I think. His skin was covered in bruises.
And he's there now! He came back and is banging on my door, says he'll break it down. He used to be my refuge; now he's the person I ran from.
[One Year Ago
Bryan Li, Facebook status update]
Leave me alone. Stop talking about my girlfriend, start moving on with your lives. Mom: I'm happy. Sis: I'm happy. Dizzy: I know you wanted me too: well you don't have a deep enough pussy for how deep my long ass cock can stretch - I'd bust your fallopian tubes wide open. Jason: you're a fag, don't ever talk to me again.
[11 months ago
Jason Scott, text message to Desiree "Dizzy" Tangen]
Come home. I've tried calling you, but you're not picking up. Bryan died last night. Come home.
[Jason Scott via Tumblr, same day]
I have just wasted the last year of my life. I've pined over Bryan Li, spit vile and vitriole about his girlfriend Scara, hid behind a computer screen and for what? I wasn't there to see that Bryan's cancer was eating him away from the inside like baby spiders from his stomach, spreading their black furry legs all over him, poisoning him with every touch.
He's dead and I'm making bad metaphors. I think I'm getting done with this journal game. I look back at my old entries and I'm embarassed at how melodramatic I was. I owe an apology most of all to Scara: she was far from the evil girlfriend I expected. I've actually come to know her the last few days: in our grief we came together as friends. She's a beautiful, caring woman. Her hugs feel like a second home; you want to bury yourself in her bosom and either cry, fall asleep or smile deeply.
I'm done trying to express how I feel online. It's stupid. I need to show her how I feel.
[2 months ago
An email from Dizzy Tangen to Jason Scott
Subject line: You are out of your fucking mind!]
I told you that bitch was evil. I already lost one friend to her, now I'm going to lose you to her too? Don't tell me it's just a friendship, that's she's helping you identify who you are as a person. I remember Bryan was able to help you with that, don't you? He told you to be proud of who you are: a strong gay man with potential and ambition who could rule the world someday. You don't need that bitch to help you figure out who you are.
And get some meat on your bones, you look horrible. Whatever drugs she was sharing with Bryan, it looks like she's sharing them with you.
[2 days ago
Anonymous email to Dizzy Tangen, which included all the excerpts you see above including links to old Livejournal and Tumblr entries]
As I'm typing this, her finger slides down my face. Wet, smelling sweet and female, I can't help but turn and bite at it, but she pulls it away. She takes the finger and places it between her full red lips and her cheeks suck it clean. I don't want to type this to you. The smell in the air is sex, Dizzy, pure sex. She's lying on her side, facing me in the nude, only a candle near her stomach and the screen from this computer is giving off light in this vast, cavernous room. Her tattoos are colorful, beautiful, terrible and seem to move in the flickering candlelight. Her forehead, her chest, the inside of her thighs are wet and glistening from sweat and love-making. Her lips tighten into a half smile and I'm literally shivering here typing to you.
I don't know where we are. It's so empty, but I feel so full. It's cold, but I'm sweating.
You don't understand. I wish I had. I see why we are biologically created into seperate sexes: the female smell brings up something primordial inside of me. I want to fuck, fight, kill, eat. I need her, I love her, fuck I love her so much, and I'm exhausted from days of no food and nothing but wet skin slapping against wet skin. I feel naked when I'm NOT inside of her.
The second she opens her arms to me, I'm done with this conversation. I'm going to hit "send" and I'm going to fall into those arms, my face between her breasts, my cock will slide inside of her.
I am finally loved by someone.
She makes me feel safe and secure, but she also takes everything from [message cut off]
[Today
Dizzy Tangen's Facebook message to several friends:]
Our Jason is dead. Authorities are looking for a suspect: five foot 4 inches with brown eyes and hair, Caucasian with pale skin. She was last seen wearing a black shirt with red lettering and the words: "MY HEART BREAKS FOR YOU". Suspect has tattoos covering her entire body, from her neck down, including one arm covered with dozens of men's names, with all but the last name with a line through it.
The names include: DAVID, ZACHARIAS, THOMAS, GAIUS, ANTONY, THEAMUS, NAPOLEONE, NELSON, JAMES, AARON, BRYAN.
Somehow I think the second to last name is JASON.
The next name...
Just pray for the next name.
by bengraven
Tidypub: http://tidypub.org/QAmaR
Wordcount: 1445
[Two Years Ago
An email from Scara Schere to Bryan Li via Facebook:]
Looks like we "like" the same things. Want to fuck?
[Same day,
Bryan Li's Facebook status update:]
"Um, I think I'm going to be busy the next few hours. Tell Jason if I don't come back he can have my old DVD collection and that I borrow that box of condoms from his dresser drawer. lol"
[19 months ago
Jason Scott, via Livejournal]
I miss my best friend.
God, this is going to sound like such a Livejournal entry.
I had a shitty childhood, but Bryan was my refuge. He would let me stay in his parents' basement and I could be alone down there and yet still know that I wasn't alone really. I will always love him for that.
And now he's spending every moment with this big-tittied punk girl he met at the tattoo parlor. God, what a whore I mean not that tattoos are bad, okay, but she's just trashy and covered in them. I'm sorry, but someone once told me girls have three times the sex partners as tattoos on their skin. So again, she has a lot of tattoos.
Bryan and I, it's like we broke up and I'm not saying that because I'm in love with him, okay!?!!! He doesn't even know I'm gay. I don't think.
This really does sound like a Livejournal entry.
God, I should tell my best friend I'm gay, shouldn't I? I wish I knew where he was...
[17 months ago
Jason Scott, via Livejournal]
Jesus Christ, I know I've been talking about Bryan every day here, but something is wrong. He's not been the same since he's been with this girl. I used to sigh and stare into his eyes when he was not looking and I swear to you, I could see his heart. *sigh*
Our friend Dizzy think his girlfriend's evil. I don't think she's evil: you have to choose to be evil. She was born this way. What's that called, a sociopath or something? Right, she's a sociopath. She looks at you with those big, brown eyes and your entire body shakes.
She's scary.
[One Year Ago
Jason Scott, via Tumblr]
New journal. I'm hiding. He's been trying to get in touch with me, but I won't let him. I hear him pounding on my door late at night, drunk and angry, demanding I let him inside. It's not going to happen. I don't think I've ever been this scared of a man in my life.
Bryan's...wasting away. He used to be a big, big man. Not fat, really, but tall and wide and strong. Now he's skinnier, pounds have literally melted away from him like wax on a candle. He's only 19 and God dammit, he's getting wrinkles already. And his eyes are yellowing. That's jaundice I think. His skin was covered in bruises.
And he's there now! He came back and is banging on my door, says he'll break it down. He used to be my refuge; now he's the person I ran from.
[One Year Ago
Bryan Li, Facebook status update]
Leave me alone. Stop talking about my girlfriend, start moving on with your lives. Mom: I'm happy. Sis: I'm happy. Dizzy: I know you wanted me too: well you don't have a deep enough pussy for how deep my long ass cock can stretch - I'd bust your fallopian tubes wide open. Jason: you're a fag, don't ever talk to me again.
[11 months ago
Jason Scott, text message to Desiree "Dizzy" Tangen]
Come home. I've tried calling you, but you're not picking up. Bryan died last night. Come home.
[Jason Scott via Tumblr, same day]
I have just wasted the last year of my life. I've pined over Bryan Li, spit vile and vitriole about his girlfriend Scara, hid behind a computer screen and for what? I wasn't there to see that Bryan's cancer was eating him away from the inside like baby spiders from his stomach, spreading their black furry legs all over him, poisoning him with every touch.
He's dead and I'm making bad metaphors. I think I'm getting done with this journal game. I look back at my old entries and I'm embarassed at how melodramatic I was. I owe an apology most of all to Scara: she was far from the evil girlfriend I expected. I've actually come to know her the last few days: in our grief we came together as friends. She's a beautiful, caring woman. Her hugs feel like a second home; you want to bury yourself in her bosom and either cry, fall asleep or smile deeply.
I'm done trying to express how I feel online. It's stupid. I need to show her how I feel.
[2 months ago
An email from Dizzy Tangen to Jason Scott
Subject line: You are out of your fucking mind!]
I told you that bitch was evil. I already lost one friend to her, now I'm going to lose you to her too? Don't tell me it's just a friendship, that's she's helping you identify who you are as a person. I remember Bryan was able to help you with that, don't you? He told you to be proud of who you are: a strong gay man with potential and ambition who could rule the world someday. You don't need that bitch to help you figure out who you are.
And get some meat on your bones, you look horrible. Whatever drugs she was sharing with Bryan, it looks like she's sharing them with you.
[2 days ago
Anonymous email to Dizzy Tangen, which included all the excerpts you see above including links to old Livejournal and Tumblr entries]
As I'm typing this, her finger slides down my face. Wet, smelling sweet and female, I can't help but turn and bite at it, but she pulls it away. She takes the finger and places it between her full red lips and her cheeks suck it clean. I don't want to type this to you. The smell in the air is sex, Dizzy, pure sex. She's lying on her side, facing me in the nude, only a candle near her stomach and the screen from this computer is giving off light in this vast, cavernous room. Her tattoos are colorful, beautiful, terrible and seem to move in the flickering candlelight. Her forehead, her chest, the inside of her thighs are wet and glistening from sweat and love-making. Her lips tighten into a half smile and I'm literally shivering here typing to you.
I don't know where we are. It's so empty, but I feel so full. It's cold, but I'm sweating.
You don't understand. I wish I had. I see why we are biologically created into seperate sexes: the female smell brings up something primordial inside of me. I want to fuck, fight, kill, eat. I need her, I love her, fuck I love her so much, and I'm exhausted from days of no food and nothing but wet skin slapping against wet skin. I feel naked when I'm NOT inside of her.
The second she opens her arms to me, I'm done with this conversation. I'm going to hit "send" and I'm going to fall into those arms, my face between her breasts, my cock will slide inside of her.
I am finally loved by someone.
She makes me feel safe and secure, but she also takes everything from [message cut off]
[Today
Dizzy Tangen's Facebook message to several friends:]
Our Jason is dead. Authorities are looking for a suspect: five foot 4 inches with brown eyes and hair, Caucasian with pale skin. She was last seen wearing a black shirt with red lettering and the words: "MY HEART BREAKS FOR YOU". Suspect has tattoos covering her entire body, from her neck down, including one arm covered with dozens of men's names, with all but the last name with a line through it.
The names include: DAVID, ZACHARIAS, THOMAS, GAIUS, ANTONY, THEAMUS, NAPOLEONE, NELSON, JAMES, AARON, BRYAN.
Somehow I think the second to last name is JASON.
The next name...
Just pray for the next name.
British Monsoon
Member
Eh, I really shouldn't have left this to the last minute again - now it's 6AM, I haven't slept a wink and I'm too tired to write anymore, so It'll have to do
x_x
Revenge (1100 words)
He took a drag from his cigarette and settled down to wait, hunkering against the wall of the alley to glean some measure of shelter from the downpour that had been saturating the city for the past two nights. It was a dark and dreary storm. Soot black clouds, roiling and rumbling with thunder as rain drops struck a tumultuous beat on the pavement and cars sprayed through ever deepening puddles. He pulled up his collar and retreated into the meagre warmth of his duster coat. Already he felt a chill setting into his bones, but the night was yet young and if all went to plan he wouldn't need to worry about catching his death of cold come morning. He glanced up as a gaggle of girls on a night out shrieked and skidded between shop awnings, carving a drunken zig-zag through the rain on their way to the next dive bar that sells cheap cocktails. He envied their fun. It had been far too long since he'd felt quite so unburdened, the weight of the past was an ever oppressive figure in the shadows of his mind and like a corpse in the river, unbidden the memories surfaced time and time again. He hadn't asked for this, he'd only wanted to do what was right, to serve his country. But somewhere along the way it had become less about duty and more about hatred, a stupid, mean and petty hatred and now all he had was left with was this unquenchable, unbearable feeling of guilt that he just couldn't shake. Pulling out his phone he glanced again at the picture. Young, dispassionate eyes stared back at him. The kid looked unremarkable, like a dozen other wasters he saw every day on the busy streets, but he recognised those eyes all too well. The eyes of the boy's father. The man he had murdered. Oh, it had been ruled an accident, but he knew better. They both did, he and the man whose life he'd cut short. A man he'd once considered a friend and comrade. A man with a family. A wife. A child. The kid in the photo, who sat not ten metres away in a twenty-four hour cafe across the street, laughing with his mates, chatting up waitresses.
He'd thought about what he was going to say for weeks now, ever since he bumped into the kid on the street and recognised those eyes. But like an actor with opening night jitters he was second guessing his lines. Now the moment was here, nothing sounded right. His words providing a poor facsimile for the message he needed to convey to relieve himself of the burden his life had become. Growing increasingly impatient he stamped his feet to keep warm, wondering how much longer the kid could sit there without ordering anything. His hand drifted again to the object in his coat pocket, fingers absent-mindedly tracing the pearl inlay embedded in the wood. Suddenly, the kid was on the move, filing out of the cafe with his mates in tow. He snapped to attention and began to follow from a distance as the lads meandered down the road, too drunk to care about the rain that would soon soak them to the bone as surely as it had soaked him. One by one the friends peeled off, heading home to sleep off their hangovers, until only the kid was left. Seeing his chance, he picked up the pace and soon found himself within reach, his heart beating so fast he feared it would burst right from his chest. He gripped the handle in his pocket and slid it between his fingers, feeling the sting as the blade drew across his palm and the blood began to flow. Abruptly the kid turned smartly on his heel and he found himself face to face with this young man that shared his friends eyes. Shocked into silence, all his planning gone out of the winder, he mouthed garbled words like a fish gasping for air while removing the knife from his pocket and proffering it handle first to the kid as the blood welled between his fingers.
From then on everything seemed to pass in slow motion. He kept his eyes locked on the kid's and saw his thoughts written on the musculature of his face. Confusion, followed by shock, chased by fear. A primal fear, survival instinct kicking in. The kid ran and he bolted after him, but god damn he was fast. He turned corner after corner before finding himself at a dead end. The kid skidded to a halt and moved to face him. Realising there was no escape the kid began to plead. Advancing forward he offered the blade, but the kid didn't understand, didn't recognise the man who had killed his father. So he told him everything. He told him how he and his dad had been good mates before joining up, but after a few months of basic training found that they couldn't stand each other. And then one day, after an argument so stupid no one could no longer remember what it was about, things had gone bad. Very bad. And so he found himself here, offering a knife to a scared kid who didn't understand that he was being given a gift of revenge. The kid was visibly shaken and scared witless. He screamed that he'd never even known his dad, he didn't give a shit, didn't want any revenge. He just wanted to go home. The kid tried to dash past him, but he blocked his path, attempting to force the blade into the kid's grip. They struggled in the rain, before he slipped in a puddle and they both tumbled to the floor. He lay there for some time, disorientated and soaked to the bone, his bloodied fingers aching painfully. He could feel the kid's breathing slow to a crawl beneath him, and with a dreadful certainty he rolled off and saw the blade buried in the kid's chest. He let out a wordless cry of anguish as the kid's breaths came in short, ragged bursts, blood welling upon his lips. All he'd wanted was an end to the guilt. It should have been so simple. He pulled out the knife and the kid gasped as blood gushed from the wound. Putting it to his neck he trembled before drawing the blade across his throat. Slumping forwards he lay there next to his friend's son as the life ebbed out of them and their blood intermingled in the murky rain.
x_x
Revenge (1100 words)
He took a drag from his cigarette and settled down to wait, hunkering against the wall of the alley to glean some measure of shelter from the downpour that had been saturating the city for the past two nights. It was a dark and dreary storm. Soot black clouds, roiling and rumbling with thunder as rain drops struck a tumultuous beat on the pavement and cars sprayed through ever deepening puddles. He pulled up his collar and retreated into the meagre warmth of his duster coat. Already he felt a chill setting into his bones, but the night was yet young and if all went to plan he wouldn't need to worry about catching his death of cold come morning. He glanced up as a gaggle of girls on a night out shrieked and skidded between shop awnings, carving a drunken zig-zag through the rain on their way to the next dive bar that sells cheap cocktails. He envied their fun. It had been far too long since he'd felt quite so unburdened, the weight of the past was an ever oppressive figure in the shadows of his mind and like a corpse in the river, unbidden the memories surfaced time and time again. He hadn't asked for this, he'd only wanted to do what was right, to serve his country. But somewhere along the way it had become less about duty and more about hatred, a stupid, mean and petty hatred and now all he had was left with was this unquenchable, unbearable feeling of guilt that he just couldn't shake. Pulling out his phone he glanced again at the picture. Young, dispassionate eyes stared back at him. The kid looked unremarkable, like a dozen other wasters he saw every day on the busy streets, but he recognised those eyes all too well. The eyes of the boy's father. The man he had murdered. Oh, it had been ruled an accident, but he knew better. They both did, he and the man whose life he'd cut short. A man he'd once considered a friend and comrade. A man with a family. A wife. A child. The kid in the photo, who sat not ten metres away in a twenty-four hour cafe across the street, laughing with his mates, chatting up waitresses.
He'd thought about what he was going to say for weeks now, ever since he bumped into the kid on the street and recognised those eyes. But like an actor with opening night jitters he was second guessing his lines. Now the moment was here, nothing sounded right. His words providing a poor facsimile for the message he needed to convey to relieve himself of the burden his life had become. Growing increasingly impatient he stamped his feet to keep warm, wondering how much longer the kid could sit there without ordering anything. His hand drifted again to the object in his coat pocket, fingers absent-mindedly tracing the pearl inlay embedded in the wood. Suddenly, the kid was on the move, filing out of the cafe with his mates in tow. He snapped to attention and began to follow from a distance as the lads meandered down the road, too drunk to care about the rain that would soon soak them to the bone as surely as it had soaked him. One by one the friends peeled off, heading home to sleep off their hangovers, until only the kid was left. Seeing his chance, he picked up the pace and soon found himself within reach, his heart beating so fast he feared it would burst right from his chest. He gripped the handle in his pocket and slid it between his fingers, feeling the sting as the blade drew across his palm and the blood began to flow. Abruptly the kid turned smartly on his heel and he found himself face to face with this young man that shared his friends eyes. Shocked into silence, all his planning gone out of the winder, he mouthed garbled words like a fish gasping for air while removing the knife from his pocket and proffering it handle first to the kid as the blood welled between his fingers.
From then on everything seemed to pass in slow motion. He kept his eyes locked on the kid's and saw his thoughts written on the musculature of his face. Confusion, followed by shock, chased by fear. A primal fear, survival instinct kicking in. The kid ran and he bolted after him, but god damn he was fast. He turned corner after corner before finding himself at a dead end. The kid skidded to a halt and moved to face him. Realising there was no escape the kid began to plead. Advancing forward he offered the blade, but the kid didn't understand, didn't recognise the man who had killed his father. So he told him everything. He told him how he and his dad had been good mates before joining up, but after a few months of basic training found that they couldn't stand each other. And then one day, after an argument so stupid no one could no longer remember what it was about, things had gone bad. Very bad. And so he found himself here, offering a knife to a scared kid who didn't understand that he was being given a gift of revenge. The kid was visibly shaken and scared witless. He screamed that he'd never even known his dad, he didn't give a shit, didn't want any revenge. He just wanted to go home. The kid tried to dash past him, but he blocked his path, attempting to force the blade into the kid's grip. They struggled in the rain, before he slipped in a puddle and they both tumbled to the floor. He lay there for some time, disorientated and soaked to the bone, his bloodied fingers aching painfully. He could feel the kid's breathing slow to a crawl beneath him, and with a dreadful certainty he rolled off and saw the blade buried in the kid's chest. He let out a wordless cry of anguish as the kid's breaths came in short, ragged bursts, blood welling upon his lips. All he'd wanted was an end to the guilt. It should have been so simple. He pulled out the knife and the kid gasped as blood gushed from the wound. Putting it to his neck he trembled before drawing the blade across his throat. Slumping forwards he lay there next to his friend's son as the life ebbed out of them and their blood intermingled in the murky rain.
Lone_Prodigy
Member
If At First You Don't Succeed... (1659 words)
March 25, 2323
Priestess Isabella. A goddess.
I gazed across the courtyard at her slender form as she crossed it for the daily prayer service. Her long, shimmering gown reflected the sun and blinded me, yet I could not look away. I took in her waist-length silver hair, her face dipped modestly, and her feet carrying her effortlessly across the stone floor. Her attendants followed, teenage girls dressed in similar garb. They walked through a large wooden door that clanged shut behind them.
I let out the breath I had been holding, which was substantial. The gust caught my partners attention.
Stay alert, Barry, he said.
I turned and gestured across the temple with my free arm. Were on top of a mountain on the most heavily-defended world of the Covenant. I think were pretty safe. Plus, any invaders have to get through me. I puffed out my chest in a show of mock bravado and raised my energy lance.
Barry rolled his eyes. Youre a guard and shes the second-most powerful Priestess on this planet. Id say your chances are slim to none.
Hey, you never know, I retorted. Maybe well be attacked and Ill swoop in like a hero and save her. Just as I spoke the wave transmitter pinged twice.
Two pings: that meant an emergency. My eyes darted to the transmitter then to Barry. False alarm? I said, my mouth suddenly dry.
Spoke too soon, was all I got from Barry as he brushed past me to the transmitter, activating it.
A panicked voice came over the transmitter. Priority one! Priority one! The Hive are attacking! I repeat, the Hive are attacking! They bypassed Alpha Fleet and are currently engaging PDF!
I blinked. The Hive was humanitys greatest foe, an army of giant bugs. We had not been able to penetrate the Orion Nebula while they flew through it freely, leading to the decision to fortify our defenses rather than mount a counterattack. Alpha Fleet was the primary defense force for Earth; the fact that the Hive had escaped their surveillance was troubling.
The transmission cut out, to be replaced by a deep, calming tone. Attention all units, this is General Kray. Earth is under attack by the Hive, but the PDF is holding and Alpha Fleet is on their way. Maintain your stations and go to priority one.
PDF was the Planetary Defense Force. It was specifically designed to neutralize the smaller, suicidal Hive pods who would try to penetrate to the planets surface and hatch its eggs. Nevertheless, I walked over to a console and initiated a lockdown, as per procedure. Priestess, we are under a lockdown. Please remain within the prayer room until the danger has passed, I instructed over the intercom.
Barry and I made a quick patrol, checking all the doors and locks. The temple was sacred ground so all technology was banned; only the outer gate was electronic. I was forced to forgo my energy lance for a sword as we made our rounds. We were nearing our guard post (another exception to the technology rule) when the transmitter pinged again.
EMP! EMP! was the cry. I looked at Barry in shock. The Hive had never employed EMPs. We looked up and saw a bright flash across the sky. I instantly turned away, covering my eyes. When my vision returned I saw ships falling through the atmosphere like a meteor storm.
Barry flicked through the channels on the transmitter. Nothing on the military bands, he said grimly. We still have power down here but the surface defenses will be quickly overwhelmed. Our last hope is for Alpha Fleet to make it here in time.
Nothing we can do but wait it out, I said. We wont be getting reinforcements to defend this place.
--
March 26 2323
We expected the attack to come from the front so I had set up a turret facing the outer gate. However, it was the ground that started rumbling first.
Burrowers? I asked. Barry nodded. There was no time to re-align the turret; I grabbed a bow and arrows and my sword and hurried to the courtyard with Barry.
The stone floor crumbled as the Hive burst forth. I nocked an arrow to my bow and loosed one, impaling a bug cleanly. Barry did the same as we tried to draw the Hive away from the Priestess and her attendants.
Soon the ground was littered with twitching chitin and rankish goo, but the Hive kept coming. They only came up to my knee but what they lacked in size they made up with numbers. Barry and I were slowly forced back towards the guard post as our arrows diminished. Just as we were about to draw our swords and attack at close range, the chittering Hive stopped and retreated.
Barry and I shared and look and set off after the insects. The Hive had discovered the prayer room and were trying to barge in, but the sturdy wooden doors held. That is, until one belched up a glob of acid that impacted the doors and began eating its way through it. We started hacking at the Hive but they ignored us as more vomited acid onto the sizzling doors. Inside, we heard screams as the Priestess and her attendants realized what was happening.
Theres an alternate entrance, Barry yelled at me. He pointed to the left and we hastened that way.
Why dont they use it, I huffed.
Too scared to remember, I guess, Barry replied. We skidded to a halt at the hidden entrance. I pushed in the secret stone and the wall rotated to admit us to the prayer room. The Hive had just gained entrance to the room; luckily the attendants had been backing up towards us.
Go, go! we yelled as they turned and ran. The Priestess was at the opposite end of the room, near the altar. The Hive stood between us and her. A glowing blue ball of energy about the size of an exercise ball was on the altar.
Priestess, over here! I yelled and Barry and I attacked the Hive. Even in the thick of battle I was struck at her beauty and serenity as she circled the altar towards us.
Suddenly a Hive insect leapt at her, its pincers rearing to strike. Time seemed to slow as I ran towards her, but Barry got there first. His sword flashed, bisecting the bug and spraying me with its chitinous goo.
Blech, I sputtered, wiping the ooze out of my eyes. As I regained my vision I saw the Priestess gazing at Barry lovingly. Thank you for saving my life, she breathed.
Barry grinned like an idiot. Tearing my eyes away, I espied the glowing blue ball. Near it was a sheet of paper that read The Rift: for time travel. I looked back at Barry hacking at the remaining Hive insects as the Priestess hung onto his arm and devised a cunning scheme. I stretched a hand towards the energy sphere and was suddenly sucked in.
--
March 26 2323
--scared to remember, I guess said Barry.
I blinked and almost tripped and fell. I had travelled back in time. I could still save the Priestess.
You okay? Barry asked.
I started running for the hidden entrance. Fine, lets move, I replied curtly.
We activated the hidden entrance and ushered the attendants out. I started attacking the Hive, trying to remember where the leaping insect came from. I decided to head straight towards the Priestess. I watched as she circled the altar. Out of the corner of eye I saw motion and turned, swinging my sword.
The Hive insect leapt, not at the Priestess but at me. My sword bisected it cleanly but I was still smothered in goo. As I tried to clear my eyes I heard a scream and a crunching sound. I looked to see Barry in a pile of goo, having just stomped on a Hive insect. The same breathy look was on the Priestess eyes.
Raging, I ran towards the glowing blue ball of energy and stuck my hand in.
--
March 26 2323
--I guess, Barry was saying.
I didnt even break stride this time, knowing what would happen next. In my impatience to usher the attendants out I almost slashed one. Muttering an apology, I decided this time to shadow Barry and steal his glory.
Come on, spread out, Barry told me. I ignored him and hacked at more Hive insects. I saw the Priestess circle the altar. I put myself between her and Barry, sword ready to strike the leaping insect--
Look out! yelled Barry. A Hive insect had appeared behind me, ready to strike. Before I could pivot to attack, Barry shouldered me out of the way and attacked. I fell to the ground unscathed as I heard a familiar screaming. Looking up, I saw the leaping insect get bisected.
You okay? asked Barry in concern. I stood, and seeing the longing look on the Priestesss face, plunged my hand into the glowing blue ball.
--
March 26 2323
My feet pounded the ground as Barry and I ran for the hidden entrance. My mind flew at a mile a minute, trying to discern the best way to gain the Priestesss favour.
I decided I had to take Barry out of the equation. We advanced towards the Priestess and when I saw her circle the altar I stuck my foot out, tripping Barry. With a surprised cry he hit the ground. I pivoted to slash the Hive insect behind me and then spun to bisect the other just as it leapt towards the Priestess.
Standing in a pile of goo as Barry groaned near me, I locked eyes with the Priestess. She was motionless.
Well? I inquired impatiently.
She cocked her head. Who are you again?
With a primal scream I ran for the energy ball.
March 25, 2323
Priestess Isabella. A goddess.
I gazed across the courtyard at her slender form as she crossed it for the daily prayer service. Her long, shimmering gown reflected the sun and blinded me, yet I could not look away. I took in her waist-length silver hair, her face dipped modestly, and her feet carrying her effortlessly across the stone floor. Her attendants followed, teenage girls dressed in similar garb. They walked through a large wooden door that clanged shut behind them.
I let out the breath I had been holding, which was substantial. The gust caught my partners attention.
Stay alert, Barry, he said.
I turned and gestured across the temple with my free arm. Were on top of a mountain on the most heavily-defended world of the Covenant. I think were pretty safe. Plus, any invaders have to get through me. I puffed out my chest in a show of mock bravado and raised my energy lance.
Barry rolled his eyes. Youre a guard and shes the second-most powerful Priestess on this planet. Id say your chances are slim to none.
Hey, you never know, I retorted. Maybe well be attacked and Ill swoop in like a hero and save her. Just as I spoke the wave transmitter pinged twice.
Two pings: that meant an emergency. My eyes darted to the transmitter then to Barry. False alarm? I said, my mouth suddenly dry.
Spoke too soon, was all I got from Barry as he brushed past me to the transmitter, activating it.
A panicked voice came over the transmitter. Priority one! Priority one! The Hive are attacking! I repeat, the Hive are attacking! They bypassed Alpha Fleet and are currently engaging PDF!
I blinked. The Hive was humanitys greatest foe, an army of giant bugs. We had not been able to penetrate the Orion Nebula while they flew through it freely, leading to the decision to fortify our defenses rather than mount a counterattack. Alpha Fleet was the primary defense force for Earth; the fact that the Hive had escaped their surveillance was troubling.
The transmission cut out, to be replaced by a deep, calming tone. Attention all units, this is General Kray. Earth is under attack by the Hive, but the PDF is holding and Alpha Fleet is on their way. Maintain your stations and go to priority one.
PDF was the Planetary Defense Force. It was specifically designed to neutralize the smaller, suicidal Hive pods who would try to penetrate to the planets surface and hatch its eggs. Nevertheless, I walked over to a console and initiated a lockdown, as per procedure. Priestess, we are under a lockdown. Please remain within the prayer room until the danger has passed, I instructed over the intercom.
Barry and I made a quick patrol, checking all the doors and locks. The temple was sacred ground so all technology was banned; only the outer gate was electronic. I was forced to forgo my energy lance for a sword as we made our rounds. We were nearing our guard post (another exception to the technology rule) when the transmitter pinged again.
EMP! EMP! was the cry. I looked at Barry in shock. The Hive had never employed EMPs. We looked up and saw a bright flash across the sky. I instantly turned away, covering my eyes. When my vision returned I saw ships falling through the atmosphere like a meteor storm.
Barry flicked through the channels on the transmitter. Nothing on the military bands, he said grimly. We still have power down here but the surface defenses will be quickly overwhelmed. Our last hope is for Alpha Fleet to make it here in time.
Nothing we can do but wait it out, I said. We wont be getting reinforcements to defend this place.
--
March 26 2323
We expected the attack to come from the front so I had set up a turret facing the outer gate. However, it was the ground that started rumbling first.
Burrowers? I asked. Barry nodded. There was no time to re-align the turret; I grabbed a bow and arrows and my sword and hurried to the courtyard with Barry.
The stone floor crumbled as the Hive burst forth. I nocked an arrow to my bow and loosed one, impaling a bug cleanly. Barry did the same as we tried to draw the Hive away from the Priestess and her attendants.
Soon the ground was littered with twitching chitin and rankish goo, but the Hive kept coming. They only came up to my knee but what they lacked in size they made up with numbers. Barry and I were slowly forced back towards the guard post as our arrows diminished. Just as we were about to draw our swords and attack at close range, the chittering Hive stopped and retreated.
Barry and I shared and look and set off after the insects. The Hive had discovered the prayer room and were trying to barge in, but the sturdy wooden doors held. That is, until one belched up a glob of acid that impacted the doors and began eating its way through it. We started hacking at the Hive but they ignored us as more vomited acid onto the sizzling doors. Inside, we heard screams as the Priestess and her attendants realized what was happening.
Theres an alternate entrance, Barry yelled at me. He pointed to the left and we hastened that way.
Why dont they use it, I huffed.
Too scared to remember, I guess, Barry replied. We skidded to a halt at the hidden entrance. I pushed in the secret stone and the wall rotated to admit us to the prayer room. The Hive had just gained entrance to the room; luckily the attendants had been backing up towards us.
Go, go! we yelled as they turned and ran. The Priestess was at the opposite end of the room, near the altar. The Hive stood between us and her. A glowing blue ball of energy about the size of an exercise ball was on the altar.
Priestess, over here! I yelled and Barry and I attacked the Hive. Even in the thick of battle I was struck at her beauty and serenity as she circled the altar towards us.
Suddenly a Hive insect leapt at her, its pincers rearing to strike. Time seemed to slow as I ran towards her, but Barry got there first. His sword flashed, bisecting the bug and spraying me with its chitinous goo.
Blech, I sputtered, wiping the ooze out of my eyes. As I regained my vision I saw the Priestess gazing at Barry lovingly. Thank you for saving my life, she breathed.
Barry grinned like an idiot. Tearing my eyes away, I espied the glowing blue ball. Near it was a sheet of paper that read The Rift: for time travel. I looked back at Barry hacking at the remaining Hive insects as the Priestess hung onto his arm and devised a cunning scheme. I stretched a hand towards the energy sphere and was suddenly sucked in.
--
March 26 2323
--scared to remember, I guess said Barry.
I blinked and almost tripped and fell. I had travelled back in time. I could still save the Priestess.
You okay? Barry asked.
I started running for the hidden entrance. Fine, lets move, I replied curtly.
We activated the hidden entrance and ushered the attendants out. I started attacking the Hive, trying to remember where the leaping insect came from. I decided to head straight towards the Priestess. I watched as she circled the altar. Out of the corner of eye I saw motion and turned, swinging my sword.
The Hive insect leapt, not at the Priestess but at me. My sword bisected it cleanly but I was still smothered in goo. As I tried to clear my eyes I heard a scream and a crunching sound. I looked to see Barry in a pile of goo, having just stomped on a Hive insect. The same breathy look was on the Priestess eyes.
Raging, I ran towards the glowing blue ball of energy and stuck my hand in.
--
March 26 2323
--I guess, Barry was saying.
I didnt even break stride this time, knowing what would happen next. In my impatience to usher the attendants out I almost slashed one. Muttering an apology, I decided this time to shadow Barry and steal his glory.
Come on, spread out, Barry told me. I ignored him and hacked at more Hive insects. I saw the Priestess circle the altar. I put myself between her and Barry, sword ready to strike the leaping insect--
Look out! yelled Barry. A Hive insect had appeared behind me, ready to strike. Before I could pivot to attack, Barry shouldered me out of the way and attacked. I fell to the ground unscathed as I heard a familiar screaming. Looking up, I saw the leaping insect get bisected.
You okay? asked Barry in concern. I stood, and seeing the longing look on the Priestesss face, plunged my hand into the glowing blue ball.
--
March 26 2323
My feet pounded the ground as Barry and I ran for the hidden entrance. My mind flew at a mile a minute, trying to discern the best way to gain the Priestesss favour.
I decided I had to take Barry out of the equation. We advanced towards the Priestess and when I saw her circle the altar I stuck my foot out, tripping Barry. With a surprised cry he hit the ground. I pivoted to slash the Hive insect behind me and then spun to bisect the other just as it leapt towards the Priestess.
Standing in a pile of goo as Barry groaned near me, I locked eyes with the Priestess. She was motionless.
Well? I inquired impatiently.
She cocked her head. Who are you again?
With a primal scream I ran for the energy ball.
Rush job but oh well.
March 26th, 2015
I don't know what's been happening lately. I think I'm losing track of the time. It feels as though I've been waking up from a deep sleep, but this happens all throughout the 'day'. One minute, it's the middle of the afternoon and I'm sitting between a dark suited man jamming out to his music and a young girl whose face is at least 20% metal reading the newspaper. I'll 'wake up' later and find myself in the middle of a conversation with a middle-aged woman beneath an umbrella amidst a rainstorm. Afternoon, evening, and morning all run together like many different colors into a dark, purplish mesh of confusion.
I'm not sure I fully understand the situations when I awake to find myself in them, but I do know that I carry on exactly like I would if I had been an active participant the entire time. I'm starting to think that I may truly have. I can't stop it. It's moving far too quickly to do anything but anticipate the next scene.
May 8th, 2015
It slowed down for a while there. Not anymore though. The in-betweens are getting much longer. I'm only there for a moment before I flash away once more, the switch flicked. I still don't get what is occurring.
Tuesday at 5:36 pm
Where in the hell did David go? Has anyone seen him lately?
13 people like this
June 30th, 2015
I get it now. My body is not my own. Please, whoever you are, at least give me control for longer periods of time. Please. I miss my life.
August 12th, 2015
STOP IT! JUST STOP IT ALREADY, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Flashes, constant fucking flashes. Where did the inbetween go? WHERE!?!
November 19th, 2015
Fine, you can have it all to yourself. I give up. I've already said my goodbyes. I hope you have a good life.
2 Hours Ago
David's gone, guys. I have no clue where he went, but he won't be coming back. I saw him today. He looked different. Said he wasn't himself and had to leave. I firmly believe he was telling the truth. It was almost as if he had been replaced.
January 1st, 2022
I seem to be going through some weird changes. Tons of memories of experiences I've never had enter my mind constantly. I've also began thinking about my childhood recently. I don't remember it all. It's almost as if I never had one. Everyone has a childhood though, right? I don't remember anything at all about mine. In fact, I don't remember being anything at all about the first twenty or so years of my life. What is happening to me?
I don't know what's been happening lately. I think I'm losing track of the time. It feels as though I've been waking up from a deep sleep, but this happens all throughout the 'day'. One minute, it's the middle of the afternoon and I'm sitting between a dark suited man jamming out to his music and a young girl whose face is at least 20% metal reading the newspaper. I'll 'wake up' later and find myself in the middle of a conversation with a middle-aged woman beneath an umbrella amidst a rainstorm. Afternoon, evening, and morning all run together like many different colors into a dark, purplish mesh of confusion.
I'm not sure I fully understand the situations when I awake to find myself in them, but I do know that I carry on exactly like I would if I had been an active participant the entire time. I'm starting to think that I may truly have. I can't stop it. It's moving far too quickly to do anything but anticipate the next scene.
May 8th, 2015
It slowed down for a while there. Not anymore though. The in-betweens are getting much longer. I'm only there for a moment before I flash away once more, the switch flicked. I still don't get what is occurring.
Tuesday at 5:36 pm
Where in the hell did David go? Has anyone seen him lately?
13 people like this
June 30th, 2015
I get it now. My body is not my own. Please, whoever you are, at least give me control for longer periods of time. Please. I miss my life.
August 12th, 2015
STOP IT! JUST STOP IT ALREADY, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Flashes, constant fucking flashes. Where did the inbetween go? WHERE!?!
November 19th, 2015
Fine, you can have it all to yourself. I give up. I've already said my goodbyes. I hope you have a good life.
2 Hours Ago
David's gone, guys. I have no clue where he went, but he won't be coming back. I saw him today. He looked different. Said he wasn't himself and had to leave. I firmly believe he was telling the truth. It was almost as if he had been replaced.
January 1st, 2022
I seem to be going through some weird changes. Tons of memories of experiences I've never had enter my mind constantly. I've also began thinking about my childhood recently. I don't remember it all. It's almost as if I never had one. Everyone has a childhood though, right? I don't remember anything at all about mine. In fact, I don't remember being anything at all about the first twenty or so years of my life. What is happening to me?
"Dreamy California" (1986 words)
TrekkingToTheGoldenState.blogspot.com
July 5th, 2011
Im still hungover from yesterday, and Im sunburned. Im also covered in mosquito bites. Trying to survive in Michigan is no longer cutting it. I need to make a break. Below are some pictures of me trying to survive a Midwest winter:
PHOTO
Me at my desk trying to write an essay on the Cultural Revolution with several cans of Mountain Dew to fight Seasonal Affect Disorder
PHOTO
Natasha and me napping, surrounded by our pillage: extra-large pizza with extra cheese delivered from Fat Slice, 3 empty pints of Häagen Dazs Rocky Road Ice Cream, and scattered Almond Joy wrappings.
PHOTO
A close up of my nose hairs with what looks like ice you have to look carefully, past the snot
PHOTO
Me (if you can recognize my face behind all the cloudy breath covering it) waiting at a bus stop with so many layers that I look wider than I am tall. But who walks to the gym in a snow storm?
July 7th, 2011
Now, I know this is legit. Im not hungover and Cali still feels right. Everyone dreams of moving to California. As do I. Its high time I act upon these dreams. And Im not delusional into thinking that California is all Hollywood, all tanned and half-naked women, all about midday surfing, and all about passing celebrities in the grocery store. I even know its not all sunshine. After all, my aunt lived in San Francisco for a semester. She lived in the mission district. Thats the new cool neighborhood. If you didnt know. Cold. But was it like rural Michigan? Wheres its legal to hunt if youre blind without a partner who has typical vision? No. No, my friends. It was quite different indeed.
July 29th, 2011
Well, this is the start. I have my plane tickets and I gave my two-week notice at work. I know. What sort of blog shares story of travel without a road trip? Well, Natasha said she was going to drive out with me, but shes too pissed at me for leaving, and changed her mind.  Im sorry Natasha, but a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do. Besides, Ill call every day!
August 5th, 2011
I arrived in San Jose at 11 am on a red eye. According to the looks of the people rushing to arrive their loved ones with full arms, I think there is going to be delicious Asian cuisine in this area. I went through to the street area after picking up my luggage and oh my god. The air! It was amazing! Youd think rural Michigan would have good air, but this place just smelled and felt like the air was embracing me! I love California!
August 7th, 2011
Im staying with my friend, Scott, in Mountain View. Thanks Scott. Im in Googleville! This is amazing! There was a test-driven self-driving car in this very city! I feel like Im living in the future! Okay, well, its not that futuristic, but I just feel so accepted here. I think everyone is on the same brain wave as me here.
September 24th, 2011
No mom, I dont miss the Fall colors in Michigan. Do you know why? Everyone is already wearing beanies and goose-down jackets in Michigan. Not me. Im wearing a T-shirt. And, its a T-shirt that I got for free at a job fair. Among a bunch of other cool stuff I got for free like a hacky-sack with a start-up companys logo! This place is the bomb. I love it.
October 19th, 2011
It turns out there are still Fall colors. And I was told at a local coffee shop (yes, they have those here; theyre not all driven away by Starbucks) that well have Fall colors randomly throughout all months of the year! Score! I love California.
November 15, 2011
Natasha dumped me. Natasha, come back! She wont answer my calls anymore.
November 17, 2011
Im glad I love Californian weather so much because Scott said heating is really expensive with the poor insulation here. But who needs insulation?
November 20th, 2011
Scott said he needs to really focus on his work so I need to find a place. Im sure all apartments in California are the bomb. The landlords here seem really down-to-earth.
December 2nd, 2011
Some people wear scarves around here. Its so cute. I suppose its fashionable. I love California and its cuteness. And while Ive had a few moments of bad luck with housing since I didnt know that a one-bedroom apartment would be so expensive, I think Im gonna get lucky on Sunday.
December 4th, 2011
Im in love with it! I found a place for $500/month. Expensive, I know. And its next to the city dump. But nevertheless, it just shows how much people want to move here. I suppose everyone here is in love with California. I can appreciate that.
January 5th, 2012
I didnt go home for the holidays because I ran out of money. I thought Id just join one of the many start-ups around here but thats not panning out too well. But the people at REI were so friendly when I inquired about a job there (but they didnt have one). I was looking at people trying on boots and thought I really need to get back into running. The trails here are just stunning. I love this place. Therefore, I know that California will return my affection with a regular paycheck. This state can just feel my passion for her.
Mom, Dad, sorry I couldnt come home. I miss you! But come out here if you can! Talk about a good way to get a break from barren snow lands!
January 10th, 2012
I got a job! I do IT support for Dr. Chung at Chungs Accupuncture! And Ive learned so much about acupuncture even from Day 1. In fact, I think I might stop taking meds for my bipolar. I talked to one of Dr. Chungs clients and she was so cool. She sort of reminded me of Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. I was always hoping Id meet someone like her in real life. Only in California. She told me about this label called unipolar mania. Yknow, now that I think about it, screw this whole bipolar thing. It drugs out all my creativity and vitality. California, if Im going to love you, I will do so whole-heartedly and med-free! Starting today, I will stop taking my meds. Mom, dont worry: if need me, Dr. Chung can hook me up with some herbal tea! Gosh, I love how everything is just so natural in California.
January 12th, 2012
I still need to hit up the trails. Because I can wear Converse year-round here, I will. I found this site where I can design and build my own shoes. (I surfed the net for about 10 hours straight. I mean, even the Internet seems more exciting in California.) I spent another 2 hours studying color therapy so that Id pick the perfect color for my new sneaks.
January 24th, 2012
I was on the phone with the Converse dealers, and then FedEx, and then the dealers again. They thought I still lived with Scott. And then they thought we were partners or something. But the biggest problem was that they didnt want to send me my hard-earned shoes.
February 16th, 2012
I slept for 15 hours straight. I told Dr. Chung that Im still trying to manage my unipolar mania. But he seemed irritated when he reminded me that I simply needed to be at work on time and handle my bipolar disorder. It was weird to see him upset it was only my 4th time arriving late. He seemed to be swearing in Mandarin as he walked away after looking down at my shoes.
March 5th, 2012
Dr. Chung fired me.  Its OK, though. I have total faith in this city, and in this state. This land will help me figure out how to live on it. Ill run all through it with my darling shoes. These shoes will carry me to my dreams.
March 19th, 2012
I havent slept for three days. I just have all these awesome creative ideas for new apps. I dont need Dr. Chung. I just need California and all her invitations to explore my entrepreneurial inspiration to its full extent.
March 29th, 2012
Record time in coding apps. But I couldnt sell them. But I did put them up to download for free. I mean, thats how marketing works sometimes, right? Californian buyers will love them, and then me!
April 17th, 2012
I had to move out. I know its a bummer, but in this beautiful state, everything is convenient. For example, I had to throw out a bunch of crap that accumulated in my apartment, but the dump is right next to me! However, I wasnt so lucky on my way back. I went to one of the best burger joints ever and discovered that a really hot girl was looking at my bad-ass, homemade shoes. I spent about 6 hours making these shoes. I thought shed be impressed with my diligent art work thats also so functional but she just raised one eyebrow and walked away with her monster burger.
April 18th, 2012
Scott said he couldnt let me back in so I slept on a courtyard bench near a park. Its not as bad as it sounds. I mean, Californian parks are always well-kept and I was just hanging out after walking into Kaiser with my resume in hand. I sat down for a while after submitting my resume, but decided to go on a run in my little homemade bad boys. I suppose I havent broken them in completely. I wore a bit through the heel of the sole and twisted my ankle. But I was able to make it back to Kaiser. Best place to be when hurt, right? But I wasnt in the right department, which I think was on the other side of the campus. I thought Id just take a quick snooze before going finding the right building, but before I knew it, everything had shut down and it was the next day. So, as I said, it wasnt as bad as sleeping on a park bench. I mean, even though I did just that, hopefully Ive elucidated the situation. Sleeping on a park bench in California is like sleeping in a Fairmount Hotel in Michigan. This place is kick-ass. And Kaiser will nurse me to good health; this place just loves me.
April 21st, 2012
I wont be able to walk on my right foot for a while. I also have very terrible medical bills right now.
May 9th, 2012
I cant talk for long because Im just using my friends phone. I met him at the library and were driving north to Napa for some wine tasting!
May 11th, 2012
I think there might be a lot of opportunity in the business of medical marijuana in northern California.
May 20th, 2012
I spent the night in jail! I know this sounds bad, but it really isnt. I think there was just a big misunderstanding about the packages of weed I had in my backpack. People here are really understanding and forgiving, anyway. I could probably share a hit with Mr. Wright. (Hes one of the officers.) (Im just joking, Mom.)
July 4th, 2012
I only have a few more seconds on this public computer in prison so I cant really write for very lo--
TrekkingToTheGoldenState.blogspot.com
July 5th, 2011
Im still hungover from yesterday, and Im sunburned. Im also covered in mosquito bites. Trying to survive in Michigan is no longer cutting it. I need to make a break. Below are some pictures of me trying to survive a Midwest winter:
PHOTO
Me at my desk trying to write an essay on the Cultural Revolution with several cans of Mountain Dew to fight Seasonal Affect Disorder
PHOTO
Natasha and me napping, surrounded by our pillage: extra-large pizza with extra cheese delivered from Fat Slice, 3 empty pints of Häagen Dazs Rocky Road Ice Cream, and scattered Almond Joy wrappings.
PHOTO
A close up of my nose hairs with what looks like ice you have to look carefully, past the snot
PHOTO
Me (if you can recognize my face behind all the cloudy breath covering it) waiting at a bus stop with so many layers that I look wider than I am tall. But who walks to the gym in a snow storm?
July 7th, 2011
Now, I know this is legit. Im not hungover and Cali still feels right. Everyone dreams of moving to California. As do I. Its high time I act upon these dreams. And Im not delusional into thinking that California is all Hollywood, all tanned and half-naked women, all about midday surfing, and all about passing celebrities in the grocery store. I even know its not all sunshine. After all, my aunt lived in San Francisco for a semester. She lived in the mission district. Thats the new cool neighborhood. If you didnt know. Cold. But was it like rural Michigan? Wheres its legal to hunt if youre blind without a partner who has typical vision? No. No, my friends. It was quite different indeed.
July 29th, 2011
Well, this is the start. I have my plane tickets and I gave my two-week notice at work. I know. What sort of blog shares story of travel without a road trip? Well, Natasha said she was going to drive out with me, but shes too pissed at me for leaving, and changed her mind.  Im sorry Natasha, but a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do. Besides, Ill call every day!
August 5th, 2011
I arrived in San Jose at 11 am on a red eye. According to the looks of the people rushing to arrive their loved ones with full arms, I think there is going to be delicious Asian cuisine in this area. I went through to the street area after picking up my luggage and oh my god. The air! It was amazing! Youd think rural Michigan would have good air, but this place just smelled and felt like the air was embracing me! I love California!
August 7th, 2011
Im staying with my friend, Scott, in Mountain View. Thanks Scott. Im in Googleville! This is amazing! There was a test-driven self-driving car in this very city! I feel like Im living in the future! Okay, well, its not that futuristic, but I just feel so accepted here. I think everyone is on the same brain wave as me here.
September 24th, 2011
No mom, I dont miss the Fall colors in Michigan. Do you know why? Everyone is already wearing beanies and goose-down jackets in Michigan. Not me. Im wearing a T-shirt. And, its a T-shirt that I got for free at a job fair. Among a bunch of other cool stuff I got for free like a hacky-sack with a start-up companys logo! This place is the bomb. I love it.
October 19th, 2011
It turns out there are still Fall colors. And I was told at a local coffee shop (yes, they have those here; theyre not all driven away by Starbucks) that well have Fall colors randomly throughout all months of the year! Score! I love California.
November 15, 2011
Natasha dumped me. Natasha, come back! She wont answer my calls anymore.
November 17, 2011
Im glad I love Californian weather so much because Scott said heating is really expensive with the poor insulation here. But who needs insulation?
November 20th, 2011
Scott said he needs to really focus on his work so I need to find a place. Im sure all apartments in California are the bomb. The landlords here seem really down-to-earth.
December 2nd, 2011
Some people wear scarves around here. Its so cute. I suppose its fashionable. I love California and its cuteness. And while Ive had a few moments of bad luck with housing since I didnt know that a one-bedroom apartment would be so expensive, I think Im gonna get lucky on Sunday.
December 4th, 2011
Im in love with it! I found a place for $500/month. Expensive, I know. And its next to the city dump. But nevertheless, it just shows how much people want to move here. I suppose everyone here is in love with California. I can appreciate that.
January 5th, 2012
I didnt go home for the holidays because I ran out of money. I thought Id just join one of the many start-ups around here but thats not panning out too well. But the people at REI were so friendly when I inquired about a job there (but they didnt have one). I was looking at people trying on boots and thought I really need to get back into running. The trails here are just stunning. I love this place. Therefore, I know that California will return my affection with a regular paycheck. This state can just feel my passion for her.
Mom, Dad, sorry I couldnt come home. I miss you! But come out here if you can! Talk about a good way to get a break from barren snow lands!
January 10th, 2012
I got a job! I do IT support for Dr. Chung at Chungs Accupuncture! And Ive learned so much about acupuncture even from Day 1. In fact, I think I might stop taking meds for my bipolar. I talked to one of Dr. Chungs clients and she was so cool. She sort of reminded me of Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. I was always hoping Id meet someone like her in real life. Only in California. She told me about this label called unipolar mania. Yknow, now that I think about it, screw this whole bipolar thing. It drugs out all my creativity and vitality. California, if Im going to love you, I will do so whole-heartedly and med-free! Starting today, I will stop taking my meds. Mom, dont worry: if need me, Dr. Chung can hook me up with some herbal tea! Gosh, I love how everything is just so natural in California.
January 12th, 2012
I still need to hit up the trails. Because I can wear Converse year-round here, I will. I found this site where I can design and build my own shoes. (I surfed the net for about 10 hours straight. I mean, even the Internet seems more exciting in California.) I spent another 2 hours studying color therapy so that Id pick the perfect color for my new sneaks.
January 24th, 2012
I was on the phone with the Converse dealers, and then FedEx, and then the dealers again. They thought I still lived with Scott. And then they thought we were partners or something. But the biggest problem was that they didnt want to send me my hard-earned shoes.
February 16th, 2012
I slept for 15 hours straight. I told Dr. Chung that Im still trying to manage my unipolar mania. But he seemed irritated when he reminded me that I simply needed to be at work on time and handle my bipolar disorder. It was weird to see him upset it was only my 4th time arriving late. He seemed to be swearing in Mandarin as he walked away after looking down at my shoes.
March 5th, 2012
Dr. Chung fired me.  Its OK, though. I have total faith in this city, and in this state. This land will help me figure out how to live on it. Ill run all through it with my darling shoes. These shoes will carry me to my dreams.
March 19th, 2012
I havent slept for three days. I just have all these awesome creative ideas for new apps. I dont need Dr. Chung. I just need California and all her invitations to explore my entrepreneurial inspiration to its full extent.
March 29th, 2012
Record time in coding apps. But I couldnt sell them. But I did put them up to download for free. I mean, thats how marketing works sometimes, right? Californian buyers will love them, and then me!
April 17th, 2012
I had to move out. I know its a bummer, but in this beautiful state, everything is convenient. For example, I had to throw out a bunch of crap that accumulated in my apartment, but the dump is right next to me! However, I wasnt so lucky on my way back. I went to one of the best burger joints ever and discovered that a really hot girl was looking at my bad-ass, homemade shoes. I spent about 6 hours making these shoes. I thought shed be impressed with my diligent art work thats also so functional but she just raised one eyebrow and walked away with her monster burger.
April 18th, 2012
Scott said he couldnt let me back in so I slept on a courtyard bench near a park. Its not as bad as it sounds. I mean, Californian parks are always well-kept and I was just hanging out after walking into Kaiser with my resume in hand. I sat down for a while after submitting my resume, but decided to go on a run in my little homemade bad boys. I suppose I havent broken them in completely. I wore a bit through the heel of the sole and twisted my ankle. But I was able to make it back to Kaiser. Best place to be when hurt, right? But I wasnt in the right department, which I think was on the other side of the campus. I thought Id just take a quick snooze before going finding the right building, but before I knew it, everything had shut down and it was the next day. So, as I said, it wasnt as bad as sleeping on a park bench. I mean, even though I did just that, hopefully Ive elucidated the situation. Sleeping on a park bench in California is like sleeping in a Fairmount Hotel in Michigan. This place is kick-ass. And Kaiser will nurse me to good health; this place just loves me.
April 21st, 2012
I wont be able to walk on my right foot for a while. I also have very terrible medical bills right now.
May 9th, 2012
I cant talk for long because Im just using my friends phone. I met him at the library and were driving north to Napa for some wine tasting!
May 11th, 2012
I think there might be a lot of opportunity in the business of medical marijuana in northern California.
May 20th, 2012
I spent the night in jail! I know this sounds bad, but it really isnt. I think there was just a big misunderstanding about the packages of weed I had in my backpack. People here are really understanding and forgiving, anyway. I could probably share a hit with Mr. Wright. (Hes one of the officers.) (Im just joking, Mom.)
July 4th, 2012
I only have a few more seconds on this public computer in prison so I cant really write for very lo--
ZephyrFate
Banned
I have something, but I don't have any time. I'll be working on it tomorrow though..
Hey all, feel like I should write something. But I got nothing.
If I did something, it would probably be something stream of consciousness, rather than trying to congeal something from a patchwork of thoughts and notes. Timewise, it would make sense, but I dont know what I would write about. Maybe the problem is that I dont want to write about unrequited. Seems like old territory for myself, a pair of holey socks. And if I did write, it would have been probably something metafictional, and I definitely dont want to do that. It seems like most of my lately stuff is writing about not writing or some such.
The problem I think if I were someone who would go out into the woods with like a spear or a rifle or even a Lewis and Clark expedition, then I would have some kind of letter to write. Along with a beard, of course. The wilderness, thatd be some kind of inspiration, I think. But Id have to mind the rambling. Wish I had five lovers. I could write a letter to each. Id have five chances to be good. Getting harder for chances to be really good. And one wouldnt do. Writing five letters to a single lover seems silly. Seems excessive.
Yeah, its kind of easy to get distracted from writing nowadays. Writing coherently, at least. Without rambling. Check the blogs, the news aggregates, the sports sites. F5 the forums. Wiki. Hulu. Youtube. There goes a writing session. But it doesnt help that I might sit down to write but then decide to wash the dirt off shoe soles that had been traipsing in mud. And of course, then I had to clean under the fingernails before deciding that I needed to cut them. I hate cutting them. And that Phil Hartman was funny. He had a smooth way to make the most standard of dialogue sound funny. Cadence and inflection plus a sly smile. Im yo-yoing and and pacing and trying to think of something to write, but I dont think Ill come up with something before times up. Anyway, I would be pleasantly surprised if there were more tracks to the new Radiohead, but Im not holding my breath.
Feels like for this challenge I should do something about revolution and liberty. I mean, the secondary objective is epistolary. Revolutions riding out from tweets and facebook msgs. But I dont think Id do it justice. Id probably make a flippant statement while people are clutching onto something important to them. Hopefully, itll come to them. Think Ill just leave this as an incomplete thought. But I wonder wholl be left to hate us for our freedoms.
So I got nothing.
Im only posting because when your muse is being a bitch and wont send love your way, might as well bitch about it. But I think Im verging on cliché. Maybe next challenge Ill come up with something. But I wouldn't hold my breath.
By The Way, this post has 498 and ten words.
If I did something, it would probably be something stream of consciousness, rather than trying to congeal something from a patchwork of thoughts and notes. Timewise, it would make sense, but I dont know what I would write about. Maybe the problem is that I dont want to write about unrequited. Seems like old territory for myself, a pair of holey socks. And if I did write, it would have been probably something metafictional, and I definitely dont want to do that. It seems like most of my lately stuff is writing about not writing or some such.
The problem I think if I were someone who would go out into the woods with like a spear or a rifle or even a Lewis and Clark expedition, then I would have some kind of letter to write. Along with a beard, of course. The wilderness, thatd be some kind of inspiration, I think. But Id have to mind the rambling. Wish I had five lovers. I could write a letter to each. Id have five chances to be good. Getting harder for chances to be really good. And one wouldnt do. Writing five letters to a single lover seems silly. Seems excessive.
Yeah, its kind of easy to get distracted from writing nowadays. Writing coherently, at least. Without rambling. Check the blogs, the news aggregates, the sports sites. F5 the forums. Wiki. Hulu. Youtube. There goes a writing session. But it doesnt help that I might sit down to write but then decide to wash the dirt off shoe soles that had been traipsing in mud. And of course, then I had to clean under the fingernails before deciding that I needed to cut them. I hate cutting them. And that Phil Hartman was funny. He had a smooth way to make the most standard of dialogue sound funny. Cadence and inflection plus a sly smile. Im yo-yoing and and pacing and trying to think of something to write, but I dont think Ill come up with something before times up. Anyway, I would be pleasantly surprised if there were more tracks to the new Radiohead, but Im not holding my breath.
Feels like for this challenge I should do something about revolution and liberty. I mean, the secondary objective is epistolary. Revolutions riding out from tweets and facebook msgs. But I dont think Id do it justice. Id probably make a flippant statement while people are clutching onto something important to them. Hopefully, itll come to them. Think Ill just leave this as an incomplete thought. But I wonder wholl be left to hate us for our freedoms.
So I got nothing.
Im only posting because when your muse is being a bitch and wont send love your way, might as well bitch about it. But I think Im verging on cliché. Maybe next challenge Ill come up with something. But I wouldn't hold my breath.
By The Way, this post has 498 and ten words.
Apologia (600)
Sanctus Deus.
All that I have done. All that I do. All that I will do. It is all for love of you.
If I have been proud, it was pride in my nearness to you. If I have looked above myself, it is because I looked to you. If I refused to bend when ordered, it was because I could not bear to bow to any but you.
When you cast me out, I wept.
Uriel avowed in the Garden that I acted out of jealousy, but it was not so. It is true that I gave the woman the fruit, its flesh red and juicy, dripping with knowledge. Knowledge you said you meant to keep from her.
But did you?
I coiled myself around the tree, feeling its power wash over me, heavy with wisdom and age. I recognized it as a part of you. And I wished to share it with the woman and the man. They were to be perfect. without fault. Made in your image. What better way to bring them nearer that image than to give them a part of your knowledge? A portion of wisdom.
I offered the woman the fruit, dripping with knowledge. She knew what it was. She knew what you had told her of it. But free will and free thought you gave the man and the woman. Just as you gave me.
She made her choice.
It was not in jealousy that I offered the fruit, but love. Love of you and your creation. And your creation became closer to you.
As you intended.
Gabriel proclaimed in Gethsemane that I acted out of hatred. Not so. I whispered in the traitor's ear, true. I bade him kiss your son and betray him, for love and necessity, held thirty pieces of silver before his eyes.
Was this not just as you wished it?
Your son was made mortal that he might take on his shoulders all the darkness of the mortal world. All that men do, in free will and knowledge, all the iniquities of the scions of the fruit, might yet have been unforgivable and irredeemable.
For without the cross, without the death in blood and pain of your son, your flesh, whence would forgiveness have come? Whence redemption?
It was not hatred that led me to Gethsemane, but love. Love of you, and a wish to please you by aiding your son in the fulfillment of his purpose.
As you intended.
Michael declares that I act in vindictiveness even now. That when I entice man and woman to sin, I go against your wishes, petty and spiteful. I say again that it is not so.
That I entice man and woman, I do not deny. I tug at anger, pull on fear, dangle them on strings of sadness and joy, remorse and hatred and contempt and envy. I try them in the crucible of the world of flesh and bone, fruit and silver--virtuous and vile alike.
For what is virtue without temptation? Of what worth is free will when there is but one choice?
What I do brings order. Balance. Meaning. It is necessary and needful.
As you knew, when you cast me out. For love of you, I test the will and strength of your greatest creations. Cull them. Forge them. Make them stronger, greater.
As you intended.
I was the Morning Star, your highest servant, your closest confidant. I was the Son of Dawn, the Light-Bringer. I stood at your right hand. Let it be so again.
All that I have done, was for love of you.
And I love you still.
Amen.
Sanctus Deus.
All that I have done. All that I do. All that I will do. It is all for love of you.
If I have been proud, it was pride in my nearness to you. If I have looked above myself, it is because I looked to you. If I refused to bend when ordered, it was because I could not bear to bow to any but you.
When you cast me out, I wept.
Uriel avowed in the Garden that I acted out of jealousy, but it was not so. It is true that I gave the woman the fruit, its flesh red and juicy, dripping with knowledge. Knowledge you said you meant to keep from her.
But did you?
I coiled myself around the tree, feeling its power wash over me, heavy with wisdom and age. I recognized it as a part of you. And I wished to share it with the woman and the man. They were to be perfect. without fault. Made in your image. What better way to bring them nearer that image than to give them a part of your knowledge? A portion of wisdom.
I offered the woman the fruit, dripping with knowledge. She knew what it was. She knew what you had told her of it. But free will and free thought you gave the man and the woman. Just as you gave me.
She made her choice.
It was not in jealousy that I offered the fruit, but love. Love of you and your creation. And your creation became closer to you.
As you intended.
Gabriel proclaimed in Gethsemane that I acted out of hatred. Not so. I whispered in the traitor's ear, true. I bade him kiss your son and betray him, for love and necessity, held thirty pieces of silver before his eyes.
Was this not just as you wished it?
Your son was made mortal that he might take on his shoulders all the darkness of the mortal world. All that men do, in free will and knowledge, all the iniquities of the scions of the fruit, might yet have been unforgivable and irredeemable.
For without the cross, without the death in blood and pain of your son, your flesh, whence would forgiveness have come? Whence redemption?
It was not hatred that led me to Gethsemane, but love. Love of you, and a wish to please you by aiding your son in the fulfillment of his purpose.
As you intended.
Michael declares that I act in vindictiveness even now. That when I entice man and woman to sin, I go against your wishes, petty and spiteful. I say again that it is not so.
That I entice man and woman, I do not deny. I tug at anger, pull on fear, dangle them on strings of sadness and joy, remorse and hatred and contempt and envy. I try them in the crucible of the world of flesh and bone, fruit and silver--virtuous and vile alike.
For what is virtue without temptation? Of what worth is free will when there is but one choice?
What I do brings order. Balance. Meaning. It is necessary and needful.
As you knew, when you cast me out. For love of you, I test the will and strength of your greatest creations. Cull them. Forge them. Make them stronger, greater.
As you intended.
I was the Morning Star, your highest servant, your closest confidant. I was the Son of Dawn, the Light-Bringer. I stood at your right hand. Let it be so again.
All that I have done, was for love of you.
And I love you still.
Amen.
www.livejournal.com/users/ihavegodsdick
Him?
Dec. 12th Fuck.
Dec. 12th Fuck!
Dec. 13th Fuck.
Dec. 14th But fuck..?
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuk
Dec. 15th Seriously what the fuck? Really; what the fuck? Who does she think she is? Add up your shit!
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuk2
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuknewgod
Dec. 15th This is it. We've had it. Playing till we bomb, exploding till we fuk... It doesn't make sense, and it doesn't have to. We know, and that's what matters.
Dec. 15th Are you still there?
Dec. 15th I'm not; meet meeeee.
Dec. 15th At the fuking place. IF you need a map google me.
Dec. 16th 12:09 PM I love you.
Um...
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuknewgod2
Dec. 18th Cunt.
Dec. 19th Hun, call me.
Dec. 19th 3:42 PM Hun, fuk. Call me. I love you.
Dec. 19th 3:46 PM Call me.
ENDING
Him?
Dec. 12th Fuck.
Dec. 12th Fuck!
Dec. 13th Fuck.
Dec. 14th But fuck..?
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuk
Dec. 15th Seriously what the fuck? Really; what the fuck? Who does she think she is? Add up your shit!
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuk2
*Erase*
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuknewgod
Dec. 15th This is it. We've had it. Playing till we bomb, exploding till we fuk... It doesn't make sense, and it doesn't have to. We know, and that's what matters.
Dec. 15th Are you still there?
Dec. 15th I'm not; meet meeeee.
Dec. 15th At the fuking place. IF you need a map google me.
Dec. 16th 12:09 PM I love you.
Um...
www.livejournal.com/users/iknowbutfuknewgod2
Dec. 18th Cunt.
Dec. 19th Hun, call me.
Dec. 19th 3:42 PM Hun, fuk. Call me. I love you.
Dec. 19th 3:46 PM Call me.
ENDING
False Witness
Member
Aw man, I totally forgot this was due today.
What do you got cowboy? Post it. Some of us don't have good memories. Others we can blackmail.
edit: ps. I know I don't have to say this to most of you, but with the influx of jnrs etc: don't vote for me, if your only reason is simply and only because of the picture and presentation, especially if you are new or something. That would be horrible for me. I do it for myself more than anything...
We leave how people vote to themselves, self regulation, flexibility etc, so this is a polite request from me more than anything. :/
edit: ps. I know I don't have to say this to most of you, but with the influx of jnrs etc: don't vote for me, if your only reason is simply and only because of the picture and presentation, especially if you are new or something. That would be horrible for me. I do it for myself more than anything...
We leave how people vote to themselves, self regulation, flexibility etc, so this is a polite request from me more than anything. :/
- Status