Man, I REALLY like what I'm seeing from you guys. Really, you discredit yourselves. That's why I think I'm gonna take it easy on writing stories for a while, let someone else have the thread, you know?
That and I'm swamped with work. But really, Bubbles, I would like to see more from you. I can't do short stories like that very well, mine have to be long...
I can try...Originally Posted by Justlookaway
Man, I REALLY like what I'm seeing from you guys. Really, you discredit yourselves. That's why I think I'm gonna take it easy on writing stories for a while, let someone else have the thread, you know
That and I'm swamped with work. But really, Bubbles, I would like to see more from you. I can't do short stories like that very well, mine have to be long...
Now, a preview for my next fanfic.
It was late at the offices of the 2K police HQ. A plethora of hallways crisscrossed one another, lights darkened. But in one, the light was on, through the blinds. The silhouetted blinds on the glass nearly disguised the words "Private Eye." Inside, the smell of a big, fat cigar hung heavy in the air. On the desk, a nameplate stood. And on it, the words engraved in brass spelled "Circus, Private Eye."
Man... I hope I get to be some kind of crazy-man eating-lazer shooting-money stealing-lamp collector.
Private Eyes: Chapter 1
A knock on the door interrupted my total Cigar'ing. Annoyed, I called out "Hello? Who's there, come in." The door handle turned, and clicked as the mechanism was let loose. I faced my chair away from the door, looking out the window at a full moon. The blue light shone almost hauntingly through the smoke of my fat cigar. A tiny cough reminded me I had company.
I turned around, and was surprised by a young dame. Blonde, slightly wavy hair was contrasting nicely in my brown and moonlit office. Her eyes were tearing up. Probably because she's reporting a murder. Her quiet, yet strong voice spoke up. "Umm, excuse me, uh, Mr. Circus, but I'd like to report a robbery. Nope. It was just my cigar. "Alright," I said in my gruffest, toughest private eye voice I could muster. "What was robbed, and from where?"
"Well, I was out getting groceries..." Cut the cra.p, woman. Just tell me what and where. My penetrating glance must have gotten through to her, and she straightened up and said "My monkey. It was stolen from my house, on the other side of town."
"Isn't that place called Rapture or somethin?"
"Yes."
"I'll get right on it." I said, giving her my nicest private eye smile. She turned to walk away, when I said "Wait! What's your name?"
She turned around, looking me right in my damn face.
"Call me Shocky."
--------------------
...Oh lawd, what is this madness? What is this well-written madness?
No, really, I'm flattered at being a character in a fanfic, and I really like your style of writing and flawless interpretation of a private-eye's inner thought proccess.
And, not to mention, your use of the word 'Dame' made me grin. Needless to say, I'm very hooked on the adventures of this completely BAMF decective.
Oh, just wait, I have big twists planned, and some familiar characters. In fact, I think this story might come in 10 parts (at the MOST).
I am very eager to see these deveopments.
Nice Circus! Like I said... I hope I get to be some kind of crazy-man eating-lazer shooting-money stealing-lamp collector.
Well, that's a bit much.
But just you wait.
Private Eyes: Chapter 2
Out we walked into the darkened, rain slicked parking lot. The rough asphalt had cracks and dips in it full of water, reflecting the silver light of the moon. It cast an eerie light in the lot. I pressed the unlock button on my key; the headlights of my black porsche flashed white and yellow, enhancing the shadows in the lot. Opening the passenger door, I motioned for Shocky to get into the car. I was a gentleman; always had been.
I walked over to my side of the car, got in, and twisted the key into the ignition. The radio blasted on, singing the mournful tune of Free Bird. I smiled. My favorite song. Shifting the gears, I pulled forward, and out onto the street, cast in an orange light by the street lamps. As they passed by, and by, and by, my vision started to fog....
... And I was in a courtroom. A man with blonde hair stood at the accused table. He had a black pinstripe suit on, with a red rose in the breast pocket. Typical of a thug like him. The officer at the front rose, and called out "All rise! The honorable judge Judgeofwings presiding."
A man walked up to the judge's stand. He looked around the room with scrutinizing eyes, lingering on me for but a moment before moving onto the accused table. In a strong, powerful voice, one befitting of an official of the 2K police headquarters, he said "Mr. Bubbles, you have been called here today on charges of theft, breaking in, and disrupting the peace. My report here says you.. Hmm... Stole monkeys, is that correct?"
In a nonchalant, uncaring voice, Bubbles responded. "Yeh, dat was me. But what do you 'tink you fat whackjobs gonna do 'bout it?"
Judge smashed his hammer down on the stand. "I sentence you to 5 years of hard time! Take him away, boys." The officer moved forward, and cuffed Bubbles. Turning back at me, he spat "Dis ain't ovah, Circus!!! Not by a longshot!!"
I was woken back into the world by the shout of Shocky. "We're here, you crazy bastard!" Jesus. Was I really driving that hectically?" Pulling the car to a stop, I opened the door for Shocky. She stepped out, her hair ruffled. She moved to go get her bag from the back of the car; I stopped her. "Allow me, madam." Moving slowly over, I inserted the key into the trunk. Slowly, I creaked it open just a bit, and a flash of white and black jumped out at me.
-----------------------------------
Daddy
I'm walking through the most beautiful city on earth. The cold metal floors are nice and smooth, and the water makes the city glitter like stars in the sky. At least, that's what someone told me...a long time ago. I've never seen starts before, but someone told me they were beautiful. I'm singing a tune that they taught us in school, and I'm looking for something special.
I skip along through this lovely playground. It's dark, but that's wonderful. I love this city and all it's lovely darkness. Someone I knew once had dark hair...she was beautiful, like the stars. I wish I could remember her, but then I realize how good my life is, I don't need to remember anyone else. I have Charles.
Charles is about the biggest guy in Rapture. He's huge. He's cuddly, he's funny, and he loves me. He kind of lumbers around everywhere, like a big teddy bear, maybe a panda. Anyway, I'll humm and skip, and he tell him jokes. Usually he's quiet, but occasionally he'll laugh. He has a real funny laugh.
And sometimes...Charles gets mad. That's when the monsters come. They're horrible, things with twisted human bodies and animal faces. They want to get me, to kill me. I don't know why, I've never done anything to hurt one of them...never. I just look after the angels, collecting the life out of them to help others...that's what they taught me in school.
I can't remember much before school. I remember pain, potato chips, and some lady crying. And I don't know why, but it makes me sad, all the blackness before school, before Charles. When I start trying to remember, I usually cry. I want to remember, but something tells me I don't want to. It's complicated, life is complicated.
Now I'm walking with Charles, and I see an angel on the ground. He's lying in a puddle of life, beautiful life, something that this city needs. Something that I get to give to it. I'm helping! "Look, Charles, an angel."
I take out my toy and put it into the angel. It's a funny toy. I pinch it into the angel, I feel the wall of muscle, and I push forward, shoving past it into the vast lake of life. I pull the trigger.
"Lorie?" A voice calls out.
I look behind me. A man without a mask, one with long brown hair and a beard, wearing a green jacket with a white shirt. He's looking at me as if I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Lorie...sounds familiar, I think she might be one of my friends.
Charles growls.
"For God's sake, Lorie, it's me." The man walks forward, his arms extended as if he wants to hug me. I wouldn't mind that.
Charles runs forward shoving him.
The man is flung against the wall, I hear a loud crack and wonder if he's okay. He coughs up life and stands up..."You bastard, keeping me away from her."
He snaps his fingers and Charles is on fire. Charles' eyes turn red, and her runs at the man.
The man calls out, "I love you, princess."
I remember now.
"DADDY!" I cry out.
I here the splatter of life, and the whirring of Charles' arm. Already I miss him.
And CoV. I really like this fanfic thing you're doin. It's cool, I didn't know you were a detective
Oh dear. JLA, that fanfic just made me quite sad. :[ Damn you and your writing skills.
Ha ha i loved my appearance in this fanfic,it was hilarious!
great job as well JLA!
Sorry I haven't written in a while, folks. It's coming this week, I promise. As a (sort of) payment, I give you a haiku.
A toss of the hair.
Oblivious, she passes.
Content in her mind.
JLA, I love your stories bro. That way you wrote that one reminded me of David Foster wallace's Infinite Jest. Have you read it, is that what you were going for?
EDIT: FALSE!
Last edited by Circus of Values; 10-05-2009 at 11:11 AM.
Sorry...I've actually never heard of David Foster Wallace...but I like the compliment
This next one is a bit different, structured as a series of audio diaries...let's see how it works out.
Dec. 8, 1961
*panting heavily, a muffled scream is heard in a fuzzed manner, as if a great distance separates the source and the recorder*
I guess they found out that I stole their food. Roasted cat, yum. I used to have a cat, cute little thing too. I got it for my daughter, her tenth birthday, she loved that thing more than she loved her mother. I guess I love this cat too, but not in the same way.
*The smacking of lips and meat is heard*
Those mad women though, they don't need it. They're insane, all they're doing is nurturing the insanity that is eating this place up. I swear, I never thought it could get worse...but after the little sisters left, those addicts went...crazier, tearing up anything they could for no reason what so ever. Stops abruptly, the pattering of feet is heard...the silence lasts a minute
Sorry, I had to make sure they didn't follow me...I gotta get out of here. WHAT THE-" *Screaming is heard and the recorder clicks off*
Dec 11, 1961
*Hearty laughter, then the shutting of a door
This is great. I've never felt so wonderful...not since this place was human.
I've joined up with this band of survivors, non-addicts. They've set up a strong hold in Arcadia. They've got mounted turrets, motion activated, in those thick woods. Anything that moves at an non-designated time, dead. Even the BDs stay away...there's nothing for them here. They actually have food here too, real meat, fruit, those things. I don't know where they get them yet, I'll have to ask.
They call it "The Island."
Dec 14, 1961
Everyone here is so nice. I've been treated like a King. Well fed, well clothed, able to relax. Apparently all newcomers go through this, a cleansing process they call it...whatever it is, I like it.
I met with the leader today, great guy, old too. He seemed to have some hidden sorrows, like a past bothering. I noticed he had trouble looking me in they eye, but people assure me that he's partially blind...that explains the greyness.
I guess I'll go to sleep now, everything is taken care of...
Dec 20, 1961
I feel so bloated, I want to get up and walk, but these folks just set me down again. "You're not ready yet." They say...ugh...I feel
*Coughing and vomiting are heard, the narrator groans and grabs the recorder*
I'm going to sleep again.
Dec 21, 1961
Oh my God! I figured it out, I figured it out...I think, something's wrong. I need to leave. I need to go back to the wild. I need to breath. I need to run. No. No you don't grab that-
Dec 25, 1961
*The sever pounding of feet is heard. Hysterical sobbing is echoed off of metal walls...the narrator is the source of crying. A nauseating sniffling is heard and then he begins.*
I knew it! I KNEW IT!
You can't be civil down here. There is no paradise, it's all a lie! They took me in! They fed me! They...they FATTENED me!
I figured out where some of the meat came from...Hey, everyone has got to celebrate christmas, right? Oh God. Oh God. Please save me. I don't want to die! I-
*I found him. Somebody cries this out and a horrible struggle ensues, the recorder makes a grinding noise, as if it were slid under something.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!"
"Please stop! Somebody else! Not me! I don't want to die! I'm horrible! I'm sick! You'll get sick! Gooooood! *the cries grow dimmer and the rest of the diary is silent.*
Wow. You're brutal, JLA, you know that?
So, I sometimes give myself writing challenges and then write something about it. This week, mine was Rapture based so I will post it here. The challenge was "Life in Rapture, Ain't it Grand?" Its a drabble, so I apologize if it makes little to no sense.
~*~
“So... You done whining?”
The man whimpered, blood pouring down his temples and pattering on the dirty ice that covered the bottom of the freezer. He was strung up by his wrists, leather thongs chafing the skin around his wrists and causing to to blister. Feet hovering inches above the ground, he swung slowly in a sad circle, momentum left from when just moments before he had been pummeled all over his body.
Peach Wilkins stood off to one side, playing slowly with the brass knuckles that adorned his fingers. He was grim, quiet as Fontaine twirled a cigar in his mouth and looked contemplatively at the poor smuggler in front of him. The boss had taken off his tie, leaving both it and his suit jacket in the fisheries office before coming down here. He looked scruffier than the image he presented to the good peoples of Rapture, to many it would have been viewed as comical; straight laced businessman Fontaine never, ever looked like he’d had a rough night out in the Fort. Peach knew that his overlord’s appearance did not mean that this was something to laugh at. He simply didn’t want to get blood on his favorite tie and suit jacket.
“Paaaaaatriiiick,” Fontaine drawled, leaning over the wooden chair that he sat on. He was straddling the back, his elbows at the very top of the support holding up his head as he smirked at the young man. “Patrick, you know full well that I ain’t going to let you down until you stop whiffling and tell me what I want to know...”
The boy gasped out some sort of excuse. Peach had blinded himself to what he was actually saying and punched him forcefully in the kidneys. As the boy let out yet another loud cry of pain, Fontaine stood adn turned him around to face the chair.
“Patrick. You know what I want to know. Moreover, you know I know what you did. Just tell me, and all this will be over.”
There was silence for a second or two, and then the boy started to cry. He told Fontaine exactly what he had said, to whom, and then promptly began to spew snot out of his nose as he sobbed. Fontaine raised an eyebrow, taking the cigar from his mouth and walking away.
“Finish it, Peach. Then get rid of the body.” With that, he was gone, taking the chair with him. Peach waited until he was gone before drawing a butterfly knife from his pocket and cutting the kid down. The boy was too busy sobbing to notice that the blade sunk into his back a moment later, cutting the kidneys that had been so brutally beaten. He sobbed, dying with a bloody nose on the cold floor of the fisheries. Peach let out a rueful chuckle before wiping his forehead with the back of a bloody hand. He still had work to do to shut the fisheries down for the night and now he also had to dispose of a body.
Life in Rapture... Ain’t it grand?
wow codex,great story! I came at the right time,i'm getting ready for bed and this was the perfect bedtime story!
Now I am tempted to write a bedtime story... Hurm. Maybe after my midterms are over.
Amazing story Codex. I think you captured Fontaine's character well here.
This is probably my first bio-fanfic so bear with me.
AHEM*
~It was another show night in Rapture. Fort Frolic rang with the sounds of happy couples, laughs, and the occasional thump of someone tripping over their feet due to drinking so heavily. In a quiet room high above the masses sat a man facing a well lit mirror humming to himself as he applied powder to his face. He was not the most attractive fellow. He was balding in certain areas, his mustache was curled in a peculiar fashion which gave him a villainous look. He wore a black tuxedo with a perfectly done bow-tie which sat like a black bird on his neck. The table in front of him was littered with letters, makeup sets, brushes, cotton, and a large assortment of other things that seemed to be meant for women. This man was no other than Sander Cohen one of Ryan's most decorated and celebrated performers and artist. Cohen took his art very seriously. So much so that people start to rumor and question his sexuality since he always seem to dedicate his lyrics and pieces to Ryan. As he sat there admiring himself, a rasping came from the door behind him. He sat in a large dressing room which had piles and racks of clothes, wigs, shoes and papers lining the walls. On the closet wall to him hung a portrait of himself advertising his new musical creation "Why Even Ask?" it said in bold gold lettering. Cohen jumped at the sudden noise "What is it?" He said in an irritated tone. His voice was strong yet had a charming quality to it. "Uhh mister Cohen....umm mister Ryan is here.." said a shaky low voice. "Ahh yes yes thank you Fitzpatrick" he said in a noticeably happy and cheery tone. With this Cohen jumped up from his stool and passed a white gloved hand over his thinning hair. He fixed his tuxedo coat and buttoned it. Taking one last glance at himself in the mirror, he walk towards the door across the room and opened it.~
Until tomorrow then
Continuing where i left off~
As the door clicks open and Cohen pushes open the door he can make out the dark racks in front of him that hold various instruments and film reels that are used during his performances. He pulls the door shut behind him and walks by an beautifully hand made acoustic guitar that sat silently on the floor. It was sitting under a wall lamp that made the yellowish wood it was made of glow like the rising morning sun. Cohen walked swiftly taking long calculated strides. He went down a flight of stairs and into a large room.
The room was covered in crimson red carpet. The walls were made of marble and decorates with portraits and pictures of past artist of the surface world. There was a tempered glass door with a golden frame and a faint white "R" on the center to Cohen's immediate right. Across the room was a golden gated elevator that shimmered in the high lamps that were scattered around the room. There weren't many people here they were already inside the auditorium just beyond the glass door. There was a large counter table in the center of the room made of brown polished wood. The surface was littered with cups, glasses, Ashtrays, crumpled up papers, napkins, and various liquor bottles. Behind the counter stood a tall skinny bartender in a white buttoned shirt and a black and white stripped vest. He was polishing a glass with a rag as he spoke to a man sitting at one of the counters many stools.
Cohen's eyes darted quickly around the room and stopped at the bar counter. He walked silently towards the counter as he stopped just behind the patron sitting at the bar. The man turned and it was Andrew Ryan wearing a dark gray tuxedo and a black necktie "Cohen my good man!" he exclaimed with a strong booming voice. Cohen's heart started to beat rapidly as he heard Ryan speak. "Hello mister Ryan" he said quickly trying to prevent himself from sounding nervous. Ryan turned back to the bar tender, reached into his pocket and pulled out a money note "Here's something for your troubles sir." he said with a smile. The bar tender graciously took the note and thanked Ryan in a noticeably nervous voice.~
Private Eyes: Chapter 3
I jumped back, crying out as the black and white blur hopped out of the endless darkness in my trunk. After my vision regained control, I noticed it was a man in a nice suit, with a white, nondescript mask. But then I noticed the barb-wire laced axe in his hands, and I backed away slowly. I could see Shocky out of the corner of my eyes; her face was distorted in horror, her eyes wide open. "N-now sir, c-could you just d-d-drop your axe, and l-leave us alone?" I stuttered. I could hear the man sniffing, as if he were tasting my fear.
The man hissed. After much of the hissing, he said, "The night beckons me into it's perpetual darkness, to give me a beautiful lightshow of dreamscape. I want nothing more but to pass, unharmed, through her sweet, soft arms, into the wondrous rest of sleep." Then, turning on his heels, he bolted into the dark alleyway next to Shocky's house. Calling out after him, I shouted "What's your name!?!?" Slowly, hauntingly, a voice drifted back. "Doooccctooor Looockkkeee....."
I turned towards Shocky, slowly. She looked at me, her eyes as wide as they could possibly go without falling out of her head. "Well," I laughed. "That was exciting." I laughed a little more, but stopped when I saw her glaring at me. Can't even take a joke, huh.
"Well, we'd better go and check out your place. Don't want to forget why we're here, eh?" She nodded vigorously, and ran up to her doorway. Pulling out her strange looking key, she inserted it into the slot of her doorway. She then creaked open her door, showing a grisly scene.
--------
Props to the man who can find the TF2 reference in here.
Oh, I see it how it is. I am just a masked serial killer to you aren't I?
Alright, how bout' I have a try at this...
The Man In the Black Trench Coat
- Chapter 1 -
In the Fall of 2004, a young teen was being driven up to his aunt's house to stay there for a few weeks. Even though his aunt had corporate meeting in London at that time and wasn't supposed to return for another two weeks, the boy needed to get away. Two days before, the boy's parents were killed at their home in Kansas for some unknown reason, and the killer, had gotten away. So the boy, still in shock and in mourning, was brought to his aunt's house in Oklahoma by his grandmother to get away from it all.
As the 2004 Ford Taurus pulled into the rough, gravel drive, the boy looked out his passenger-side window. His aunt's estate was located 25 miles from the nearest town up in the impressive Ozark mountain chain that stretched across Arkansas and into Oklahoma. Since Fall had moved in, the mountains were looking more colorful than ever, something that the boy had never before witnessed since he had always lived in the dull, gray metropolis of Kansas City.
The car made its way up the rocky half-mile driveway which abruptly turned into grass. The boy's grandmother pulled the car up beside the aunt's abandoned pick-up truck and cut the engine. She immediately turned toward the boy, "Well, do you think you will be alright here by yourself?" Said the grandmother with a tear in her eye.
The boy turned from his side window and gave an exhausted look to his grandmother, "Why can't you just stay? This place is do isolated and lonely looking...."
His grandmother let out a sigh, "I'm sorry, but your parents left a lot of things behind which must be taken care of. I'm sorry."
The boy's face turned angry, "Then why the hell did you bring me all the way out here if I am just going to be by myself?!"
The grandmother's face glowed with disbelief. "Watch that mouth boy! I am doing this for your own good! Your home in Kansas is going to be very stressful and emotional place for awhile and I don't want you to be around that. I want you to be up here, I want you to relax and have room to think and sort things out in your head. I just want you to stay as healthy as possible. Besides, your aunt will be back soon and she will be with you. Just two weeks alright?"
The boy didn't respond. He opened the car door and walked out into the lawn, which was starting to look rather unkempt. He stared up at the metal plated fortress before him. His aunt's house was rather small. It was plated with long tan slabs of tin that was bordered by more green slabs of tin. The front of the house had two doors. One door was covered by a porch that led into the washroom. The other door was much fancier and it led into the living room - something that the boy knew considering he had been to his aunt's house a few Christmases ago.
The boy looked back his grandmother's car. She was bent over the steering wheel, giving him an affectionate smile. The boy looked away, pulled a key out of his pocket, and began to walk toward the fancier front door. When he reached door and unlocked it, he could hear his grandmother's car begin make its way back down the long, rough gravel driveway.
***
The Man In the Black Trench Coat
- Chapter 2 - (The Horror Begins)
A day had passed, and the boy was already growing increasingly lonely. He was spending most of his time in the living room, watching the giant Plasma HDTV. But as usual, there was nothing on. So today, the boy decided he would go for a walk in the mountainous woods. He made his way out of the washroom and onto the front porch, and as he was about to turn and walk behind the house to enter the woods, he caught a glimpse of something down by the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Curious to what it might be, he raised his head up and stood on his toes so he could see over the curving landscape and passed the impressively sized pond. The harder he looked, the more the boy realized that the thing beside the mailbox was a black figure. It almost looked like it was a person menacingly standing there with some sort of black cloak on. But the lack of movement of the figure dissuaded the boy from this idea. He decided to pass it off as something random, like a wooden post with a black trash bag hung on it.
The boy looked away from the road, and headed back behind the house, and off into the woods....
Chapter 3 will come some other time, I am tired of thinking for right now.
***
Last edited by Dr. Locke; 10-25-2009 at 05:45 AM.
Quite obviously the man with the mask and barbed wire axe. I hate pyros. Circus, friend, don't give me these oblique and obvious references. Give me a challenge. (TF2 is my drug, k?)
Good fanfic though. I love how you work in your off topic gang of posters.
I'm not going to get the reference, but yet again, I would like to point out how much I am digging this little series of yours... And the revival of the axe-murderer saga. It's always nice to see it resurface.
I love playing pyro's. I'm really good with them, but not like NOOB good with them. Anyone can be good with them; it takes skill to be GREAT with them.Quite obviously the man with the mask and barbed wire axe. I hate pyros. Circus, friend, don't give me these oblique and obvious references. Give me a challenge. (TF2 is my drug, k?)
Good fanfic though. I love how you work in your off topic gang of posters.
And TF2 is my favorite game now. I luuubbbs it.
Also, that's a good story you got goin' there Locke. Methinks it be partly autobiographical?
Ummm, no. My parents weren't killed in Kansas. LOL!!! It's going to be a horror story.
***
So long as you aren't a W M1 noob we're cool. I'm into Engineer and Spy, and I usually play Heavy as well. I like to keep a decent balance between them all though.
I like your stuff Locke! I'm not much of a fanfic person, but some of these stories are pretty neat.
It's not fan fiction. I just need to post it. I was talking with a friend of mine tonight, and I was listening to a beautiful song. It's not the best but...I dunno. For a 12 year old boy on a Sunday night I thought it was pretty good and so did she. (Keep in mind, this is me talking directly to my friend)
" Why it had to be me over everyone else I know. Why it had to be me that was the one who was sad all the time...Had problems with love.
Why I was even chosen to live on this place we call home?
Do I have a special purpose here?
Was I ment to be like this? Or am I an experiment gone wrong?
Will things get better faster than they got worse?...
Tomorrow only knows. The secrets it keeps, undiscovered.
Because there is always a tomorrow.
Tomorrow is never today. Today is never tomorrow...
There is only now.
And there is only what once was,
But I don't want to go back to what I once was
I just want to be with the one that loves me. That will always be there for me no matter what.
My life is but an unfinished story...Among all others. Laying open on the table of a man who writes fairytales. He doesn't exactly know what else to write in my book. So he just keeps making things get worse...And then hopefully, when the reader thinks "Man this guys life sucks..."...Maybe he's saved a happy ending for me. Maybe he's just doing this to show me how much you can care for one person.
How much one little bunch of molecules...
Can really change the way you think about people, and the world
Can change the way your heart beats...
When you think about them it beats two times as fast
When you're not thinking about them you're with them...
Holding them in your arms...
Hoping you'll never have to let go...
And then something happens..
They slip away...
And its your fault...
You go into a fit...Screaming to yourself..."Why?"...You lay on the floor of your room sobbing to yourself...
Letting the blood from your wrists soak into the carpet
Letting the world know how much you cared
How you can't go on anymore
And then the story ends.
Because you just weren't the right character
you were cut from the final copy.
No one will even know who you were.
And that Erika, is my story for you tonight.
The story of how my life could go.
One day
You have everything
The next
All you're left with is an empty house and broken dreams"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0907_J_xRSU listen to this when you read it.
very nice bubbles~,loved it.
Venting to your buddy isn't the best way to make up something very goodBut I dunno I guess it depends on what other people think of it.
Nihilistic, optomistic, pessimistic, and empathetic--all at the same time! Scary deep, a river of negative energy rushing against the survival instinct. Disturbing images whirling like Autumn leaves in the wind. A shaken fist railing aginst the injustice of life. A hand peeling back the surface to see that underneath it there is...nothing.
As a work of fiction, brilliant, evocative, powerful, savage!
As soul-baring autobiographical statement, terrifying. Corrosive thoughts, eating away at a psyche already stressed by misfortune. Staring into the Void, and feeling the Void stare back. Balancing hope and futility. These are things someone two or three times your age would find hard to deal with.
I wouldn't say I liked it, because the implications are terrifying, as I said, but I would say I was deeply impressed!
Well Skoar, I'm sorry to tell you this, but some of that relates to my life. So it's not all fiction :/
Quite moving Bubbs. Ah, don't discount Skoar's words; he makes a point with all those snazzy adjectives and phrases he spat out there.
I also agree with the idea of not liking it, but instead being deeply impressed at the insight and emotion displayed in your (non-fiction) writings.
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