Miscellaneous Chatter > Writing
Story a Day (II)
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Callan S. ---Francis, that's why I think to consider a web of respects for those who don't hit the first places. Some of them might actually be more deserving. I remember a story someone said that a publisher had their nine year old read a book to evaluate whether it got published. Kid said it's probably more for eight years olds, but still pretty good. So Tolkien got published.
Respects to the other places.
Good luck with it, Francis! Better a bumpy ride than no ride!
~~~Story
A child suddenly realising it's been given a death sentence.
A terror rises to crescendo - then collapses like a house of cards into a pool of black ink.
The notion arises again, latter, the terror too, but it collapses. Willowing each time. Like a door wallpapered over.
I suspect there is something in my head that prohibits being swollowed by this fear.
Scientists say we were down to two thousand individuals at one point in our ancient history. Edge of extinction.
What if it was at a turning point in psychology - suddenly people realised. And they wailed. And the wailing would not stop. And it spread, making others awaken to it, wake up screaming.
And only two thousand remained. The stupid, the suppressed.
Ancestors.
--- End quote ---
EDIT [Madness]: Changed thread title.
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: sciborg2 ---@Callan: Not sure if I understand that last one. The kid is sentenced to die and then starts philosophizing?
Story 169 Dec 6
My friend, she tells me of her latest hook up and I try not to wince. It's not that I haven't done the same, hell at least she sorta knew the guy.
All the strangers I've fucked, but then I met Alice and suddenly I get these flashbacks to a past life. We thought about sex differently then.
God, it's so fucking stupid, to be injected with this ideal for a saintly virgin, something my commie-hippie atheist parents made sure I never fell for.
It's stupid anyway, I'm not in love with Alice. It's not even me, not really, just my soul in love with a woman a thousand years dead.
/Story
Story 170 Dec 7
"When the time stream changes...will we ever meet?"
The way she looks at me, we both know the answer is no.
Our love was born of humanity scattering, our hearts found each other after the slaughter.
The Hell Breach made us better people, no doubt about it. And now we've won, and it will never happen, and we'll live and die as the assholes we were always meant to be.
/Story
--- End quote ---
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Callan S. ---Saajan, it kind of skips around in time, though the point of realisation is timeless, orginating at the childs realisation. The execution is not for quite some time. Decades, even. There's supposed to be that 'dump' point when you realise. It's probably a bit of a self indulgent writing, given the indulgence it asks for to get to that.
But essentially a kid starts philosophizing, yeah.
--- End quote ---
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Callan S. ---What is it I see - the hurt, or perhaps more the beseiged bastion remaining behind so many nettle stings?
The weight of having bought a job, to run a business, yet still shell out your earnings to a faceless?
I presume it's you who owns this place - I see you early enough, often enough.
You've come to recognise me to some degree, I think, that half human relationship of customer and service. Sadly I am stuck, like someone peeping over to see the contents of a diary, to seeing more though. Maybe it's another reason why the dollar divide which can't be closed, can't be closed - it just burns. To see too much, like staring into a sun.
Or maybe I just make up that perception of seeing? One time I wondered how I hadn't noticed you were so tall - but then it turned out behind the counter you were just standing on box, as you checked inventory?
But what is it that I see? You're like iron somewhere in there, yet like softness - in fact do you hide that iron behind the genuine softness of you? A castle protected by a wall of it's people?
- Ode to a Subway worker.
--- End quote ---
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Callan S. ---Why did you step on my tree?
It was several meters into the property - granted, the driveway has no fence, so your inward stagger would not be abated by someone elses efforts, only your own discipline.
Why did you step on my tree?
It's a sapling, was bent over, now trussed up on the last of it's good bark, with some spiked wire around it and a couple of wheelie bins ahead. To avert your gaze, because thats as much as it takes to distract what little of you operates within your skull. Not to say you are stuck there, but then again you are as much and as much not as a computer loaded with the minimum software for it's heart to beat.
And my own minimum reaches: - why did you step on my tree?
I bet I could trace a litany of bent in your life, inflicted on you, skewing your life to the twist of here. This is just collatteral damage in the killing of you.
Or maybe you're just trash.
Why?
Nihilist gets bandied around - but often it's with people who describe nihilism. That takes effort. Is that really for real? Or is the true expression here - the empty destructiveness you find between the effort it'd take you to kill yourself and the fact you're heart keeps beating and hungering, animating you like some kind of rediculous puppet corpse? The a'tween. Undead. Zombie.
I know you've been here. I know your stink. I aught to. You've no idea the lawn I've to mow in you, the lazy knife of words. Or maybe that wouldn't work. But that's okay, I can kick that head all day. The emptyness beneath your empty. A void that swollows voids. Find out.
Or would could have been nice.
--- End quote ---
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