Things I wrote.

Discussion in 'Writers' Corner' started by synth_apparition, Jul 11, 2015.

  1. Here's the explanation. Hits a record level of cringe, most likely. Also, linking it because maybe the meaning explains too much of the innuendos and therefore isn't suitable to be here.

    However, I'm not sorry I had to write it. Good to let off steam with that rather than confront her with it and come off crazy and ruin everything - and like I said, the issue resolved itself immediately after I wrote it (because it wasn't actually there in the first place).
    FadedMartian and 607 like this.
  2. Really? I didn't feel any, and I doubt Dufne did. Compared to things you've thought before... this way of looking at things seems to be an improvement.
    It's certainly a nice piece. I've never done something similar myself. I'm not really into poetry, and never really write it. But it's an interesting way.
    The parallels between our situations are decreasing, which makes less things recognisable. But count me interested in updates like these. I can't really give any advice or feedback, however. But I can say my hopes for you are growing.
    synth_apparition likes this.
  3. "Why did we decide to get on this boat again?" Jeff asked. His unbuttoned floral shirt billowed in the wind, and he proudly displayed a rotund and hairy beer belly. In his several days without access to a razor, he had a black beard rapidly forming across his dirty face. He puckered his lips and brought his final cigarette to them. "I'm running out of fun things to do."

    I rowed again, sweat dripping from my armpits and down my chest. "We're off to become pirates, Jeff!"

    "Yeah, but..." he flicked his cigarette into the sea, watching it be drift into the Pacific Ocean for a few seconds. "Why?"

    "Because the police are after us. They think our brain surgery business was immoral and illegal, and they don't think our terms of use were valid since we never got them signed by a lawmaker or anything." I panted, rowing once more. "Why don't you take over, and stop smoking your life away at the back of the boat and doing nothing for our next business venture?"

    "I'm providing morale!"

    "To who?"

    "You!" he smiled. Jeff stood, and we switched places. It was now I who was stuck among the mess of beer bottles and the stench of tobacco. I cracked open a beer and took a gulp.

    "Do we have water?"



    "Just you wait, a ship will pass by in no time, and we can raid it. We'll get water, we'll get food, we'll get beer, and we'll get so many cigarettes we'll have lung cancer by the morning after and more tar in our ribcages than what you'd ever find in all of the Autobahn." Jeff said, grinning - although, it was more of a wince, since he was barely able to row the boat and it was clearly already removing all feeling in his arms. "Then we can sail off to an undiscovered island and reign over some Polynesians. It'll be great, just fantastic."

    I smiled. His optimism hurt. "Wake me when you can't row anymore."

    He winked, told me he 'got it', and I slipped into the deepest slumber I'd had in the days since we escaped prison.

    I awoke, in broad daylight, to a massive cargo ship passing by our dingy. Jeff was asleep on the floor, beer bottle still in hand.

    "JEFF!" I yelled. He sprang up, straightened his back, and gripped the rowers. "I'm rowing. Yes, I'm rowing. I was not sleeping."

    "No, that ship!"

    Jeff winked at me, smiled, and put on his suction cup gloves, beginning the long scale up the wall. I did the same. We reached the top, watching a mass of sailors operating the ship.

    "WE'RE PIRATES!" Jeff yelled, throwing himself over a railing and landing on top of a man scrubbing the deck. He grabbed the bleach-coated sponge and squeezed it into the man's mouth, forcing the fluid down his throat.

    I landed much more elegantly, remembering the martial arts lessons I had bought with my brain surgeon money. I spin-kicked one of the ship's officers in the neck, hurtling him onto the dingy. He let out a yelp, probably due to the loud crack that had come from his spine. Another man had a gun, which I gladly took from him after concussing him on a steel railing.

    With the gun in hand, it was easy pickings. I nailed the captain right between the eyes before he could call for the... sea police.

    Jeff and I sailed the ship through day and night, living off the cargo - which was a variety of foods, cigarettes, alcohol and water, and there was even a shipment of fidget spinners in there. Until one day, we approached a golden beach, filled with hula girls. "We're gonna be Pirate Kings, Jeff."

    "WE ARE!" he yelled. When we docked, he immediately ran off the ship and onto the beach. There, the Hula girls and the men of the island bowed before him. And then me, once I'd caught up.

    "Pirate Kings." we both grinned.
    FadedMartian likes this.
  4. Well, that caught me off-guard! xD Had a good laugh out of that! :)
    Besides, not really my type of story... but I did enjoy reading it.
  5. Honestly that wasn't even supposed to be there. It was a placeholder until I thought of something else. I guess I won't change it now though :p

    Oh, and for anyone wondering, this story was a continuation of this post I wrote back in 2015.
    FadedMartian and 607 like this.
  6. I somewhat enjoyed reading this one, but was a teensy bit put off by the gore. However, for someone who's in to that sort of thing, I can say with confidence that they would have enjoyed it. :p

    Your writing is genuinely good, but the topic for this one wasn't the most suited to my tastes.

    [EDIT] After reading the rest of your works, I would like to reemphasize that, once again, your writing is incredibly good, regardless of (or maybe because of, who knows) the dark subject matters.

    But still, overall, they're good reads. :)
    synth_apparition and 607 like this.
  7. Exactly! :)
    I also hate cigarettes, which seems to be a recurrent subject in your writings. :p

    Edit: I just read the first part, and got to say, it's amazing. :p Now the second part also makes more sense.
    synth_apparition likes this.
  8. Just started writing something, almost definitely putting it up here. If anyone's interested, it'll be up by tonight or tomorrow.

    It's a short story, but also one of those kind of 'internal battles' I have in my head that I write about (most recent one, of course, being the poem at the end of page 2). It'll be dark. Maybe even slightly happy.

    It's about four of my only fears that are greater than my one of being alone, and all five of those even intertwine in a way. But it's also about one of my greatest aspirations, one of the only wishes I have in life, and one of the wishes I have for another person. It's complicated and it's also very symbolic to me.

    There's going to be no shortage of cigarettes, either. So... sorry, 607 :p

    But yeah. I'm torn up and very angry and sad inside right now, but I'm also happy. Not knowing what to feel is a horrible thing to feel. And I guess that this is going to be my attempt at putting that into words.
    FadedMartian and 607 like this.
  9. She looked perfect. Always has, always will, now and forever. Her long ashen black hair, her sea green eyes, her big red lips and while she didn't see it herself, she had a body to die for. All these features combined created an absolutely smouldering human being. She was perfect. Should a human be able to emit heat, she would surely turn everyone in the immediate vicinity to a pile of ash and dust.

    But that wasn't what Thomas Williams - whom I must confess, is me - had fallen in love with. He was drowning in her infinite capacity to be a fantastic human being - when he had a problem, she would always be right there. When he needed to have fun, she was right there. She was funny, she was smart, she was wonderful. Her name was Anastasia Schwarz.

    He had known her since they were two children, alone in a big world they'd never seen before. It was pre-school. He was playing by himself, when two other kids pushed him to the ground and his mouth was filled with sand. She'd stuck up for him then - pushed the other kids off him, checked if he was okay, and went to the teachers with him to tell them what had happened. She became his hero.

    They became inseparable throughout primary school. Where Anastasia went, Thomas went too. When she was in trouble, he was in trouble. He made sure they went to the same secondary school.

    This story took place in college, and it may well be the last one Thomas Williams will ever tell. They were fresh faced 16 year olds, and Thomas was fully aware of what he felt towards Anastasia. She was his anchor, and while he didn't believe she realise it - he was hers too. He loved her, more than even he could comprehend. He had the opportunity to tell her, when she told him she was leaving to another country since her parents had to move for work. He was devastated, and he had nothing to lose, but he held back on it. Back before the boyfriends, back before the illness. He would regret it until the end of his time on Earth.

    Thomas and Anastasia would keep in touch through texts. She would tell him about school, she would tell him about her parent's fighting, she would tell him everything. When she mentioned a boy, he knew what it meant. It hurt him. When she would spend nights going to bed earlier than usual, being told 'oops i fell asleep haha' in the morning, it hurt him. He screamed and he would cry himself to sleep. On one such night, he ripped up his favourite picture of them both together - scaling a cliffside, his hand firmly in hers after he had fallen from a ledge, and in that moment he felt like she had just saved his life - and immediately regretted it. He swore, and slumped to the floor, helpless.

    But at the same time, he felt happy. Happy that she had found someone at long last, even if it wasn't him. That's what love was, right - wanting the subject of your affections to be happy, no matter the cost?

    And then the plague came. It swept from China to Portugal, to the United States and to Australia. The world was at its knees, entire populations infected. There were some who were immune.

    Anastasia became ill. Her boyfriend was immune. He could have stayed by her side, but he did not. He ran from her and left her, afraid that the illness could mutate and infect him too. Thomas flew to be with her, using his parent's money - they had died of the infection, but left him with their money.

    The two walked through a street, enjoying banter they had not enjoyed face-to-face in years. They shared a cigarette, absolutely carefree and without the fear of their parents catching them - the world was ending, she was dying, and their parents were dead anyway.

    "It feels like it's just you and me," Anastasia managed through what sounded like broken lungs. "Thomas Williams and Anastasia Schwarz against the world." She pressed her head up against his arm as they sat on a cliff ledge, clinging to him for warmth.

    He brought a cigarette to his mouth, inhaled its fumes, and breathed it back out. "I love you, you know."

    She laughed with what little strength she had left. "I love you too." She hugged him tighter. "Why didn't we say this back when I left for this god awful country?"

    "I was afraid."

    "I wasn't. I just wanted you to be a man for once and take the plunge before me." They laughed for a second, the mood quickly souring. "When you didn't, I didn't think you felt the same. But... I didn't know I did back then. If you said it, I might have realised it. But hey, that's enough what ifs. I'm scared. I don't know what's next. I'm dying. Save me."

    Thomas winced. "I can't."

    "You can." She snuggled up against his arm. "I'll go to sleep, and this is all just a dream. I'll wake up the morning I left home, I'll run to you and tell you how I feel. You do the same. And if it's not a dream, save me by living, you big immune porridge-brain. Save the world. Go and be God."

    "My heart's yours. If yours stops beating, mine does too. I can't live without it."

    She sighed. Before long, she was at an eternal rest, her head in his lap. Thomas looked down at the body of Anastasia, and alternate lives flashed before his eyes. They were getting married, they had children, they grew old together, she died before him. Instead, he got this life. The one where she died in intense pain of some disease, not knowing how loved she was until she died. At least he got his wish - that she die before him, not knowing the pain of losing him. Thomas sobbed for days - while he buried her, while he dug his own grave.

    And so it's here I sit, in an unfilled pit, a cold steel blade pressed against my throat. Would Anastasia have wanted me to be sat here, doing this? Is the life she asked me to have, without her, worth it? I don't know what to do.

    And if you're reading this, I am probably dead. You can probably see my rotting corpse in the pit before you, where you got this story from. If I'm there, fill the pit in. If I'm not, I lived and got away - you'll probably be able to see the knife on the floor if I don't decide to take it with me when I go. Maybe my body got dragged away by predators. There are so many possibilities.
    FadedMartian, Dufne and 607 like this.
  10. Wow. Dude. I mean, I know I get impressed easily, but that was amazing. Stunning. Well done.
    synth_apparition likes this.
  11. I don't know who he is, besides your friend. I don't know who he is, besides a horrible person. I only know that I could not envision a reality in which I wish to know him. I appreciate having his identity left ambiguous, for when you sleep I am much less of a kind person.

    Friends for months, and yet he says to your face you have a bland and insufferable personality. He tells you that you're just a pretty face for whom he tolerates the boredom that is the way you think and converse. You tell him you don't approve of yourself being friends with a person who can put you down in such a way and make you think lower of yourself. "Stop being such a drama queen," he utters, out of spite.

    "Why are you friends with me?" you then ask me. And I have to say that I do not know. There's something about yourself that causes me to awake in the morning, hopeful for whatever things you will say and bring to me throughout the day. Something that makes me want to be the last one that you talk to before you sleep. Something that makes me wish to wish you a goodnight. Something that makes me wish for good health upon both you and your family. Something that makes me laugh at your jokes and the banter that we share. Something that makes me look at you without makeup, your hair tied up into a lazy bun, your clothes a mismatched pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, and think "you look amazing today."

    And I do have to say that the way you look is the least of it. It's the way you make me go to sleep with a most unbreakable smile on my face. The way you can comfort me at my lowest. The way that you can come to me when you yourself are at your lowest. The way that you make me want to live.

    I love you in more ways that you, and I myself, can comprehend.

    And I am glad that I put these words into much more concise terms that allowed you to cry out of how touched you felt. It felt good to let you know that yours is the presence that I am glad to figuratively have by my side.
  12. Tick.

    Adalbert Schmidt stood with the vial in hand, ready to put it into the needle and inject it into his bloodstream. The lab was quiet, the only sound in it was the ticking of the lab's clock, and footsteps. He turned to face those who had dared to attempt to stop him.


    A man and woman stood before him, blocking the door frame.

    "Adalbert," his brother pleaded. "You don't want to do this."

    "And what do you know about what I want, Dagobert? I want a better future for humanity. I want a better future for our son," he pointed towards Elise - the woman, his wife. "It's more noble of a cause than either of you have ever dreamed of."

    "My love," Elise began. "Please, come to your senses. This isn't you. It's the sickness - it's infecting your brain. Put the vial down, and come with us. We can fix you."

    "Fix me?" Adalbert scoffed. "You disgust me. I'm the most powerful human to ever live, and you want to fix me? Do you have any idea what I can do? I can snap a tree in half using my bare hands, I can run at incredible speeds, and once I inject myself with this serum, I'll be able to command a legion of wolfmen. And you're going to fix me? I'd rather die."

    "You may be able to control the wolfmen, but you can't control yourself. I should never have entrusted you with my life's work." Dagobert readied himself into a fighting stance. "If you aren't going to listen to reason, then a kinslayer I shall gladly become." He morphed, his bones snapping and breaking, his stature elongating, thick grey fur sprouting from his arms, and his eyes becoming a deep yellow that sat atop a wolf's snout. The lycanthrope wasted no time in diving toward his brother, hoping to kill him before he could also transform.

    But transform Adalbert did. He was taller than Dagobert, his eyes were a bloody red, his fur was black, and his muscles were immensely larger. They called him the Black Wolf during testing - he was going to become a super soldier in the fight to retake Earth from the wolfmen, something he had dreamed of seeing since he was a child.

    Dagobert sent the Black Wolf flying through the lab wall behind him, but he bounced back almost immediately, and the two werewolves scrapped mid-air in a flurry of black and grey, smashing through a window as Elise ran beneath a flight of stairs, loading her pistol. As the two wolves threw eachother into computers, into desks, sending papers flying everywhere and doing their best in destroying the entire floor of the lab, Elise ran to retrieve the vial. Dagobert's leg was torn off by his brother's vicious teeth, and he howled, no longer able to move, reeling from the pain.

    The Black Wolf diverted his eyes onto Elise, leaping back into the room where the vial was held. He towered over the 5'2 woman by at least three feet. She whimpered.

    "Don't take this away from me." the Black Wolf growled.

    "Please," Elise began to cry. "Adalbert, I know you're still there. I can help you. Morph back."

    "Come with me. We'll get away from this wretched city. We'll help humanity start over. Our race will become more powerful. We'll take back the world."

    She looked away from him, unable to believe what she was hearing. Anger flicked through the Black Wolf, and he raised his hand to swipe down upon her. Dagobert, ignoring his wound, jumped at him, sending him flying backwards. He was easily overpowered, however, and he now lay beneath his sibling, his neck's tender flesh being moulded like clay against vicious talons. Elise pointed her pistol at his opponent's head.

    "Do it," the grey wolf begged. "Elise, please..."

    She stared into the Black Wolf's dark, red eyes. She saw her husband, she saw her son, she saw their time as teenagers together, she saw their marriage. And she rested the gun at her side, walking away, tears streaming down her face.

    Dagobert tensed, attempting to break free. It was no use. With a mere swipe of his hand, the Black Wolf unleashed an ocean of crimson from his brother's neck. He choked on it, clutching at his throat in an attempt to stop the bleeding so he could heal. Adalbert morphed back into his human body, clothes no longer covering his form. He watched as his brother bled out and died, still in his wolf form - an ultimate sin among the purebreds.

    "Even in death, you abandon your humanity." Adalbert smirked.

    He rose, collecting the vial and filling the needle with the serum. He injected it into his wrist's vein, and prepared himself for the years of training to come in order to control this power. He covered the injection site with a small plaster.

    That night, he left the city of Schwarzstadt, fleeing into the forest after paying a 'visit' to his youngest brother with a glass of hydrogen peroxide. The army searched for him, but it was no use. He was gone within ten minutes of the fight. They branded him a traitor of the Haven, a treasonous piece of filth to be shot on sight, but they would not see him again for many years - and when he did, he would have an army of humanity's worst enemies with him.

    They were all but doomed.
    FadedMartian and Dufne like this.
  13. Well... that was very grim.
  14. I should hope so. It's a prequel kinda thing to something I started writing while I had no wifi last week, which was way more grim.

    Planned about sixteen chapters for that thing and wrote rough drafts of at least four. Wondering if it's worth picking back up lol
    FadedMartian and 607 like this.
  15. Pacing is a little bit fast, but it's a rough draft and I thought I'd share what I have of this so far. Feedback is massively appreciated.

    Violeta I

    The Serbian sun was rising high into the sky, bringing a wave of sweltering heat with it. Violeta rubbed the sweat off her forehead as she made her way down a wide brick road - it had been meant for cars, but nobody in their right mind besides the soldiers would drive a car down here, and the people who lived around it were far too poor to own one themselves. She reached the market that sat at the end of it.

    An early crowd was there, sprawled out across the various stalls, drifting between each one. Shopkeepers stood behind their produce, beckoning people to come over and purchase their goods. The buyers clutched their coins close, as to avoid cutpurses - had there been a denser crowd, Violeta would have been one today, but alas, there was not, and she would have to steal from the stalls. She took note of where the patrols were - some walked the catwalk that lined the roofs, others kept their guns close to them, safety off, and stood on the ground. The usualroutes, she thought, good.

    She wandered between each stall, blending in with the people who were purchasing, taking pickings from them, skillfully evading the glance of any shopkeepers and the soldiers who patrolled on the ground, keeping an eye on the ones who stalked from above. Some stalls were even empty, and she could make sure nobody was looking and easily take what she wanted. She stood in front of one such empty stall, and she checked her pouch - a good sized rabbit, some fruit and vegetables, and some soup cans.That’s great.

    She turned around to leave. Two soldiers stood in front of her, blocking her route to leave. One was short and stocky, with a big fat belly, the other tall and lanky - she could smell him, too; he emitted a stench of urine and… something else. She bet the other smelled like bacon and grease when you got too close - oink oink.

    Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, Violeta named them. She took note of her surroundings - some stalls sat beside her, to her left and to her right. She’d be able to make it to the crowd, where they’d lose her, she could slip away back home, and they would forget about her by the day’s end. She’d come back in the early hours of tomorrow, and they wouldn’t even give her a second glance should she cross their path again.

    “What have you got there?” Dum asked.

    “Probably stole some things from her good and honest countryman who left this here stall unattended for a moment.” Dee answered, "A traitor to her own people."

    “I’d expect nothing less of a Serb girl.” Dum laughed. “And she’s even too stupid to not get caught.”

    “I wouldn’t either.” Dee agreed, smiling creepily, licking his lips. “Their women look good, for a country full of murderous little rats, and this one is no different.”

    Dum rolled his eyes. “And what do you have to say yourself?” he looked Violeta in the eyes.

    “Please, my good sirs,” she began. “All my goods are bought. I simply came here to get away from the deadly heat, to stand in the shade and gather my thoughts before I head home. Maybe I’d catch the owner and be able to buy something else, too.”

    “A likely story,” Dee sniggered. “You talk all proper and polite. Doesn’t make it any more believable, you dumb wench. But... I’d be willing to forget a lie to a city guard, for a price not paid in coin…” he smiled.

    Violeta spat at his feet. “I’d rather be guillotined.”

    "Maybe you'll get your wish," Dee said, and lunged to grab her, but she dodged out of the way, darting behind the stall that sat to her left, and grabbed an orange out of her pouch. Dee and Dum had given chase, and she ran down the aisle, eventually having to push a shopkeeper forwards into his stall. The girl turned, orange in hand, and lobbed it at Dee’s head. It hit him in the eye, and he grabbed his face, stopping in his tracks, screaming out that it hurt. Dum paid no attention, and continued his chase. He began to gain on her, and for a moment she was sure he’d catch her, until she noticed she was coming out of the row of stalls and into an open path, full of people.

    “Catch me if you can, fatty!” Violeta called out behind her, as she slipped between the throngs of people. She tripped and fell as she came out on the other side, but rolled back onto her feet, and made her way to the market centre. Lost them, she thought, relief washing over her. She lived for stuff like this.

    She travelled home, up the big brick road, into an alley, and into a small and tightly packed street of houses. She opened her door, and closed it behind her with a soft click. “Father!” she called, “I’m home.”

    The legless man awoke from his slumber in the room beside her. “I’m in here,” he called, his grogginess weeping through into his voice. She walked into the room, walking in to see him lying on his back, a bottle of cheap whiskey in hand.

    Really?” she muttered.

    “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I got a letter today telling of my friend’s death. He served in the war with me. Survived storms of bullets with me, survived chlorine gassings, even left the trenches with both his legs, unlike me, that one. You try not drinking yourself to sleep after hearing that.”

    “How did it happen?”

    “Got his head bashed in with a shovel. Some city guard he annoyed, off in Niš. Doesn't take much to get under them Austrian's skins, and he had a mouth on him.”

    “I’m sorry.” Violeta replied.

    “Don’t be.” he began. “You’ll play your part in avenging him. You’ll live in a free and independent Serbia one day. A place of greatness, a place to call home. Not like this bloody squalor, not with that city guard raping and killing and threatening us all. We could be a land like America.” He took a swig from his whiskey bottle, draining it dry. "Land of the free. Anyone can do anything. People live lives a King could only wish for."

    “I won’t.” she responded, gritting her teeth. “That’s an idea of the past. Austria-Hungary controls us now, and they will for as long as I live. We lost the war, and that’s that. I’m fine with it. It’s past time you dealt with it too.”

    “The Ottomans controlled us for hundreds of years,” the drunken man began to slur. “We broke free of them... We’ll do it again... to the tupperware heads. You... you would even be the...” He blacked out.

    “Whatever,” she muttered, taking herself into the kitchen, and putting the contents of her pouch into the places they belonged. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: her shoulder-length brown hair looked ratty and greasy, and her face was covered with scratches. Her ocean blue eyes looked like an oasis - the only part of her left untouched by the dirty work she had to do everyday. Besides that, she felt and looked disgusting, and she’d look even worse by the time she was finished cleaning out the commander’s bloody chimney. Not even a bath to wash herself in for another week.

    “I’m going to work now,” she told her father, who she was pretty sure couldn’t hear her. The girl sighed, and turned to leave.

    “A Queen,” he mumbled, half-asleep. “A Queen… like your mother…”

    “Never knew her.” Violeta said, under her breath. “Don’t care what she looked like. You’re stuck in the past, you stupid fat old man.” She left the house, slamming the door behind her.
    FadedMartian and 607 like this.
  16. I can't give feedback, unfortunately, as there was nothing I didn't like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
    I also didn't feel like the pacing was all too fast (definitely not too slow, but I think it's quite fine).
    synth_apparition likes this.
  17. Well, it's been a very long time since I wrote/rewrote this. Twelve and eleven months, respectively. I remember being disgusted with myself for writing it based on someone close to me's picture like it was yesterday, and going back and expanding on it.

    The girl whose picture it's based on finally saw it the other day.

    It's her favourite out of all the things I've written that she's read, followed by the one about the illness (also written about her). She has no idea it's about her, or based on her picture - and I don't know how, because it's a perfect description of her, but she loves it. That's enough for me.

    It fulfilled its purpose - one that wasn't supposed to ease my tensions, but make the girl it's about read and like it, and I'm proud that I created a story that was able to do that.

    But anyway, I'll put some stuff here by the end of the week. Thought I'd let anyone who cares have an update and let you know I'm still writing stuff :p
    607 likes this.
  18. Aaaah, that's amazing!!! :D
  19. nice now i feel sick
  20. I'm writing a novel.

    You may follow my progress in a place that already contains a lot of 'bad words' and adult humour and I wouldn't recommend if you're under a certain age, but the option is below. Thank you.