Listed here are a few short stories I wrote a good time back. I featured them in my past blog and they were well liked. On that thought, here they are...
"Death as it approaches"
I sit in complete silence. Not a sound is heard. I try to talk but, my voice is not audible; may it be my ears or my mouth? I can feel the ground under me: cold, rigid, yet soft. Oh how it compels me to continue and not to quit. I strive to break free, but without success. Yet, my journey seems possible for I am under binding, a light binding. Only the my bare feet feel the earth; my body is bound with a substance I can not feel. Or does it exist? For I feel nothing but a pressure of air against my chest. Ah, it is not pain but an irritable sensation to break free that drives me. I need a push, a push of something greater to drive me through the binding. I can feel my life leaving me with every breath I take. As little children, skipping away to freedom not looking back. I try to hold every breath in, as if my attempts at breathing are my wounding shots. Air! Air! I need air! It leaves me quickly! Laughing as it runs away in mockery. No longer may I breathe! For my breath had run to its hiding place. Where am I and what have I done to deserve this? My heart beats quickly! thump....thump... it punches against my feeble chest, yelling for me to breathe! I am unable! I can practically see my demise. Closer it comes.... closer....closer now...almost there...only to fade away quickly. For my loved one rolled me over. In love hath I learned, to never rest with my face in my pillow.
"Autophobia"
a letter to myself
Is it me? Or is it myself? Two beings in one, yet nearly of a complete opposite. As I sit, thinking to me, "what have I done?" I am crowded with thoughts of destruction and pure evil. Yet, when I think to myself, it's a thought of life and rebuilding. "Why?" one may ask. The answer still lies in my mind's own confusion. For how can a self be divided among two seperate parts, though they lie in the same being? So for me, I follow the commander of the power that controls the unseen world. Yet myself, I follow the power of the air and of the seen world. A splitting comparison that forms a belief among others. For I am merely a puppet, driven and pulled by a force greater than me, and all I can do is pull on each force that is greater than I. For my force is weak and meaningless, and puts no pressure on the forces of others, but myself's force on the other hand, is strong and powerful with a greater intention. So am I right, or am I wrong? I am told I am neither, for what others do seem to be my following. I have not a mind of my own, for my mind is controlled by what is popular. So am I my own enemy? Or is thine enemy the fault of others influencing my every step? So let me be an example to all of man kind. Wether death or life be the path, my fault shall be shown, and all of man will see my mistakes, and learn from me. Let me stand on a pedastool of shame, with all eyes looking down to me from higher above. For what I have done has wronged me, and they must know the mistake of me. For this is my desire. That others who follow the steps of their surroundings, and run on a single authoritative mind, may see myself, standing in complete embarresment. I have done what I was commanded, that is, if I learn from myself's own mistakes, and others learn from thine.
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