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I wrote a short story...thing... Anyone care to read it?

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posted on Jan, 5 2008 @ 01:55 AM
Hey guys, I wrote a short story two days ago, and I wanted to share it.

Here we go.

I awaken from nothing more than what I can call suspended animation.
I no longer take any joy or pleasure from sleeping. Nor do I seem to take energy from it, either. When I first open my eyes, all I see is a murky light, not shining, not radiating, but simply leaking into my quarters. This unpleasant luminescence barely lights my footsteps, as I stumble to dismount my bed.

With every step, I shake tidbits and remnants from my body. Remnants of past memories, tidbits of old times, the good times, when I could smile and my lips would not crack, and crimson ribbons would not roll off my face and would not drip onto the floor. These little tidbits and remnants no longer stay in my heart, but are simply stragglers, sticking to my body and weighing me down. As I shake them off, the flutter to the floor and SHATTER, turning into cold, razor edged, crystalline debris. As I walk, and as I begin to awaken my mind and think, these spines and spikes of the olden times embed themselves in my skin. Every step I take, more of these shards flutter down my body, landing on my arms and legs, cutting, beckoning streams of blood tracing their path.

Mais si vous me voyiez, vous ne verriez rien.

As I finally make my way to the "salle de bains", I disrobe. I see the scars of some of the worst days. In the mirror, I can see thru myself, and I can see the scars on my slowly beating, satin grey heart. The more I recall, the more my eyes begin to well, and soon, not tears, but those crimson ribbons streak my face.

Aber, wenn Sie mich sahen, würden Sie nichts sehen.

I enter the "Dusche", the water pours onto my face. I see my blood slowly circle and enter the drain. But these shards of time, bits of memories, still embedded in my skin, mix with the water, forming a stinging, burning acid. it eats away at my skin. It shrivels, wrinkles, blisters and sloughs, burning me from the inside out. I try to scream, but the only sound is the rushing of water from the wall. As did my blood, my acid-eaten sloughed skin circles and enters the drain.

Pero si usted me viera, usted no vería nada.

I walk out of the "salle de bains", I can see a shining path of glass tracing my steps. I have no choice but to walk back along this. The shards bite and tear at my feet, leaving red prints in my cold wooden floor. The days have become too much for me, and I just think about all the horrors I have seen, all the horrors I have done, and all the horrors that have been done to me.

My eyes blacken, my tongue shrivels, and my body weakens, yet I manage to see, speak and stand.

Mais si vous me voyiez, vous ne verriez rien, parce que je ne suis rien du tout.

By the way, the three languages are French, Spanish and German.

[edit on 1/5/2008 by TheRanchMan]

posted on Jan, 5 2008 @ 08:18 AM
Cool story, the only problem I have is I dont know what the foreign language written is telling me. I could look it up, but would rather know as I am reading the story (just my opinion). Keep em coming.

posted on Jan, 5 2008 @ 12:07 PM
well, here's what it is in order.

Salle de bains = bathroom (french)

Dusche = shower (german)

The middle lines between each paragraph say "If you saw me, you would see nothing" in different languages.

The final line is "If you saw me, you would see nothing, because I am nothing at all".

In rough translation of course.

posted on Jan, 7 2008 @ 06:38 PM
This one doesn't have a title, but you can recommend some if you like.

Quick prelogue: it's about a suicidal girl at the edge of something high, and a bird, taken from the bird's perspective.

Okay, here it is.

Wake and breathe in the cold night air.
Let it pass over your crimson lips.
Let the cool air calm your heaving breast.
Be calm, little one.
For it is not time for you to fly.
Stay here, with me on my perch.
Stay here with me, an old, scarred raven, with tattered plumage and broken claws.

For I once took this leap.
I once tried to fly.
For I was lured by the beauty of the neptune sky.
With wings spread, I fell from my post, and caught up in the cool misty breeze, I would soar.
I flew higher, and higher. I left all those behind, flying away like I did.
I would return, though, miserable, tired, and worse for the wear.
But lo, that was many years ago, and I have never returned to my old perch.
I left my comrades behind, because I flew too high into this darkness.

Do not attempt to fly, my child, my sweet.
For spreading your arms and leaning into the breeze would send you into a deep, violent dive into the blackness that lurks at the bottom.

Stay here with me, this old cold raven.
Stay with me, this lonesome bird.

For as beautiful as they are, the stars and clouds, they are no more a friend that this perch, no warmer than the air around us.

My wings have supported me for so long, and they can't any longer.

Take this cold bird in.

This bird, who has soared in the cold, in the blackness of these night skies. This bird who has known the loneliness of the clouds. Who has seen both beauties and horrors from above.

But now, my wings are tired. My feathers are torn and thinning. And now, instead of being a distant witness, I am here, a part of these horrors.

Sadly, the only beauties I see are you.

I cannot bear to go on unsheltered.

Take me in to your warmth! Leave this high perch and take me...


Where are you?


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