It has been months now.
Why ain't I dead yet?
Why?
I haven't eaten anything in the last 4 months or so and not drunk any water. He is doing it isn't he? He's keeping me alive, forcing me to write more for eternity.
I cry...
And then just keep writing.
Writing, for there's nothing else in the world that matters.
Just me, my writing & suffering.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
thawing out my heart and releasing my will to die
After I thawed out, I started writing again. I'm so hungry and thirsty.
Always were the gods watching upon the men. Once they decided to let them have a smidgen of free will, they saw the chaos that they had created. In order to correct their mistake they created the three guardians who were meant to restore order.
They all did so gladly.
Except one
I will die a slow painful death if this continues. But at least then I'll be out of my misery. Death would relinquish me and be more than enough help at this point.
Always were the gods watching upon the men. Once they decided to let them have a smidgen of free will, they saw the chaos that they had created. In order to correct their mistake they created the three guardians who were meant to restore order.
They all did so gladly.
Except one
I hope death comes a knockin' soon.
unbearable pain from a man in a mask
This man in the plague doctor getup came back today. This time, I felt intimidated by him. Something about him, but I couldn't point my finger on it. Then I remembered his last visit.
It was him.
The one who made me this way.
The one who cursed me.
The one who voided my life of all meaning.
I clenched my fist as I wanted to punch him. But I was stopped by some force. I was frozen like this, unable to move.
He left me like this.
Just me & my story ideas that I could not write down.
The pain, the pain of it all.
Unbearable.
a few silent seconds of an existence plagued.
After writing today, there was a moment where I didn't feel the urge to write. I had no story ideas or anything, one could say I had writer's block; Sweet, sweet writer's block.
This here is all I got.
Once upon a time in a mystical land, there lived a king. The king ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and was hated among his subjects. Then one day a doctor came to the kingdom, wishing to check upon the plague victims. The king didn't wish to grant him access to his subjects and neither did he wish to pay for their treatments.
The doctor looked upon him in his outfit and stayed there in silence.
The next morning
It was peaceful. It only lasted a few seconds, but these were the best few seconds that I've ever experienced. It was calm, quiet and blissful.
I wish I had an eternal writer's block.
This here is all I got.
Once upon a time in a mystical land, there lived a king. The king ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and was hated among his subjects. Then one day a doctor came to the kingdom, wishing to check upon the plague victims. The king didn't wish to grant him access to his subjects and neither did he wish to pay for their treatments.
The doctor looked upon him in his outfit and stayed there in silence.
The next morning
It was peaceful. It only lasted a few seconds, but these were the best few seconds that I've ever experienced. It was calm, quiet and blissful.
I wish I had an eternal writer's block.
not even death saves me
I woke up and I wanted to die. Everything was better than this tortured existence One could even say that I'd prefer any other means of torture than this.
After writing a story, I went to the kitchen and got myself a kitchen knife. I was ready to slice my throat open and let myself bleed to death.
The blade was right by my throat and I was making a fine pre-cut, causing my skin to redden.
But then...
I got another story idea.
This has to stop.
I want out of this nightmare!
After writing a story, I went to the kitchen and got myself a kitchen knife. I was ready to slice my throat open and let myself bleed to death.
The blade was right by my throat and I was making a fine pre-cut, causing my skin to redden.
But then...
I got another story idea.
This has to stop.
I want out of this nightmare!
the doctor is in
Today, someone came by. Whoever it was, was wearing a medieval doctor getup. The ones that look like birds. He looked at me and his stare, his presence even caused me to forget to question how this person was in my house.
He put his hand on my head.
I could feel his influence running through my body like a lightning. My longing to write and the amount of story ideas I had increased drastically in a short amount of time.
So much my brain couldn't handle it.
I passed out.
He put his hand on my head.
I could feel his influence running through my body like a lightning. My longing to write and the amount of story ideas I had increased drastically in a short amount of time.
So much my brain couldn't handle it.
I passed out.
another story from the author that couldn't
I've decided that I might as well share some of my writing. In all honesty, I believe that I want to rewrite that one, if whatever is controlling me allows me to.
I hope someone enjoys this.
In the was wasteland, I hear people screaming outside the window. There is nothing I can do for them, their minds have gone the way of the dinosaur. They are brainless zombies, monsters willing to do anything to get their hands on some delightful treat.
The girl I once loved is in the crowd with them, banging against my window hoping to be able to get in and devour me. To see her in this state, I can't help but cry.
Cry for the person she used to be.
Cry for the person she has become.
I sometimes can't get passed a few hundred words before whatever is making me this way decides to give me another idea for a story that desperately requires my attention.
If this continues.
Then no one can blame me for my actions.
I hope someone enjoys this.
In the was wasteland, I hear people screaming outside the window. There is nothing I can do for them, their minds have gone the way of the dinosaur. They are brainless zombies, monsters willing to do anything to get their hands on some delightful treat.
The girl I once loved is in the crowd with them, banging against my window hoping to be able to get in and devour me. To see her in this state, I can't help but cry.
Cry for the person she used to be.
Cry for the person she has become.
I sometimes can't get passed a few hundred words before whatever is making me this way decides to give me another idea for a story that desperately requires my attention.
If this continues.
Then no one can blame me for my actions.
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