Days have passed but you are still etched in my mind.I hope you stay there forever and doesn't reach up to the box of my emotions.Everyday that I am not able to see you,Gradually I can finally get you out my being.How could you do this to me?We barely knew each other.You have to get out.You have to.For your safety and mine.I am not the right person for you to lay your eyes on.I am not the right person to spend the rest of your life with.I am not.I am telling I can't.I am not capable of what you are capable to give me.I am only capable of destroying what is beautiful.So is you.I may be miserable forever,but I am sure that you won't be.Be happy and live your life to the fullest.Forget me already.
Barbara and I went outside at night, with a shiver, and looked up at a special moon. "Ain't that something," we said, as the dog trotted passed us and micturated on the lawn. It was a blood moon, or a holy moon, I can't remember which. It just looked like old cinnamon to me. But it was neat, I guess, even with our distance and lack of magnification. Planets in a frenzy, in fixed chaos too big for us to perceive, find themselves in these unique positions, relative to us, and we all run out of the houses at strange times and look up and say "Ain't that something." Then, a couple decades later, we do it again. But how couldn't we? Crazy people, soaked in paranoia and complicated narratives, think the positions of these chaos objects signify important events. They think the chunks of rock in the sky prophecy. We all run out and say "Ain't that something?" And then wonder what that something is.
There are some people who must speak. They talk their way through it. Progress pushes through the time sludge on the power of words, which vibrate and cogitate through ideology barriers and... so people talk. They share a story of their youth. They confront oppressive untruth. At least they hope it is untruth. They talk as if it is. And when they stop talking, they die. Oxygen dissipates. Flesh dries up. Ears find respite. Teachers make their way through their lecture and are able to get to the point. If I have a thought, so what? Strangers rub their hands and fists all over their faces, massaging their heads as they fidget with their thoughts. The rubbing hands sending background messages to their distracted brains, keeping them grounded and reminded of the reality they are steeped in. They have a thought, and then they talk.
Thinking. What should I write next? What will I do today? There are always lots of thoughts in my head, whether they're decisions or opinions. What type of artwork will I create next?
Sometimes you don't need to think, you just know the answer to a question but often you do.Right now I'm thinking about what to write. I think I'll write about my writers block right now. Writers block makes it difficult to create a story, poem or essay. I have no creativity right now. I freewrite and write fables a lot so I should have plenty of ideas now...the clock is ticking! Thoughts make me wonder, question and stop, do I need to think or do I know...I will never know...
I crept down the halls, nothing but my pistol between me and the darkness. I could hear screams and inhuman growls over my comm-unit, and smell the stench of death everywhere. Something happened when they fired up that portal, all hell broke loose. I rounded the corner to find another human, he must have heard me because he whipped around and brought a shotgun to bear.
His eyes, I will never forget those eyes. Completely devoid of humanity, burning with a cold inner fire. He squeezed the trigger and caught me full in the chest. My combat plate absorbed most of the blast but it still hurt like hell. I fired off a few rounds from my pistol catch him in the head before the magazine ran dry.
I sat there, shivering as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. I popped another clip into my pistol, I only have one extra left. I creep over and check the corpse, his blood is black, the skin white, and he's riddled with bullets. I grab the shotgun checking the chamber and grabbing what little ammo he had left. I wonder just how I'm going to survive this invasion...