Non-Fiction segment to start - Missed a day, so you will get two half page stories as one post today. Sorry about that. Won't happen again.
First Fiction segment,
I couldn't breathe. There was something that was making it impossible to breathe. Was I drowning? I didn't feel wet. Do you have to feel wet when you are drowning? Does that matter? I can't think.
I couldn't think because I couldn't breathe. How long had I not been breathing. Was I living my whole life not breathing? Or was this a recent event. Was I going to die from it? Am I dying?
I wasn't dying, but I couldn't even remotely take a breath. What the fuck was going on? I wasn't wet. Was someone strangling me? How could I hope to figure that out? Wouldn't that be obvious? Well, so would drowning wouldn't it? I hadn't noticed either.
How long can you live without breathing? In the most rigid definition of breathing, it would be minutes right? But this had been hours right? Hours. Not one breath. What the fuck was happening?
Ah, it all makes sense now.
I was having the best sex of my life.
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
Second Fiction Segment.
Second Fiction Segment.
There was a cat that died the other day, and I got to thinking...are there more cats than humans? If there are, do they die more often since they have shorter life spans. So why should I care so much about this one dying, isn't that just a flaw in my perspective?
Three cats have probably died while I thought that. it's a sad, dark, truth. And yet I'm still crying over this one cat! How dare I? It's just a cat, it didn't really do anything unless I projected what I wanted it's actions to mean on to it.
It was a thing. It sat around, it drank water, it ate food, it lazed around and whined. A lot.
God dammit. I know why I'm upset.
I'm a fucking cat.
There was a cat that died the other day, and I got to thinking...are there more cats than humans? If there are, do they die more often since they have shorter life spans. So why should I care so much about this one dying, isn't that just a flaw in my perspective?
Three cats have probably died while I thought that. it's a sad, dark, truth. And yet I'm still crying over this one cat! How dare I? It's just a cat, it didn't really do anything unless I projected what I wanted it's actions to mean on to it.
It was a thing. It sat around, it drank water, it ate food, it lazed around and whined. A lot.
God dammit. I know why I'm upset.
I'm a fucking cat.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
The Red Lion
The sword came swinging down upon him, and he threw his shield up, the wood of it crashed and splintered against the blow. He shield was now useless, but it had served him well. As he got up, he caught a glance of his opponents eyes through his own heavy helmet. They were laughing.
Panting, he needed a couple of seconds, just to regain some strength. His opponent in bright red armor with a lion on the chest was huge. At least six feet and three inches tall, a giant compared to his own five foot nine stature. The Red Lion's armor was thicker, making it all the harder to penetrate, not that it slowed down the giants speed. He was no match for this Lion.
The Red Lion seemed to know that he required the time to gain his composure, and allowed it. The Lion's confidence must have been huge. His would have been too, the roles reversed, this Lion still had a shield. And was not gasping for breath.
The Gigantic Red Lion charged him, running towards him at full pace and slammed in to him with his shield. He saw the Lion coming at him and quickly dug his own sword into the ground behind him and knelt down holding his own sword for support just before the moment of impact. The Giant went flying over top him, dropping is shield and his sword.
He had enough time for a killing blow as the Red Lion lay on the ground, but this was about more than that now. He walked over to the Lion's shield and picked it up. Now he had a shield.
This time when the Red Lion got up and looked through his own helmet to see his eyes. It was the Lion that saw laughter.
Panting, he needed a couple of seconds, just to regain some strength. His opponent in bright red armor with a lion on the chest was huge. At least six feet and three inches tall, a giant compared to his own five foot nine stature. The Red Lion's armor was thicker, making it all the harder to penetrate, not that it slowed down the giants speed. He was no match for this Lion.
The Red Lion seemed to know that he required the time to gain his composure, and allowed it. The Lion's confidence must have been huge. His would have been too, the roles reversed, this Lion still had a shield. And was not gasping for breath.
The Gigantic Red Lion charged him, running towards him at full pace and slammed in to him with his shield. He saw the Lion coming at him and quickly dug his own sword into the ground behind him and knelt down holding his own sword for support just before the moment of impact. The Giant went flying over top him, dropping is shield and his sword.
He had enough time for a killing blow as the Red Lion lay on the ground, but this was about more than that now. He walked over to the Lion's shield and picked it up. Now he had a shield.
This time when the Red Lion got up and looked through his own helmet to see his eyes. It was the Lion that saw laughter.
Saturday, 9 March 2013
Justification.
Dark thoughts were leading to dark actions.
He was running out of energy, the ability to cope with the fact that he had set himself to a standard that he couldn't possibly hope to meet. Was that it? No, that's what he told himself to make himself feel better. He was running out of energy, the ability to cope with the fact that he had set himself to a standard that he didn't want set for himself in the first place. And as a result had no drive to succeed. At anything.
When people are constantly doing something with there time they don't want to do, but have a sense of obligation to remain doing said thing. They look for more extreme measures to eliminate the thing that they don't want to do. Mostly so that it will look like it was out of their hands. Or, they will eliminate that which they feel obligated to.
In short, he wanted to quit his job, but before he did that, he had to kill his wife and boss.
He had to kill his wife and boss because they were the ones that knew about the standards he had accepted in to his life. They were the ones that knew because they were the ones that set them.
They didn't do it on purpose, and neither of them were bad people. They just wanted different things out of him that he wasn't willing to do. At least, not anymore.
It's hard to kill two people and get away with it. It would be slightly easier because they were having an affair.
Was that why he wanted to kill them? Was the rest just rationalizing the decision?
Probably, doesn't really matter.
He was running out of energy, the ability to cope with the fact that he had set himself to a standard that he couldn't possibly hope to meet. Was that it? No, that's what he told himself to make himself feel better. He was running out of energy, the ability to cope with the fact that he had set himself to a standard that he didn't want set for himself in the first place. And as a result had no drive to succeed. At anything.
When people are constantly doing something with there time they don't want to do, but have a sense of obligation to remain doing said thing. They look for more extreme measures to eliminate the thing that they don't want to do. Mostly so that it will look like it was out of their hands. Or, they will eliminate that which they feel obligated to.
In short, he wanted to quit his job, but before he did that, he had to kill his wife and boss.
He had to kill his wife and boss because they were the ones that knew about the standards he had accepted in to his life. They were the ones that knew because they were the ones that set them.
They didn't do it on purpose, and neither of them were bad people. They just wanted different things out of him that he wasn't willing to do. At least, not anymore.
It's hard to kill two people and get away with it. It would be slightly easier because they were having an affair.
Was that why he wanted to kill them? Was the rest just rationalizing the decision?
Probably, doesn't really matter.
Friday, 8 March 2013
Scratch.
The wind whistled softly, creaking through the window of his apartment. Soft echoes of rain falling outside were heard absently as he read on his couch. Then the scratching from upstairs started. He knew that there was hardwood floor in all of the apartments in the building, and you can always hear people walking above you, if they were wearing shoes. This was different though. This would be a long, slow, scratch. Three times, and each one seemed to stretch out across the length of the apartment. And stop.
He shivered. And went back to his textbook, he had exams to study for, papers to research. He had to focus.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Then stop.
He heard a whimper, very faint. Did he hear it? He heard it, it was a whimper. He froze from fear. Was he just being paranoid? He could just be paranoid, it was that kind of night. Probably just the wind and the rain. Another whimper, he froze again.
Get up, and make sure your doors and windows are locked. Get up and make sure the door and windows are locked. Where is my phone? On the kitchen table. Get up and grab your phone, run to the door, run to the windows. Call a friend, invite them over, or invite yourself over.
With panic in his chest. he got up. Ran to the table, picked up his phone, looked at it. It was dead. He always forgot to charge it when he was studying. He ran to the hallway that had the front door in it and stopped.
The door was open.
Out of instinct he ran to it, slammed it shut and locked the door. He let out a breath.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
It wasn't coming from above him.
He shivered. And went back to his textbook, he had exams to study for, papers to research. He had to focus.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Then stop.
He heard a whimper, very faint. Did he hear it? He heard it, it was a whimper. He froze from fear. Was he just being paranoid? He could just be paranoid, it was that kind of night. Probably just the wind and the rain. Another whimper, he froze again.
Get up, and make sure your doors and windows are locked. Get up and make sure the door and windows are locked. Where is my phone? On the kitchen table. Get up and grab your phone, run to the door, run to the windows. Call a friend, invite them over, or invite yourself over.
With panic in his chest. he got up. Ran to the table, picked up his phone, looked at it. It was dead. He always forgot to charge it when he was studying. He ran to the hallway that had the front door in it and stopped.
The door was open.
Out of instinct he ran to it, slammed it shut and locked the door. He let out a breath.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
It wasn't coming from above him.
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