writing dump (because I need to practice literacy smh)

abandoned book idea #1 - (smh it got lame pretty quick buuuttt I made a fire playlist) Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6B7kMI1cx7a8fasnke7wGJ?si=DfIG-vHFQqqst8hLWqas7Q&pi=T1Dk9I-4Rk6tc                                                                               "Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge." - Mary Shelley                                                                                                                                                                                               . . . The light of morning was of no liberty to my eyes- as they were, without a doubt, no longer mine. Upon my first awakening, I would have foolishly thought otherwise. Spending as long as I possibly could in denial of this fact, I, with a voice a distant echo of my own, declared my defiance. "Sleep," I felt lips part, and jaw clench, as I pleaded to whatever heathen gods dared listen, "I beg of you." This body offered no compliance. And so, begrudgingly, I followed its desire to stand- clinging to the wall with unsteady hands. How pathetic my life had become. Knowing the space I found myself in well, it did not take me long- even in this foreign body- to find a mirror. Running a pair of bloodied fingers over a face frozen in horror, I shut my eyes. Rest. Even a moments rest was mercy, to the face that had beheld me with such hatred moments prior. Luckily, my thoughts caught up with me before I was able to force myself towards the mirror once more. Who had I been looking for?... Patting my pockets for the note I no longer possessed, I ran my tongue over my teeth- swallowing nothing but warm, liquidy iron in the process. "Jormungandr." I caught my tongue saying. The name was one I had spoken in many tongues, with many faces before. Forcing a pair of boots over reluctant feet, I, barely catching my coat, stumbled out the door and onto the streets of New York City. Vines crawled up and down skyscrapers like nooses around the necks of giants, beneath a sky forged of their ashen blood. The roads were cracked to the point of deformity- one could not take a single step without completely falling off his balance, at the mercy of the fiend he knew slept beneath. As I breathed in the morning, I sought to convince myself it was air...simply thicker and more difficult to swallow: but I knew better than that. Empty were the streets, apart from the occasional insect. It felt strange to acknowledge noticing such small creatures in such a large place- but it made some degree of sense. Humanity's subconscious desire for companionship was so strong, it seemed, that even an insect could inspire my senses' search... I, unfortunately, was one of the few alive to see the city in its prime: which made witnessing it empty after it's fall so... jarring now. Less than upon my first awakening, however. "Jormungandr." Reminded my tongue once more- aloud, so that I may break from my thoughts to contemplate it, rather than brush it over. A shame that I could not have- the times were few, that my trains of thought had a somewhat pleasant destination. My first awakening is something I, regrettably, look upon fondly: back then, I was a much different breed of man than I find myself to be now. Compassionate and gentle, as one should've been. Easily shaken. Easily influenced... "Jormungandr." Right. Navigating the streets with little care for the limbs I flailed and blood that welled within my mouth as I forced breath upon my vessel, I found myself soon upon a street with a particularly large hole interrupting my passage. A doorway to hell- the place seemingly everyone had fled to. Except for Jormungandr, of course: a soul far too prideful to 'submit to the will of all those around he', as I had remembered him to say. But, staring into it now, it looked... Awfully tempting. In the embrace of its flames, I saw redemption. Redemption I have spent years ignorantly chasing after in the only way I could. And yet, here- in front of my face- was a second means of escape. An easy one, at that. "Jormungandr." How sweet would it be, not to constantly feel the blood caking upon my lips. "Jormungandr." How relaxing, to be relieved of the weight upon my shoulders: the weight of so many lives. "Jormungandr." How pleasant, the ability to simply- "Jormungandr." The fourth time, my tongue finally had me convinced. Jormungandr would have looked at me with shame for such thoughts. And, as foolish as I thought him at times, his shame was something I could not bear thinking of: let alone feeling. Surely, when I speak of giving up, he feels the same way Caesar did, when he met eyes with Brutus as he was stabbed relentlessly. Endlessly. What kind of man would I be, to condemn my only companion to such a fate?... One worse than that I already was. And so I, biting my tongue and holding my breath, I walked past- using the little morale I had gathered along the years to open them once more and expell the idea of an easy escape from my mind. Or rather, my borrowed mind. "Jormungandr!" Called my tongue as I let it go, as I raced towards an old bar- whose name had long been forgotten to the collective intelligence of mankind- rapping bloodied knuckles upon its door, "I have returned, Jormungandr, " It stated the obvious, rather excited to do so- I had not realized how long it had been, until I said those words, "I... I have missed you!" Again, I bit my tongue. How embarrassing!... 'I have missed you'? Words better left unspoken. But, as he lumbered towards the door, I soon began to realize that he hadn't heard me. Because just as I wasn't in my own body, Jormungandr wasn't in his. In fact, this strange being didn't seem to be Jormungandr at all! "Jormungandr?" My tongue evaded it's capture, halfway towards asking a question whose answer we both well knew. But it did not want to believe it. And, quite frankly... Neither did I. It continued with a strangely choked tone that I did not quite recognize, "How long was I gone? I did not know you were like me." "He wasn't." Replied the man on the other side of the door. Silence rung loudly in my ears- so loudly that I had to cover them, lest I wish to be deafened by their cursed howling. "How long has it been?" I shut my eyes tightly, as if it would prevent the answer from being real. As if, when I opened my eyes afterwards, I would awake beside him- and he would tease me for my paranoia. "He jumped thirty years ago," Stated he gruffly. Clearly, he cared little for the man I had looked upon so fondly before, "He had grown too old to wait for you." As I staggered away from the door, he stepped before me without an ounce of pity- only disgust. "Wipe the blood from your lips, Wendigo. We all know what you are- but it makes no-ones consciousness clearer knowing what it entails." With that, he opened his great, black wings- tipping his hat over eyes of silver, and... Left. Simply left. To a better place. I watched him leave, jealousy welling in my eyes in the form of tears. Glancing back the way I had come- searching desperately for the gate- I shut my eyes once more. It was gone- the first I had seen in what felt like... What must've been eternity. And so was he. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone to the place he'd hated so much, he spat at the mention of it. It felt like a cruel joke- that the entire world seemed to play a part in. He'd aged bit by bit, every awakening- but it had only ever been by months. Years, at most! But almost... Three decades? It was too much to bear. Almost as much as his shame. At least that was something I would never have to experience again. . . . For days, I walked the streets aimlessly- waiting for... Something to happen. Anything. But nothing did. And, as my feet ached and my stomach growled, my misery only grew. I felt terrible, eating without him. So I didn't. Even though I knew well he'd never eat again. I felt he would not have rested if the same happened to me. So I didn't. Even though I knew he'd be resting for the rest of my life. One day, when the hunger and exhaustion became unbearable, I came across yet another winged man: this one with a much softer face, and sad, war-torn eyes. At first, they looked right through me- and then, when they finally fell upon me, I- subconsciously- sought to cover myself with my arms. The corners of his plump lips tugged bitterly upwards at my embarrassment, as he walked closer and placed a warm hand upon my shoulder. A sick gesture, knowing I'd never feel such warmth ever again after he removed his hand. "So you are who they speak of. The Wendigo." The winged man's arm fell to his side. And... To my surprise, he took a step closer and wrapped both arms around my body- blood soaking into his white coat. I held my breath as he broke into sobs. "O, God! How disgusting it is, upon this abysmal Earth! Humanity used to be such a fond subject of speech! When I looked down upon people like yourself, I saw love. Hope. But... Your eyes!" He moaned, lifting his head for but a moment from my shoulder to stare at me, "O, your eyes, my friend! They are so empty! I would think you to be a statue, if it weren't for the dirt sinking into your skin- gathering beneath your cursed, clawed fingers! It's beastly! Humanity has been abandoned by their masters, surely! Certainly! Absolutely!" The interaction was beginning to get rather offensive. Surely I was not... That appalling? But he simply went on, giving me no rest nor time to respond, "If only I could save you from this horrid fate! The last man on earth! The last man left to breathe the devil in the air, and taste the blood in his throat!" I was unable to stand the man any longer as he began to pull at my hair- and, with my hands, I pried him away from my body, forcing a smile. "Do not think such thoughts. Please. I am perfectly content with my fate." What a blatant lie. He smiled in return, nodding- convinced. "Yes. Yes, this is a fate you have chosen, is it not?" "Indeed." "Then farewell, O saddened one! I wish you luck!" What a blatant lie. Albeit depressing, the winged man's words had gotten me thinking once more. Was I really the only one left? Were there no others? What, pray tell, would happen- if I were to join Jormungandr? Would it all start over, under there? If I gave into my desires... Would everything be the same?... Would I just repeat the cycle? I... Certainly did not like that idea. . . . A month, since I met the man. And, as I wandered the streets, he came to me once more. His voice was a mere whisper- to the left he looked, and then to the right, as if surrounded on all sides. Taking me by the shoulder, he leaned in, his soft brown eyes wide with fear, "To-morrow he comes. For you. They are restless- they cannot bear the thought of your survival. I would like you to listen to me closesly, sad man. When the sun sets tonight and the sky bleeds yellow, you are to return to this place. I will take you away. I will tell you your fate. And I promise you now that you will not like it... But..." He paused, glancing upwards towards the sky- his eyes softening, "I want to help. I pity you. I have for quite some time. Your lifestyle, though chosen, is certainly one you regret. I can see it in your eyes: blood is not a taste you enjoy, as many of the men who once walked this world did. Your heart, beneath the corruption of your mind, is pure! Pure, I say! But they do not believe- no, no, they think you to be just as disgusting as the rest of the..." Horror was the last thing I saw in his eyes before he left- his warmth still lingering upon my shoulders as I stared over the spot before me. As if his ghost remained. But it didn't. When the sky bleeds yellow... For the first time in years, decades, centuries... By tomorrow I would be away from this place! Perhaps he was to be my heathen god. Perhaps he had heard my pleas.                                                                                                                                                                                    another abandoned book idea #2 “Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.” — Homer, The Odyssey . . . It is with a hatred undying, that I curse the assailants of Death. I have done so since the day of their deed, and will continue until the wake of God upon the throne of the world. He was so sacred a specimen, that I would confess, in my innocence, to finding the mere idea of his abolishment to be laughable. Death? The humbler of humanity? The scourge of all eventual evils? Warped and twisted in the claws of those infinitely beneath him?. . . The thought- nay, the very idealization- was blasphemous! Among the list of the cursed- Hell’s finest- I fear, is my name. A name in which I have sought feverishly to remove from the collective consciousness of humanity. But. . . The longer I spend in this hell, the more uniform my thoughts become- decaying into those of the people I once thought to be human. . . . Perhaps ‘human’ is not the word. Human has now adopted a new meaning- one synonymous to wicked. Cruel. Forsaken. When it used to mean flawed, but redeemable. Imperfect, but amiable. Tribulated, but with the hopes of survival as a civilized creature, worthy of the soul Life breathed upon him. Life, who has abandoned us so, sits within the heavens now. Curses our name with that wicked tongue of his, I know it. I have only seen his face once, but, to get a mere glimpse is to know the temptation of Lucifer himself. It was the sweet whisper of Life in my ear, that brought me to cast away his fiend- a fiend I thought we both shared. ‘Is Death not the end of all good things? Is Life not what brings us fantasy, riches, splendor?. . . He is, he must be. Life has bequeathed upon me all I know, no matter how bittersweet. Do I not owe him, as my liberator, his own selfless desires?’, Were the thoughts that plagued my singular mind, and became the heart of my toil. I often found myself reminding my mind of the beating of this heart- of the blood it dispersed to it- when I myself sat over the graves of those who demanded rest, and stole from them their immortal souls. Never will I be able, to wash away the blood that stains my hands. . . . I for the past several months have partaken in a ritual of sorts- one, that while vile, keeps me sane all the same. Part of me knew what carnage would come out of Life's wake. And so, unconsciously, that part of me began preparation. A preparation that, with the resentment towards my banishment, came to fruition. How does one prepare himself, for hell upon earth?. . . He becomes his very own daemon. With a masked face, I walk the streets- empty, and yet aflame with the palpable impurity that has become humanity. It still baffles me, how such a primitive, lust-driven species has come to conquer mortality's empire. Which God above, had cursed me with the ability, I do not know- but I curse him nonetheless. Upon the streets crawls a disheveled young man, upon his hands and knees- blood trickling from every wound, eyes bulging from his skull as he, fruitlessly, dares to steal from the world his life, with a small scalpel. Has he no idea, what the world has fallen to? I pity him, and yet despise him all the same, for cursing me with the image of his pain. He is only one daily reminder amongst a million, one bloodied crow in a murder. I carry on, and pray that the collective does not pick up upon my thoughts- that, by some miracle, my mind's whispers are hushed to their systems. Unfortunately, I have never been a creature of fortune. . . . A chill, takes hold of my spine. Wanders up and over my bones, bites at my lips, and paralyzes all but my eyes, who, with fear, begin to wander towards the direction in which it came- There was no boy, only Death. O, God, how many questions I have for him! Has he returned? Will the world, the Hell it is, find it's way back to its natural order? Were my efforts merely experimental? Had my labors even been fruitful in the first place, or merely temporarily so?. . . Death stared me in the eye with one of silver, unblinking, a scalpel clasped firmly in hand. “You bastard,” Spat he, porcelain face contorting with despise, “Look at what you have done.” Death lifted the corpse of the boy in his arms, lifting his chin upwards in my direction with a gloved finger, “He has been in pain much too long. And you- you only prolonged his suffering. Have you no mercy, for your fellow man?. . .” I looked upon the face of the boy- lips parted unevenly, head beaten into itself in his own feverous passion following the end. And, then looked away. The look of his eyes, rolled back into his head, and yet still red with fury, was more than I could bear. Moreso painful, was knowing that I was the very hand, who guided him into the arms of Death, like this. “I do, I swear upon it!. . . I did not ever think, it would come to this. I sought to banish Hell, not bring it forth! Believe me- I have hated myself like I were misery itself, ever since your leaving. But now that you are here-”                                         Abandoned short story #3: “Befriend your local crows. You never know when you may need them.” . . . Caspian Cadell was a name to be feared, upon the streets of Carrion. Mothers, in hushed tones, urged their children to steer clear of Hanging Man Boulevard- and ignorant teenagers dared one another to do the opposite. Why everyone feared him so, nobody was absolutely sure- for they had never seen his face, nor heard his voice. All they knew was a name. . . . Perhaps, it was the way the winds whispered in his honor, upon the deadest of nights- or the silver-eyed crow who sat always over the sign of the street, its short, scarcely feathered wings spread in reminder of how unbearably short the lives of the people were. Whatever the case, as Miko stepped tentatively forward towards Hanged Man and stared that crow in his all-seeing eye, he could not help, but feel overcome with dread. “Go on, Miko! Or I'll tell your mom, ‘bout that one time you—” Miko did not have to hear the rest of the sentence to know what his friend implied, and looked over his shoulder with a panicked expression, “Alright, Jesus, Freddy! Not so loud!” “Not like anyone comes back here anyways,” Sneered the other boy, arms folded over his chest as he nodded once more towards the dimly lit street ahead. Even the electricians dared not pass, it seemed. Piping up, over Miko's thoughts, Freddy added, “I mean, at least we don't have to worry about our parents catching us back here.” “Oh, yeah,” Retorted Miko, gaze back upon the cracked cobblestone roads before him, “Not the cops, either.” Miko could feel another threat forming on Freddy's lips, and, feeling his head spin from the pressure, made the wisest decision he had ever, in his sixteen years of decision making- He sprinted down the street of an alleged murderer. Why he did, he himself could not even begin to fathom. Maybe, so it could all end sooner- anything was better, than his mom knowing about the incident. Or, maybe, it was just to prove to Freddy how willing he was, to rid himself of the memory. The memory of the death of the boy he once knew. . . . He could no longer feel his feet moving- nor the winds of the street combing back his hair. . . . Miko was no longer running. No longer running because he had been stopped. By the hand of the very murderer he had heard tales of his entire life. Except, he wasn't. When Miko forced open his eyes, the sight he was met with was near. . . comforting, in the most morbid way he knew. Before his eyes was the visage of a boy no older than he- with wispy black hair, a pair of saddened gray eyes, and a frail body, whose skin, Miko feared to be porcelain- for, it was cracked, upon his lips and cheeks. As if somebody had handled him too hard, and it had shattered- as if he had been forced, with those calloused hands of his, to piece it all back together upon the uneven surface of this very street. “Caspian.” He choked upon his tongue at the realization. “Miko.” Replied the boy, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in bitter amusement. Miko froze. Somehow, hearing his name off of the boy's lips was what had finally set him off about this whole scenario. Clearing his throat, Miko took a step back, subconsciously running his fingers over the lingering cold on his shoulder, where the boy had stopped him before, “You. . . Know me?” “I do,” Caspian offered Miko a short nod, his silver eyes fixed, seemingly, behind him rather than upon him, “Actually, the reason why you're here is the reason why I'm here too.” Miko felt his shoulders stiffen, as he glanced behind him. There was nothing. “Freddy?” “No.”                                                                                                 Experimental Poems (s i g h) #1 I run away from feeling because it is bigger than me, I am the child who ran from the tree. When mother spread her arms and offered from her branches plenty, I ran, I ran faster than she would let me. And when the day came, to spread my wings and fly, I sat and stared at the sky. If stars are the only things in this world who survive, Then I'll never make it out alive. I am the child who ran from the tree, I run from things that are bigger than me. There's a whole world outside, calling my name, But I run, I run back to what keeps me sane. Those small memories of laughter I can't quite recall, Oh, they echo through these sad old halls, How I wish I could fight these tall walls, But I am a runner, and runners never change at all. Had I stayed, I'm sure by now, She'd have beaten me, with her barren branches into the ground, I'd have stolen and devoured all her luxuries, The open mouth knows nothing but feed. For I always was and always will be, The child who ran from the tree. I am the child who ran from the tree, I ran from the branches who sheltered me. And when I ran I knew, there was no turning back, For a runner is a runner until the stars fade black.                                                                                                 #2 I am a sack of meat, And that is all I will ever be, I am the insect beneath your feet, So why don't you just step on me, So why don't you just step on me? I am a sack of meat, This is a life of which there is no retreat, I live to bleed, Insignificance is the seed I reap, Insignificance is the seed I reap. I am a sack of meat, Please, do not pity me, I chose my sinful breed, Human is more than I'll ever be, Human is more than I'll ever be. I am a sack of meat, A mass of flesh made to please, I am the shame of the butcher, The disgrace of the priest, The disgrace of the priest. ... All I am, All I ever will be, Until hells meet, Is a worthless sack of meat.                                                           (I apologize for the brain tumor this is all growing, I didn't realize it doesn't let you space and indent :sob:)