[Leonard267's Writing Contest] Inked Blood
3
Before I begin I feel as though I must give context. This story, which is all together vague and overly artsy, was written in a time of change for me. It was at a time when my life seemed to crumble around me, and a time when I decided wholly to become a writer. As such, this story is not exactly based on true to life experiences, rather it is based on the true emotions I experienced during my life. This is an utteral expression of feeling.
---
No longer man, no longer Human, empty, words. Pens, pencils, ink, keyboards, paper, whatever I can use. I must write, I must become a writer, I must be nothing but a writer. It is all I could ever be, all I could ever see! My blood boils, alchemizing into ink, turning black, thick, slow. It stings and aches, and yet I welcome it. Yes, I feel it, it's painful, my heart beats harder, faster, trying to make up for it's weakness. Yes, my heart is weak, it is still the heart of a man, it'll change too, I can feel it. It's turning to stone, a black, oozing stone, secreting the ink that fills my bones with the lifeless words of a writer, and through my wooden bones and my paper muscles, I turn them into life, stories of words, coming together to form an ark, to carry me, carry me somewhere else.
I think back, to what it was like to be man, to have blood and bone, to feel and be felt for. It was hell, really, pain behind every corner, that's life. Back then, during that time, my words were sweet, like honey, with hopeful conjecture and whimsical fragility. I made promises, offered compliments, hoped for a better future, one filled with one love. I see now the ignorance of my naivete, there is not hope, not love, not for me, not for this thing I am. It is only in hindsight that I see my mistake, I allowed myself to fly too close to this sun, like Icarus I will fall. The wax of my makeshift wings did not just melt, it burned, burned to nothingness, and I have plummeted. I have fallen into this gaping emptiness where expression is false and all is a lie, I am nothing, I am alone, I must write, I must tell the world what it is to write!
I wish not to have happiness in my life, for happiness, pride, love, it all leads to the same place, they all instill you with hope,
and that hope, once you leave the darkness of ignorance, and you look back, back at all you wanted, all you could have had, turns to despair. You think, 'Maybe I did something wrong.' You didn't, you said all the right things, felt all the right things, and yet, life isn't that simple, it isn't that pure, you made no mistakes, you only reached too far, perhaps too quickly, and once you went far enough, once you found your answer and left the tunnel, looking back your hope turned to despair. A despair that lasted a life time, that held you back, that made you afraid of your own dream! It’s a hellish, painful, gut-wrenching despair!
“It'll be different this time, next time.” You said, you say, again and again, you’re repeating yourself now, going in circles. What's the point, do you even know? Because there isn't one, there is only dreadful repetition and the pain that comes with. You'll die if you keep this up, and I think you know that, you won't last, you need to change, become something new, something more, or maybe less than Human. It's for the best, you'll feel better, you'll feel “happier,” I promise. I’ll do everything I can for you, I’ll turn you into a writer, I’ll take you and I’ll craft you into a story of dazzling darkness!
Take my hand now child, take it and rejoice; feel the ooze overtake, feel your body turn, feel your mind rot and evolve, become nothing to begin anew, to become something, something not Human. Do you think I am Human? I was once, oh yes, and I was trapped in the same loop, it's okay now, follow me, accept it, yes I was trapped in that loop and now I tell you, I had a revelation, I chose to change, to become something new, something different. You can too, I promise, just follow me, learn to hate, to be angry, learn to give up the hopeful fruitless journey that's kept your legs moving for so long, learn to sit, learn to write. Slow yourself little one, slow down and feel the black ink fill yourself! It can be everything, and nothing all at once! It is something to behold, please I beg of you, feel it!
I am not Human, you see my child, I am, I have become, and all that I am is a Writer. It’s all that is or ever will be, it’s all that matters, words, stories, poems, they are true existence, and this is simply pain! Leave this! Embrace them! Do not falter! Feel only the blood of word expressing itself through your motions!
Or so I might say, or so I might wish. There is no changing in my skin, no transformation, I return to reality, with all the pain it brings. Here I am, alone, sitting at a computer fantasizing of something unreal, something ethereal. I am Human, my heart beats cold blood and my brain, my very mind continues to tick, to stir, to force itself further into whatever “life” is supposed to be. I look forward now, I see the next tunnel, it's far away, it might be the tunnel I just left I think, I'm not sure, It's okay, I know I must move forward, tunnels are like that, you can't stand in them forever, you can't wait in the hopeful bliss of darkness your entire life. I look down, I sigh, my feet are bruised and bloody, I am young yet I must endure this, yet I must accept this, my bone wears thin, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going. I hate this life, I really and truly do, but this is the blight of all those born under the title “Human.” I take a step, it hurts, and so does the next one, the pain grows, there is no release, no moment to breathe, and there will never be.
I'll die on this path, alone, just like I was born, I can only hope that I'm one of the lucky few who die inside the tunnel, happily. Then again, maybe this isn’t so bad. Pain creates wishes, and those wishes can lead up to new hope, perhaps I’m just finding it out, finding my hope. Perhaps the tunnel does end, for good, in light. Perhaps. I can’t say I know for sure, and I doubt I ever will, but it’s a reason. It’s a reason to keep walking, to keep talking. To stay alive. Oh I’ll write, though, I’ll write it all. I’ll write every world, every character, every concept I can conjugate. Maybe in the end I’ll find something yet known, I can only really hope, though. Either way, I’ll write. I’ll write life.
---
No longer man, no longer Human, empty, words. Pens, pencils, ink, keyboards, paper, whatever I can use. I must write, I must become a writer, I must be nothing but a writer. It is all I could ever be, all I could ever see! My blood boils, alchemizing into ink, turning black, thick, slow. It stings and aches, and yet I welcome it. Yes, I feel it, it's painful, my heart beats harder, faster, trying to make up for it's weakness. Yes, my heart is weak, it is still the heart of a man, it'll change too, I can feel it. It's turning to stone, a black, oozing stone, secreting the ink that fills my bones with the lifeless words of a writer, and through my wooden bones and my paper muscles, I turn them into life, stories of words, coming together to form an ark, to carry me, carry me somewhere else.
I think back, to what it was like to be man, to have blood and bone, to feel and be felt for. It was hell, really, pain behind every corner, that's life. Back then, during that time, my words were sweet, like honey, with hopeful conjecture and whimsical fragility. I made promises, offered compliments, hoped for a better future, one filled with one love. I see now the ignorance of my naivete, there is not hope, not love, not for me, not for this thing I am. It is only in hindsight that I see my mistake, I allowed myself to fly too close to this sun, like Icarus I will fall. The wax of my makeshift wings did not just melt, it burned, burned to nothingness, and I have plummeted. I have fallen into this gaping emptiness where expression is false and all is a lie, I am nothing, I am alone, I must write, I must tell the world what it is to write!
I wish not to have happiness in my life, for happiness, pride, love, it all leads to the same place, they all instill you with hope,
and that hope, once you leave the darkness of ignorance, and you look back, back at all you wanted, all you could have had, turns to despair. You think, 'Maybe I did something wrong.' You didn't, you said all the right things, felt all the right things, and yet, life isn't that simple, it isn't that pure, you made no mistakes, you only reached too far, perhaps too quickly, and once you went far enough, once you found your answer and left the tunnel, looking back your hope turned to despair. A despair that lasted a life time, that held you back, that made you afraid of your own dream! It’s a hellish, painful, gut-wrenching despair!
“It'll be different this time, next time.” You said, you say, again and again, you’re repeating yourself now, going in circles. What's the point, do you even know? Because there isn't one, there is only dreadful repetition and the pain that comes with. You'll die if you keep this up, and I think you know that, you won't last, you need to change, become something new, something more, or maybe less than Human. It's for the best, you'll feel better, you'll feel “happier,” I promise. I’ll do everything I can for you, I’ll turn you into a writer, I’ll take you and I’ll craft you into a story of dazzling darkness!
Take my hand now child, take it and rejoice; feel the ooze overtake, feel your body turn, feel your mind rot and evolve, become nothing to begin anew, to become something, something not Human. Do you think I am Human? I was once, oh yes, and I was trapped in the same loop, it's okay now, follow me, accept it, yes I was trapped in that loop and now I tell you, I had a revelation, I chose to change, to become something new, something different. You can too, I promise, just follow me, learn to hate, to be angry, learn to give up the hopeful fruitless journey that's kept your legs moving for so long, learn to sit, learn to write. Slow yourself little one, slow down and feel the black ink fill yourself! It can be everything, and nothing all at once! It is something to behold, please I beg of you, feel it!
I am not Human, you see my child, I am, I have become, and all that I am is a Writer. It’s all that is or ever will be, it’s all that matters, words, stories, poems, they are true existence, and this is simply pain! Leave this! Embrace them! Do not falter! Feel only the blood of word expressing itself through your motions!
Or so I might say, or so I might wish. There is no changing in my skin, no transformation, I return to reality, with all the pain it brings. Here I am, alone, sitting at a computer fantasizing of something unreal, something ethereal. I am Human, my heart beats cold blood and my brain, my very mind continues to tick, to stir, to force itself further into whatever “life” is supposed to be. I look forward now, I see the next tunnel, it's far away, it might be the tunnel I just left I think, I'm not sure, It's okay, I know I must move forward, tunnels are like that, you can't stand in them forever, you can't wait in the hopeful bliss of darkness your entire life. I look down, I sigh, my feet are bruised and bloody, I am young yet I must endure this, yet I must accept this, my bone wears thin, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going. I hate this life, I really and truly do, but this is the blight of all those born under the title “Human.” I take a step, it hurts, and so does the next one, the pain grows, there is no release, no moment to breathe, and there will never be.
I'll die on this path, alone, just like I was born, I can only hope that I'm one of the lucky few who die inside the tunnel, happily. Then again, maybe this isn’t so bad. Pain creates wishes, and those wishes can lead up to new hope, perhaps I’m just finding it out, finding my hope. Perhaps the tunnel does end, for good, in light. Perhaps. I can’t say I know for sure, and I doubt I ever will, but it’s a reason. It’s a reason to keep walking, to keep talking. To stay alive. Oh I’ll write, though, I’ll write it all. I’ll write every world, every character, every concept I can conjugate. Maybe in the end I’ll find something yet known, I can only really hope, though. Either way, I’ll write. I’ll write life.
1
I had a soft spot for contemplative pieces that are easy to understand, this is possibly one point which made me able to enjoy the piece :D
Reading this, I relate to my journey of writing for so many years and during the entire time I only became more and more unknown. Though, swallowing those bitterness and choosing to grow up from it, I discovered what is the most important about writing for me.
It was the furthest away from garnering readers, more about writing something that you can enjoy on your own, regardless whether the others will like it or not. I thought back when I decided to abandon writing stories for living, since I felt betrayed by my potential readers. When I went home from the somehow meaningless day at work, I took time to write something to spice up my day and also do it on work during break time. When I was able to have fun from it, I believe I just made a difference in my life.
It was no longer meaningless and without aim, at least when it comes to the stories--there's always something to look forward to.
well, i kinda interpret it like this since it felt like reading something about myself lol
maybe the difference in me was instead of abandoning hope, I choose to abandon my own despair. guess that's all :D
Reading this, I relate to my journey of writing for so many years and during the entire time I only became more and more unknown. Though, swallowing those bitterness and choosing to grow up from it, I discovered what is the most important about writing for me.
It was the furthest away from garnering readers, more about writing something that you can enjoy on your own, regardless whether the others will like it or not. I thought back when I decided to abandon writing stories for living, since I felt betrayed by my potential readers. When I went home from the somehow meaningless day at work, I took time to write something to spice up my day and also do it on work during break time. When I was able to have fun from it, I believe I just made a difference in my life.
It was no longer meaningless and without aim, at least when it comes to the stories--there's always something to look forward to.
well, i kinda interpret it like this since it felt like reading something about myself lol
maybe the difference in me was instead of abandoning hope, I choose to abandon my own despair. guess that's all :D
1
Xenon
FAKKU Writer
This is an interestingly raw and passionate piece. I can sense the very real impact behind the emotion of each sentence, and the hardship that you felt at the time of writing reaches out and is plain to see the effects of the struggle of your path in this world. There are parts that seem a bit more ethereal, a bit more abstract, but they still feel real and emotive. Keep moving, keep walking, keep talking, keep writing. I wish you success and growth on your path.
1
leonard267
FAKKU Non-Writer
Ah... If you are familiar with all of griping and moaning I did on this site, you'd know that this is not my cup of tea.
I had difficulty understanding it. I had to reconcile your ruminations of not seeking happiness and if I am not mistaken, what you intend to do with your life, ties in with your wish to write.
I suppose if you tasked me to write your entry, I would include real life experiences to explain why I chose to write.
I had difficulty understanding it. I had to reconcile your ruminations of not seeking happiness and if I am not mistaken, what you intend to do with your life, ties in with your wish to write.
I suppose if you tasked me to write your entry, I would include real life experiences to explain why I chose to write.