Well, if you know me, then you know that this would be my third thread for my writings. If you don't know me, as in your a new(er) user, than this is my third thread for my writings. This is a fairly akward situation, so I feel the need to explain:
I am making this final thread (and yes, final), because I realised something during my Hiatus. When I 'quit' AG, I was fairly discusted with my works. I absolutely loathed them. And after a while, I realized something: that it didn't matter. Who cares what I thought about them. What matters is what OTHERs think about them. I wouldn't be able to grow as a writer if my angst over my own works led people to assume that they WERE bad.
While some of them genuinely reeked, there were others that were genuinely good. And as I looked back over my first writings, I realized another thing too: that I had gotten better. That my works had gone from a slipshod, unbalanced affair to a generarrly more organized shipshod affair.
So I am not making this thread to be unique in having *3* threads about my work, or for vanity, or anything like that. I am making it so that you, the reader, will look at my works, and will hopefully tell me how to get better.
Theory holds that there are five stages of grief that an individual goes through in the aftermath of some devastating event. It starts with denial, than proceeds with anger. Bargaining and depression soon follow. The cycle culminates in acceptance.
Acceptance, however, is a very broad term.
I dwell in a state of supreme acceptance. No event, no matter how unexpected or cruel, bothers me. As the saying goes, it slides off me like water off a duck's back. To most people, my state of superior acceptance is known as apathy.
In other words, I simply do not care. In less than a year I will end my childhood and become an adult. The word 'disfunctional' would be a euphemistic way of describing it. I am not close to my father, and was kicked out by my mother. But do I care? No. For the first time in my life, I am struggling to fit in socially at my new school. But am I bothered that I have eaten lunch every day this year by myself? No. And when asked, I lie and say that everything is fine. It's simpler this way; I don't feel like the challenge of facing the truth is even worth it.
Around the world and back again, We'll march until we reach the end. By trumping trumping trumping Trumping trumping trumping 'round. Our feet we'll stamp into the ground, But purpose here can taint be found. Just trumping trumping trumping Trumping trumping trumping 'round!
It fell 215 feet, and was almost lost to sight as it hit the water. I could only just see the splash it made, could only just see the minute spray and water droplets thrown back into the air.
It was a very brave rock, far braver than I. A very brave rock.
Wrote this for the short story contest. The theme was 'Ample Answer'.
Cave
Just dead bones walking now. Just a bit of withered flesh suspended on an animated frame. Not too long now, and I'll join the others.
Don't know where anyone else is. Don't know where anything else is. Hell, I don't even know where I am... Which is funny, because I swear I used to know. It was me and Mark and Paulina and we had all decided to...
I don't know. But I didn't want to. But they wanted to and made me and yelled at me and hurt my feelings. Now they've gone and left me here in this cave and I've only got enough supplies to last a few days, and they're in poor enough condition.
The supplies' condition? Sh!t, what about my condition?
Poor me...
---
just me now. the darkness is starting to come in and my lamps are failing and i don't know what to do. ink in my pen is running out too so i'll keep it brief. i can hear something moving around out there, probably just some bats or some dumb animal.
yeah... bats...
but mark and... and... mark hasn't shown up and i'm still waiting and still hating him for dragging poor me to this hell hole.
shhhh! shhhhh! gotta be quiet, gotta stop writing because they can hear me scratching on the paper with my pen.
---
poor me poor me poor me why did he drag poor me here and leave me and join them and leave poor me here now im hurt and poor me and poor me and i can hear them coming and fluttering and whispering and talking and it hurts my head and the darkness is quiet and so quiet and it hurts to hear and shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhh i can hear them and they know im snitching and they dont like it but its too late now and the cave knows too and shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
---
gotz ta b queit so i kan heer them wizper to mee wat i want to heer bcuz i lik it and the darknis is nise and luvlee and preshis and the muzic wants me to leeve and go deeper and i think i wil so i will and poor me and poor me and deer god it hurts it hurts... It hurts... IT HURTS!
The short answer is any number of terrible things, all dependent upon the current state of the man.
A man is like a machine, and like any machine, only so much production can be coaxed out of it. Even if the utmost care is taken to ensure that the machine remains in peak condition, it will eventually break if too much stress is applied, or if too much is demanded from it. This doesn't mean that such a machine is a failure, or that its defective. Rather, the fault lies with the operator for failing to comprehend the physical limits of the machine in the first place.
This man I speak of is no different, and the question the same: What happens if you push him too far? What happens when you demand too much of him and eviscerate him when he inevitably fails? What happens when he, who is your responsibility I might add, is driven to such an extreme that he works no longer for profit or gain, but to simply escape the burden that is unjustly placed upon him? What happens when such a man, standing already near a sharp precipice, is driven closer and closer to the edge by an overbearing taskmaster so that he falls, or even jumps to escape the hell he is in?
I did it just last Saturday. I was quite neat about it; any surgeon would be proud. I handled the blade with finesse, and a few flicks later, I was without a heart. There was very little blood, and even less of a mess. All in all, I was done in just a few minutes.
Hearts are over rated, you know. What with all those emotions and feelings clouding one's judgements. "Our brains set us apart from animals!" my dad used to say. So I figured, why not get rid of the epicenter of the animal, and leave only reason?
I will not lie, the pain was immense. But there are pains far greater which arise in the heart. That is why I did it, you see. I loved a woman, and she loved me. But she would not be with me, lest we fell out of love. To which I replied, "What is love?"
I cut my heart out. And now I don't know what to do.
I heard people tell how you had such a good heart. But you took it off your sleeve And kept it close to your chest. And I thought may be I could come in And get a little piece, just for me.
But physics must have played a joke. 'Cause we were attracted to each other, Like we had our own little puzzle pieces That fit almost perfectly together. And I won't pretend that I'm a scientist, That I understand how gravity works. 'Cause for me, doll, it's just an invisible force. And if you can't see it, it's probably not real.
Piano-Driven Instrumental
Gravity, just ruins everything. It pulls us together, When you just want to get away. Gravity, just ruins everything. Yeah gravity, just ruins everything.
I've said it before, but gravity can't be real. For if nature abhors a vacumn, She must abhor your heart. You opened my eyes, and showed me the world. Now you expect me to live in a box?
I'm not a scientist, so I won't pretend. I don't know why you say your things, Then turn your back on all of them. Don't you know, doll, I ain't a dog? I don't bite, so stop treating me like one.
Piano-Driven Instrumental
Gravity, just ruins everything. It pulls us together, When you just want to get away. Gravity, just ruins everything. Yeah gravity, just ruins everything.
And I know I've said goodbye before. (Is it any wonder I keep coming back?) And I know I've turned my back before. (Why do you keep coming back to me?) And I know I've denied gravity before... (How could you when it ruins everything?)
