I've always dabbled in stories when i first discovered the word document on a computer back when I was 6 or 7, and (not so) recently made a trip back to writing. I already have 3 books I plan on publishing, with... well, none of them even being close to ready to show to a publisher.
So first things first, I shall share my New Year's Resolution: Read at least one book per month (weak sauce, I know), write one short story per month (now we're starting to reach intermediate stuff), and finish one novel this year (gg raid boss incoming). I've already selected which of my 3 ideas I'm going to be writing this year, as the other novel is currently packed away so I can't work on it. And as with all New Year's Resolutions, I've already dropped the ball on this one. Oh well.
A Scalpel to the Madman's Thoughts
So what is the truth, to you?
Your truth can be beautiful lies, hidden behind a relic of obliviosity;
your truth can be fascinating answers, squirming under the heat of curiosity;
your truth can be small flakes of life, adding to a compilation of community;
but for everyone, the truth is simply fireflies glowing the darkness,
for whatever reason we see fit to extinguish its gloomy reach.
So what is the darkness, to you?
Your darkness can be enemies, challenging your beautiful lies with their own obliviosity;
your darkness can be mysteries, the answers that evade the very eye of your curiosity;
your darkness can be losses, the trickling of life as it erodes away your community;
but for everyone, the darkness is simply where fireflies have not journeyed,
for whatever reason we see fit to why they haven't ventured it.
So what is the journey, to you?
Your journey can be salvation, repelling the darkness with your obliviosity;
your journey can be research, engulfing the darkness with your curiosity;
your journey can be family, conquering the darkness with your community;
but for everyone, the journey is just a scalpel to the madman's thoughts,
giving reason to fireflies when there never really was one.
All-in-all, I care little for this poem for my own reasons. I am interested to hear your perspectives of it, though, as I get a lot of different answers as to what it means from people I show it to.
CHANCE. A Short Story.
I’m standing at the bus stop. I’m completely shocked. My neck is stiffened and locking my head to face forward. My eyes, I feel, are slightly widened – I close them and take a deep breath. With some tension relieved, I open my eyes and look to the left.
Sitting on the bench is what most would consider a rather pretty woman with no outreaching features. A woman that you would certainly notice walking by, but not much more.
But I knew that she was more than that.
I looked at her, and the features are all the same as they were back in high school: long brown hair with drips of honey throughout; a nose, pinched upwards with natural sophistication that she radiated with her powerful stride as she walked the halls; her large eyes of hazel, which would swallow all thought in the dark holes that formed in their center – a curse of which I was a victim of once as I stared into them for too long, and it was quite awkward; and a smile of authentic kindness that gleamed hope into this dreary existence.
I’ve known her since the seventh grade, but never mustered up the courage to approach her for a conversation until our senior year of high school. It took a lot of pondering, “What should I bring up first? How should I actually approach her? Just walking up to her would be awkward for her; perhaps I can ‘overhear’ a conversation about something I’m interested in? No, no, she’d think I’ve been eavesdropping – I mean, I would be but it wouldn’t be in a creepy way…” Nonetheless, that whole nervous train of thought is what ran through my mind for weeks until, I don’t remember how, it happened. All I remember is in one class we had together, there was free time right before the bell and it happened.
We talked.
And it was mesmerizing – the world was silenced and shrunken in cowardice from the power of our contact, the pure energy that was achieved; seeing her smile and knowing that I was what caused it had truly seized the existence of everything else, for nothing else can compare to a smile that could warm the coldest hearts. The laughter we had crashed to a halt; the world came rushing in, leaving me dazed and confused. Our teacher was standing next to our desks, yelling our names: the bell has rung some time ago, and we should start heading to our next classes. We looked at each other, laughed lightly, and walked together to our next class.
Unfortunately, this courage for the most part came from a girlfriend. We started dating before the new semester, before I was put into a class with her; after I gave up the thought of ever having her. My girlfriend found out that I’ve been talking to her, and, well, it wasn’t pretty. Ultimately, I ended up single and after the school year, things went back to normal between her and me. Back to living on separate planes, with no bridge to connect the impossible gap.
I accepted, once again, that it wasn’t meant to be. I went on with life, got my degree, and now live a normal life without high expectations that I can’t live up to anyhow. Now here she is again, after about a decade since we’ve seen each other last, and for some reason it’s still will-shattering to think about talking to her; simply thinking about the devastation she can drop on me at any moment in the conversation sunk my heart into my stomach.
I approached the bench and sat down next to her.
“Hello,” I said quietly.
“Hi,” she replied with her usual smile – not a smile of recognition, just a smile that you use to give a kind impression to strangers.
“Do you remember me?” I asked blankly, knowing the answer.
She gave me a bit of a look, and started analyzing me with her eyes. She said my name with a quizzical dialect, to which I replied “yes,” with a small smile. Her smile grew into one that was more warming, but still not the smile that melted me away. “How have you been?” to which I replied “Well; just getting started in my new career. You?” We continued the small talk and I saw that it wasn’t going anywhere.
The lack of closeness in the conversation was tearing away at me more and more and I couldn’t bare it anymore: “So, what did you think of me in high school?” I already knew it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I just wanted to end this torture and be able to move on for good with my life.
“You were a cool guy, but you never talked much.” A bus approached the curb. “That’s my ride, it was nice to see you again!” and walked toward the bus. I replied similarly and half-heartedly, and watched as my irrational love dissolved into the distance.
I felt my eyes grow heavy as I watched her. She was looking down, thankfully, reading something on her phone. I shook my head free of thought, and sat down next to her.
“Hello, do you remember me?” I asked, giving the nicest smile I possibly could.
“Oh, of course! How have you been?” The smile seemed more joyful.
“I’ve been alright, but I’m more interested in how you’ve been lately.”
“Oh, I’ve been so happy! So much has happened in the past few years!”
“That’s wonderful, maybe we can talk about it all over a date?” I asked, reaching my hand for her right that was acting as support on the bench.
“Oh, I’m married,” she said, turning the hand holding her phone around to show me a ring carrying a diamond that looked way too heavy for a finger to hold. I retracted my hand awkwardly and waited for my bus.
I sighed a deep breath. I turned to look at her once more – only this time, she’s looking back at me. I’m startled and jump slightly, and she giggles. She’s giving me a smile that’s as warming as I can imagine. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says softly. “We haven’t talked in so long. Come sit down.”
I’m still struck by her; her beauty is everlasting. I walk toward her, trembling slightly, and sit down. I take the time to analyze for a wedding ring. No ring.
“It’s so good to see you again,” I say to her, and she replies likewise. We talk about our jobs, and our college experiences.
“High school was so long ago,” she says.
“It was.”
What hobbies have you picked up? I’ve gotten into…
That’s crazy! I wouldn’t ever think…
The world disappeared. Things were the way they were meant to be. Nothing else mattered. Man may have created fire, but I found the spark. The sublime feeling of her comfort was exceptional.
“It seems the buses are running late, and it’s cold out,” she sighed. Well, that’s it. The spark dies just as quickly a second time. I bow my head, and quickly lift it.
“That it is,” I reply meekly, and we get up.
We began to speak at the same time, gave an awkward chuckle, and I pardoned her first.
“I was wondering, if you wanted to go to a caf? with me?”
I smiled, and in the adrenaline I reached for a hand – a positive, reassuring response gripped my hand back. We walked down the street, moving forward with nothing but the feeling of right ahead of me now.
My smile was wide. I noticed it when my eyes opened in response to being spoken to.
“Excuse me, excuse me?”
It’s her. She’s standing in front of me now, a hand on my bicep, nudging me.
“Is this your bus?” she asks, completely ignorant of who I am.
I look at its number. It is.
“No,” I reply plainly.
“Alright, have a nice day.” She says to me and turns toward the bus. She begins walking. Looks like I’m missing my ride; there’s no way I can get on now. She halts suddenly, right before taking the first step onto the bus. She lifts her forefinger toward the driver, apparently signaling to wait. She turns around and starts prancing towards me in small steps and smiles at me. “I almost forgot, let me give you my number. Maybe we can catch up sometime?”
My heart begins rattling against its cage to be set free. I pull out my phone and dial the digits as she gives them to me. I give her a smile and a thank you, wish her a lovely day, and smile as she turns around right before entering the bus and waves to me goodbye. I smile as I watch the bus drive off. I’m still smiling. Whether I’m overanalyzing this moment or not, it still leaves an attack of opportunity.
Although I had to find a new way to work now, it didn’t matter. Nothing else was as important as seeing her smile again.
This is a short story I've been planning to write for a while and happy that I've finally gotten around to it. I, and I'm sure many others, follow this sort of train of thought that, in the end, lead us nowhere but sulking in our losses. While this story ends in a happier note, it usually doesn't for those who are trapped thinking about scenarios.
So first things first, I shall share my New Year's Resolution: Read at least one book per month (weak sauce, I know), write one short story per month (now we're starting to reach intermediate stuff), and finish one novel this year (gg raid boss incoming). I've already selected which of my 3 ideas I'm going to be writing this year, as the other novel is currently packed away so I can't work on it. And as with all New Year's Resolutions, I've already dropped the ball on this one. Oh well.
A Scalpel to the Madman's Thoughts
So what is the truth, to you?
Your truth can be beautiful lies, hidden behind a relic of obliviosity;
your truth can be fascinating answers, squirming under the heat of curiosity;
your truth can be small flakes of life, adding to a compilation of community;
but for everyone, the truth is simply fireflies glowing the darkness,
for whatever reason we see fit to extinguish its gloomy reach.
So what is the darkness, to you?
Your darkness can be enemies, challenging your beautiful lies with their own obliviosity;
your darkness can be mysteries, the answers that evade the very eye of your curiosity;
your darkness can be losses, the trickling of life as it erodes away your community;
but for everyone, the darkness is simply where fireflies have not journeyed,
for whatever reason we see fit to why they haven't ventured it.
So what is the journey, to you?
Your journey can be salvation, repelling the darkness with your obliviosity;
your journey can be research, engulfing the darkness with your curiosity;
your journey can be family, conquering the darkness with your community;
but for everyone, the journey is just a scalpel to the madman's thoughts,
giving reason to fireflies when there never really was one.
All-in-all, I care little for this poem for my own reasons. I am interested to hear your perspectives of it, though, as I get a lot of different answers as to what it means from people I show it to.
CHANCE. A Short Story.
I’m standing at the bus stop. I’m completely shocked. My neck is stiffened and locking my head to face forward. My eyes, I feel, are slightly widened – I close them and take a deep breath. With some tension relieved, I open my eyes and look to the left.
Sitting on the bench is what most would consider a rather pretty woman with no outreaching features. A woman that you would certainly notice walking by, but not much more.
But I knew that she was more than that.
I looked at her, and the features are all the same as they were back in high school: long brown hair with drips of honey throughout; a nose, pinched upwards with natural sophistication that she radiated with her powerful stride as she walked the halls; her large eyes of hazel, which would swallow all thought in the dark holes that formed in their center – a curse of which I was a victim of once as I stared into them for too long, and it was quite awkward; and a smile of authentic kindness that gleamed hope into this dreary existence.
I’ve known her since the seventh grade, but never mustered up the courage to approach her for a conversation until our senior year of high school. It took a lot of pondering, “What should I bring up first? How should I actually approach her? Just walking up to her would be awkward for her; perhaps I can ‘overhear’ a conversation about something I’m interested in? No, no, she’d think I’ve been eavesdropping – I mean, I would be but it wouldn’t be in a creepy way…” Nonetheless, that whole nervous train of thought is what ran through my mind for weeks until, I don’t remember how, it happened. All I remember is in one class we had together, there was free time right before the bell and it happened.
We talked.
And it was mesmerizing – the world was silenced and shrunken in cowardice from the power of our contact, the pure energy that was achieved; seeing her smile and knowing that I was what caused it had truly seized the existence of everything else, for nothing else can compare to a smile that could warm the coldest hearts. The laughter we had crashed to a halt; the world came rushing in, leaving me dazed and confused. Our teacher was standing next to our desks, yelling our names: the bell has rung some time ago, and we should start heading to our next classes. We looked at each other, laughed lightly, and walked together to our next class.
Unfortunately, this courage for the most part came from a girlfriend. We started dating before the new semester, before I was put into a class with her; after I gave up the thought of ever having her. My girlfriend found out that I’ve been talking to her, and, well, it wasn’t pretty. Ultimately, I ended up single and after the school year, things went back to normal between her and me. Back to living on separate planes, with no bridge to connect the impossible gap.
I accepted, once again, that it wasn’t meant to be. I went on with life, got my degree, and now live a normal life without high expectations that I can’t live up to anyhow. Now here she is again, after about a decade since we’ve seen each other last, and for some reason it’s still will-shattering to think about talking to her; simply thinking about the devastation she can drop on me at any moment in the conversation sunk my heart into my stomach.
I approached the bench and sat down next to her.
“Hello,” I said quietly.
“Hi,” she replied with her usual smile – not a smile of recognition, just a smile that you use to give a kind impression to strangers.
“Do you remember me?” I asked blankly, knowing the answer.
She gave me a bit of a look, and started analyzing me with her eyes. She said my name with a quizzical dialect, to which I replied “yes,” with a small smile. Her smile grew into one that was more warming, but still not the smile that melted me away. “How have you been?” to which I replied “Well; just getting started in my new career. You?” We continued the small talk and I saw that it wasn’t going anywhere.
The lack of closeness in the conversation was tearing away at me more and more and I couldn’t bare it anymore: “So, what did you think of me in high school?” I already knew it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I just wanted to end this torture and be able to move on for good with my life.
“You were a cool guy, but you never talked much.” A bus approached the curb. “That’s my ride, it was nice to see you again!” and walked toward the bus. I replied similarly and half-heartedly, and watched as my irrational love dissolved into the distance.
I felt my eyes grow heavy as I watched her. She was looking down, thankfully, reading something on her phone. I shook my head free of thought, and sat down next to her.
“Hello, do you remember me?” I asked, giving the nicest smile I possibly could.
“Oh, of course! How have you been?” The smile seemed more joyful.
“I’ve been alright, but I’m more interested in how you’ve been lately.”
“Oh, I’ve been so happy! So much has happened in the past few years!”
“That’s wonderful, maybe we can talk about it all over a date?” I asked, reaching my hand for her right that was acting as support on the bench.
“Oh, I’m married,” she said, turning the hand holding her phone around to show me a ring carrying a diamond that looked way too heavy for a finger to hold. I retracted my hand awkwardly and waited for my bus.
I sighed a deep breath. I turned to look at her once more – only this time, she’s looking back at me. I’m startled and jump slightly, and she giggles. She’s giving me a smile that’s as warming as I can imagine. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says softly. “We haven’t talked in so long. Come sit down.”
I’m still struck by her; her beauty is everlasting. I walk toward her, trembling slightly, and sit down. I take the time to analyze for a wedding ring. No ring.
“It’s so good to see you again,” I say to her, and she replies likewise. We talk about our jobs, and our college experiences.
“High school was so long ago,” she says.
“It was.”
What hobbies have you picked up? I’ve gotten into…
That’s crazy! I wouldn’t ever think…
The world disappeared. Things were the way they were meant to be. Nothing else mattered. Man may have created fire, but I found the spark. The sublime feeling of her comfort was exceptional.
“It seems the buses are running late, and it’s cold out,” she sighed. Well, that’s it. The spark dies just as quickly a second time. I bow my head, and quickly lift it.
“That it is,” I reply meekly, and we get up.
We began to speak at the same time, gave an awkward chuckle, and I pardoned her first.
“I was wondering, if you wanted to go to a caf? with me?”
I smiled, and in the adrenaline I reached for a hand – a positive, reassuring response gripped my hand back. We walked down the street, moving forward with nothing but the feeling of right ahead of me now.
My smile was wide. I noticed it when my eyes opened in response to being spoken to.
“Excuse me, excuse me?”
It’s her. She’s standing in front of me now, a hand on my bicep, nudging me.
“Is this your bus?” she asks, completely ignorant of who I am.
I look at its number. It is.
“No,” I reply plainly.
“Alright, have a nice day.” She says to me and turns toward the bus. She begins walking. Looks like I’m missing my ride; there’s no way I can get on now. She halts suddenly, right before taking the first step onto the bus. She lifts her forefinger toward the driver, apparently signaling to wait. She turns around and starts prancing towards me in small steps and smiles at me. “I almost forgot, let me give you my number. Maybe we can catch up sometime?”
My heart begins rattling against its cage to be set free. I pull out my phone and dial the digits as she gives them to me. I give her a smile and a thank you, wish her a lovely day, and smile as she turns around right before entering the bus and waves to me goodbye. I smile as I watch the bus drive off. I’m still smiling. Whether I’m overanalyzing this moment or not, it still leaves an attack of opportunity.
Although I had to find a new way to work now, it didn’t matter. Nothing else was as important as seeing her smile again.
This is a short story I've been planning to write for a while and happy that I've finally gotten around to it. I, and I'm sure many others, follow this sort of train of thought that, in the end, lead us nowhere but sulking in our losses. While this story ends in a happier note, it usually doesn't for those who are trapped thinking about scenarios.
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