Sunday, 20 December 2015

Why hasn't he called me?

Why hasn't he called me?

I pressed my head against the cold window, a cold freeze of the glass chilled my skin. I could feel the mild trembling on the window caused by the whipping rain. Wearing winter clothes, I still felt cold; despite I was indoors. The droplets of water struck one by one against the glass. Beyond the window, a glassy sky; distorted by the rain, blended in the colors of gray.

I pulled down my glasses, making the corridor opening before me, dull and distorted. The world around me lost all shapes and I could only see lights of gray in a blue hue. I looked outside of the window; staring far. The objects close to the window were blurry but I could clearly see the windows of the apartment blocks far, far ahead.

In the rain; I could see blazing light. A roaring fire coming from downtown. With a racing heart, I started trembling.

But a sharp sound broke the silence, it was my phone ringing. I pulled down my glasses as I swiped my phone open. The call showed a familiar name on the screen; sighing in relief, it was him.

(10 minutes speed-practice, focusing in a visual style!)

December - Xmas, what next?

I've been writing a little bit less lately. University has taken a great chunk of my time. There has been quite a lot of stress. It seems that I will have a lot of studying during my holiday, so I won't really have a vacation of any sort. I'd like to take this moment to say merry x-mas to all!

ps. I won NaNoWriMo! The end result was horrible, but a win is a win.

Though, I don't have a short story to give out, I've been working on a few longer ones. In addition to that I have a type of writers block right now. It must be the prolonged darkness and a black winter without snow, that is striking me down. No matter how much I'd try, every time I write; the story ends up being a heartbreakingly sad one. - Perhaps I need the white snow in my environment.

Monday, 23 November 2015

Poem (rev 2:) Beautiful Grief

Objectively, the first version of the poem with working name 'beautiful words' it was not a poem. It had aspects that alienate it from being a poem. For it to truly become a poem, removing ego became necessary; thus,

The author of snow
buried deep
veiled in black.

The lights in the city
glowing glowing
hearts weeping.

Sunday, 22 November 2015

Poem: Beautiful Words

Without further adieu I am happy to present the poem of beautiful words:

The author of Snow
Buried Deep
Veiled in Black
The Lights in the City
Were Glowing Glowing
My Heart Weeping

First of all I have to say, saying this out loud simply make me whole. It is like a song, filled with beautiful words. I love beautiful words. For me it's not about the dark images built up by the words. For me it is the Darkness of the events that have occur but the Light is equally strong and it keeps me smiling; for this story the light prevailed, breaking the equilibrium.

So the poem is not about angst. There has been a lot going on in my life, and I am strong in both emotional and psychical layers; the poem is putting into words a feeling of pent up frustration and putting things behind you; both new and old; what could've been and what could not.

The first and the last paragraph link deeply in to the author of the poem. However the choice of words had also a deeper meaning behind them, I'll return there a little later.

Buried Deep: Coalescing the thoughts and emotions of how deeply the events had touched me and at same time it also connects the emotions with death. That what happened is now over.

Veiled in Black: While this part might connect with the emotions to the reader; for me it is disconnected from expressing emotions. While I stared at the black waters of the windy sea at my home port, I connected the reference: "Veiled" to the environment and also to the season. There had been snow previously that day but it had melted during the evening. For same reason I ended up personalizing the first paragraph as, The Author of Snow.

The Lights in the City
Were Glowing Glowing: I kept walking towards my home and everywhere was filled with beautiful lights for the celebration of the upcoming season. While walking I kept saying to me over and over again:

"The Author of Snow, Buried Deep, Veiled in Black ..."
"... The Lights in the city..."
"... Were Glowing, Glowing ... Glowing"

And that is where the final paragraph connected. I was thinking only about it more as a song than as a premeditated poem. The word that connected and rhymed with glowing was weeping.

My Heart Weeping, and so this closed the story. There are multiple ways of interpreting this. But for me the Weeping was not of sorrow. It was not sadness. I smiled the whole journey while returning back to home. I never cried, I laughed.

I enjoyed every syllable of the poem, singing it in  the streets and making myself look weird when random pedestrians looked at me with an odd eye.

Tell me, do you find these words as beautiful as I do? I've never really excelled at poems, yet at same time I have never felt the strong burning urge of putting my emotions into words. This has been the first time, I had to do it. 

Friday, 30 October 2015

Halloween Special - Yandere Edition!

Happy Halloween! Here is something little to get you on the right mood for the festivities! Enjoy.  
(This story is purely a work of fiction...)

The picture is of a real world haunted place, just for the occasion of Halloween.

“Tip – Tip – Tip” … A dripping sound echoed in darkness.
“Cli – Cli – Cli” … Somewhere metal was clattering.
“Tshshhssss” … A gas pipe leaked in the hallway.

It felt like I was having the worst hangover of my life. I was disoriented, confused; with no memory of what had happened. My consciousness was floating in an endless black. Regaining consciousness changed nothing. It was damp and cold, and worst of all I was blind like a bat. I wanted to vomit but as I extended my body forward; a loud sound echoed in the dark room, “Clink”.

That sound. That “Clink” reminded me of something familiar. I bit my lips, and I could feel the sensation of pain emanating from my mouth, it was real; but my hands still felt numb.
I tried moving my hands again and again. It sounded like rustling of chains. «Are these handcuffs?»

The voice of a metal pipe falling down in the darkness, accelerated my heartbeat into a climax. I shouted in primal fear: “Help! HELP! Anyone!?”

No one answered to my besought. Fear and uncertainty begun twisting my throat. Breathing became harder. The panic looped the state, until at it's apex I felt acidic burn in my throat; my body pushed forward and I threw up on the floor. I coughed violently, some of the spew got into my windpipe.

But it did not have a bad taste to it, and the smell was more pleasant than the compulsive rotten odor inside this damp hole. Maybe it had been a hour? A day. Or only fifteen minutes. There was no way to be certain about the time. The unpleasant disposition and my imagination together eventually drove me to the brink of insanity; making me scream like a mad man for help. For as long as my throat could make a sound, I screamed.

Help never came.

- - -

I woke up to a distant sound. It was footsteps, I was sure of it. I tried to shout for help; but it was like needles in my throat. My heartbeat drummed against my eardrums louder for each step. And then the sound of footfall stopped. My heart kept beating.

A blinding flash of light was pointing against my face but I kept my eyes closed. A mellowly sweet and alluring scent filled the air, turning me to lower my guard. As I opened my eyes, I could see petite hands and a cute handkerchief; in gentle swipe, it cleaned my mouth. It had to be a girl, I hoped.

My eyes hadn't gotten used to the bright light, so seeing anything was impossible; especially since I couldn't use my hands to block the light. She teased me by pointing the light against my face. “Why are you doing this! Help me! Let me out!” I pleaded desperately.

She moved the light away. A quiet hushing voice filled the empty room and she begun walking away. Panic and fear of being left alone in here struck my whole being.

“Please, don't leave me!” She stopped halfway; I could hear a shy girlish voice asking: “Do you mean that?”, in a whispering tone.

“Yes! Please, don't go anywhere!” She moved to the side. Flipping a light switch, and in a sudden flash the whole room was bright as a day. It took me a moment to adjust but what I saw, shocked me from the core.

«Wait!? I knew her! She was... She was... Alice, that girl. That girl that never spoke much. What was the meaning of this.»

Alice?” I asked. I was confused; but she appeared calm like a pond, and eerily beautiful. Her long black hair was something, I really enjoyed. If she had ever talked with me before, I could've maybe even asked her out.

«What was she up to? This was not normal. Did someone force her to do this? »

“You... know my name?” Alice blushed, she held her arms across her chest, squirming from happiness. That smile, that smile was not natural.

“Alice...” I spoke, but I was tangled both in my thoughts and words.

“Yes? Don't worry, I know everything about you Danny.” Her voice, was so assuring that it was creeping the hell out of me.

“E-everything?” I gulped.

“Your favorite color is blue. You like pop music. You can't swim but you love being at the beach. Oh – Happy Birthday, my dear Danny!”

«Is it now October 31st? This must be a bloody sick birthday party surprise combined with a Halloween. I think it's best to play along.»

I pulled a deep breath. Looking at the girl, and giving her an reassuring smile: “Thank you, dear Alice!”

Her face appeared like it was bursting from happiness. She took hesitant steps closer. She had a silvery necklace hanging over her neck, it was the key. Her smile was absolutely stunning and her scent was even nicer up close. «It had to be a prank, what else could it be.»

She pulled in. In the cold cellar her body warmth felt heavenly and it shred away all my fears and doubt.

Happy birthday.” She panted, I could smell her heavy breathing as she pushed her lips against mine. How could I not have resisted such temptation. Her luscious lips had just turned the twisted situation upside down. A swarm of butterflies flattered inside my stomach. I could tell from the kiss that she cared for me – deeply. It felt like that affection poured from my lips into my veins, infecting my heart with a dark love.

Did I really have a crush on her. Did she just confess her feelings at me? I could hear a clicking sound coming from behind my back, she opened my handcuffs.

She took a step backwards, observing me with a smile. I stood up; kissing her again, this time from my initiative.

If I had known better, following my hormones there was a mistake. Or perhaps, it was the only way for my survival.

Little I knew that she had concealed a weapon nearby. Alice masked the whole event as a “birthday” surprise, and she had masked it well, with no loose-ends whatsoever. Along with a love confession she made, I was fooled to think that this was all planned by my closest friends. Later at that evening we had a big Halloween party, put together by Alice.

And I never learned the truth that once, before Alice came along; there was a girl that had fallen in love with me. She was buried underneath the same basement where Alice kept me that day. Murdered by Alice. That stench inside the room, that odor that my spew had concealed was … her.

To be continued on next Halloween?

Thursday, 29 October 2015

NaNoWriMo - > Kill Palette < !!!

Here it is > Kill Palette < !!!

It has been 20 years since the COLORIZATION occurred. In the distant future of where colors have literally come to life. In Palette academy, run by the three pure colors; ruled by the absolute white; the weak are oppressed while the strong get everything.
An exchange student, of a strong impure color, follows the trail of evidence related to his brother's murder. The trail is now cold, but it has lead him to the Palette city. Meet Black, the man with zero compatibility to COLORS.
 I'm really hyped about this! I wanted to make a plot that would be so crazy, that it'd give me completely free-hands for improvising! Of course I promise, it'll be done in good taste.

But after 30 days I wonder what happens to the hype.

A novel in 30 days!? Halloween in 2 days; Short Story NOW!

Halloween is here in two days. What is a better way to celebrate it than writing more stories. Here is a little teaser of what might happen in October 31st ~ tee-he!

I have practiced impro writing for NanoWriMo. You can read more about in here! 

My plans for the NanoWriMo is to go with a not-so-serious story and escape my comfort zone. The only things I have planned is that the story is going to just have one hero or heroine, and a bunch of bad guys. I really have no idea what it will become like. A disaster or a success!?

Either way because naming characters is tedious and boring, I am going to name them all by colors. 7 villains and 1 superhero! A girl or a boy? I don't know yet.

But enough of NanoWriMo bellow is part I of the improvised story!

The Bridge with no End - Part 1

The air was warm and mellow. Sparkling raindrops fell from the treetops, a dazzling rainbow arched against the cloudy sky. Sun blazed against the rainclouds, forcing it's radiant beams to shine from the heavens. Birds started chirping again and insects basked in the light, drying their wings.

Sparkling raindrops fell from the treetops, a dazzling rainbow arched against the cloudy sky. Sun shun radiantly the rainclouds away, conquering the day as it's domain. Birds started chirping again and insects basked in the light, drying their wings. The air was warm and mellow.

A young boy was running into the woods with a flashing umbrella in his hands. His father walked behind him like a lumbering giant in the boy's imagination. Inside the woods the air was colder, but breathing the air made one to feel alive.

As the two traveled, the songs of birds was being dampened by the sound of raging water. The first insects had dried their wings and set off into flight. Like fireflies in the night, the insects glowed brightly in the sun against the rapid stream. But the fresh water hid a dark danger beneath the surface. And occasionally like a silvery arrow; a fish emerged from the dark waters lunging towards it's prey, to swallow it in one bite.

The boy and the father observed this scenery from up above of a wooden bridge. The older was remembering in melancholy how his father took him to this place. The younger gazed there with big round eyes; leaning against the safety railing, memorizing every miracle that took place in here.

Every now and then, the clouds still darkened somewhere and rain poured for a brief moment before stopping. It was a day when the phantasmal barrier that twined between your world and mine was wide open. Drifting spirits floated in the woods and fields alike.

There was magic in the air.

But the sun eclipsed unnaturally. The father did not notice this, but the little boy gasped in awe. Mist surged in from the borders of the woods and night fell in a minute. Every last voice of the forest was snuffed silent by the supernatural. The leaves in the treetops turned red and the bark was white, but the boy remained silent and relatively calm.

The man he thought was his father had turned into a gnarled wooden statue. At the end of it's transformation it extended it's hand forward towards the little boy. He tried to run but his path was blocked. Twines had grown from the wooden bridge.

Like a jack o' lantern replacing his head, two eerie blue flames burned from the hollow eye sockets of the timber monstrosity. It hissed a voice of longing. And the brambles of the bridge had turned into hands of petrified children; sculpted from wood. The deceptive illusion broke down gradually and the bridge as whole, was not a man made bridge; but a bridge made of man. It was sculpted from humans – human souls; trapped over centuries in the forest and they were wailing for their empty need for a new friend . . .

(To be Continued!)

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Short Novel: Why do we turn a blind eye to the world as we age?

Someone, somewhere, once asked a question.

Cicadas sang loudly and the air was warm and tiring. I was lying underneath the shadow of a lone oak on a grassy field. Occasionally, a cool breeze of air would whistle against my face, tingling against my hair. A ladybug was sitting on top of my nose, it tickled.

This was my little world. The mellow warmth of the air had seeped in my body from head to toes. Each breath of air was wonderful. The sweet scent of leaves lingering over the sun basked verdant field mellowed my senses like the sweetest nectar.

Sleeping there, basking in that little heaven; I opened my eyes, whispering: “Why can't people stop for moments like these when they grow older?”

A white line cut across the sky the moment that the last syllable of my question remained, lingering in the air. A freezing cold shiver pushed across my back, carried by a painful euphoria. I gasped. It felt like the whole universe had answered to my beseech of my secret wish; that this hidden world would not disappear when I'd become older.

- - -

Years passed, seasons changed. I don't remember much of my early childhood. But amidst the forgotten memories, ever since that day. That question and that wish has protected me.

Stopping every once in a while, here and there; finding the small miracles in the ordinary life. Even during hard times, I could still catch a glimpse of the sun with all the dark clouds.

Sometimes when I would find myself watching over a magical scenery, wondering – I whisper; asking a quiet question: “Was I the only one?” with a childish innocence.

Monday, 26 October 2015

Follow-up study for the Bittersweet Love - I

I thought about writing a short off-topic follow-up about analysing what went on to the work of creating the short-story - “Bittersweet Love”; how I approached and polished it.

Without further ado. The story came out initially only as a frustration of how much I worried about that I couldn't write up dialogue between two characters. The first iteration was only the dialogues itself, without anything else to support it. Turns out I was not as hopeless as I had imagined.

A hour later, after making the first sketch. I decided to push the first sketch a little bit further away. Letting my imagination to fill in the blanks and describe the setting more.

I did not want to take 'his' or 'her' side inside the story. So I ended up going with the third person, although 'she' clearly strikes out as the protagonist for the story. It is 'her' viewpoint that is the stable and permanent inside the story, not 'his'.

While working with the second sketch, I disliked the idea about describing the surroundings to a great detail. So my only goal was to assist the reader in immersing to the emotions between the two. I had not used premeditated oxymorons before. But the following paragraph was an attempt to see how far I could take it, when describing emotions:

They sat down on the chairs, holding hands. The two pairs of eyes connected with each other. Telling a tale of longing. Of an anguish. A hot frozen heart, melted in an instant; emotions lost in past, blazing into a life anew.


My goal there was to describe that moment when two people, that had once felt love towards each other were having a reunion and their hearts still remembered. The challenge was to describe that abstract feeling with words. It is something that can't be described with pictures, only with words. That was one of the parts of the short story that I did not imagine happen inside my head; I felt it.

I'll probably revision this story in the future. However I won't change the second sketch. I really want to keep it as a testament: “Look, this is how much mistakes I made back then. You too have what it takes!” Truthfully, it took me months of hard work to reach here and I still feel very insecure.

It is possible that I will write a follow-up about other stories to come. Especially, if this helps me to improve as a writer.

~ Thanks for reading or skipping my ranting about this subject! I am not a native speaker, so some of the silly things can never come off as natural for me. ~

Short Novel: Bittersweet Love - I

Bittersweet Love - First Story.
This is a practice story that I wrote in the middle of
the night during early hours of morning. This is my first
short story that'll start up this blog. ~ Enjoy Reading!

Night was creeping from the streets, the first snowflakes of the fall were floating down in a silent dance. A woman looked outside the window, sighing heavily. She came back from locking up when she heard a sound coming from the doorway. She shouted hesitantly to greet the person.

> Good evening.
< Evening.
His response came in fast, before she had time to announce that they were closed.
> I am sorry, but we are closed.
< It doesn't matter. I am here to see someone.
She said, lowering her head reverently. But when she heard his words again, her heart started racing. The man walked from the shadows to the lights of the hallways.

> Oh, I have been waiting for someone.
She spoke, holding her hands against her chest.

< Sorry that I could not keep my promise, Anna.
His words were sincere, he was holding banquet of flowers in his hands.
> It is alright. I haven't been waiting for long.
She did not know how to react. She thought she had lost him forever.

They walked towards the main hall of the library while almost holding each other from hands.
Both were blushing, speaking in an innocent tone like they were teenagers.

< Anna...
< … is it really you?
> Uh-uh, a long time no see Mike.
< It is that time when we were supposed to meet. I brought you something.
> I can see that.
< And here, your present.
> Thank you.
> I am sorry, but I don't have anything for you.
< It is alright.

They sat down on the chairs, holding hands. The two pairs of eyes connected with each other. Telling a tale of longing. Of an anguish. A hot frozen heart, melted in an instant; emotions lost in past, blazing into a life anew.

< Anna, you know.
< I am sorry.
His words were sad, and regretful.
> About?
Her words were happy and tender.

< Everything.
> It is alright, I am happy for this moment.
He warped his hand around her shoulder. She placed her face against his chest. Closing her eyes.

< Me too. It feels like we are all alone in this world. Just the two of us.
His voice was warm and full of life.
> Uh-uh. I really wish we could be like this forever.
Those words made him really happy, he moved his hands across her hair. Giving a tender kiss on top of her forehead.

< That had been my wish from since the beginning.
He sounded like he had found solace; while a dark memory flashed over her head. She opened her lips to ask him.

> Mike … Is that really you?
> Mike?
> Mike!?

She opened her eyes, staring at the empty hall. A banquet of flowers placed next to her. She could still feel his sweet scent inside her head. But he had been dead for four years. Drummed by loud heartbeats she walked by to the window; holding onto the flowers. She saw a character wave at her, before disappearing in the snowing night.