imafatmess
06-20-2006, 10:10 PM
I would have put this in the poem section as this one is more to do with personal stories but I decided not to. Can there be a story section for stories like this please :)
This is a story I made for english at school. It currently isn't finnished but you get the idea of it. It actually makes me quite emotional when I write it, expecially near the end... Anyway, read on :)
Thinking. It strikes me down; it tears me apart. I always reminisce about the days before then. I can’t stand to think how clueless… no… how ignorant I was. Everything was filled with joy, filled with laughter. My friends were friends. I had friends. I had… No! I must stop. I need to move on from the past move on from the pain life draws to me. I can’t live in the past any longer. I need to move on, void my mind. Void of all its impurities. Sweep the pain away.
(Add some stuff here)
The rest of the world is impure. They say they try to ‘cleanse’ me. They say they want the best from me. But I know different. I know the truth. Life is just a way to be used, to be a toy in god’s game. I know I keep no secrets from them, I know they just want to use us as pawns, but what can I do? Can they see through me? Can they see through my disguise?
I wish, I wish I was still ignorant, still unknowing. Was it, was it because of you? Did you unleash this? It can’t have been. You always were so kind, so thoughtful. You understood what I did.
(Add some stuff here)
No one understands what pain and suffering scrapes for a living inside my soul. No one can see its attempts to counter my every move. Every step is like a mental battle with my mind. Consciously jabbing left and right, no one ever winning. Every stab aimed to perfection, piercing through my spine.
But why? Why did anything need to happen? Everything is meant to happen for a reason; a way to create a better world. But how can anything good happen? There is nothing left. Nothing left to live for. Nothing left to die for. What is the point in even writing this, mapping my thoughts out like a sieve spilling the pain everywhere? There are no guide lines any more, no ruled paper to keep the course laid flat.
Every word I write adds to the pain I suffer. Longing. That’s what the doctor told me it was. Longing to be in the past; the past where I can right my wrongs, pass what I failed and, most of all, see your face one last time.
Alas, the truth in many people’s eyes is fatal. The disease which could give life or, consequently, death. The path laid before me only stretches for the second. I can strive for nothing. The truth hurts, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s what I keep wedging into my thick skull.
(Add some stuff here)
What did I do? Where did I go wrong? All these conundrums, all these enigmas but nothing fits. Everything was meant to be perfect, the icing on the cake as you used to put it. The only perfect thing left could be the thing which ends all others. The only escape from the vicious circle which keeps dragging me back in.
Everyday without you tears a little of my heart away, breaking into a rush of blood symbolising my last painful attempt to reach my goal.
The writing is painted on the wall; my path is set clearly before me. Nothing will deter me from ending what has been so painful. Your eyes still sparkle freshly in my mind. Maybe I’ll see you; maybe you’ll be there already. Well, all will be revealed soon.
The last message; the last memories. The final goodbye to a world so full of hate.
The knife twinkles invitingly in the dull evening. I know what I have to do.
What do you think of it?
This is a story I made for english at school. It currently isn't finnished but you get the idea of it. It actually makes me quite emotional when I write it, expecially near the end... Anyway, read on :)
Thinking. It strikes me down; it tears me apart. I always reminisce about the days before then. I can’t stand to think how clueless… no… how ignorant I was. Everything was filled with joy, filled with laughter. My friends were friends. I had friends. I had… No! I must stop. I need to move on from the past move on from the pain life draws to me. I can’t live in the past any longer. I need to move on, void my mind. Void of all its impurities. Sweep the pain away.
(Add some stuff here)
The rest of the world is impure. They say they try to ‘cleanse’ me. They say they want the best from me. But I know different. I know the truth. Life is just a way to be used, to be a toy in god’s game. I know I keep no secrets from them, I know they just want to use us as pawns, but what can I do? Can they see through me? Can they see through my disguise?
I wish, I wish I was still ignorant, still unknowing. Was it, was it because of you? Did you unleash this? It can’t have been. You always were so kind, so thoughtful. You understood what I did.
(Add some stuff here)
No one understands what pain and suffering scrapes for a living inside my soul. No one can see its attempts to counter my every move. Every step is like a mental battle with my mind. Consciously jabbing left and right, no one ever winning. Every stab aimed to perfection, piercing through my spine.
But why? Why did anything need to happen? Everything is meant to happen for a reason; a way to create a better world. But how can anything good happen? There is nothing left. Nothing left to live for. Nothing left to die for. What is the point in even writing this, mapping my thoughts out like a sieve spilling the pain everywhere? There are no guide lines any more, no ruled paper to keep the course laid flat.
Every word I write adds to the pain I suffer. Longing. That’s what the doctor told me it was. Longing to be in the past; the past where I can right my wrongs, pass what I failed and, most of all, see your face one last time.
Alas, the truth in many people’s eyes is fatal. The disease which could give life or, consequently, death. The path laid before me only stretches for the second. I can strive for nothing. The truth hurts, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s what I keep wedging into my thick skull.
(Add some stuff here)
What did I do? Where did I go wrong? All these conundrums, all these enigmas but nothing fits. Everything was meant to be perfect, the icing on the cake as you used to put it. The only perfect thing left could be the thing which ends all others. The only escape from the vicious circle which keeps dragging me back in.
Everyday without you tears a little of my heart away, breaking into a rush of blood symbolising my last painful attempt to reach my goal.
The writing is painted on the wall; my path is set clearly before me. Nothing will deter me from ending what has been so painful. Your eyes still sparkle freshly in my mind. Maybe I’ll see you; maybe you’ll be there already. Well, all will be revealed soon.
The last message; the last memories. The final goodbye to a world so full of hate.
The knife twinkles invitingly in the dull evening. I know what I have to do.
What do you think of it?