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+--- Thread: My Writing and Junk (/thread-144.html)
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RE: My Writing and Junk - Raiden Blackwood - 09-07-2014
A work in progress.
He paced the room, lost in thought. With every pass he drew closer to his destination. He occasionally stopped to point the gun at the only person in the room. This place might as well have been his own little world. A very warped world. He finally found what he was searching for. Rather, he found the will to pick the object up. What he was truly searching for would come later.
It was a simple mirror on the nightstand. He stared at the reflection, trying to forget who it was. He couldn't. He couldn't and it made his blood boil. He turned away and quietly sat the gun down. He returned his gaze to the reflection. "Why are you not enough? Why are you incapable of being more?" he muttered, almost silently.
In an instant the reflection disappeared. He noticed the pain before he looked down to see his fist bleeding. "Honey, what was that? Are you okay?" Asked a faraway voice. He had no time to fool with it. He retrieved the gun and continued with his thoughts. He allowed himself a slight smile when he heard the doorknob rattle. If only they knew.
It was time. The door wouldn't hold much longer. He made sure the note was easy to find. "3." He put the gun in place. "2." The door gave. "1." He began laughing as they rushed towards him. He straightened himself and uttered his final word, "Bang."
It had been years since he had pulled the trigger. At least, that's what he figured. It was hard keeping track of time in a place where time didn't matter. He'd thought he would end up in Hell after his brain had been reduced to splatter art on the walls. Surprisingly, he hadn't. Instead of fire, brimstone, and pain, he awoke to grey skies, raggedy clothing, and sheer indifference. This was a sort of Purgatory reserved for the lost souls and fuck ups.
RE: My Writing and Junk - Raiden Blackwood - 08-20-2015
"Salvation"
At the age of thirty-five I seemed to have the perfect life. A loving wife and two beautiful children greeted me each morning and would bid me pleasant dreams each night. The only obstacle to my continued state of bliss was my recent unemployment, but I was determined not to let this hiccup bring me down. After all, it gave me something that was severely lacking in my life. It gave me time. So, naturally, I perceived this as a blessing. Along with their greetings, I was free to spend my days with my children. I could going on daring adventures using only the power of imagination. Our time was divided between chasing pirates, combating galactic evil, and very lovely tea parties put on by my daughter. Seeing their laughter and innocence warmed me to my core. It also made what I did necessary.
It was a few weeks into our daily adventures when I first noticed the marks on their hands. At first, I dismissed them as bug bites, trying not to let my unburdened mind jump to insane conclusions. As time went on, the marks grew and morphed, Soon their hands weren't their hands, but rather green, scaly imitations. We stopped going outside after that. We stopped doing a lot of things after that. I had to protect them. I had to save them. The worse it became, the less they were themselves. Whatever had hold of them was replacing childish laughter with hushed tones and horror-filled looks. They wouldn't even let me near them. Then their eyes turned black as night. I was terrified to look into those dark globes of oblivion. It was in that moment knew how to save them. The only way to save who they were.
In the dead of night I crept silently to their room, tears falling freely. I couldn't save them both, not at once. I made my way to the closest bed. It was my son's bed. The pillow I placed over his face was an instrument of deliverance. It was a peace he deserved. I pressed the pillow down until the taloned, demonic feet stopped kicking. I made sure the evil in him was gone before continuing my quest. I made my way to the my daughter's bed, salvation in hand.
RE: My Writing and Junk - Raiden Blackwood - 10-04-2017
"She"
Through nothing short of a miracle, this perfectly flawed human being has chosen me to be the one she loves. I'm, somehow, lucky enough to be worthy of that love. When the storms are raging in my head, she's there to be my umbrella; Holding back the rain and hail. When I'm walking the tightrope with sanity on one side and my anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts on the other, she is my balance. If I should ever fall she is my safety net. Forever making sure I never hit the ground.
I never want to blink when I'm around her, because for that split second I don't see that beautiful face. That face I want to lovingly gaze upon for the rest of always. To be honest, she is home for me. She is where my heart is and will always be. The destination I've been unknowingly journeying towards is her. She is the beginning of my life and the ending of my 25 year walk through limbo.
I just want to thank her. Thank her for loving me and giving me the honor of being hers. The world is a dark and cold place, but she makes it shine so bright. I am forever changed by her and forever grateful.