Never have I been able to write with such fury for self doubt
attributed to my abilities always incapacitated from even attempting to
write anything. Wherever you found that exercise, you are the greatest
aid in helping to liberate my muse today. Instead of writing more self
explorations of my own thoughts, I decided to write a story that's been
pestering me for over two years. Of course the main question in
relation to my story is How would one's psyche react from experiencing
someone's death subconsciously that eclipses the actual incident.

Through
writing this, I felt like myself as I typed the words haphazardly upon
the formerly blank slate of Word. When writing my vampire story, I felt
I was merely writing without my soul vicariously influencing my mind.
When writing this story, both my soul and mind seemed to coexist as one
single medium. Maybe I was never meant to write paranormal romance for
psychological thrillers are much more fun and enjoyable in comparison
to the drudgery of meticulously shaping the slow eventual stages of
passion.

Honestly, I do not know what to think of the quality of
the actual story. But honestly I felt more attuned to my writing and
more alert to the ideas brimming within my head. For this particular
piece, I listened to Muse's Black Hole and Revelations CD in entirety
while allowing the music to provide the structure of my scenes and the
emotions expressed by my characters.

After writing this the
choice still remains of whether to resume work on my vampire story and
develop this story further. I love both concepts dearly and both are
mutual partners, constructing the realms of my imagination and
providing me necessary solace for the unrelenting, torrid storms of
anxiety and self doubt. The nature of my vampire story with its angst
fueled my anxiety while this story while dark in it's own means allowed
me to completedly evade the antagonizing of my doubts. Anyways, please
comment on the story and hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I did
writing it.



“Train three shall be departing in around
three minutes, please have your ticket stubs and photo “ID” for
boarding,” a cacophonous voice reverberated throughout the chasms of
the subway’s seemly endless passages, lined with brayed, sullied
bricks. Occupied businessmen garbed with black and blue suit coats
dashed expediently to their assigned boarding platform. The faces of
every person rushing to their respective places shared a commonality, a
vacant stare, void of any indiscernible emotion.

“Watch where
you’re going, damnit,” a grizzled old man of short stature grunted
while walking feebly into the metallic car of the train.

“Sorry…”
I murmured, walking aimlessly towards the pair of stairs, located
adjacent to the train, readying to depart from the platform to the next
to pick up the next influx of passengers who all had a key destination
in mind, whether scrutinizing it intently or subconsciously allowing it
to maneuver their every move. Unlike these denizens, I was a free
roamer both metaphorically and implicitly. My destination tonight
remained looming overhead, just like the fractured light bulbs,
providing light within an otherwise impenetrably dark subway tunnel.

Upon
my lanky form were my bare essentials: a dirt sodden black t-shirt,
black linen pants doused with the fleeting drips of water raining down
from the dank ceiling panes of the subway tunnels, easily defining me
as a destitute with no real intention or lucid meaning within their
lives. Abandoned by both my parents only a mere two years ago, I’ve
always lived my life wandering haplessly from each train platform,
seeking solace in an otherwise meaningless existence. But as long as
people imbued my limited field of vision, then death always surrounded
me.

As my blue irises remained affixed upon the old man, my
field of vision suddenly reverted to a darkened room where the old man
lay recumbent upon a four poster bed. Knives encircled his feeble form
as dribble speckled down his wrinkly skin.

“My wife, I never had
a wife to being with and most of my children perceive me to be a crazed
recluse. Love… when I ever had love… Love was only a diversion, to
detract from the righteous path. Well.. Now love has ensnared me and
now death’s come elusively along with it.. Though always mutually
connected,” the old man chided as he snatched the longest knife which
lay splayed upon the bed.

Inaudibly I screamed for him to
reconsider his actions. But as with all my visions, death remained
inevitable and irreversible. With the knife in his right hand, the old
man plunged it into his right artery and then resumed his tight grasp
of the knife and cut downwards, etching the shape of a misconstrued
heart upon the main antechamber of his heart.

“Sara…” the old
man muttered his last words, wishing the woman who never reciprocated
his feelings could have seen his contorted face and the blood profusely
spluttered across his tobacco stained sheets.

Slowly I regained
my composure and my field of vision slowly shriveled and returned me to
“reality.” Grabbing the shoulder pads of my knapsack, my feet sloughed
through the brown puddles of train platform as I avoided people’s
glances, hoping to repress my keen sense of detecting death. My
intended destination remained insensible for the time being, for the
only thought looming within my mind was the instinct to avoid all human
contact and anything which could possibly cast a reflection.

Though
I’ve had many near death experiences in the sense of catching a glance
upon my own inevitable demise; never have I’ve seen the entire visage
of this image. Every element of my death fettered my being, even the
mere thought of allowing me to see my own death incapacitated me. As
such, I’ve always maintained my own personal oath of never allowing
myself to catch glance of my own death. Of course this proclamation
limited me from ever catching glance of my own facial features or hair
color. The only person who’s ever described to me the way the rest of
the world saw me was my mother.

“Sam, your hair is the color of
fine mahogany, glittering in the rays of the setting sun and your eyes
are an irrevocably beautiful shade of blue like the shimmering spectral
of the ocean’s waves.” My mother would always caress my six year old
form within all my memories as she whispered them into my ears while
standing behind me, never revealing herself to me for fear of embracing
me with death Death was a topic that she never wanted to broach. Every
time I asked why she would never reveal herself to me, she would click
her tongue against the rim of her mouth twice and her eyebrows would
undulate. “Honey I’m right before you it’s that you’ve been equipped
with special glasses in order to allow yourself to see only the
physical properties of inanimate objects. You have a fatal form of
blindness where you only see the outlines of these objects. But with
these glasses, you’ll be able to see colors and shapes, but never see
people like you and your mother.

How could I ever need glasses
for blindness which I’ve never had? Why would she allow me to use an
instrument which would display my death before my eyes in an unending
loop? With my advance intellect, her diagnosis of my malady was highly
improbable and utterly ludicrous and not based upon scientific
knowledge. So after the first few days after my seventh birthday, I
soon discovered my highly abhorred blemish; an aspect of myself which
allowed Death to become an integral element of myself.

Though
these memories happened over six years ago, the memory remained a lucid
and irreplaceable part of my memory banks. At the time, my mother stood
out in the garden, basking in the bath of sunlight radiating from the
unseasonably sultry day. While my mother allowed the droplets of water
to percolate upon the pistils of the poinsettias she’d been growing, I
had unbolted the lock of the playpen where I’d been situated in. As the
minuscule toes of my feet penetrated the beige carpet, permeating the
wood floors of our small apartment; I caught a glance of my mother's
long auburn hair billowing with the slight gusts of the spring air. My
glance of her before her envisioned death was reminiscent of an angel
with her smooth gestures and rueful smile.

Soon enough my vision
altered and my mother stood within the kitchen of the house, preparing
a cake for my seventeenth birthday. As she prepared the cake, I was
presently situated within my locked room, tending to my academic
obligations through virtual school as I had been unable to have any
exposure to real people due to my disability. While my mother made a
cake, a knife suddenly emerged from her right shoulder as a masked man,
garbed in an outfit of complete black, demanded her surrender.

Glancing
upon her blood drenched white apron, she fell aimlessly to the floor as
the man succeeded in penetrating the pivotal regions of her neck,
inoculating her. Watching the angel slowly fracturing before my eyes,
tears ripped down my reddened cheeks as slowly the image darkened.

When
I finally regained consciousness, my mother stood before me, her
mouthing hanging agape, realizing whose death I’d obtained a teaser of.
“Mo…m you’re alive, Are we in heaven?” I muttered, fiercely wiping the
few remaining tears placated on my eyelids. Gaping at my mother’s
chagrin, I resumed to my former catatonic stage and inverted my scrawny
body upon my plastic red car bed decorated with red and blue stripes.

“No
you’re still anchored safely on this Earth but you’ve finally realized
your affliction. The erring of your vision which shall debilitate the
quality of your life and exclude you from the many necessities for the
sustainability of life for your eyes shall always remain closed to the
light of the world but unveiled to the darkness which entrench upon our
affinity of ourselves. As long as you never catch your reflection, the
wings of life shall always remain unfurled for the world to marvel. Yet
love shall never penetrate the deep trenches of your soul, forever you
shall remain in solemnity until your wings scurf you off to a world
where love’s a reality and not a dormant desire of your mind. “With her
melodic voice, enthusing her words with grace, she left me alone to
weep unceasingly through the night with my blanket constricted around
my fragile form. As darkness exuded from the far stretches of my room
and danced frivolously upon my pillow; I internally latched upon the
last remains of faith in myself. Under my bed, the harsh stifled
breaths of death scurried across the green nodes of my carpet, waiting
unabated for my next encounter

Sometimes life is one act,
One must remember their part,
They must play it well, so that others see their deception
And accept it as truth
Garbed with a Cloak of black, a hood obscuring
my face and brown eyes
I walk from place to place
Walking the walk, Talking the Talk
Feigning Happiness
When Happiness for me is foreign
By the end of the day
I walk on home
Take off my cloak
My hair a mess, my soul ripped and teared
Being preyed upon by those of darkness
Yet I have stayed true to my Deception
and never gave into the Beast that lurks inside
Wanting to be Free
If only the Creature knew
That as long as there are those
Who do nothing but prey on those who they believe to be abominations
I must stay hidden in the shadows
Waiting for that day, when in a field
of Binding sunlight, freshly grown flowers,
Laying out, my feet spread apart, in total relaxation
Than I will know I can take a breathe
And finally live the life I have always craved
Then will my soul come together in union
I will experience what was held back for so long
Through this, then I will truly be living!

HRM:K208 Lersch

Period 1:Astronomy Zielinski C025
Period 2:Orchestra BDEF Milbourne
Period 2:Racquet Sports Clauss MP 1/2 AD
Period 2: Adventure MP3/4 AD Fink
Period 3 Multi Cultural Voices MP 1/2 A015 Russo
Period 3:Britsh Literature 12 MP 3/4 A111 Lipschutz
Period 4: AM Govt MP 1/2 E015 Likens
Period 4: Lunch MP 3/4
Period 5:Creative Writing 1 Feeney K204
Period 6:Lunch MP 1/2
Period 6:W. Rel. MP 3/4 Kavalow-Huie E010
Period 7:Japanese 1 B107 Coyle
Period 8:Eur History AP Craig E016

I am crazy, the fantasy book I am working on is totally creepy and weird. It is really violent and has many character cutting their own arms off in order to do sacrificial ceremonies. BTW, the false worshippers in my story, are the ones who did this, not the follwers of Boaz. Also in my story, those who fall into silas the dark one's clutches and believes his lies and deception, if they eat a pure elves heart, believing it will give them immortality, they will become Xulshins. Who to live must live off the hearts of pure elves, followers of Boaz. Its quite funny, the other day I was in Borders researching Paganism while wearing a Jesus fish necklace, many in borders were staring at me like I was a complete wierdo. Well, I needed to research it for my story and the language I am writing for my story. Many people at the moment hate it, christians and nonchristians even though my novel is religious, it is just so different many do not like it. will I change the story to appease those who hate it? No for I am no Christopher Paolini who writes cliqued fantasy books. I write what I write, If you do not like it then do not read it! I am planning on posting chapters on my myspace very soon. Yesterday was good, I saw Epic movie with my good friend, it was so bad and crappy, that it was funny, yes another stupid movie which I found funny. 9 DAYS TILL THE DIR EN GREY CONCERTTTT!!!!!!!!

I saw Pan's Labyrinth with my friend yesterday and I got to say it was so freakin awesome. The cinematography, music, acting, everything was amazing. That is why it has 97% on RT b/c it is such an amazing movie. If you have doubts about this movie because it is in Spanish and it is fantasy, stop having those doubts, broaden your horizons, who cares if it has subtitles, believe me you will be so engrossed in this amazing movie, you will forget the subtitles exist. This film deserves to win Best Picture at the Oscars. But sadly those idiots would never award anything that is fantasy, most movies that win Best Picture usually are not really even the best picture, Well that is just my opinion. If you haven't already seen this, GO SEE IT! it is such an awesome film. It is amazing! It is a shame many American directors can not live up to what directors of other countries create!

I am so excited for this concert. Dir En Grey is so awesome. I always go to school singing Saku and Dead Tree. My Withering to Death Cd is always in my boombox. I am going to the Philly concert! 3 weeks to go! It seems so longggg!

Well I went to the yule ball last night and Philly and it was awesome. All the bands were good. Uncle Monsterface and harry and the Potters were the best with Draco and the Malfoys in a close second. Great time, would go again!!!!