Yeah, ok. From your favourite books I see that me and you are a lot different and that's cool, but I feel like I'm screwing myself if I don't branch out and read whatever I can. I just get so bored of the same stuff, over and over. It's mainly because reading takes me a while so I need to pick something amazing.

I don't see why he should change it to fit your needs though. Yeah, you'll review it if he does but then that's catering to other people. And you're not his audience if you want him to change it.

i dont have the attention span to read these

Yeah sure I'll edit them now.

OK, for some reason (probably due to the fact that I posted them several days ago) I cannot edit my stories, but, I'll use double return in the future.

All posts are only editable for 1 hour after posting (except by the Staff).

AJ

Here's a more recent one. I actually wrote it to go in a novel I'm working (very slowly) on. Not too good right now, but if I edit it and such I think it will be fine. Short, too, but I couldn't extend it without making it boring.


Heading back to the farm where I worked, I wondered if this is all there is to life: work, eat, and sleep. I needed a change. I needed something to change. Or else I would die. I would die of life’s derision of me, mocking me for being born. Something had to change.

I was almost at the farm when I turned around. I would not complain and suffer any more. I had to leave this place. I had to leave now. The crushing weight on my chest grew heavier as I turned toward the road that led out of this town, and on to wilderness. If that is what it takes to relieve this burden, I will do it. And so I did. I left town.

Walking along that road, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I knew I wasn’t, but I couldn’t go back now. Whatever good or terrible things lied ahead, I knew I had to meet them. Back there was nothing but a deep hole with slippery sides containing a house and a farm. If I went back now, I knew I would never be able to leave again.

Presently, the road grew narrower, and entered a dense and dark forest. I followed it still, into the depths of a wood more terrible than the place I left. But I could not hear life mocking me in that forest. I had no hope of a better life anywhere, but hope of an escape from that hole. A prison that contains only the mind, but grips the soul tighter than any jail cell could.

The road grew narrower and more overgrown until it was merely a trail only distinguishable by a faint ray of moonlight that found its way through the trees. And then even that left me, and I was cold, alone, lost, and afraid. But I was free. I pressed on and found only more darkness. I knew the trial by the seemingly solid wall of trees around it.

Whether it was hours or days that I had spent walking, I realized that I did not grow tired or hungry. I just kept walking. Terrified that I was soon to die, I ran onwards. I did not grow tired. I just kept running, faster and faster, longer and longer. The trail was gone, or I had lost it, I was dodging between trees, but felt no pain upon running into them, for it was still dark, darker than ever.

On and on, and on, I was free but at the cost of everything else I had. I chose freedom, and still I do not regret my choice, but I knew I was soon to die. I knew. I could not go on forever. Not forever.

A light. I ran toward it, though I should’ve run away. I came to a clearing, and there was something there. Someone. A man, and the light…he was a light, somehow. I asked his name, and he did not speak. I asked my name and he told me. Then I asked him how to get out of the forest. He told me that I could never leave, that this was my choice, to run in search of something I could never find.

I asked him if I was dead, and he said yes. He said that my soul had escaped its prison, but my body had died. And this is what brought me here.

And still I wander in search of what will always elude me: a better life, change. There was no change. Life is life. I chose one fruitless toil over another, and so I shall toil until the end of time.

Here's another I finished writing about five minutes ago.



It all began on my twenty-first birthday. The day I drank my first drink. The day I started gambling. The day I started cocaine. And heroine. The first day of my life I truly lived. The day I resigned myself to death. The day I started to dream the future.

The future. Shown to me in dreams by a voice more terrible than I could relate. So horrifying that I had to listen. Had to believe. Had to obey…


My first dream. I’m in the casino. There’s a syringe in my hand, and I pocket it. It is empty. I feel fine, better than before. I look down and see a broken bottle surrounded by spilled wine. The voice tells me that I placed all of my money on 26 red. It wins. The voice seems so far away, so quiet, but I hear it…


Terrified, I woke. It was morning, and my head felt ready to fall off. When the pain died down a bit, I headed down to the casino. A few hours later I knew it was time to place the bet. I pocketed my now empty syringe, feeling much better than I had before. Stepping over the broken bottle, I placed my bet and won. By the end of the day, I had only half of what I had come in with that morning. My headache had returned…


My second dream. The voice is much louder. This time it is blackjack. I have a queen and a king, and the voice tells me that I took another card. It is an ace…


The next day, I went into work, though my hangover disagreed with me. About an hour of work, and I decided to trust that Voice. I told my boss that I was quitting, and he seemed glad. I think he knew what I had done over the weekend, or at least guessed. I left and drover straight to the casino. Along the way I nearly hit a pedestrian crossing the street. A man about my age, stumbling around in rags, obviously homeless and drunk.

In the casino I drank a few beers and bided my time. At last the time came, and I won fifty thousand dollars. I did not gamble for the rest of the day, though it was difficult not to, for I spent all day in the casino, only leaving once to buy from a traveling salesman in the alleyway adjacent to the building.


I place everything I have on 17 black. The wheel spins, but I do not see the outcome. I wake up too soon. Then I realize I am still dreaming. The Voice tells me I must wake up now to place the bet. It is deafening now, and I cannot refuse…


I woke up with another headache, more painful than ever before. I took some thigns to feel better, and once again drove to the casino. Immediately I knew it was time. I placed the bet. I lost.

The next few minutes were a haze of anger, confusion, devastation, and fear. The Voice lied to me. I stumbled around, fell, and passed out.


“You lied to me. You made me lose everything. Why?”
“You had nothing to begin with. Money? Worthless. Pride? Arbitrary. Trust? Don’t even trust yourself. You know you can’t. So why would you ever trust me? Did you think my job was to help you? Do you think I take pleasure in causing you pain? Nothing is that simple.”
“Are you even real?”
“Real enough to you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Then come up with one yourself. You have a lot to learn about life..”
“I have to leave this place.”
“Then wake up…”


I opened my eyes and looked around. I was still on the floor where I had passed out. No one even bothered to glance at me. I decided then that I had to get away. From this casino. This city. This life. I drove back to my apartment, picked up what I needed, but left the drugs. I was done with those now. I took the money that was in my bank account, a few thousand dollars that I had tucked away and had not bet. Then I got into my car, filled the gas tank, and left.

I drove for six hours, stopping only once for gas and food. I drove past eight different towns until I found what I was looking for: a rural area and an apartment up for rent. Within the hour I was living there in three small, bare rooms. I went out and bought some furniture, though not much, then looked for a job. The next day I found one at the local grocery store. The manager didn’t seem to interested in my qualifications for being a janitor, he just told me what to do and I started doing it. A week later and I got my first paycheck. It was a depressingly low amount, especially after the promise of riches the Voice had made and broken. But I was done with him. I was clean. I did not fdream of him for that entire week. But the paycheck was so small I needed something to calm my nerves. I spent the whole check on booze…


“Not you again.”
“Don’t try to run from me. I will find you every time.”
“The booze?”
“Yes.”
“So, does that make you a demon? Feeding on my vices or something?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?…”


The days that followed were filled with dreams, but instead of showing me the future, the Voice showed me the past. It was driving me to near insanity to see myself in but a few days twist my life out of repairable proportions. Eventually I was shown the future again, but it was things I had promised myself I would never do again. I couldn’t trust myself, though. Try as I might to prevent them, they happened. I didn’t get back into gambling, but I returned to my other newfound habits. I lost my job as well.

Swearing to rid myself of the Voice, I successfully quit the drugs and alcohol. However, instead of ending the dreams, the Voice grew louder, more persistent. It could no show me the future, but it tried to control me, and oftentimes I would find myself in a room, high, with no idea how I go there. I tried to fight it, but I could not. The Voice revealed itself to me a month later…


I am lying on the floor, but instead of in my body I am above it, looking down. My face looks very pale, as if it is dead. A half full syringe lies beside me. Two men, policemen, look down at me in disgust.

“Overdosed on heroine. Well, that’s what happens when you get addicted. I doubt his funeral will be too overcrowded. Tim, call the paramedics, have them cart him away.”

The second man pulls out a walkie talkie and calls for the paramedics. Then he leaves the room. The first man sits down in my brand new chair. He closes his eyes and waits with me for the ambulance to come.


I try to turn away from the scene but I can’t. Instead, I find myself in a new place. Before me, standing as if alive, is my body. It speaks to me, in the Voice. It tells me I must take over from here, and make the present become the future in the past. And I must, because it has already happened. I take the Voice’s hand, and we become one.


So I returned to my twenty-first birthday, and bided my time.

I enjoyed reading Avarice. I'm not sure if there was a hidden metaphorical meaning or something, but I enjoyed it. The Voice. Ooh. I've never read something like that before. "something" meaning this kind of writing.

The metaphorical meaning or whatnot is that his own personal demons drove him to his death. The Voice is him after The Voice kills him.

those are nice lyrics you have written up there. i will say that you have really a talent for writing songs. it is not really easy to do that.