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Category Archives: Fear

JHB Writers Sprint – The Chat

Prompt 2 – Pick a random item on your desk to write about – 25 minutes

I picked my Laptop – wrote this on my computer. Yes I have both next to me, at the moment it’s the closest I got to two screens 😛

**********

Lincoln flipped open his laptop and stared at the blank screen. He waited for the tell-tale signs of the other user on the other side in the form of a blinking cursor, but nothing appeared. He felt his heart sink in his chest, such a heavy depressing sensation he could not stand the emotion. He took another sip of the rapidly cooling coffee and almost willed the cursor on.

>Don’t stare too hard Linc
_Oh gawsh I thought I would die

Lincoln sighed in relief, joy replacing the previous feeling, his fingers itching to chat but he let his fingers remain still on the keyboard,

>You won’t die if I leave you
_Don’t talk like that
>You know its true
_My heart would stop beating. I know. I almost had a heart-attack while waiting for you here
>I was a few seconds late
_You are never late
>Well maybe I can be. Maybe I should be
_No! Please!
>Fine
_Thanks! Tell me more please
>Not now
_Why not?
>They are here with me
>…
_Oh

Lincoln quickly wiped his hands off his shirt, shifted his glasses further up his nose and placed his hands once again on the keys of the keyboard
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This Side of Eternity – Daily Post

Lady in Red

Tranquillity rests upon the shoulders of the weary, as fatigued induced slumber lulls the body and mind into transitory bliss. Time is cursory within the expanding dreamscapes painting afresh a new reality within the confines of consciousness.

Yet…

Slumber, though peaceful, remains perturbed by reaching, prying fingers, groping from the darkness that is reality. Sweet dreams. Nightmares. Each carry the toxic atrophy set to dispel any sense of elation as dreams dissipate into the dark, dreary coldness of reality.

And…

Its tumultuous, the chasm that lies buried below bone marrow and soft tissue. A constant throb reverberates through this dark orifice, in the hope that each beat sews and knits, weaves and stitches the tumultuous chasm shut – forever silencing the beast within. The chasm is a labyrinth, deceitful in its facade, beckoning the many into its walls, hoping to entrap them within its dark passages and endless doorways. Its cries echo within the profound darkness, calling out in despair only to ensnare and be ensnared.

So…

We drape ourselves in the hollow, inconsequential threads of suspended disbelief – we are our own masters we say. Postulation concludes that the circumambient forestry is a shell keeping others out but in truth it keeps us in.  We find joy in the transient, in the passing, in pleasing the now, aware that slumber is just as transient but living in it by it and for it.

But…

It is time we woke up. This life is the slumber, the dreamscape we embed ourselves to in the hopes that the dream is reality. We endure the nightmares of life and revel in the sweetness of it, thinking its all real but waking up, we will find ourselves still in darkness. The question one must ask is…

Are we still living for this side of eternity or are we anticipating our wake on the other?

The answer to this question will influence greatly how you perceive the world and with it, every major decision you make. Why not Live Life in Light of Eternity

____________________

In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/baggage-check
We all have complicated histories. When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you’ve made?

Life of a Writer

5-things

I sure do want to be a writer. Just the idea of it gives me butterflies. I see myself looking out from my window at an azure ocean, listening to the lull of the waves while landscapes form before my eyes which I then paint with words onto the blank canvas in front of me. Each typed letter giving life to people and creatures both normal and fantastical; and then sharing them with the world.

However from a realistic perspective, that doesn’t seem probable. Will I really be able to provide for my (future) wife and children and live on a cottage by the sea listening to the rolling waves lulling creativity into my tranquil mind? Or will life knock me down with each rejected piece of writing, while publishers wait for me to produce something that will get my foot in the door in the writing industry. I have no idea. What I do know is that at this moment, being a prolific writer seems as plausible as deep sea diving in a public pool.

One of my biggest struggles in writing is procrastination.  Why do today what you can do tomorrow kind of mentality, which results in late nights, attempting to churn out creativity from a fatigued mind running on coffee and pressure. And the thing is- I like it.

Quite recently I applied for and was “employed” as a Game Reviewer and News Editor for My Xbox Live (http://myxboxlive.com) and even as I read the requirements for what would be expected of me, the enormity of the responsibility sunk in heavily; I felt overwhelmed. Nonetheless, I accepted the position, knowing that every kind of writing I do and exposure I can get will help me along the path towards being a better writer.

And so I write.

The Golden Thread

sunrise1

Once again the world is awakened to the rising sun, glorious in its stead; punctual. We glory in it’s warmth and beauty, gladdened by its presence as it overlays the land in gold. Its light washes over the darkness of night and sweeps our fears away with each ray of its golden light; rejoicing in its ability to give life to everything we see.

And yet

Often we are awakened to the rising sun, indifferent to its punctuality. Greet it in contempt and dissatisfaction. At times we take in it’s warmth and ignore its beauty, its presence merely a constant reminder of how fleeting time is in it’s relentlessness; the gold it overlays across the land only illuminates the repugnant inconsistencies and frailties of life. We’d rather wallow in the darkness, shrouding our objectionable desires and motives below the cover of darkness and obscurity, regardless of the fear that rattles our bones. Hiding from the light that reveals our life so no one sees everything about ourselves.

And even then

Is this not so even with God? Each morning we awaken, by His grace. Rising, we should glorify Him for his steadfastness and consistency. We ought to glory in His warmth and beauty, the God of love and creation who has continually blessed us with many things that should bring gladness to our hearts; His presence overlaying our lives in the gold of His majesty. His Light washes over the darkness of our hearts, sweeping away our fears, softening our hardened hearts and washing away our sins. We should be rejoicing in His ability to give life to all that we see but also to those who are dead in their iniquity, disobedience and sin.

Junk Yard Angel

JunkYard Angel: courtesy of Jason Chan: www.jasonchanart.com

JunkYard Angel: courtesy of Jason Chan: http://www.jasonchanart.com

The Outer Edges

A dreary, grey sky draped over the metallic hulks that lined the outer edges of Chatarra City. Dark looming shapes that etched the sky in jagged patterns; husks of old cars, machinery and all things scrap. I stood outside the junk yard,  in front of its rusted entrance gate that was now nothing more than a bent frame. I let out a puff of smoke from the cigarette between my lips, watching the tendrils of smoke dissipate into the air.

Cool. Calm. Collected.

I let the words play over in my mind as I walked into the yard, aware of the silence that emanated within the compound. No junk yard dogs. No junk yard owner yelling inquisitions at me. Just the silence of rusted metal. I walked through the alleyways of the compound, looking at the familiar junk piled together haphazardly. Apart from the nervousness caused by the eerie silence, there was a rising belligerence from irritation; this isn’t what I wanted. With one final puff of smoke I threw the stub of my smoke  down and crushed it with the heel of my shoe.

Cool. Calm. Collected.

Why I was here was simple.  I’m an inventor of sorts. I love to tinker with all kinds of machinery; building contraptions and gizmos. A rather fulfilling and exciting hobby I took up at a young age, when I realized that banking wasn’t for me like it was for my dad. No. I found my joy in dismantling toys, calculators, toasters and radios, and once, my dad’s old computer. It sure didn’t end well but it awoke in me a desire for more. Not merely dismantling…but building from scratch.

I frequented junk yards from then on. Collecting all kinds of scrap metal and mechanical components to the point where my backyard became a scrap heap in itself; but I was never satisfied. I then started to travel from city to city, junk yard to junk yard, searching and never satisfied, until finally I found myself in a dilapidated, smoke hazed bar, drowning my dissatisfaction in warm draughts of cheap beer. My companion, whose name I could not recall nor where I’d met him, endured my ceaseless babble with nods and grunts and the occasional “sure”. We sat across from one another on creaky wooden chairs, the bright yellow globes overhead illuminating my companion’s dark wiry hair and thin somber face.  I loathed the look of pity engraved on his face but I endured it as he endured me.

It was as I ordered my next round of warm ale that my companion shooed the attendant away and dragged me up to my feet, pulling me away from the smoke filled room towards the back of the bar. He dragged more than led me out the back door before shoving me out into the cool night. I landed onto the dusty ground on my back, drunkenness rendering me incapacitated.

“I know what you seek…I know where you can find it” He said to me in a thick Spanish accent. From his flannel shirt pocket he pulled out a thinly rolled cigar and from the back pocket of his faded jeans he pulled out a lighter.

“There is a place…in the Outer Edges” he began to say, as he placed his cigar in his mouth, “it is a quiet place…a secret place” He flicked the top of the lighter with his thumb, producing an orange flame that cast an unnatural glow across his face. His eyes flickered with the flame and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

“This place is…different” he continued, taking a drag from the cigar before blowing a plume of smoke up at the purple sky “…Chatarra City…it is not like the other cities…but no city in the Outer Edges ever is huh?” He chuckled softly to himself.

“…it is there where you will find what you are looking for. It has everything that you could possibly look for. A haven for people like you.”

He looked down at me, giving me a wry smile before turning around and disappearing through the door, heading back into the bar and leaving me to sober up outside. With set mind I headed out towards Chatarra City, hoping that I would finally find what I was looking for.

Now here I was, disappointment and dull anger vying for my emotions as I perused through the familiar junk. There was nothing special about this place; it was like every other scrap heap I’d wasted my time and energy on. I grabbed a loose piece of metal, anger overpowering every other emotion and diverting all of that energy towards my arm.

Cool. Calm. Collec

With a thrust, I bashed the metal husks in front of me. Then again. And again. And again. Still in my fit of rage, I turned around and hurled the rod across the yard as hard as I could.

She caught it.

“Are you calmed down now?” She asked. Her voice drifted across towards me, sinking into my head and echoing melodiously. She nonchalantly pushed the fringing tresses of her white hair behind her ear.

“Who are you?” The words rolled off my tongue yet I was sure I hadn’t said a thing. I could still feel a dull anger radiating through my twitching arm as she walked towards me, the metal pipe in her hand swinging lazily.

“Does it matter?” She asked. I shrugged. She shrugged back, mocking me. With a light chuckle ,she flitted about around me, bouncing on her toes with nails painted black. Her white hair flowed more than bounced with each skip she took, the cuffs of her grey sweat pants dragging across the floor. She smiled a devious smile, standing on the tips of her toes, holding the metal rod out towards me.

“Grab hold” she whispered. I tentatively reached out, grabbing hold of the steel rod. It was cool to the touch, tingling on the nerves; electrifying.

“I know what you seek…I know where you can find it…” she breathed. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end under her mischievous yet ethereal gaze; her eyes were gleaming dark orbs that pulled at me.

“This is the place…here on the Outer Edges. It is here where you will find what you are looking for…” The familiarity of her words struck a cord inside my mind, yet I could not pinpoint where exactly I’d heard them.

“…everything that you could possibly look for…”

Wait!… At the bar! My mind began to piece together the pieces. I tried to say something, but my voice died in my throat, coming out as nothing more than a raspy murmur.

” A haven… for people like you.” She grinned a devilish grin, pulling the metal rod out of my hands in a deliberate fashion. I stood transfixed as I was, watching a brilliant light emanate from behind her dark eyes. A whirring sound filled my ears as the rod slid out of my paralyzed hand.

“You are not hu…”

“No” She interjected, crackling mechanically while raising the metal bar above her head.

“And neither will you be” with a deft flick, she struck me across head. The pain shot through the side of my head, lodged itself right between my eyes in a searing hot flash. The world rotated.

Darkness.

************************************************

Thus begins my journey into a new genre, something different from the normal stuff I write. Sci-fi? Steam Punk? A combination of both? I’m not sure yet but the idea looping itself inside my mind sounds fun. If you have any ideas, see any loop holes or spot something I missed please let me know, comment and stuff I would really appreciate it!

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