Five (also some comeback "words" *yeah, words*)

Yeah, I delay stuff... lol

But I've not forgotten this blog yet, I just couldn't

after severe punch back into video gaming, I play.... and play... and play...

*reinstalled Skyrim btw*

yet, beside all the video gaming stuff, I got closer to my musical stuff... I've even tried a new instrument...

*sfx : Drumroll* 

the saxophone 

*crowd cheering, much wow*

lol, jk, no need to brag actually.... but I really do play the sax, since this February...

okay, enough from my musical side, 'tis time for my writing stuff...

I've been thinking, instead of writing short stories, why not poem instead? 

It can be shorter than a short story, as long as a short story, or even longer than a short story;

You can incorporated the "poetic" words easily on poems;

And rhymes are just a challenge that is too intriguing to be ignored...

          Rhymes are easily incorporated on poems btw

*lastly, some girls digs poems, am I right ladies?*

anyway, here's my take on the 24 lined poems, divided equally by 6 verses

so, as always, comment, like (or dislike), and share. your comments criticisms are very well appreciated.

Five

Changes were nothing but drastic
So I was convinced it’s fantastic
Perhaps I was just a fanatic
Shivers in fears, hiding the panics

I deny the weights on my shoulder
They’ve done nothing but break me down
I must shove them back to my holster
Yet, it is blocked by my own boulder

Still, in anger I have immersed
With mere mortal pain, I traverse
I can do nothing, but observe
Saw myself changes for the worse

All the bargains I have made
Though perhaps, nothing will ever aid
I have ran out of masquerade
All the figures to be portrayed

Once again fell to deepest depression
Fade, all of the useless aggression
All was made but the simplest progression
Nothing left, but the humblest confession

I need no assistance
I shall do this with no reluctance
All I need was acceptance
To punch me back into freedom

The Black Hand

My second English-languaged Short Story. 

As always, comment, like (or dislike), and share. your criticisms are very appreciated.

In case you forget, please don't claim my works as yours, simply mention my name at the end of the story when you wanted to copy and published this work. Thanks

The Black Hand

I was born with a gift that’s lets me know how much pain I can take more. The key is on my left hand. Whether I feel hurt, both physically and mentally, I see a dash of a black-colored something that I don’t know, even until now, emerging from my left shoulder. The more pain I feel, the black matter grows longer, and its quantity rise. Nobody besides me can see it.

The funny thing is the emotional pain makes the black matter grew faster than the physical pain. Actually, actions that people think will kill me, like stabbed, yes, I’ve been stabbed before, fell from a building, assumption, etc. don’t kill me, and only make a little addition to the black matter. On the other hand, the emotional pain, such as sadness, anger, etc. makes much more addition to the black matter. So basically, if I don’t want to die soon, I’d best keep my distance away from everybody.

Luckily, the growth of the matter is slow, so it takes more than a year for all parts of my hand to completely blacken.

A full black hand means unconsciousness for me. I’ve fell unconscious twice, at the age of six, and other at the age of 12. I assume that the next full black hand means the death of me, you know, because perhaps there’s only three chance, like in baseball, three strikes and you’re out, I don’t know. Actually, I’m kind of scared. The rate of growth of the black matter is increasing for these past two years, and it almost covered my hand completely.

“Get up, Fred! Get up!” Yep, I’ve almost forgot I’ve got to wake up, and go to school again. It’s Monday.

“Later, mom. I’m still sleepy,” said I.

“Do you know what time is it? It’s almost 7.30 and you’ll be late! So, get up, shower, get dressed, and eat your breakfast right now!” yelled my mom.

Seeing that I still on my bed, my mom pulled my feet and I fell to the floor. I know it was only 30 minutes to school, but you didn’t have to do that, mom!

So quickly, I showered, got dressed, and ate a piece of sandwiches while I ran to school. After arriving at school, I was hungry. So, I underwent the first period with me starving. And luckily, I was able to eat a pizza at the first break. Yep, my school serves pizza.

“Pig, give me your math book now! I need to copy the homework assignment,” said Albert, the bully in my class. He’s been picking me ever since I’ve known him two years ago. And I’m tired of it. Now, it’s time to stand up against him.

“Er, absolutely not,” said I hesitantly.

“What did you said, pig?” insulted Hank. I felt insulted because of his insult.

“I said no. I would rather you punch me instead you picking me all the time!” said I with the last of the courage I’ve still got.

Of course he punched me in the face, but he didn’t stop there I was punched in the other parts of my body. Also, besides of punches, he and his friends, accomplices, or slaves, as I like to refer them as it, insulted me more and more.

After that, I fell unconscious for the third time.

For the third time.

I guessed that the first two things that I would see after I’ve regained my vision were the gates of fire, of the gates with clouds beneath it. And I was right. As I see the two gates, there’s a voice, very low-toned and very loud shocked me.

“Frederick Clark Richards, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What? Who is this? What is this place? Am I already dead?” asked I.

“You have, but you haven’t. Your hand, It was the Mark of Knowing. A gift bestowed to the 13^th descendant of The Overseer which names are forbidden for us to speak. You are the straight descendant of The Overseer. And, you’ve been summoned here,” said the voice.

The Overseer? I’ve never thought of it. My parents never told me, so do my grandparents.

“What is The Overseer, you thought. The Overseer was the only man capable of seeing the future. Not many possible futures, but only one certain future. But, The Overseer’s ego was so big. He was a cocky, arrogant man and used the power of Overseeing for his purpose only,” said the voice.

After that, the voice guides me through the darkness of afterlife, passing through the gate of heaven and the gate of hell.

“What are The Overseer’s abilities?” asked I.

“Everything related to time. Aside of seeing the future, The Overseer can travel through time, and can manipulate time itself,” explained the voice.

“And, what does it do with me?” asked I.

And the voice told me something that I ignored. Blah blah blah… I only said yes when I was asked to do something for him.

“Good. He is set,” said the voice.

Suddenly, I saw a light and I woke up in a futuristic hospital. I looked at my body and I was shocked that I’m now a young adult, not old enough to be an adult, but way too old to be a 14 year-old boy like I used to be before I fell unconscious. Turns out I’ve been in a comatose state for almost 10 years. I was shocked, at first but then I realize it’s hard to tell time when you’re passing to the other side.

I looked at my left hand, and it’s still black, but now it’s glowing like never before. Several minutes later, I saw a middle-aged man, looking at me. His left hand was black, like me.

“Hey, is your hand supposed to be black?” asked I.

“Good. You are the one,” said the man.

And my left hand was glowing faster and faster, as the man tried to kill me with a surgery knife. Since my hands are bounded, I can’t move, so I just sat back and watched as the surgery knife punctured my chest and into my lungs.

Then, I remembered all the things that the voice said before I woke up.

“The Overseer’s power grew constantly as he fainted for the third time. He started with a black matter growing in his left hand as he felt pain. After he fainted for the third time, the power then grew to a limitless power of time manipulation. Actually, you are The Overseer. And before you create a rift of time and space continuum, you must be banished before your power grew. Are you ready?”

- A.D.

The Other Guy.

As I promised, I will post my first ever English-languaged short story as soon as I finished it. I've already finished the story, and here it is. Enjoy.

One more thing.
Don't take my works, such as short stories, or poem, etc. and claim it as yours. If you want to copy it, it's okay but mention my name as the author, okay? Thanks for your understandings.

The Other Guy

The boy walked down the road, shivering because of winter cold. With only wearing a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a wet hooded jacket, it’s clear that he needed some kind of clothes that can warm his body. Many noticed him, but none helped him, or even intended to do so. They were afraid. He was talking to himself, screaming “Get out of me!” several times. People thought he was some kind of mentally insane kid.

All these years, the boy had suffered from DID, or the Double Identity Disorder. Instead of creating his “other half,” the boy’s “other half” lived inside him. His “other half” is created with his hatred that has been buried deep within the heart of this naturally calm and loving boy named Nick. All his hatred was channeled to the creation of his “other half,” which he called “Jack”.

It’s all started in spring 2003. It’s the first time “Jack” was revealed. His mother was just given birth to a baby girl, and carried her to their house. The next morning, the girl was found dead, and brutally mutilated. Her blood was scattered on the floor, while the words “Hello? – Jack” was written in blood.

Summer 2008, Nick’s mother was found dead, and, like his baby sister five years, mutilated into pieces. Blood was scattered around the house, and “Jack” made much mess in the room. Located on the ceiling, a cryptic message from “Jack” that said “Next. – Jack” was written in blood. Fall 2013, the same happened to Nick’s father. Another message from Jack was written in blood again. This time it said “Goodbye – Jack.” Feared that people would accuse Nick for killing his family, Nick ran away from his house.

Nick never realized that he “is” Jack. Jack never revealed himself to Nick. The only moment that Jack revealed himself to Nick was the day after he ran away from his house. He was walking when suddenly someone said his name, faintly but very clear. Scared, he ran, but he couldn’t escape from the voice. As he ran, the voice became louder, and clearer. At some point, Nick suddenly realized that the voice that called him was his own voice.

“Stop running, Nick. You can’t run away from me, no matter how hard you try, or will try,” said the voice.

“Get out of my head!” screamed Nick.

“And doing that won’t help either,” answered the voice cynically.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” said Nick, already given up to the voice.

“You really don’t know who I am? Let’s retrace the events, shall we? 10 years ago, some guy killed your baby sister, and for ten years later, here you are, parentless, trying to escape from what you’ve done,” answered the voice.

“Stop it! I’m not the one who killed my family! Jack did!” shouted Nick.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked some guy, who’s been observing Nick for the past minutes.

Without answering the stranger, Nick went to a place where none can see him.

“Of course you didn’t. Jack did. But if we had the tape of the events, none will believe you,” answered the voice.

“What do you mean?” asked Nick.

“You still don’t get it, do you? I am Jack! I am you, at least the part of it,” said the voice impatiently, and with a very loud voice, knocking Nick unconscious.

The nights went by. Nick woke up in a different place, not realizing that he’d been unconscious for weeks. He never recognized the place around him. While walking around the place, he found someone familiar.

“Good, you’re finally awake,” said someone.

“Wait, I know you. You’re that guy from the street,” said Nick, recognizing him.

“The name’s Paul. You?” introduced the guy.

“Nick. Hey, can I get something to eat? I’m starving,” asked Nick.

“Sure. There’s a leftover of soup from last night,” answered Paul.

Nick went to the fridge, and grabbed a bowl of soup.

“You seemed like a mentally disturbed teen when I saw you at the street,” ask Paul. “May I know what happened?”

“I won’t tell you. Besides, you won’t believe me if I tell you,” refused Nick.

“Just tell me first. I’m a physiatrist. I deal with all sorts of nonsense,” said Paul.

Many time past with silence. Nick wouldn’t tell his story, and Paul wouldn’t push him either. Deep down, he knew that this boy had much trouble, and he won’t add more problems. Finally, Paul grew impatience, and pushed the boy to talk.

Bad mistake.

“What do you want from me, doc? You’ve just pushed me to the limit. If I said I won’t talk, it means I won’t talk,” said Nick, with different voice. “Jack” has taken control of Nick’s body once again.

He walked to the kitchen. Right from the kitchen, a knife flew right to the doctor’s head, and instantly killed him. Not satisfied, “Jack” mutilated him brutally.

“Jack” has given back control to Nick. Nick didn’t know what happened when “Jack” took control of his body. He was surprised to see Paul’s body and limbs all over the place, with a knife on his hand. Scared, Nick looted all of his food and supplies, and escaped from the house.

“I did what you supposed to do a very long time ago. You only sit back and watch as everyone tells you what to do. You won’t be powerful if you let that happen! All of your schoolmates mock you, making you weak!” screamed Jack from inside Nick.

“Get out of me! Get out of me right now!” yelled Nick.

“I’ve already told you that won’t happen! So shut up or people will see you as a sick person and I have to… Wait, I enjoy that stuff!” said Jack.

“Get out of me! I don’t want to be a killer!” screamed Nick.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do. And I’ve had enough energy to do this. I’ve told you not to yell ‘get out of me’, or this will happen.” said Jack.

After Jack said that, Nick was no more. Nick consciousness is lost in the darkness of Jack’s shadow. After a minute of blackout, I finally awake.

My name is not Nick anymore.

I am Jack.

- A.D.

Comment, like (or dislike). Any criticism will be appreciated.