Writing Snippets of Writing

[Mitch]

[color=red][size=1] Just some stories I'm writing I have lying around. Thought I'd share them, see what you guys think. But a word: Don't be too harsh if you are going to critque, these aren't even finished, and they are [i]very[/i] rough. So, here we are, without further adieu:[/size]

Somewhere far in my chest, my heart is beating. They say as you die, your life flashes you by all over again. They say the meaning of life is death. Maybe they're right, maybe they're wrong. But in my chest, there's more than just a beat, there's an emotional ride. Life might just be fantasy, but life sure does flash you by. In my heart, as the beats thump, there's more than just a beat. As I lay here, my heart ending and sputtering, there's a life passing me by.

Maybe it was all fantasy. Maybe life isn't meant to mean anything. But here in my heart, as I clutch at my chest, images splatter and crunch all around me. Flashes creak and crumble. And my eyes aren't mine anymore, my eyes are me years and years ago. My hands aren't mine anymore, they don't even exist. I'm back directly to that moment, back directly to live in the terror of it all.

I open my eyes, I peer. All I see is blackness, utter blackness. I try to think, but I don't have a developed brain. I try to say anything, but the words spasm and die in my throat. I shut my eyes again. There's a long moment of blackness, and I open them again. I try to move, and I soon realize that I have hands. I have legs. More blackness as I shut my eyes again.

Far away I hear voices mumble as I feel my puny body cry and cry. The voice is soothing and warm. Soon my eyes are closed, and I'm flying again. I'm in whiteness and space.

"I love you daddy," I say. I give him a huge loving hug. "I love you, daddy," I say again. The words echo and clash in reverberating waves. "I love you, I love you."

"I love you too, Danny. Daddy has to go," the shadowy figure says. I look closer at the figure, and then I can finally see my Dad as I so fondly remembered him. But as he comes into my view, he disappears into nothingness. I clatch and clutch for something to lean on, and watch as I grab nothing over and over again.

"I love you daddy," I say, teary-eyed and sad. Tears run down and tint my puffy-like, child cheeks. I cry as I look at the letter in my hand. I shake and shake, clutching it, almost crushing the fragile paper.

"Daddy's gone to somewhere better, Danny," my mom's smooth and loving voice says. "He'll always be with you, don't you forget that." I feel arms patting my back, I feel the tears running down as fast a rain water. Then I remove my head from my Mom's shoulder, I look in her so familiar face. I walk away from her and look at the piece of paper.

I read it, but it all blurs and melts away from my tears. The only word that is still readable stands clear as glass: Dead. I wail and cry, I let the paper fall and die. And somewhere far off I hear my Dad's voice. So far away it pitches and falls.

"I love you, Danny," his voice says so far away. Then all I hear is silence. I cry and cry for him, but my Mom only approaches and then turns away, crying too. Then all that I see is blackness again and I'm falling and falling. My stomach is doing knots and loops.

I pose a smile as the wind runs through my hair. I scream in utter happiness as the roller coaster rolls up and down. I hold dearly onto the side-railing of my car, full of hapiness and a fear. Up and down sideways and backwards. Upwards and downwards. The roller coaster moves and moves. Then it all stops, and I take off my safety-buckle, standing up as I leave the ride. The feeling inside my mind pure excite like nothing before. My Mom and I exit the together, holding hands.. "Wasn't that funny, Dan-Dan?" she asks.

"Yes it was Mom," I say excitedly short of breath and words. I peer around the amusement park smiling like a kid on top of the world should. The happiness just tears around in me, it's like no feeling that ever has been felt to me. The pure innocence that I had forgotten so long ago of being a care-free child. Another flash of white, another momentary blackness. New eyes and new hands. A new sense of thinking, a new sense of feeling.

I place the rose on his grave. His memory's still bright in my mind, and I miss him dearly. I cup my hands and I pray for awhile as I hold back the tears. "Don't cry, Danny. He wouldn't want to see it like that," my Mom's always soothing voice says. I turn to her, my mind much more sharper and tangible than before.

"Yes, I don't think he would. It's just that...I miss him," I tell my mother, uncupping my hands as I say it.

"But he's still with you Danny. Don't you forget...don't you forget," she says, her voice fading and dying away. Over and over again the words repeat in my head. "Don't forget...don't forget."

A loud screech. The smoke is billowing, and I cup my hand around my face. I cough and exhale as I crawl alone on the smoke-ridden floor. I rub my eyes, forcing myself to awaken. Through the smoke I see an alarm clock's digit read. 5:59. It changes to 6:00 and I take my attention away from it. I feel like I'm going to pass out from the smoke, but I keep going somehow and manage to make it out of my old familiar home. I meet up and find my Mom standing outside. I look at her arm, and I almost flinch.

"I'm very sorry, honey," her still soft and soothing voice hums at me. "Very sorry."

"How did this happen, Mom? How?" I hear myself say as my mouth moves and dies.

"I was...throwing away a cigarette I was smoking," she says slowly and hesitantly. She knew I didn't like that she smoked. I only told her everyday.

"Mom, what have I told you? Just...look at your arm. My God," I managed to say as I struggled for words. I couldn't stop looking at her arm, it was horrible. Her arm didn't even look like an arm anymore, it looked like a charred mess. It was barely even recognizable from what it was.

"Don't worry, I've already called the police...."

I walked to her room, knocking before I got in. The doctor opened, and I stepped in, immediately popping him the same question I always asked. "How is she, doctor?" Everything fades away, and here I am again. The great whiteness.

Snow is falling as my Mom and I stand outside of our home. My Mom grasps her prosthetic arm, managing a smile. "It sure is beautiful out here, Danny. Cold but beautiful."

"Yes, it sure is," I say, turning and giving her a warm smooch and an equally loving hug. It was the last time that I saw her. It was the last everything that day. The last day before I left, the last day of our Christmas together. She died the next week afterward. And I could see it in her eyes that night she wanted to die, the way her cheeks were deathly white. The way her hands just flailed in back of her like nothing, even her prosthetic one.

"I'm very sorry...Daniel Peters is it?"

I grasp the phone closer to me, trying to edge out the noise of my roommates. "No, it's Daniel Petters. Now what did you say?" I couldn't believe it.

"Uh...your Mom, Belle Petters. She died this morning of lung cancer."

"I'll be right down," I said.

I place two roses on each of their graves side by side, and manage a teary smile. It's a beautiful July morning as I look up at the blue hued sky. "I'm getting married today, Mom and Dad," I say to their graves. I watch the beautiful sunrise and then leave their graves.

"I love you, Dan," Christhine says with her kodak moment smile. We're in our just married car as we cuddle and hold one another.

"I love you, too, Christhine," I say,. We pop one another a loving kiss. I brush my rough, middle-aged face. "This is the beginning, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess so," she says, agreeing.

Years and years spool by. Love, kids, work. The whiteness edges and caps, showing my pieces and bits. Echoes and backend words mingle and spoon about like a projected movie. Here and there I see myself older each time. I watch as my kids grow into teenagers to adults. I watch and watch, and then it all stops in a metallic and eerie clang.

------------------

I took his bloodied hand. Luminescent, his eyes shimmered and reflected at me. His breathing became increasingly and unmechanically differentiating. I held his hand so tightly. I looked him dead in the eye. Through it I saw my crushed face staring outwards and onwards through his hazy dumb-dead eyes.

"Don't go on me," I said. But all I could hear was the loud and transcriptual perpetuality of bullets, explosions, death. All I could do was look in his hazy, faltering eyes. And the tears ran cold and numb like ice from eyes.

I threw my gun away from my hands and watched it fly and scatter in the uncouth dirt. Tears pearling my eyes. So cold so numb, I sat down next to him. I took the whole of my palm and placed it tightly and vainly on his marred, neoteric chest. Warm and seething, he bellowed and howled in utter pain and asphyxiation. Removing my hand succintly, I quickly pulled an anesthetic from within the deep confines of my pockets. Also finding a small, carrying-sized hypodermic needle, I quickly assembled his last hope.

"Hang on, hang on," I mumbled incoherently. I dug and clawed at his tingling, shaking, pain-imbued hand. I pushed purposefully and positionally on his arm, plaguing out his efferent blue vein. So cold, so numb, so far away, I forced the anesthetic needle into the narrows of his blood. Crazily, savaged, I watched as it missed, merely pricking and nothing more.

I tried again and again?three more times?and the third, the third was the charm. The needle sunk in, and I quickly and inhumanly fiended over to his now unmoving, blank eyes.

I shook him. I slapped him. I screamed and howled and howled and howled. I bellowed, I cried. I stared in his dumb-found eyes. The tears ran and ran. But, to my surprise?then there was a slight twitch of his eye. Just a slight, off-hand, weak yet faithfully opulent twitch. I couldn't believe it?I refused to believe. I waited again Again and again. I watched his eyes like a dog with a bone. I watched his eyes and peered into them like some dazzled and crazed amazon.

And soon, again, there it was?another twitch. Small, weak, gone. Yet there.

---------------------

Feet click clacking on the ground. Voices murmuring into a great void of drones and clamor. He looked up at them in utter contempt and hatred. Standing up from where he fell, he let out a loud snicker and spit a bloody concoction of saliva and blood onto the shiny, linoleum ground. He put his foot into the bloody wetness and smushed and sloshed it around like a stray cigarette butt.

Walking into the bathroom, Silivan Taylor looked at his grinning, bloody self in the mirror. Turning the sink nozzle, he splashed some water on his scarred, bloody face. Still smiling, his face creased into an intimate t-bone of extreme pleasure, and he let out a hoarse, insanely mechanical laugh. Silivan taloned his hands onto the sink, still laughing. Only this time, weaker, farther away. Spasming, he felt his stomach churn as he coughed and hacked.

Coughing, he vomited, falling over. His hands, still clasped on the sides of the sink, squeaked as they fell slowly off. The world was swirling for Silivan Taylor as he moaned into unconsciousness.

"Wake up," a small, echoing voice said. "Wake up."

Silivan opened his eyes revealing a blurry figure huddled over him. He blinked. The next time he opened his eyes, the figure had shifted.

"It's time," the voice said kindly and intimately. "Are you ready?"

Silivan's eyes ran over the figure. Instantly his mind eclipsed and clicked as he saw the figure's features. Instantly his eyes locked into a gaze. Silivan let out a small, far away guttural noise. He began to open his mouth to speak. A timid finger touched his dry, covered lips.

"Shhh," the woman said. "Your lips are sealed, darlin'."

The finger ran along his lips' impression, slowly swirling on the clefts. Silivan let out another small guttural noise, slightly stronger. It only murmured and fell to nothing Silivan tried to move his arms and legs. He shook and shook with all his might. Nothing.

"Darlin', it's useless. Stop or else I'll have to send Mr. Sandman after you again," the voice went off as the slow and timid finger left his taped lips. "And I know you don't want that."

The figure left his frame view, only a shadow against the silhouette of some meager light source. A window perhaps, Silivan guessed. The shadow of clasped hands ran over Silivan's face, darkly lining and faceting into his eyes.[/color]

[Corey]

I really like the last one. It makes me want to hear more. Sounds like the beggining of an epic or something.

The first one made me feel sad, as I'm sure it meant to do.

The second made me wonder what exactly was going on.

Very good Mitch. A fine writer you'll be.

[Solo Tremaine]

Ah, I love these snippets.

They're wonderfully emotional, powerful and very empathic. It's very raw emotion, and it's great stuff to read. The very beginning bit I like- debating theology is always interesting.

The only things I can see are little grammatical things, like commas in the wrong place, but like you said- it's only a rough, and they by no means detract from the story.

Very nice ^_^ I want more.

[Vicky]

That was super mitch!!! The first one was so sad...you are the best writer I have ever come across! Please, you have to tell me how you do it!!!

[Sara]

[size=1]Nice.

It's neat to see you writing something other than poetry.[/size]