thanks for checking it out this far :p
writing is my life & i hope to get my works published one day
for now these are my only novel's and these are only specials written specifically for a first impression
if you like anything you've read & want the full novel, pls dm me!! i love sharing my work, this is just my first personal step to get some of it out there :3
just click on any of the names below & it'll take you straight to the snippet
↓↓↓
We’re born into the world without kindness. Desire for survival is our only conscience.
As we grow we find our likes and dislikes. We build ourselves from our surroundings. Our way of speaking is copied from those around us. Our dreams are built from the things around us that make us smile. That makes us feel.
We learn to communicate. Verbally. Physically. Through hidden meanings and messages. Offerings, gifts.
I’m not of this world because I’ve never had the desire for any of the above. For survival it came naturally, an immortal in a world without death, none of us need the worry of failure of life.
I have no need for likes or dislikes because I cannot feel. I cannot dream. I cannot communicate.
I sit, and I just about exist.
Rather, I walk. Down this leaf ridden road.
The sky never changes, much like myself. Stuck at its depressing gray color, perhaps warping everyone’s mood to melancholy.
I was born into the tiniest house on the block. It’s gone now. Returned to it’s nothing, back to a shell of the memories once created only to be forgotten.
Nihilism is the belief in nothingness. The world is foreign to meaning, the feelings of love and happiness we create until the end; it was all for nothing.
Does such a belief exist without the known truth of death?
I guess I’ll never know, I’m doomed to walk this leaf ridden road.
The strangers who pass by are friendly. They smile with the wave of their hand, sometimes the nod of their head. A few even stop to conversate.
I never have much to say. Perhaps that’s why they always walk away.
Escaping from the trees surrounding both sides of the dark road are countless white eyes, their intent usually prominent with the pep in their step. Lurking about, as if they have something to hide from.
Dreaming is foreign. I wish I had a way to befriend the bittersweet feeling of escapism.
But no, I’m doomed to walk this leaf ridden road.
Rather, was,
A stranger approached me, one I recognized by clothing alone. The blonde man who’s eyes I could never quite see, and the odd clothes he never seemed to change.
Not uncommon for Airheads, however this man was not like the rest of them. Alike to me, he hadn’t much to say.
I felt something. For perhaps the first time in my life. Envious of the steps he circled around me, walking down this leaf ridden road.
I’m underqualified for a life of direction. The only purpose I’ve ever known were the leaves underneath my feet, crunching under each step.
The man disappeared as quickly as he appeared, leaving me back to the darkness and solitude of the only life I’ve ever known.
Until I felt the weight of his hands pressing onto my back from behind, and suddenly I stumbled away from the leaf ridden road.
I’m still. I’m standing. Not walking, not thinking, I’m feeling.
Disbanded from the curse of peace of mind, death of mind, I’d rather call it. Peace only exists because of conflict.
I can feel. I can dream.
I am free.
Days go by. This dream feels like an eternity. Was two not enough?
I know I’m in a dream because I’m staring into a mirror, but I don’t look like myself.
I’m beautiful.
I’m crying but my tears are jet black, it would’ve looked like mascara running down my face if it weren’t for the pure jet black darkness of my sclera.
This golden mirror looked Victorian, and I’m wearing this white dress again. I’ve never seen this dress before, why am I always wearing it in my dreams?
And there he comes. Nick steps beside me, perfectly polished and clean, his hair combed and his tie fastened to his neck.
Why do I look like I’m in shambles and he looks like he’s going to a wedding?
And then it clicked. This was a wedding dress.
His left hand reached in front of me, cupping the left side of my face as he pulled me close to him, a smile of his reaching from ear to ear as he brought his lips to my cheek.
And for some reason, I said, “I’m beautiful.”
I felt the sensation of his breath against my cheek as he replied,
“is that because of me?”
By the time I made it back onto my own street, it was already night. My house was the farthest down the block, I’m already so tired.
I thought that I would’ve felt better if I tried to help someone but all it did was make my head spin about Jaxon Walker again.
Honestly, I’m exhausted. One minute I want to breathe and the next I just want to suffocate. I wake up and the moment the thought of him pops into my head, I almost get excited at the idea of trying to figure out just what happened to him.
At the end of the day, I kind of just want to let the panic attack finally happen and let it kill me. I’m so tired of my entire world revolving around him.
“She likes you.”
I stopped immediately. That voice came from right beside me.
Turning my head, I tried to look inside the fence into the backyard of a random house I just passed, but it was jet black, I couldn’t see a single thing.
“She liked me too.”
I turned to the fence fully, trying to figure out just who was talking and if they were talking to me. It was clear as day, almost as if they were directly in front of the fence on the other side, I just couldn’t see them.
Surely it’s not that dark out here, right?
“I was always really grateful to Ms. Bennet. She always helped me out.”
I furrowed my brows, now feeling a little scared. The voice sounded familiar, strangely, but I couldn’t place it.
“Who’s Ms. Bennet?” I asked, which was probably stupid of me. Out of all of the things I could ask, I asked what the invisible man in the darkness was talking about.
“Do you know why she carries a gun?”
The question sent an instant chill down my spine. My mind screamed to run but the only thing I could do was stare with heavy breaths into the darkness.
The moment I tried to take a step backwards was when it happened.
Arms emerged from the other side of the fence, grabbing onto my face as they pulled me to a head, a head with missing eyes and curly hair.
“The dogs!”
The ash, kin to me, alike to me. Like a reflection, soaking my hands upon every tumble and trip into the city roads.
The smoke, kin to me, alike to me. Scorching my throat, screaming for a name that never replied.
The smell, kin to me, alike to me. Tempting my senses, begging for my release to insanity, urging the turn of my heel back towards the home I escaped from.
The cottages returned to as they were before, piles of rubble. This time, however, far more tainted than before.
“Porphyria!”
Her sweet name, I wished to scream everyday, now all I can wish for is for it to vanish from my mind. My sweet innocence lost within a single look, she dragged me into the pits of hell she created.
Kin to the fire, fanning a flame I couldn’t control. However this time, these flames, this violence and this insanity, has not stemmed from me.
But her, just finally reaching my feeble view. The glistening orange blade in her gentle hands, the mess of her hair hiding the face that I couldn’t bear to see.
“Ma douce,” on my knees I fell to her and the lifeless body she continued to destroy, sharing her endless insanity with the undeserving dead.
Where did we go wrong? What part had I failed? Had I not loved her enough?
“Porphyria, please,” shakily my hand rose to hers, and I know I touched her, I’m certain I did. Why else would the knife in her once so desirable hands plunge into the part of me she once loved the most?
The alluring desire for destruction, surrounded by a lover covered in all shades of blood from strangers we tip our hats to, the burning cottages and churches, and the look in her eyes begging for one true thing from me, and only me.
“You are last!” she spoke to me, that oh so gentle voice.
A beautiful curse I searched endless months for the girl who only smiled at me. A smile that killed the dozens of saints in this very town. In these very streets.
“Curse the fool who pities you, ange.”
A twinkle in her eye struck me, a part of her I would’ve swooned over but that was before. I understand her meaning. I understand her desire.
And before I let her blade pierce through me, the dark hair I once kissed three times before she awoke tangled between my palm and knuckles. I shame myself to admit the thrill that coursed through me once her gentle cheek met the shambled road beneath us.
“Le fou est dans le miroir, vous ne pouvez pas l'arrêter,” though I hardly understood a word, I forced my love beneath me, the blade trembling in her open hand sliding into mine.
“If you must die, we must go together.”
The look of fear sent me to defeat. I desired her expression of laughter, of suspicion, of love and of Porphyria. I desired Porphyria in a way I had never desired a dream.
“Et pourtant Dieu n'a rien dit,” in a whisper she told me, the knife finally plunging into the beautiful flesh of my one dream, my one Porphyria.
The insanity that stole my existence from me, painted into the sky of the smoke above me, the tears of my sweet regret drenching my face.
Curse the fool who carries the name of P.Piper. For myself, and my love, the one who died in such a tragedy will haunt the lost lovers for eternity.
“I am last, I follow you,” the blade slid across my own throat, the sky almost painting the sculpture of the very same eyes I surrendered to.
My body collapsing with hers, our journey starts anew, repeating until the day we finally do it right.
The day when the sky is not ash, the blood is on another fool’s hand, and we sit with wrinkles in the same florist shop we found ourselves in all those years ago.
A story to rest the tortured to sleep.
A curse.