Stories that die: pt 3

Kindly note that this is fitional and all copy rights should be reserved



This is the story of a boy
A boy who had a lot on his mind. The things made him crazy
Crazy sad
People said the boy should express his feelings in ways he could
So the boy did
He got a note book and every day after enduring all earth threw at him, he would write in his book
But somehow the book never worked it didn’t give him answers
When people asked for the book, they could never find it
But he always wrote in it
“We need the book” the people said to the boy.
The boy smiled tears rolling down his cheek
He took off his clothes
And there it was
The book
It was his body
Every emotion showed
When he wrote his anger in the book, he slashed so hard when he was writing that he tore the book
When he was at his saddest his words were slow and short hardly explaining but saying so much
Every emotion he felt he wrote it in the book
The book which was his body

Stories that die: pt 2

Kindly note that this is fictional ad al copy rights should be reserved


What makes humans and objects different?
Some say it’s the emotions felt, the ability to feel
To feel pain
Happiness
Sadness
Love
But for her she slowly felt all these things slip away
When she burnt all her life’s work in her backyard
She had given up
She felt nothing
She just watched the flames crackle go high and low then burn out
The people around her knew nothing about it
When she went back in they asked “what’s that you burnt?”
She smiled softly “nothing important”
She continurd for a few days until one day her sleeve caught fire but too deep in her thought she didn’t know
The others saw and raised an alarm. They quenched the fire and checked her arm, there was a huge burn.
“Are you okay?” they asked; she smiled softly again “it doesn’t hurt that much” but deep down she felt nothing
She was banned from the backyard and was watched closely
Cooking for dinner, cutting the vegetables quietly
The others came, “Are you okay?” they asked
She smiled softly “yes, why?” she replied
“Your finger. It’s bleeding”
She raised her hand to find a small cut with blood spilling out
“Oh…” she smiled again “it doesn’t hurt that much”
The others didn’t know that her days were numbered. The day when her soul would be dead leaving her empty and when her blood would run dry.
The day when she will become an object

Stories that die: pt 1

Kindly note that this is fictional and all copy rights should be reserved



“You could have been a good writer, you know? Why did you stop?” He said flipping through the pages of her book.
“Why?” she chuckled “I lost someone” she added.
“What did you lose?” he asked curiously.
“I lost a good friend.” She paused “his name was hope”
He looked at her confused.  She smiled continuing.
 “Hope and I were close friends. Very close. He was there when no one was; he encouraged me when I felt like giving up. Then I met Doubt. He showed me the world. The real world. It was breathtaking at first but then it became sad. It’s funny how Doubt invited some of his friends to give their input. There were Anger, Comparison, and Depression.” she scoffed.
“There were so many. But those three stuck together like glue talking the most. When Hope tried to talk, they would shut him down overpower him. Ironically, he was Hopeless.” She turned to face him.
“Anytime I think about it, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine. I turned my back on my only good friend and let others throw me in despair. When they had enough of me; when I was the lowest of low, they left. I had lost everything.” She wiped the tear that rolled down her cheeks and laughed.
“Out of nowhere Hope, the friend I betrayed. That I turned my back on came back. But I was to low that I chased him away. And at that moment I knew I really had nothing. She stood up.
“I was furious at him for not speaking up louder when they shut him down. He looked at me with a sad expression on his face. He said ‘I had no power but you did. The only one that could stop them was you but you didn’t because you didn’t want to’
I was going crazy, I had gone crazy.  At that moment I thought ‘where did my confidence go? Where did my bravery go? WHERE DID THEY ALL GO!!?’ She shouted her shoulders shaking, covering her face as she sobbed. She stopped sniffling. “No. Where did I go?”

Happy Rainbow Month

DISCLAIMER
The story below is not real and is/or related to anyone. All copy rights should be reserved.
All in all, Happy Pride Month
:)


I AM GAY

Fifteen is a weird age because by then you are meant to figure out how being a teenager works but not really get it.

I was fifteen when I had my first kiss with my cousin, Stephen, he was seventeen and cute but not to me, it was 7 minutes in heaven. I was sixteen when I first had sex. No, not with my cousin but with a stranger I met at camp. It was a ‘in the moment’ sex. I felt nothing but pain, maybe he was just bad or I was not just feeling anything except pain.

I was seventeen when I met a girl, a girl that other girls didn’t want to talk to so I did. She was cool, the 90’s kind of cool, and her name was Eve short for Evelyn. We became two peas in a pod. I was eighteen when I had my first good sex; it was in Eve’s basement room. We were having a sleep over and she dared me to kiss her I did, things took a turn from there. I was eighteen when I realized I was gay.

I was nineteen when my parents found out. It was the summer after graduation Eve had come over and things got heated. Unfortunately my mum walked in with a tray of snacks that ended up being used as a weapon to stop Eve from incarnating her daughter into such devilish acts. It was the last time; she was running out of the door with her clothes in her hand and it as the first time I had been beaten in my house ending up in a hospital.

Things became different my dream college in New York was changed to a local college that was a 3-5 hour drive from home. I was forced from one blind date to another. I was twenty-five when I was pushed into marriage with a man named Andrew, we both didn’t want to get married but despite that we became friends and got married around mid-November. He knew about my sexuality and never forced me into things I didn’t want.

 Ten years later thirty-five years of age a steady happy family and two kids. I met Eve not in person but in an exhibit in a painting. It was a painting of me on the day we have sex, I was naked laying down barely covered with the sheets. Under the painting was ‘A bliss but uncertain by Evelyn Park’. I stood in front of that painting, dried tears on my cheek till the exhibit closed.

The past I tried to push down for ten years came back in one night. I looked at my family during dinners and stayed late at nights and wondered if I am really happy. Now I am eighty, my sons are happily married they found about my sexuality years later. My husband, Andrew, passed away last year his soul rest in peace. The reason I am writing this is because there is notin wrong with whom you are or what you love as long as you are happy. That night, when I was nineteen I should have stood up to my parents and told them who I am, things would have being different if I did. There is nothing wrong with whom you are.

My name is Cary Wells and I am gay.