War-Torn Warrior

I attempt to write fiction prose, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. This post may be the last post for a brief while simply because I have been swamped the past few days and I have been unable to write and the next few days will be incredibly hectic. Hope you enjoy!

I know I cannot accurately write about this topic because I have not experienced war. However, I would like to broaden my ability of writing and use what I have seen and heard to try to portray this everyday fact of life.

 

War-torn Warrior

 

The rifle pushes against my shoulder as it fires. Round after round leaves the barrel, shrieking, looking for its target. Screams ring out, blood flies. Bombs create chaotic explosions, limbs flying along with those explosions.

Everywhere I look, I see the living, the dead and the wounded. I’m walking past everyone and everything; I no longer care for my life.

My screams are the screams of my comrades, the screams of the dead, the screams of my enemies. My soul screams along with the screams of the things around me, the screams of humanity and nature. It screams at the sight of dead, mutilated children, women bullet-ridden, men with destroyed beyond repair. It is too much to bear.

As I cross another dead body, I feel something press to the side of my skull before it enters, the flash of pain warns me of what is to come. I know now, at this moment before I die, I can finally find peace by escaping this horror.

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Satirized Love

Often times in today’s world, love can be fake. But it is beautiful to see the social experiment of so called love, it is amazing to see how humans interact with another and how they display their “love.”

 

Satirized Love

 

Are you the one I have been

Looking for? Upon having seen

Your grace and beautiful body,

I cannot help but be sorry

For our incompatibility as people

Of different social standing weasels

It’s way in between our hearts

And fires at us with sharp darts.

While we may be for each other

Our hearts must belong to another

For it is I who sees past

The veneer you wished would last.

 

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls

So this random idea popped into my head at midnight to write about bullying. Having gone through it myself, I know how low people can go and there are so many stories about how people will commit suicide due to this. So I also decided to start a book, entitled “Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls” but it may change, it is still in the working stages as I have barely thought of the concept. Here is the first entry that I envisioned.

 

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls

 

December 25, 20XX

 

Dear Santa,

 

I know you don’t exist, but it brings comfort to me right now.

I don’t know what to do. This has been too much for me and I feel like nothing can be done. So many people know, so many have taunted and hurt me for what I have done. It was just an accident…

It was an accident. I shouldn’t have gone to that party. But I did. I went and drank. And drank. And drank. I drank so much that I blacked out. But I did recall small things like that I had sex with some guy, I lost my virginity to some guy from school. I was so drunk that I walked half naked around the party.

There were several videos and photos. One even shows me with that guy; he was a kid, maybe a freshman football player. I was called a rapist for that. I was called a slut and pedophile and abuser. I was told I should go kill myself. My locker would get marked with the word “SLUT” and “PEDOPHILE” on a regular basis. I had to leave school. My friends wouldn’t listen to me. Everyone believed the lies. People would throw money at me and ask how much I charged. They asked if I gave that boy a discount for being a minor.

Every day I was attacked. Girls would throw soiled pads and tampons, telling me that I was a filthy as those things. That I was gonna burn with the devil.

On my social media, I would be tagged in photos and videos. Photos of me passed out. Photos of me half – nude. Photos of me with several guys. Photos of me doing things to those guys. One video was of me having sex with that boy…the rest had me drunk and making a fool of myself. I knew I should not have gone. Videos of me pissing on the ground. Videos of me throwing up and crying for help. The laughing, it echoes in my ears.

I turned 17 just yesterday. I wanted to enjoy it I really did. But I also go a lot of videos and photos. Some I had seen, but I also saw some other ones. These idiots even made memes of these photos. I just want all of this to end.

I had such nice dreams. I wanted to have a nice family, with a handsome husband and many beautiful children. Blonde hair, many eye colors if possible. Daughters and sons.

I wanted to go to my dream school and study business. I wanted to work for a Fortune 500 company. I wish I could’ve seen my baby brother grow up. I wanted to see mom and dad live to a 50 year anniversary.

I had so many dreams I wanted to fulfil. But the torment was too much. Every day I shake and every day I cut myself. Today is the day when I leave this world. Maybe I will see a higher power…I will wait and see…

I love you Mommy and Daddy! I love you baby bro, always know that big sis loved you!

Take care of them Santa. I still don’t know why…but it made me comfortable.

I hope I can go quickly…

 

Love you,

Anna Johnson

 

Poem from my book

This is a poem from my book, The Curious Case of the Blossoming Clouds. This poem, like most that I write are abstract in nature with clear messages.

The Depths of the Color Blue

 

While the young and old

May be different in many ways,

With the young being bold

And the old becoming gray,

Each has ways they benefit,

And ways they falter.

Both are like bodies of water;

The young being a rapid,

 Fast and destructive, but becomes confused and falters

When faced by a lake that is placid.

The rapid is shallow,

With little history beneath,

While the lake is mellow

With plenty of history in its depths.

The history beneath the deep blue

Offers wisdom to the world,

Willing to offer the rapids a clue

To life and to help mold

That rapid into a future lake.

The lake has gone through life

In various phases, willing to make

Changes to themselves because of the strife

They have suffered. Yet they mustered,

And managed to live through hardships

Presented by life, sometimes flustered,

But never losing their grips.

The rapids have much to learn,

Their decisions are fast, without thought,

Unafraid of the consequential burn

That accompanies their lust.

Their lust for becoming more

Often sends them to a dead end;

The rapid can no longer grow

And becomes dead.

If the rapid follows nature’s course,

That rapid will transform into more,

A placid being with force.

Time is the ultimate foe,

It sends the waves of transformation

Into the lakes and rapids,

As they are powerful creations

That eventually succumb to the acids

That time has made.

The ocean is where all of history lies.

 

Human

We are human. We as a society cannot harm another human for simply being different. Everyone is different, no one is the same. The only sameness among us is that we are flesh and blood humans. Never hurt anyone for being different.

Human

 

We are no different from each other

Than the atoms of life

That form plants and animals.

Individually unique but stronger together,

We are one and we are human.

Blood runs through our veins

And bones lie beneath our skin

And our skins come in different shades;

But we all share one commonality,

We are all human.

A soul resides among us all.

The soul makes us who we are.

The soul makes us human,

Provides us with our humanity,

Gives us dreams and passion.

Straight or gay or in between,

Black or white or in between,

Atheist or Christian or other,

Male or female or trans or anyone else,

We are unique and we are human.

Our community harbors many communities,

Allowing for many diverse regions

And diverse, wonderful people

Full of unique ideas and dreams

That can change the entire world.

But our society has allowed for

Hate to permeate the air and for cracks

To destroy our dignity and humanity,

And for our thoughts to be warped

By the bigotry around the corner;

Our minds have been changed

To hate onto other humans,

Humans who are unique like you

And I; cold hate destroys the

Little peace we have created.

No matter the faith you follow,

Or the race you belong to,

Or orientation, ethnicity, gender,

Profession or age, we are one

And we are all human.

This hate destroys our hearts

And destroys us as an entity.

It harms us all internally,

Ripping apart our heart strings,

Killing us slowly.

My heart is not metal nor hollow;

I move and breathe and dance

And sing and laugh and love;

We all do this to show that we

Are living and breathing humans.

We do this to distinguish ourselves

For we do the same things differently;

We do it in our own unique way

To say who we are to our society.

We are all humans with unique souls,

For I am different from you,

And you are different from the

Person who is next to you,

And we are all different from someone

Who lives in a different country.

Being unique makes us human,

Being human makes us into one solid entity

Composed of unique, individual molecules.

We are composed of unique atoms

Combining into marvelous forms;

We are no different from each other

Than the atoms of life

That form plants and animals,

In that, in the basic sense,

We are all human.

No matter how different we are,

We are always human;

We as humans form humanity,

Individually unique but still human.

We may be made of the same particles,

But we are the same, deep down inside,

And each person is someone worth respecting.

What runs through our veins

Is not golden ichor

Nor brown mud,

But red blood,

For we are all human.

No matter the differences,

We must respect and care

For one another for we all

Are the essence of humanity.

Maybe one day we will open our eyes,

Maybe one day we will see

That we are all human.

 

 

 

 

 

Student Elections

On Monday, October 17th, student elections began! Well, the campaigning began Monday and elections are on October 31st and November 1st. I have already seen posters up by a few and it is amazing how well people are already doing. It will be hard, but I am up for the challenge.

All these people are beyond qualified for the positions they are running for and it will be a very competitive race. But what would a campaign be without competition. Aside from myself, there are 9 others running for Liberal Arts Senator. There are about the same amount running for various other positions except for UTA Ambassador, they have over 40 people running.

This year will be great. Even if people don’t win what they desire, it must always be known that we tried our hardest and had a good time running. It must always be remembered to be humble and gracious.

Let the campaigning begin.

The Family

My attempts at fiction writing. There is a great inconsistency with my fiction writing but hopefully this one is good. Feel free to let me know what you think of this!

The Family

 

There were many strange things about the house next door. It was large and imposing, two stories tall, gothic style architecture mixed with church style architecture, either with tinted windows or stained glass windows, creating a frightening sight. Everything about that house was very foreboding, something out of a horror film. I was often curious about the house and tried to look inside, but the glass made it impossible to do so.

It had been a shock to find out that a family was moving into the house. It had been abandoned for nearly a decade, the house had been on the market for years and every group that came to investigate the house left soon after. When we had heard that a family was moving in, my family, including myself, were shocked by the news. The whole neighborhood eventually caught the news through the wind and eventually everyone was on alert, wondering who that family could be.

They came in on Friday the 13th, a weird coincidence given the creepy nature of the house, and as we learned upon seeing them, the family. They walked quickly and quietly, avoiding all eye contact with neighbors that were walking past and waving and trying to avoid the sunlight hitting them directly. Even though they didn’t seem to want attention, they sure warranted it.

I watched from my room as the family walked back and forth, moving all their possessions into the house. I noticed a young girl with them, around my age and if anything a year older, and the girl was holding a little girl, her little sister I presumed. Both were dressed in all black, while the parents were dressed in professional business clothing, however that was all black as well. They sure made for an interesting sight.

Months had passed since they moved in. Aside from the occasional greeting, they had no interaction with anyone. Their sudden departure shocked many of us in the neighborhood. We had seen them a day before and thought nothing of them. It seemed that hours later, in the dead of night, they just left. No cars on the driveway. No lights coming from the house. No signs of life.

Me and my family went by a couple of times and knocked or rang the doorbell, wondering if we would get an answer. However, every time we knocked, we received no answer.

Several more weeks have passed since the family left. I wondered: what happened? What about the two girls? I wanted to know but I didn’t know how to find any answers.

I decided to investigate on my own. I waited until my family went to bed. The moon was full and it was hitting the house directly. I climbed out of my window and jumped down. I landed with a light thump, and began running over to the abandoned house, aided by the dark. I ran across the grass, and quickly, knowing that I would be seen if anyone came by.

I didn’t stop until I reached the door and stopped. Even in the daylight the door was imposing. But now, in the dark gloom, it was truly frightening. It was a grand ebony door with stained glass, at least ten feet tall and five wide, two separate doors forming the large one. I place my hand on the doorknob, and pushed down, and it moved with my hand. I pushed the door open, walked in and shut the door behind me.

I walked around and noticed the rotten food on the kitchen table. On the table next to the stairs were keys, change, and dead cell phones. Every object in the house was covered in dust.

I walked past without touching anything and went up the stairs, wanting to know what was on the second floor. I reached the second floor landing and the first thing I see is a mirror, large enough to have at least six or seven people in front of and still have room for more. Right next to the mirror was a table with a picture of the family, their faces scratched out.

I moved my gaze away from the picture, shivers going down my spine, and look at my refection in the mirror. The full moon passes through a red stained glass window and allows me to see myself and the mirror. I look at the mirror and see an inscription, but I do not recognize the language. The red light does not help ease the feeling that are going through me right now.

I continue to see myself in the mirror. I’m by no means a narcissist, and the red moonlight does nothing to aid in calming me, but I can’t help but be entranced by the mirror. I see shadows grow around me, but I pay them no attention. I suddenly feel 4 distinct breaths on my skin.

 

Electronic Greeting

Our society has become fixated with technology. Because of this, we humans have become shallow.

Electric Greetings

 

Forever distant from each other

Despite your proximity to another

Human being, our culture fixates

On being together, yet interaction

Is not encouraged.

The more common this becomes,

The hollower our society grows

And shallows for in us all.

Friends walk side by side,

Talking not to each other,

But to their phones instead.

This will gradually become habit

And an electronic greeting

Will be the norm for all.

When this occurs, when the day arrives

Society will be at a new hollow.

Hiding to Survive

There are so many issues in our world that are overlooked. If it appears on the news, then people will care for a period of time. But if it doesn’t, people will simply not bring up the issue of child abuse unless their life’s work is helping those who have been hurt and abused. This is always current. This, sadly, will always happen.

Hiding to Survive

 

My closet, made of the most brittle of materials, is what keeps me safe from my family. My mom and dad, my supposed protectors from the wretched and vile people of this world, hurt me so that mass murderers seem like angels before my eyes.

I hide to survive. Hide to protect myself from the rape and the beatings. Hide from my greatest moments of fear in my life. Hide so that one day I can escape and never look back. Never look back on the physical pain and the mental suffering.

They are looking for me all around the house, looking for any trace of where I could possibly be hiding. They know where I am though.

They play this sadistic game to feel pleasure, to become high of their only son, their only child, wither in pain.

My door is barricaded with clothes and shoes and books and baskets and everything else I could use to help keep them out. In my hand I hold a toy bone, nothing to stop them but anything to help protect me.

I hear them. Hide and survive. Pray and hope. Don’t and I could die.