Once, long ago for just a few minutes, I tried to pretend that I was of this world. People would often call me weird, and I never knew why. I was trying my hardest to be the perfect human, and yet it never quite worked. Before I came here, I read up on earthling life. Their political affairs, food that they eat, and ways to talk to them. Starting a conversation that lasted longer than five seconds was hard enough, but spending a whole day, trying to act "normal" was too much for me. Waking up at seven o'clock in the morning when I'm nocturnal, eating human food, walking when I'm used to flying, and talking in english without resulting into clicks and squeels is extremely hard. Every now and then, I would flap my arms, remember that I don't have wings, and sit awkwardly for ten minutes, whilst the humans stare at me. It is just horrible. I also seem to attract bats, but as I am practically a giant bat from space, I suppose that, that is normal. Everyone else just thinks it as freaky. I wish that someone changed me back. I miss my wings. I just want to fly again.
I am the black sheep of the family. I don't follow the rules of my family. That's why they selected me to meet Auntie Elisa off the last train. She was nothing like I had expected. Wavy, jet black hair that reached her waist, and piercing green eyes filled with wisdom and power. Her skin was as smooth as a babies bottle, and there wasn't a single spot or freckle to be seen. She appeared to be in her late twenties. She walked over to me, and looked at me from every direction, from head to toe. At last she looked up and peered into my eyes. Pure hatred emanated from her glare, and I realised that this wasn't going to be the holiday vacation that I had expected. This was the very person that had betrayed the family and had fallen in love with a monster, and I was following in her footsteps. She reached towards me and held my face with hands with nails that looked more like claws. Fear creeped into my heart as she looked at me as if she was looking into my soul and picking out the bits that she didn't like.
Breathless, I forged forwards, forcing one foot in front of the other, the dirt of the city soaking my shoes as I splashed through the puddles. My heart throbbed inside my chest as I remembered the horrible things that my eyes had seen. People exploding others, babies being killed on mass, and children crying out in pain as their parents were slaughtered right before their very own eyes. Holding back my tears, I tried to think of what it used to be like. No pollution, no death, just happiness and the sun. The cool grass under my feet. This only made it worse. Water splashed up my leg, and the cold started to numb my bones. Cold, wet, hungry, and homeless. No parents to look after me. Only the urge to keep on running kept me alive. I could still hear the screams of my friends, as they were slashed into pieces at the gates of Limbo. No escape. No forgiveness. Just empty darkness for miles on end. I came to a stop. What was the point to all of this? Why am I still alive? I slipped my knife out of my pocket and held it to my wrist. 1, 2, 3... A tear dripped down my cheek. 4, 5, 6... The tear dripped onto my coat. 7, 8, 9, 10... Time to die.
I've often thought that if God had wanted to engineer a human bulldozer, then Mikey would have been his blue print. His bulging muscles rippled all over his body, and his strength was unimaginable. With one swing of his hardened fist, he could leave a crater like dent in a steel wall, and he wouldn't be left with a bruise for a souvenir. Just one look from him could send a lion leaping off the edge of a cliff, and if you made eye contact with him, you should be prepared to die. There he was, sitting all alone, in the corner of the class room. He wore a t-shirt that was way too small for him, he had his long-black hair scraped back into a ponytail, and covering his eyes were a pair of sun glasses that not even the person with the keenest eyes could see through. He abruptly stood up and stormed over to the teacher's desk. Everyone scattered, except for me. I was not afraid of him. He is nothing compared to who I'm afraid of, and I haven't seen her in a long time.
"Oi! Teacher!" Mrs Johnson looked up at him, and edged away slightly.
"Are you goung to get me someone to sit next to or what?!" He glared at her, making her back away even more.
"W-well. You see. Everyone is too afraid to sit near you." The teacher looked at me. I stared back in disgust. Lovely. I guess I am going to be sitting at the back from now on.
I stared at my computer screen, as if I was in a trance. Robot Unicorn Attack was possibly the best game that I had come across. A metal unicorn, with a rainbow mane and tail, that crashed through pink stars and collected butterflies. Most people would think of it as lame, but I don't. The graphics, the pace, everything about it is epic in every way. Even the song is extremely lovable. I'm not much of a sucker for this type of music, but this one was so good, that I might have been in heaven.
Then my screen switched itself off. Damn. The battery must have ran out. I searched the maze of tangled wires that was my charger area, and located the charger for my laptop. I fumbled about with all of the other wires for a while, before the one that I wanted was finally free. Life surged through my computer once again, and I sighed to myself. This was before I noticed the message on the screen.
BEWARE... The Algatrix this way comes...
The message stayed there for a few seconds, before it glitched out and was replaced by the cuteness of Robot Unicorn Attack.
Mary Ruth had been alive for 102 years. She knew things she shouldn't know. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut. However, she talked about the disturbances anyway. That is why she didn't last much longer than that. One day, she decided to gossip to a demon of the night, about the queen of the demons being a guy. Stabbed through the heart, after having her tongue ripped out and eaten. Her fate was as gruesome as everyone expected. Not a single soul turned up to her funeral. Due to a certain illness they said. The ghost of Mary Ruth knew better. She knew the lies that they had spread, and she made sure that they stopped. One night her old next door neighboor had his heart and lungs ripped clean out of his body by a man that was thought long dead, and the lady across the road had half of her face hacked of by a bread knife that was found in the draw, covered in blood the next day. These were only the beginning. There was more still to come.
The wind whipped the snow horizontally across the yard. Ever since the first time, I stepped out into the snow, I have hated it. Sure, the stuff itself looks pretty spectacular, but when it gets hurled at your three year old face in a compact sphere shape, it is less fun. I sighed, remembering the childhood experiences of snowball fights, and me ending up, having to put my face on a boiling hot radiator for about ten minutes. Not nice, in the slightest. I could just imagine it now. I step out into the yard of excited teenagers, ready to beat up each other, and a ball made out of ice and dirt smashes into the side of my head, and I end up looking like a snowman. Luckily for me, that didn't happen. I used my friend called Roxanne as a sheild. I'm such a nice friend, aren't I?
As automatons go, Blake was pretty unreliable. When ordered to kill, he would go out and end up making the target feel good about themselves, which isn't exactly helpful. Sometimes he would do the right thing, but he would usually end up killing the wrong person and get put in prison. All of the other times, he would get it done perfectly and there would be no evidence that he had done it, except for the stench of rotting human, coming from inside him. Which is lovely. It definately does not put you off your food... in the slightest. His cooking could either be the best thing you have ever eaten, and it sticks in your mind for the rest of your days, or it was completely disgusting and you feel so ill afterwards, that you think that all of your innards are going to come out at once. Sometimes he forgets to put his brain gears in properly after he wakes up, and then I often find him trying to walk through the kitchen wall to get to where my study is. Today's mistake was the car. He had attempted to back out of the drive, but instead he had rammed the front of the car into the side of the house, leaving a loverly dent on both objects.
Just occasionally he would look up. That glance across the room was to be avoided. Something about his stare turned my blood to ice. Even though I try to hide my reaction, it still manages to creep out onto the surface. He looked away. I knew it bothered him, but I couldn't help it. He was a monster. From the very day he was born, he has been shunned from society. Even his mother killed herself when he found out that she had given birth to a child with the eyes of the blue dragon. One look into his eyes, and you were turned to stone. Or so the rumours stated. That unseen glare, from behind the mask, could see for miles. Every day, his power grows. We all know, that in the end, he will come for us. He will kill us. One by one. Without any mercy. As soon as he takes off the mask, we will all be doomed. The blue dragon's eye. This power must stay hidden. Forever. If not, then people from all over the world will come to take it, and the curse of the boy will be spread so wide, that no one will be able to escape it.
I watched it fall from the sky. First sighted out of the corner of my eye, it might have been a bird swooping, but as it came into my full focus, I realised that this was going to be no ordinary day. I lowered my binoculars and blinked. It was a human. With wings. But I thought they were only fairy tales. Noting where it had fallen, I picked up my bow, and quiver full of arrows, and made my way across the daisy fields. I've always been called a weirdo, liar, freak, and many much worse things. You see, everyone that I grew up with refused to believe that creatures from fairy tales existed, and I grew up learning about them. Lucas. He's the town's fortune teller, and is believed to have once killed a dragon. Or so he says. He taught me about the wonderful creatures that roamed the land of the fairies, and I believed him. After he got murdered, I stopped believing, and I became one of the others. Unimaginative, dull, realistic. I hated that life. I started a living. Shooting birds, rabbits, and even people if I was ordered to do so. Now this. An angel, falling from the sky, and is now lying in front of me.
The prince looked about himself. As kitchens go, this one was rather interesting. There was no cutlery, no pans, only an oven and a fridge, jam packed with food of various kinds. The prince smacked himself in the face.
"Damn it Bob! Why did you have to lose your stupid jacket! You stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid prince!" He walked over to one of the walls and started banging his head on it. A maid shouted out,
"Prince Bob! Pleae stop hurting your head!"
"But I hate myself. Now go get me a rope, so I can kill myself."
"Your majesty! Don't say such things!"
"Whatever. Do it already." Prince Bob stompted off in frustration, still muttering to himself about the lost jacket that was tied around his waist. Any sharp things, or things that you shouldn't digest, were quickly put into hiding. Once Bob got something like that in his hands, he would soon be trying to kill himself out of self hate.
The zumba class was the last place, one would expect to find a body. A girl screamed from behind us. She had obviously followed us in. The body was what looked like a little boy, and it seemed like almost all of his insides had been ripped out by some wild beast. He must have seen what had killed him, as pure terror was still showing on his face. Blood was splattered all up the wall and floor. One of his eyeballs was found half eaten on the opposite side of the room, next to the smashed window. Looking out of that window, we saw the rest of him just outside. Wrapped around the bush, like tinsel on a christmas tree, was his small intestine, and chunk from his heart, liver, and large intestine littered the area around it. Blood had been dribbled all down the path and at the end, the sun dial had blood poured onto it in a spiral pattern, like icing on a cake. It was truely horrible.
Tiredness is eating at my soul. My life is crumbling before my eyes. The cold is seeping into my bones, and I start to shiver. My attention strays from the piece of hell that is sitting on my computer screen. I look up at the cool, hard, hospital like ceiling, and wonder why the hell, the air conditioning was on in December. Then I remembered why. The technicians want all of the nerds to freeze to death… including me. I love college.
I look up at the clock on the wall, as the seconds slowly tick past. Or do they? Time is all but nothing. Why is there a need for clocks, when there is only the belief of time? There is only one answer to the question that everyone wants to ask. This one answer will show the world of employees and students what the slave masters want to do to us. The clocks are basically here, to show us how long we have got till we are allowed to leave.
I sit down in the library, hoping that my thirst for warmth will be quenched, only to realise, seconds later that yet again the air conditioning was on in the bloody winter!!
I look down at my phone, and wait for the incoming message. Hope rose out of me, like a magnificent phoenix, only to get crushed by the passing teacher. If only had looked at my surroundings in time, then I wouldn’t have been caught. Thank god it hadn’t been taken off me. Then I would have been in true hell.
The young boy waited at the bus stop. The cold winter air lashed out at his pail and weathered face. He had long forgotten what company was like. The virus had started five years ago, and he was the last one left. Your mind was targeted first. The first symptom was the loss of memory. At this point, you wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong, as only the minor memories disappeared. Then it went after your emotions. Major mood swings were now happening. A lot of people think that it is just stress, so they don’t see the doctor about it. However, this is the best point to have it checked out. Any later, and it will be too late.
Then everything would go to hell. You would lose all of the senses other than hearing, and you would also lose your ability to speak.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.11.2014
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I dedicate this to all of my friends who were in my creative writing class, and especially Mr Sheperd for helping me perfect my writing skills for nearly a year.