Messages in Prose.

So I was searching for something to comfort me.

Instead I found this. The Two of One, a poem I wrote a while back.

And all I can think is...

How accurate.

EDIT: The general consensus seems to be that I'm the antagonist in all this. I'm the one who caused all this. I was the idiot who blew everything severely out of proportion.

Another ringing endorsement for the master of making epic mistakes.

A Ramble

So funny that they tell people "always think positive" and "always think highly."

So I tried thinking highly. But it only caused me to over-estimate myself, over-analyze everything that ever happens around me, and to over-stress myself to insane levels.

In my head, everything makes sense. At least, it does to me. But I bring my thoughts out into the open, and suddenly they lose their validity and the comprehension is lost.

Perhaps my mind is twisted. Or perhaps I lived in a world that is.

There is a total lack of understanding. It makes me sad.

Silence, they say, is golden. But tonight, I saw how silence was more like a bloody sword. And it was in my hands.

The bridge that connected has crumbled and fallen to pieces. Those pieces have fallen into a turbulent sea, where they have been washed away. Now what was one has become two.

Incredible how "one" can be used to describe two, while "two" can be used to describe one. It makes my head swim thinking about it.

None of this makes any sense now.

Perhaps it will one day.

Maybe tomorrow.

Or whenever I get around to elaborating.

And stuff.

Wanting You to Know.

So this morning I got to reading some old blog posts, which led me to read my old poems... Which led me to this: Red Rainstorm, a poem I wrote a while back.

It might seem a little unusual for me to make a post about it, but there's definitely a reason.

But for right now, all I'm trying to say with this post and the poem is...

I hope you know I have been listening.

It's Been Said It's Cold Beyond the Sun.

Letting go is quite possibly the hardest thing a person can do.

But sometimes it's the only thing they can do.


There's going to be a huge gaping hole in my soul when I do it.

But hopefully when it's all said and done, everything will be better again.


I'm about to lose a big part of who I used to be.

But I think that maybe it's finally time.

Lyrical.

Lost my whole life and a dear friend.

Finally put it all together:

Nothing really lasts forever.

Call me your favorite.

Call me the worst.

Tell me it's over...

I don't want you to hurt.

It's all that I can say.

So I'll be on my way...

Crossover Story Time!

After a lot of thought -- and lots of inspiration -- I've decided to finally start on my Puzzle Pirates/Marioverse crossover tale. :D

I'm not gonna elaborate much on the tale, as that would spoil a lot of it. But there will be a ton of new characters introduced, as well as what will probably be a new writing style from me altogether.

Enjoy! :D

Chapter One: Two Split Dimensions and Four Swapped Souls

The sky was an ominous shade of grey that sent many running for shelter. The air was hot and heavy with the threat of unleashing hell. The air was dead when the breeze ceased -- the breeze itself was a soft burst of heated whispers, warning those it touched to move inside or be punished for insolence. The occasional flicker of hidden lightning jumped from one dark cloud to the next, much like an acrobatic nomad that fluttered from airborne house to airborne house. Finally, a large explosion roared from the heavens and the first cold drops of rain fell from the highest of horizons.

She seemed unfazed as she looked skyward, the cold drops gently splashing on her pale but dirtied face. A pair of dark green orbs blinked as droplets fell within them. She took her fingers and brushed some dampened strands of blood red hue from her face. Her fragile-looking hands were scratched and scarred multiple times over, and her tattered clothing hid even more. She was a young woman short and petite of stature, but reaching forever upward with heart and spirit. In her hand was a sword, its blade coated in a strange substance of a color that was inbetween rusted red and grass green. Her chest heaved heavily, and it was obvious she was attempting to relax.

"Luca? Are you okay?" A male's voice suddenly broke through the soft rumbling of the thunder. She jumped slightly and turned around, a relieved smile coming across her features.

He slowed his sprint to a walk as he drew near. His face visibly relaxed a little bit, revealing a smile buried within the depths of his blue eyes. He stopped when he was standing directly in front of her, running a hand through his blonde hair. He was much taller than she, having to look down slightly in order to maintain eye contact. He, too, was riddled with various scratches and bruises, but he didn't seem to notice them. He dropped the sword that was in his hand -- it, too, was coated in the strangely colored substance -- and wrapped his arms around her. His body released a quick shudder as he pressed her close. After all, he'd convinced himself he would be absolutely nothing without her at his side. And he believed it.

Luca looked up to meet his eyes and nodded. "I'm perfectly fine, Phil. Are you?"

"I am now," he replied softly, relaxing his grip enough to let her move. "That was the worst fray yet."

She nodded again. "Indeed. It seems like they were a lot stronger and focused this time. I wonder if that means Luci is--"

He gently put a finger over her lips, smiling softly. "Can we discuss this later? We both nearly got killed, and I'd rather talk about something else."

She blinked, then stepped back, looking up. "One hell of a storm we're having."

"Mmhmm," he replied distantly as his eyes also looked up.

"I like it."

"Me, too."

Phil gently wrapped his arms around Luca again, bringing her close. She smiled and uttered not another word as the two looked up at the thunderstorm raging overhead. The rain increased in intensity, and it wasn't long before the pair were soaked completely through. The strange fluid had been washed from their swords, but neither of them bothered to pick them up. They had been extremely stressed lately, up at all hours of the day and night fighting hordes of undead creatures that poured out from the earth. They rarely had any time for their relationship any more, and both secretly fretted that they would be torn apart from one another.

"We can't keep doing this," Luca finally murmured quietly.

"Doing what?" Phil asked, his head curiously tilted to one side.

"Fighting these monsters all the time," she answered. "We're literally fighting ourselves to death. We're going to wind up becoming them if we don't stop."

"Where's this coming from?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"We're not living our lives any more! We're so busy having to fight these creatures that we have no lives of our own!"

He gently put pressure on her shoulders, causing her to cease her abrupt ranting and look up at him. "We're not going to fight ourselves to death, Luca. We're going to be fine."

"Can we eventually travel and live somewhat normal lives?" She blushed softly as she felt the stinging of tears in the back of her eyes.

He smiled sympathetically and held her close. "Eventually."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

In what seemed like a fit of jealousy, the storm erupted with a violent burst of rage, throwing down a bolt of lightning. The lightning blasted into the trunk of a tree nearby, causing a loud, popping snap that jolted both back into reality.

"That sounded awfully close," Luca said, her voice shivering as she recovered from the surprise.

Phil glanced up again, noticing the clouds overhead having turned nearly black. "I think maybe we should find--"

Before the sentence could be finished, another blast of lightning struck directly overhead. There was a flash of bluish white light, and then an eerie silence.

***

"You're on my last nerve, Daniel! My last nerve!" A teenager's voice exclaimed in frustration.

A drowsy looking teenaged boy wandered into the kitchen, rubbing sleepily at his light green eyes. His dirty-blonde hair was unkempt and probably could've standed to be cut, and he was in a white shirt and light green plaid pajama bottoms. "What are you moaning about now?" Daniel asked as he yawned.

The annoyed teenager turned around and glared through a pair of extremely dark brown eyes. "This," he declared, holding up an empty snack package.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What, you're going to blame me for you standing there holding a cardboard box?"

"No, I'm blaming you for it being empty!"

"Get over it, Jim," the sleepy boy groaned. "So it's empty. That's not a crime."

Jim ran his hand through his pale red hair, trying to keep his calm. "It is when you eat the last Shroom Cookie and then put the empty box back in the pantry!"

"Are you done yet? I just wanted some milk." His eyes widened as his brother suddenly began charging at him. He pivoted on his socked heels and quickly sprinted into the living room. He barely avoided his youngest brother, who was sitting in the walkway.

"Gah, Aiden! Move!" Daniel yelped as he threw open the front door and burst through it.

Aiden looked up and blinked, having had his nose in a book. He watched as Jim rushed past, and got up. "I'm gonna tell Mama you two are fighting again!" He warned.

"You're such a tattletale," another boy, a little older than Aiden, snorted in response. His blue eyes flickered mischievously beneath long locks of white blonde hair. "How am I ever going to teach you to play practical jokes on people if you run to Mom every time Jim and Daniel have a spat?"

Aiden pouted. "I'm sorry, Aaron! I just don't like it." He got up. "I'm going to go find Autumn."

Aaron rolled his eyes. "Right, go to a girl for advice..." He huffed angrily, then smirked. "I'm gonna go watch Jim beat up Daniel again. It oughta be a fun show."


"Get off me!" Daniel squealed as he squirmed beneath his brother. It was a futile effort -- Daniel was extremely small and weak, whereas his brother was much stronger.

"You're a pain in the side, you know that?" Jim growled, pressing his knees hard into his brother's shoulders. "It's sort of like this..." He punched Daniel's left shoulder.

"Stop it! That hurts!" He yelped, squirming harder.

"Or maybe it was like this..." He landed a shot on Daniel's right shoulder.

"I'm warning you! Stop it!" Daniel growled.

"Right, because I'm so afraid of you." He blinked as suddenly Daniel's eyes turned a silvery white. He found himself suddenly thrown several feet into a nearby tree.

"I told you to stop it!" The smaller boy growled. His eyes had turned silvery and his hair and clothes were now all white.

Jim got up and snarled, "You cheater! You're using your powers! Well, two can play that game..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pale green stone shaped like a flame. It vanished into his right hand, and his hair and clothing turned the same color as the stone. His eyes were white with red pupils.

Aaron gasped from his spot in a nearby bush. "Uh oh, this is getting pretty heated..."

An orb of white light began to form in Daniel's left palm. The trees around him began to bend a little. Jim gasped softly and then narrowed his eyes. He pointed up at the sun and tightened his fist, causing the sky to turn as dark as night.

Aaron whimpered softly from his hiding place. "They're going to destroy each other at this rate... I gotta get Jared! He can stop them..." He got up and began to run back towards the house when suddenly a massive shockwave ripped through the sky and the ground. He yelped in terror as he fell to the ground, tensing up and waiting for the earthquake to end.

Jim and Daniel were suddenly engulfed in an extremely bright, explosive blast of multicolored light. They did not emerge from it when the tremors settled. In fear, Aaron didn't bother to investigate. The frightened twelve-year-old instead scrambled to his feet and ran towards his house, screaming for help.

Story Time. Again.

I got inspired a little while ago to write.

Synopsis: This is a strange piece. It involves one of my favorite methods of writing... action/thought connection. As the character interacts with the world around him, the reader gets an insight into his thoughts and feelings. It's almost like a dream-sequence.

Anyway. I warn that this piece is relatively morbid, and by no means a happy work. In fact, due to the connection between the reader and the characters, the piece will be downright hard to read. It was extremely hard for me to write, so I do hope it provokes an emotion. And yes, there is a message hidden in the symbolism.

Left to Decay

It always hurt to be there. Yet something always brought him back.

He stood in the doorway of the rundown home, and for a moment could remember the room before him the way it should be. The way it was supposed to always be. Brightly lit, flooded with tail-wagging, bounding dogs, beautifully decorated. He closed his eyes and could remember the sounds -- the barking and happy panting of the dogs... the jingling of the tags on their collars... the sound of her voice as she giggled and tried to settle the group. It all came back so fast, like a whirlwind of senses he just couldn't help but get swept up in. And his heart couldn't help but surge with a cold, fiery pain when the tones of her voice came running back to him like a haunting nightmare.

He blamed her. Oh, God, he blamed her. For all of it -- all of the misery he felt on a daily basis. She was so selfish! The thought that ran through his mind almost all the time was, "How could she?"

How could she. It had been two weeks since that fateful morning.

He took two steps forward -- each one felt like ten eternities -- and paused. His eyes stared at the staircase, and he shivered. Those stairs would lead him up to more reminders, if he dared to torment himself with them. And he dared, though he never knew why. Every step hurt his body from the sheer amount of effort needed to make himself move forward. Each stair creaked beneath his feet. She had always told him the stairs needed to be fixed. Every time a step creaked, he heard her voice playfully chiding him.

And every time he heard her voice, he asked, "How could she?"

They had been out on the docks. She had been sitting on the side of the docks, staring out into the waters. She hadn't said a word in quite a while. She had been angry -- they had been at war. But damn if he knew why.

The pictures on the walls at the top of the stairs were hanging crooked on broken frames. He just couldn't motivate himself to touch the pictures to correct them, for touching the pictures would force him to look at them. And he just couldn't stand the images kept within. They told haunting stories of long-lost happiness and the death of a dream that was never supposed to die. Oh God. How could she.

He had approached her and sat next to her. He felt the tension radiating between him and her, and inhaled deeply. He was intending to start up a conversation and try to mend things. But he had no idea where to start, as he couldn't determine what had caused all the turbulence in the first place. She had watched him intently, as if asking him to speak. But he had said nothing.

Somehow his body moved into the master bedroom. The air immediately curled around him and whispered mocking taunts. He felt like an intruder -- no, he felt like a ghost. A lost and confused spirit forever trapped within the confines of this dilapidated structure, doomed to never find his peace and leave it forever. Doomed to never move on.

His eyes moved to the corner, where the bed used to be. He could vividly picture all of the naughty cats that would lay on the bed despite being restricted from such a privilege. He could see her silhouette sitting at the edge of the bed, brushing through her long hair at the end of a busy day. He closed his eyes. How could she.

The next exchange of words they had was hostile -- no screaming was involved, but silent and sarcastic stabs were thrust into one another. She had gotten up and began to storm away. He had jumped up and chased after her, apologetically asking her to stay. But she kept walking. He had stopped after a moment, watching her walk away until she was simply a speck on the horizon of his sight. He had looked down at his feet and sighed sadly when he noticed a rotting hand emerging before him. It was no longer time to mourn -- it was now time to fight.

His body was empty of all feeling now -- nothing physical nor emotional was coming in nor out. His heart may have been beating, but it had stopped long ago. He thought two weeks was "long ago." But he had lost all concept of time as that fateful day progressed. His brain had slowly become diseased, and while he was one of the sharpest men anybody knew, he was slowly becoming insane. He was slowly dying.

Sometimes he wished he could rush the process. He knew he was going insane -- during the rare moments where he could actually feel, he felt it. The proverbial nails on the chalkboard, digging holes into his fragile mind. Insanity's progression was painful. At night, he would pray that he would close his eyes and slip into the depths of eternal sleep, for temporary sleep brought him no rest. She was always there, plaguing him with her demonically angelic voice and the horrid image of her beautiful form. Oh God! How could she!

He had taken his sword into his hand and began to fight off the masses of creatures that had been spawned from the soils beneath him. But his heart wasn't in the fighting, and his defense suffered severely. Plus, the numbers against him was enormous, and the probability of his demise was increasing with each passing moment. Yet he just couldn't make himself care. But then, out of nowhere, a flash of silver. And there she was, thrusting her sword through one after another of the damned things. They had turned their sights on her, and before his frightened eyes, she disappeared into a swarm of slashing, biting corpses.

He stumbled awkwardly over to the corner where the bed used to lay, and slowly laid himself upon the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes dilated and burning. The flashbacks were becoming stronger again, and he couldn't make them stop. He tightened his hands into fists. His eyes began to flood. His body began to ache with a trembling pain that signified the worst was about to come. He braced and shakily whispered, "How could she..."

He jumped into the massive horde of creatures, tearing them away with the strength of twenty men. He frantically searched the swarm for signs of life from the redheaded woman, but could find nothing. He continued to swing and fight until no more of the damned creatures were left. He was practically hyperventilating as he slowly turned back towards her. But his rapid breathing suddenly ceased, and it was then his heart stopped. He made a strange sound in his throat, unable to form it into a logical word. His knees buckled beneath him and he fell to the ground. He tried to reach for her, but his body had turned to stone. It wasn't possible. There was just no way.

He trembled severely and curled up into a tight little ball. The tears spilled down his face uncontrolled; rivers of sorrow that would never wash away the pain that had strangled his heart. Rivers of agony that would never flood and fill the emptiness in his chest. Streams of emotion that should have flowed all along, but had arrived too late.

He blamed her. He wanted to blame her. His anguish and eternal torture would not have been sentenced had she not come to his aid in his hour of need. If only she would have stayed angry for a few more hours! Maybe none of it ever would have happened.

If only she had never managed to steal his heart to begin with. If only she had never come along and taken it from him. She had taken his heart and bonded it to her own -- he should've resisted. But he was foolish and he loved this woman... he was unprepared and ill-equipped. He believed it was forever -- she convinced him it would be. She had stolen his heart, and it died when she did. How could she.

Finally, he got up and made his way slowly towards the entrance. He stood in the doorway and looked once more into the lonely and broken-down room. There used to be so much love and affection in that room -- in that house. There used to be so much love and affection in his body. But no more.

"How could she," he murmured softly to himself as he slowly walked away.

The house stood alone in the middle of an overgrown wasteland. Much like the poor boy's mind, the isolated structure had simply been left to decay.

Insanity, Day One.

After having to make the drive from hell...

After going out to socialize and winding up minorly ill from eating too quickly...

After getting caught up in a nice dramatic situation...

After getting in the car with somebody who drives twenty times as insanely as I do, and nearly getting killed several times...

...I'm exhausted.

The evening was fun, don't get me wrong, but I'm just uber exhausted and can barely hold my eyes open. I figured the near-death experiences would have produced a nice adrenaline rush, but I'm just calm and exhausted.

I'll retell the day's events sometime tomorrow, when I can actually see straight and can stay awake.

But wow. What a night.

Because I'm Different.

Forget joining the "I hate Mondays" bandwagon.

Hating Wednesdays is where it's at.

So I've got a long day full of classes that I don't care about, plus I didn't sleep well... plus the fact today is a wonderfully [un]happy anniversary date for me...

Yes. I'm cranky. I don't feel like denying it. It feels like it's gonna wind up being one of those days.

So yeah. Forget hating Mondays.

I absolutely hate Wednesdays.