Haha, indeed.
Psychology is my strong suit, and my profession of choice. I can give you a hyper-complex analysis of my personality, causes of my quirks, and methods of treatment, but It'd be pages and pages long.
I don't really worry about that anymore. I've gone beyond my old self-esteem issues and today I just choose not to let myself get cocky about anything. It doesn't matter how good you are at something, there's always room for improvement and being cocky just makes a douche of you.
If anyone ever asks me, I'm an adequate writer, nothing more. Let them judge my ability and technique themselves, rather than through my own subjective opinion of self.
Off that topic now, yeah. My philosophical works generally caters to a crowd more into reading sophisticated, macabre and/or ethereal pieces of a more vague and questioning nature, most likely due to my intense love of Greek philosophy, Lovecraft, and Nietzsche. Most folks who read my typical poetry can't wrap their heads around my philosophical work, so I tend to keep it separate from my super-dense musings about the meaning of life...
Once I get through some more Lore, I'll post a short story for something anyone can critique. Wait... I know! Here's an old short story thing that I later tied into my Scifi. Its just random really, no particular setting or backstory. It was done for some event thing protesting the abuse of military power as well awareness for the needs and lives of individual soldiers. Its... A bit of a mess. I never really edited, just posted it as is. The ACTUAL short story ends at the --- --- ---, the rest is a continuation/random thing I added for effect later on.
---
To Wish Upon a Fallen Star‘
A weathered television screen slowly comes into view as a barely audible news report begins its broadcast. Behind a nervous news reporter, a frantic mass surges forward from a crowded side-street, while a Global Defense Force Urban Pacification unit prepares to clash with sign-wielding protesters. Several Molotov cocktails can be seen jutting out from overcoats and jacket pockets, while others grasp makeshift clubs made of varying lengths of pipe; the protesters’ grips tightening at the approach of armored troops, assault weapons in hand. One makeshift sign reads “Where lies Freedom now?,” held by a frightened teen sporting a simple summer dress of faded yellow; contrasting the bleak urban cityscape which surrounds her. Flashing an uncertain half-smile in the camera’s direction, she walks into the open arms of destiny, as the writhing mass approaches the GDF checkpoint.
Zooming in on the blockaded intersection, the camera focuses on a lone GDF officer; the customary black uniform marked by a gray armband containing a single black star. Barking orders at his men, the GDF troops fall into a phalanx-like formation, and commence their forward march; weapons aimed out towards the uneasy crowd, covered by their tactical shields. A small number of protesters break off from the mass of bodies, treading cautiously towards the GDF position, while the rest trail close behind. As more and more citizens seep into the crowded avenue from adjacent side-streets, the GDF troops tighten their formation and fire nerve gas canisters into the crowd. The so-called “non-lethal” neutralizing agents are quickly absorbed by exposed human flesh, dropping a number of protesters to their knees.
In seconds, the flood of human bodies threatens to overcome the GDF defensive line, ebbing and flowing like a raging storm. Molotov cocktails are quickly lit and thrown past the crowd into the GDF front-line, littering the ground with shards of shattered glass and burning globs of homemade napalm. Raising their shields to deflect all incoming projectiles, the GDF formation reaches the crowd as the commanding officer gives his final order.
Gazing out towards the raging horde, born from the oppression of mankind’s collective voice and the tyranny of our world’s governing powers, a single powerful emotion can be seen upon his face.
Utter disdain.
Gripping a custom Heckler & Koch Mark 23 .45 ACP, his arm steadily approaches center-mass as he takes aim at the incoming wave of unarmed protesters; a twisted, apathetic smirk flickering upon his face, as his finger brushes across the safety. ”Eliminate… Everything”, he hoarsely shouts, as his pistol violently erupts into the crowd; once at first, and then again… And again… And again…
In a single moment the landscape changes from an oppressive sea of gray and black, into a torrent of blazing gunfire and concussive explosive blasts, spreading shrapnel and terror across the populated avenue. The bodies of the unknown begin to fall unceremoniously, eyes widened in horror as their comrades are torn apart by a hail of armor-piercing rounds. While the deafening onslaught of military-grade heavy weaponry clears a bloody path through the chaotic mass, the wall of armored steel marches further across a sea of red and black; weathered asphalt below their feet, littered with spent shells.
Once again the camera focuses on that young girl and her dress of faded yellow. Oblivious to the hell unleashed around her, a blissful half-smile is painted upon her youthful face as her wisp-like hair flows in the faint breeze. She stands there, in the center of it all, as if she were the final bastion of hope for humanity in a time of death and utter destruction; surrounded by the remnants of man’s voice of freedom, each of them forever silenced.
Suddenly, she is standing before the wall of black-clad GDF soldiers, only a few feet away from the smoking barrels of their rifles. Like a bright flower amid barren desert sands, she stands tall before the carnage; the sole survivor of an insignificant protest in the name of nonexistent human rights. Emitting a radiant smile, she casts a shadow of inexplicable doubt upon the soldier’s minds, lighting a tiny spark of guilt-ridden humanity within a few of them… A moment later, a single bullet pierces her skull; her body seems to fall endlessly, gliding downwards in slow-motion like the last leaf of Fall from a great oak tree. Without a sound, her body slams into the pavement, her yellow dress specked with blood. The black-clad officer lowers his pistol, as the tell-tale clink-clink of a single spent shell clatters to the ground. Each soldier watches her fall from grace, as the officer’s uncaring footsteps march in the opposite direction. Frozen in time, each of their gazes fall upon a crumpled heap, somehow clawing at their sanity from within. As if the crowning piece of magnificence upon a painter’s masterpiece work, she adds the final touch of perfection to a day nearly gone. Their hearts sinking, they question themselves and reflect upon a moment which fades away from their grasping minds.
There lies her shattered innocence; all that remains is the glow of her curious eyes, reflected in a great sea of crimson.
— — —
Through blackened sky, a single ephemeral ray is cast down upon the fire-scarred earth; illuminating a towering monolith upon which the following words are inscribed. A massive list of names are intricately carved into its’ surface, imbuing the great stone with a mysterious sense of macabre longing… Each word faded by the unforgiving breath and blind progression of time itself.
“Control lies within the absolution of innocence; bend a man to your will, break their mind, and enchain them within their own system, and they shall be yours to dominate.”
The soil bleeds for us all, vomiting back the rotting corpses of the damned, as if protesting the very presence of humanity within its earthly confines. Maggots stir within the flesh, consuming what long ago was forsaken. Shrieking specters dot the sky, screaming into the void of black; the violent inception of light threatens to overcome my shattered senses. Is this what we fought so defiantly for?
Here lie my brothers and sisters; lost forever in the name of greed, tyranny, and religious intolerance. To the blissful world of man, you are isolated incidents of unlikely misfortune. To the unbreakable system, you are a numbered list of statistics. To the undying war machine, you are martyrs of the day’s newest noble cause.
Though society’s memory shall falter, and history shall cease to recall your many names, the soil shall remember the faces of the fallen, until the very earth has turned to ash.”
“…And turn to ash it shall.”
Fifty treacherous years have gone by since the so-called Global Defense Force unleashed a flood of genocide and ethnic cleansing upon humanity, at the murderous hands of the infamous Bureau of Civil Pacification. Under the guise of an international peacekeeping movement – fortified by well-financed propaganda and questionable political connections – the GDF utilized their growing influence to install themselves into governments, banks and military organizations worldwide; in a few years’ time, they would gain absolute control of the global market, ensuring their rise as sovereign lords of The System.
Imperceptibly at first, the face of world government began to change; Laws were subtly modified to suit the militaristic agenda of our new leaders, as more aggressive and politically-inclined GDF-affiliated officers soon came into power. Military funding rose to historical heights as our people were gradually enslaved by government control; every aspect of our daily lives to eventually be monitored and designated by The System.
Sometimes I wonder if the entire war could have been avoided… I still shiver as I envision the ash-scarred faces of children who were burned alive in their mothers’ arms during GDF’s constant fire-bombing raids, their frozen expressions of terror and tiny mouths open in eternal silence… Much too late, it was discovered that the alleged high-risk ‘terrorist‘ targets had been nothing more than hungry union workers and worried protesters angered by the GDF’s adamant grip on food supply routes. Though GDF corruption and abuse spread through each city with the , their widespread influence ensured that any opponents of GDF control would quietly ‘disappear’. We can only guess at the number of mass graves one might find if they travel far enough into GDF-held territory.
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Topic: ___/The Writer's Apprenticeship\___ (Read 313082 times)