UntilIPassOut

Just my writing

[untilipassout-blog]

Progress Part 1

"A place to experience the true survival of the fittest!" or at least that's what advertisements and pundits claimed when the lock down began. If fact, you could still make out those bygone slogans, almost hidden by the soot and slime created by the touted progress. Holo ads vainly attempted to cover up these despondent heralds; they must have been put up a long time ago, when people still pretended to give a damn. Stairs, well those still existed in a few places, cover by some new dispersal awning which did an admirable job of keeping the stairs dry. It seemed to do this to all liquids though, taking all of the coffee from my dispenser; left a metallic taste in my mouth too.

There was no way to tell what was getting mixed into the rain today, as people dashed from overhang to overhang, trying not to get. It seemed like they wanted to avoid the dispersal shields too. Their choice to avoid the rain seemed sound, as it formed into serpentine puddles which wove their way over shoes, down legs, and up sheer inclines.That was apparently progress, or an accident, didn't really matter nowadays.

A smile which might have been able to be interpreted as apologetic graced my lips as I stepped into a building, letting a few of the serpenty puddles glide into the building. The doorman didn't seem to buy it, but he allowed me to enter the foyer. "If you don't have an appointment you can go stand in the rain outside," the secretary said, eyes not leaving her computer screen. "I do have an appointment with the Boss."

Latex gloves were one of the things I had bought up in bulk whenever I found unadulterated forms. Taking one from my pocket, I pulled it on with an expression of distaste before removing a blank sheet of paper from my pocket and placing it on the desk. The secretary's expression of distaste grew, but she kept her expression of disdain as she placed her finger upon the note. A slight hiss escaped her lips, but with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, her eyes fixed back on me. "Please be seated. I'll let him know that you're here."

[untilipassout-blog]

A Superior- oh wait this is different.

Alright, so I have had a story idea kicking around in my head for the past week or so and I shall be hopefully resuming some posts along with continuing the original premise of this blog. Just an update, I should have the first story post up by this evening.

[untilipassout-blog]

A belated six

Where is the point at which our will evaporates, not subjugated to a higher power, but bound to another? When actions and words previously held as heinous roll from the tongue and body as an extension of another.

Miranda never warned me about this, but then again I doubt she would have wanted me to realize such an option was imminent. She is the fire which purges away both the pure and impure, leaving only the worthy and the true in her wake. I now bear the censer.

Even before I bound myself to her and her cause I had been informed of this impending responsibility. The corruption she had been exposed to far exceed the amount necessary to kill twenty men and, as such, her days were numbered. This was only natural, she explained, just as a fire will eventually run out of fuel, sputter, and die, so must she. In fact, the blood on her hands demanded it.

Nothing was sacred in her quest. I had seen her torture innocent men and women, sacrifice hostages for one good shot, and double cross any and everyone, myself included, all in the name of destroying evil. Those who claimed that she simply replaced one evil with another, an oppressor's blade with hers gave pause a the inevitability and speed at which death dragged her into its grasp. Her goal was to be the fire, to purge and die, leaving ashes to nourish the coming spring.

I am now the fire. I know not when the realization occurred. The very reasons that her fire so appalled me, causing me to cut its blaze short began to haunt me. I had believed that enough destruction had been wrought. I  had believed that enough innocents had suffered and died for her quest. I had believed that she had made a difference. I had.

The rapes, the murders, the kidnappings, extortion, bribery, theft, assault, addiction, abuse whirled around me, mocking her actions and the sacrifices she, and others had given. The world was not purged. It still reeked with sickness and decay.

My master began to whisper to me, in the tormented maelstrom she taunted me, mocked me, showed me every error and flaw I made in the name of mercy.

Six weeks ago I went digging. Her hands still grasped her blades as tightly as ever as I tore them from her cold fingers.

My master still speaks to me, whispering her siren song of a heat which will purge the corruption from the world. I can simply obey, drawn as a moth to a flame by the cold of the world. Just as my master before me I will be consumed by the blaze.

Whelp yet another post down. I apologize for the time I took off, Torchlight and Diablo II consumed a few of my evenings. Once again I'm sure the grammar is atrocious and I thank you for the time you gave up wading through it.

Until I take your time from you again,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

A fifth of post

The moon hangs low over the horizon, promising an eary dawn. The wind brushes by the chains hanging beside me, the faint clinking rises above the pounding surf, telling me that I chose correctly.

One, two, seven, nine, twelve pairs of manacles dangle open and their captive's voices whisper to me mocking me, their voices tearing at my wings. What remains. The pain remains coursing through my wrists, running through my tears to the leather harness strapped to my shoulder blades.

Her face remains, the helpless smile which played in her blue eyes as she fell, ensnared. Leave her my mind screamed, they only want her for you. My heart spoke contrary. I was intelligent. I bound my hands, shackled my feet, and clipped my wings--still her eyes beckoned me, knowing fate, both hers and mine and desiring only me. The stigmata still bled, but my heart was no longer in its high seat of power, my betrayal already full and complete.

I did not fall, I dove desperately--tearing at the bindings, screaming for release, and finding peace only in impact. She awaited, my love, my Delilah desiring what I am, not me. Wingless she approached me as always, cooing sweetly, cold steel kisses.

Before I hung, twelve strong. Legion. The stigmata still burn and bleed, potent. Now her feet fall softly upon the cliff, culling the flock. Before I hung, twelve strong.

Time: 23 mins 59 sec

Whelp, once again I'm back to apologizing for poor grammar. Writing felt very stilted this evening, definitely forcing the issue. I hope this evening's offering is not too poor for those who partake.

Until I borrow your time once more,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

May the fourth be with you

I hear them. The footsteps which pound against the cold concrete. They are hunting.

Weakness consumes me. My legs have long since failed me. My trial uncovered.

I ran yes. I ran, not for myself, but for you. Your precious life.

Leave the house. I have bought you the necessary time. Search for freedom.

Learn my lessons. Protect that which is yours, the are unassailable. As you are.

Alarms call loudly. They are close, I have little time. Rest is near.

Listen closely son. Three, then four, then again three, then two. That is truth.

Wounds have opened. My blades were doubleedged, cutting into me. A fitting end.

Alert those nearby. Stir them not to flee, numbers cannot conceal. Use their rage.

You are Truth. Part the darkness, bring forth the dawn. Compromise in nothing.

Search the apartment. You know what a body needs to live. What kills Death?

Lead, my son. Bring the Satellite down to the ground. Dust to Dust.

Opening, ah yes. They are close, Heaven is opening Her doors. Ash to Ash.

Virtue, never compromise. The blood loss, I am not myself. Help me, Father.

Earn their respect. The door, no, not yet, not done, move!Light is fading.

Unlike you Son. This must be incomplete, fragmented, and lost. My final Sin.

  [uploaded from Gabriel Belikov's account 062434] [user is offline]

  [Delivered to ******* **a***r*tt*] [user not found] {p*o*e*t h*r}

Elapsed time: 31mins 1sec (I'll try to work on that, I mean it's only a few lines. Gotta play by my own rules.)

Well there is one of the tripper things I have ever written. On the bright side, I don't have to apologize for poor grammar since I took grammar out behind the woodshed for sake of style. There are several different messages hidden within this post so I'll leave it unexplained for a few days and post an explanation over the weekend. Thank you once again for reading.

And until i come into possession of your free time again,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

Gotta be, Number 3

"School's a drag."

"Oh come on Emile. It's not that bad and if you actually applied yourself you could learn something.

"Sure, sure"

"Well this is my stop. Seeya at school tomorrow."

"Yeah seeya." A hand waved halfheartedly as the short brunette walked down the street.

"Oh," she turned, looking back at the tousled, slouching figure. "We've got a History test on Wednesday. Don't forget to study!"

"Yeah, yeah." the boy swatted the air in front of him, attempting to bat away the call to be responsible. "Whatever." He turned and continued down the street, disappearing behind the fence.

"I swear he's never going to learn," the girl muttered to herself as she continued on her way.

Emile was a good kid, but he'd been slower to talk and read than most and, as such had placed in the lower tiers of classes. He'd accepted the labels of id'jit, fool, and slow, becoming that which people regarded him as for no reason other than laziness. Well no other reasons that she could ascertain.

Finally, with college applications imminent, a teacher had recognized the potential that Emile possessed and approached her about tutoring the boy. There really wasn't that much to do after school with sports slowly being weeded out in favor of more and more academic support so she accepted, mainly out of boredom. The tutorign sessions had become longer and longer at the teacher's request and a purple-red sunset greeted the remainder of her walk home. He really just did not want to work, if only--

"Ms. Richards?" An urbane voice shook her form her thoughts. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk a young man beckoned her over. "Do hurry, you're late."

"What? Did I forget an appointment for Father's work?" Something rose in her mind 'flee.' The shadow the man cast was no darker than hers and a genuine smile played on his lips yet the rabbit within her stirred.

A hand was on her shoulder, its firm weight encouraging her not to worry, to trust. Long orange hair cascaded over the woman's shoulders and her green eyes burned with uncomfortable intensity as she steered the girl towards the suit.

"That's not a natural color," the girl remarked, eying the woman's hair. 'Flee! Flee!' "What sort of dye did you use?"

"Aww Hawke she's such a cutie" the woman cooed, "I like her."

"Ambrosia you haven't met her yet," the man sternly replied. "Now miss I must inform you that you are quite late. My associate and I rarely have this much trouble finding someone with a spark as great as yours."

'Flee. The rabbit senses the hawk above. It feels the talons cutting the air above it. It is not time to run, not yet. The hawk sees it, but it cannot strike, not yet. Wait just a bit longer'

"Unfortunately m'am I must inform you that your time is up. Events must continue on the ordained path and a spark such as yourself represents to great of a potential. Please understand and accept my apologies." He swept forward in an ornate bow, knowing eyes touching hers. Pitch black on bright blue.

'FLEE! The rabbbit bolts, knowing that the talons already possess its ;ife. A desperate, futile gesture of life attempting to break through the ties that bind. Sudden, crushing jolt. Pain, ice cold floods the prey.....and then it is gone.'

"It's sad."

"Why is that Ambrosia?"

"the brightest sparks always taste the nicest, but the world is so much darker after they leave. It's very sad isn't it Hawke."

"Yes my dear, but then again, the world must turn."

Woot! First dialogue of the blog! And the first terrible rhyme. Thsi is my new envisioning of a story I wrote back in high school and dthe only one I finished in those four years that wasn't for a grade. If memory serves, it originated from an odd dream, but now I'm blathering. As always apologies for the poor grammar.

Until the next time you donate me your free time,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

Post, the Second

Where was I when the world began to fall away? When the sun fell from the sky, replaced by an orb which shone down, its baleful rays withering whatever they fell upon.

Those of us who ran were minorities. Others wiling accepted its caress. Some returned, always appearing the same but seeking more for the harvest. Those who didn't return...well we don't know what happened to them; I just hope it was quick and painless. A fool's hope.

Trees withered. Grass became grey iron, bristles to hinder and impede those who sought to flee. Only water which the light had not touched remained pure and we dug desperately, seeking to prolong our suffering for another day.

Looking back, I question why none of us fought. The light may have been out of our capacity to affect, but those changed by its touch---they were mortal, the same as me.

Their humanity, or at least their mortality was question for several weeks until a desperate attempt to avoid the orb forced my down the sheer wall of a cliff. At the bottom one of the ray-touched lay, her limbs bent awkwardly. How I overcame the animalistic instinct to hide, to flee, which had become ingrained in me over time is a question I doubtlessly will never have an answer to--in that moment, however, I managed to take five shaky, terrified steps forward in order to see the blood oozing from her mouth and temple. It was the first time I had seen death since It had descended and the shock was visceral. I fled. She's still with me though. I still see her eyes looking at nothing, yet staring directly through me, into me.

It's been a long time since I've met anyone like me, untouched by the silver-grey rays. Food and water are becoming tougher to find as parties of the Touched now venture into the caves and caverns carrying with them small orbs to alter the crystal clear pools.

Why do I still run? Why am I still haunted by the dead Touched's eyes and those who never speak, simply walking towards me, as if It sees me. I don't know what happened to those who disappeared during the Change. I haven't seen anyone who walked away with the Changed return. I am unsure of what is happening. Terrified. There are no bodies, no wars, no pain. Well, for those who have been Touched that is. My lungs still ache and I still fight. Why? Why have I no submitted? Have I been changed and this is my role, just as the other hunt, am I the prey?

I don't know. I simply know that when I hear the trudge of footsteps I must rise. I must run. I don't want to be like them Allone.

Whelp, there's another evening handled. It was definitely awkward starting this one but the story started to flow a paragraph or two in. Once again I apologize for the atrocious grammar.

Until you decide to give me your time again,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

Post One

Darkness. The concept that, like many other concepts, seems to be juxtaposed between fear and obsession in humanity. I certainly can speak to the desire to leave a room or flee up the stairs whenever the lights go out. Yet, the obsession with darkness, the concept in writing or television, seems to become more tightly engrained in society as time flows on. I might be wrong, my knowledge of social trends is quite limited, yet the desire for more edge seems to have grown in recent times.

One possible explanation for this transition is a compensation for how soft and pandered our lives have become; television, interwebs, microwave dinners, the ease with which society can scratch whatever pulsating itch consumes it at the moment is astounding. Struggles, while most certainly real and tangible for most lack the romanticism and desperate nature which I certainly associate with the past--perhaps drawing society back towards the primal desires and fears of humanity's youth.

A concept that I can draw together with the desire for darker and grittier lives is that of "burning out bright." Living life by one's own terms and perhaps living it to no one's benefit except our own. Again the blatant announcement selfish intent uncovers the hypocrisy which much of humanity lives entangled in, myself included. It is my belief, and probably not an earth-shattering one at that, that everything that we, as humans do, is done for our personal benefit. Once one rationalizes far enough down that ladder, the answer becomes "because it made me feel good," or, "because I wanted to." Maybe the cloying layers of political correctness and everyday niceties became more than some wanted to deal with and as such they decided to strip it away.

I'm reminded of an image I've seen on the web comparing two songs. One I believe is by Little Wayne (I'm too lazy to look it up....) and another a classic rock love ballad. The rap piece is simply the repetition of "Fuck bitches, get money," or a phrase similar to that while its contrast is what one might expect, fairly intricate and dressed up literary meaning. Since i really don't have a firm grasp of the specifics of the image I referenced, I'll shy away from any more in depth analysis, but the modern piece may speak to a growing ideology in the modern world. The concept of less is more, forget the euphemisms, give me the dark, the blood, the sex, the terror, and the pain; speak to me as the animal that we all are under the titles and castles and churches.

Whelp, this is just my first ramble of, hopefully, many more. I can't promise what's coming next, but I'll seek to entertain and perhaps provoke some thoughts in both you all who've taken the time to read and myself. I'd like to apologize for the atrocious grammar which is unlikely to improve, but then again stranger things have happened. If I've done anything that merits discussion, whether good or bad, I'll endeavor to address it,

Until then thank you very much for giving up your time,

 losingthebattletoMorpheus

[untilipassout-blog]

Intro/Background

First of all if you're reading this thank you so much for taking the time to stumble across my little post. In addition, since you all are from the future, would you mind telling me who wins the 2012 NBA title? I'd love to make some money.

Alright, so here are the rules (for me, not for you):

I need to focus on my writing and tumblr seems like an excellent venue to do so.

I will be allowing myself a maximum of thirty minutes to write and then two minutes to add addendums/clean up.

Topics will be whatever is on my mind so anyone brave enough to follow this will be subjected to my sleep induced rantings.

I plan to start this evening and try to preform this every night.