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[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Saran Wrap

I am covered in Saran Wrap. And not just one layer where you can tear it off, but hundreds of them. Knowing that the only logical choice is to tear off one layer at a time, I did. But someone is running around my body putting on more layers and every time I get through half a layer it adds on another and I get more tangled and more messy with hundreds of torn half layers of this suffocating wrap squeezing my body. The more layers I’m covered in the more it hurts and my muscles have atrophied. I start to become more frustrated so I try to tear at the layers and layers all at once but together they are too strong and my sore arms are weak. I panic. I no longer can think logically and continue to proceed using the method with tearing at them all at once screaming and pleading for them to tear. The layers get thicker and as my legs collapse I get wrapped in completely. I can’t do anything anymore. I don’t where I am or how I got here. All I know of anymore is the Saran Wrap. I hear three voices far outside this cacoon. The first is telling me that I should add more Saran Wrap and that eventually after years of being covered, this artificial alien plastic, will I turn into a beautiful colorful butterfly. If I just worked harder despite now being so impaired I can’t see one inch ahead of me. The second is telling me that I control the Saran Wrap and that I can magically get the person to slow down or even unwrap it if I just tried. They assure me that it’s all in my head despite that person outside of this inescapable cacoon wrapping me not able to be controlled by me. The last is the voices outside telling me I can get help to cut out the layers with scissors and halt the person wrapping me. I’m scared that if I let them do that, that once they finish they will see the raw skin that is left from years of being covered in this Saran Wrap and they’ll see me for what I truly am. I ignore the voices and let myself continue to be embraced by the warm Saran Wrap that is slowly suffocating me. It no longer hurts.

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Chapter 2 part 4

For previous chapters just go to my page. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Enjoy!

My eyes grew heavy as if anvils were laying on top of them forcing me to shut my eyes despite my effort to keep them pried open. But, as the lure of slumber took over, everything came out of focus

The next morning I couldn’t remember exactly when I fell into a dreamless sleep, only waking up after it. I woke to a thunderous pound that I could not seem to make out but based off of the previous storms it could have easily been a tree getting knocked down by the rough winds.

Listening to the birds chirping and the splashes of the hungry ocean hitting the rocky shore I realized the storm had come to an end.

Indolently and slowly I struggled to open my eyes as they burned with pain begging me to go back to the warm comforts of sleep and I was tempted to do so. I stretched out my legs which partially stuck to the ground, my whole body covered with dried mud cracking with every movement.

Not remembering much of anything, I took my time waking up. Suddenly my eyes popped out of my skull and I jolted upright so swiftly that my head screamed with agony and my muscles throbbed from being sore from my climb the previous day. I glanced around at the horizon. Nothing. There was nothing. I cursed under my breath and couldn’t help but think, was I imagining it?

About every square inch of my body was covered with a mix of dried and wet mud. Pebbles were attached to me with the mud keeping them in place. I spent a good five minutes trying to knock them all off but gave up and decided to just bare the discomfort. There was no water near me to clean myself off so my current state would just have to do for now.

The blur that I’m sure by now was a ship that I still might have just dreamt up had either wrecked or gave up and turnt back. I couldn’t remember what parts were dreams if any as I second guessed everything. All these years on the island had made me paranoid. No matter what option was true there was no getting off this island, today, or any other day.

Not entirely sure of what was happening, I began to make my down to my cave by the shore. I needed time to regroup and ponder of what had just become of my day yesterday and decide how I wanted to proceed.

Not to mention my stomach was begging me for food as it played drums that vibrates through my body to get me to notice. My mouth was sore and dry scraping against itself with every movement. But I should be grateful because the real problem comes when all of that goes away.

My strength was wavering and my body began to shake. The hunger and dehydration was making me feel light headed. I needed food and soon before things become dangerous. I had supplies back at shelter as meager as they might be, so it was the most logical decision.

The walk down was treacherous and I had to be extra precautious when walking down the slippery ground. I had become much more aware of every move I made.

It was difficult to focus on the ground with my head spinning. I tripped continuously and my breath became more ragged the more I walked no matter my effort to steady my breathing. With the extreme concentration of my vision my other senses dulled in an effort to conserve energy for the other tasks.

The only thing that had kept me from dying was that I knew every inch of this hike from the numerous amount of times that I had climbed it. At least I thought I did but there was something off my footprints from the previous day were all over the place. I don’t remember being lost yesterday and I don’t remember being that weak that I stumbled all over the place. I dismissed it knowing my memory has been all over the place in these last 24 hours.

With exhaustion constantly flooding me I took much more breaks than I had yesterday. Sitting down on a rock I looked around and noticed that the storm itself was not as violent as most usually were. Only a few trees had seemed to fall down and those that did seemed small at best. The island itself did not seem too disturbed and unless you were looking for it, it did not look like a storm had taken place, only some rain. The most disturbed area had seemed to only have been the ocean from how much turmoil had occurred last night. Maybe the gods took pity on my soul or maybe they just wanted me to suffer longer.

Along the descent I couldn’t help but think of different versions of what could have taken place yesterday.

What if I died? Would it have been better instead of giving myself the ludicrous idea that I might be saved?

What if the ship was real and it had saved me? Would life have really been so much better? What did I ever expect to happen if I was saved, my mothers, Octavia and Iris, hugging me telling me they never thought I murdered those people? Like they didn’t turn their backs on me the second the “evidence” came out. Sure, they believed me at first but within two weeks they no longer wanted to give me sanctuary from the guards and mercenaries hunting me down like a rabid animal.

The world I would come back to I would no longer recognize.

Yes, some things would still be there like a father who doesn’t know I ever existed. Except now, if he found out he would wish he had never got to know.

A mother who would never say who my father was and another one who only loved me for the sole reason being she loved Octavia and not her wife’s bastard child. She had never admitted that she didn’t want or love me but I could see it in her eyes she thought of me as a burden. Except, now she had an excuse for not loving me since I was known as cold blooded murderer.

Ash, the tan dirty blond hair and brown eyed little boy who was like a younger brother to me would still be missing probably dead, no thanks to his drunk of a father. The only thing his father could do was blame me for his disappearance and not shed a tear while “mourning” him for days off work. Ash would have been ten by now and they likely blame me for his disappearance. He had disappeared along with the ten other children.

If the world was anything similar to the way I left it, I’m not so sure there would be any world to come back to.

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Chapter 2 Part 3

For the other chapters go to my page. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Enjoy!

Hours passed by and the storm still raged on.

The blur was still rocking as it made its way through the violent sea, never seeming to slow down. In fact, it seemed to be approaching faster and faster as it fought its way through the storm.

The more time had gone by the more it seemed real and easier to make out. The blur had become less of a blur and the large details began to seem more noticeable. The longer it had been the more justified I felt that I was staring at something very very real.

But soon I no longer was able to keep track of it a few moments later as the dark murky day turned into a deep black night when the sun had set. The object had disappeared blending into the night.

The mud sticked to my skin and the rain left me soaked from head to toe. My body was grimy and permanently stuck to this spot glued into it with the wet mud. The more it rained as it soaked my hair and clothes the heavier I felt and not just my body but my mind as I thought of how the object had pushed through the gods’ wrath. My hair and clothes had been pinned to my body wrapping it tight with its cold embrace.

The heavy fall of downpour drowned out any and all sound leaving me with just the pounding of water hitting the ground like a waterfall with loud booms of thunder here and there.

With the thunder being my only distaction from the cold dark night, I listened counting the seconds between each strike of lightning and boom of thunder.

When I was young and innocent my mothers and I had always sat by the fire and cuddled in our piles of cozy fur blankets. We would drink hot chocolate and sit for hours counting the seconds between the thunder and the lightning.

It had become a tradition not initially for fun but to distract me from the violence and terror that the tempest night had brought me.

My mothers had even begun to call me inky for my irrational fear of the dark. I had dreaded the name at first thinking they were mocking me for something I didn’t have control over. Overtime I realized that it was to take away the power it had over me and so it became something that was worthy of a silly little nickname and not something with this almighty power over me.

All kids had been afraid of the dark but for me it was not just being afraid but being absolutely petrified to the point where I would stay up the duration of the night silently shaking and crying with the candle burning next to me. They had always scolded me for wasting the candles but then again they had never truly understood my fear of the dark but they had accepted it despite their perplexity about it.

The storms had worsened my fear making the dark seem all the more worse. It only justified that the dark was an evil place. There was nothing I could do to stop it as there was no controlling the sun setting. All the therapy sessions I went to until the money ran out never had helped.

I hated myself for having this stupid little fear but to me it wasn’t little it was this nightmarish monster looming over my shoulder as it breathed down my neck waiting for me to break and give in to its power. I had never learned to stop my fear but I did learn how to control it and even that was a struggle. I counted the thunder during storms and listened to the crickets on silent nights.

The island had never helped, only worsened all of it. I no longer had a candle light in the night and the impending fears of what was lurking had constantly kept me up leaving me more time for the thoughts to flood my mind bending me to its will.

I had no control to the darkness and I never would.

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Chapter 2 Part 2

For chapter 1 and chapter 2 part 1 just go to my page and scroll down an you will find them. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Enjoy!

But what if?

What was wrong? What was wrong with me?

Was I just so broken and blind that any glimmer of promise to being saved was not possible to be a reality in my mind? Even as I stared down that blur I had doubts of the promises or dangers that it could possibly hold. But that other impending possibility of a false promise of the possibility lingered.

The battle waging in my mind had been interrupted as wetness creeped down my face. Faster. I let my hands glide along the sides of my face to discover the source of the water was not from my eyes but from the sky above me. The heavy drops of rain began to fall down quicker and more heavily like rocks instead of water was pouring from the sky. Thunder soon roared and crackled from the sky above and I knew what would come next, lightning.

The storms were more forceful than anything I had experienced before the island. Where a normal storm would possibly knock down a few trees the ones here would knock down dozens whilst simultaneously sweeping of debris that could be just as deadly, and that was if I was lucky. The storms never went easy and could knock down ginormous hundred-foot trees. The ocean would stir and clash with whatever the gods wrath had instore for me that day. I would always pity those out in the deep ocean at the time.

I always suspected it was from the location of it but I never could be positive. And sure, maybe it was that but some part of me knew the majority of it had to do with the gods and their hatred of me. Possibly because I was the one monster they were afraid of.

I knew from whatever immortal realm they resided in, they were laughing at me joy in their hateful eyes. They thought they had finally slain me as I had stood at the edge of the cliff ready to face their fury in whatever possible afterlife was awaiting me.

And how they must have roared when that blur, whatever it may be, had showed up. So furious, that they rallied the storm in spite of it or maybe to destroy and drive it away.

Whatever kept them from killing me once and for all, I had no possible clue.

For now, I knew I had to keep cover from the rain and keep an eye on the approaching blur.

Going back down the cliff and into my home of a cave was not an option since going down it in a storm was far too dangerous. With the rain coating the ground in slippery mud. The question would be when, not if I fall and how much I manage to injure myself in the process. Hurting myself is even more so a possibility after the trek I just climbed a few hours ago and with the soreness of my muscles already rippling through the entirety of my weak body.

Plus, I would lose my vantage point on the blur which would be the absolute the last thing I would want to do. Even if it meant the storm killed me in the process, but in this case maybe it was the safer option but there was no way of knowing.

It was all dependent upon my luck which never seemed to have a good track record.

Being on the top of the highest cliff on the island was surely not an ideal location during a thunderstorm but I had to make it work and I would.

For the first time today my survival had mattered. If only for it to satisfy my desire to know what the blur was. Still, I was not scared, or nervous or happy but I was feeling something. Curiosity. My curiosity was the one thing giving me the desire to live, for now. But at least that was something.

As I wasted time searching for a place to provide me with some sort of protection I found a small divot in the ground near towards the edge of the cliff. The divot would work to provide me with some type of protection from the lightning and it also was furthest from any trees.

I softly scoffed at the irony about how the edge of the cliff was meant to be what ended my life but was now what was saving my life and maybe it would go back to ending it, I guess I’ll find that part out later.

I hunkered down in the small ditch of mud and lay there watching the blurry object with my eyes glued to it.

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Staring at my Reflection

Staring at my reflection I can’t help but ponder what I used to be. Were my eyes full of light and hope or were they always dulled and worn out by the world? Did I used to constantly have to make sure my face was not grim? Widening my eyes to make them look hopeful. Was there a genuine smile on my face or did I always have to plaster one onto it hoping it was unnoticeable. When did my heart always drum so frantically from excitement and not from dreadful anticipation. When did it all change and who flipped the switch? But, staring at my reflection I see who did it and it was the unrecognizable version of I turn that turned that light off.

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Chapter 2 Part 1

Finally posting more of the story, if you are new to it you can scroll down my page and it will be my oldest post. Thank you to everyone who has complimented my story or gave it constructive criticism. I’m very grateful for it and tried to use it in this next chapter and will continue to work on improving my writing so I am always open for thoughts. Thank you and enjoy!

That should be the feeling I got. Right? I couldn’t fight the cold silence that shivered through my body.

The blur wasn’t a vessel or any ship. It wasn’t any sort of rescue. Keeping that fantasy as comforting as it was, would just be idiotic.

A low frustrated grunt escaped my dry throat. What the hell was I thinking? Giving myself into those hallucinations would only make the entirety of this situation far worse. Maybe they were right all along and I truly was insane. My shattered mind was playing tricks to save my own life, a life I’m not so sure is worth saving. There was never anything there, even as I squinted at what seemed like a very real blurry grey dot  between the ocean and the horizon.

Did that mean I wanted to live? Or that possibly some small sliver of me did to give myself some reason, any reason to live?

Even if some part of me did want to continue on with my existence, that doesn’t mean I should. If I don’t go through with this then what would happen next? Go on living the same boring, painstaking, wretched life as I had done before? Surviving day by day when knowing nothing will ever rescue me? All I would be doing is delaying the inevitable as I wait to meet my end one way or another. If I don’t end it all now I’ll starve over weeks as my stomach tears me from the inside out. Or, maybe I wouldn’t be so lucky as I had been many times before, with some creature lurking in the shadows ending with me being torn to bits before I finally have the life drained out of me, seeping on the cold hard island floor.

And is that a life worth living?

There is no escaping this prison, and the mortal life attached to it and the sooner I learn to except that the better. The lines have begun to blur between which is the true prison, the island or the body that harvests my damned soul.

I need to accept the realities of the situation because times is ticking down as my mind begins to unravel to the point where there might not be anything left to salvage.

Everyday my frame has been decomposing looking like how I would if I had been put in the ground many months ago as my bones becomes more and more brittle. With a slight twist of the ankle and snap.

It becomes harder to drag myself from slumber every day the sun rises.

I no longer can find or reach the essential meats as they become more scarce leaving me to mostly compete for the few berries that are dispersed throughout the forest. I have become lucky to even eat one tiny meal if any at all.

Even water has become harder to obtain when now it would take three two hour trips instead of one to carry down enough fresh water for the week. With the harsh winter months impending upon me there is little chance I can survive it. Even more so when for some reason weather here had always been more extreme than anything I’ve ever known.

So, yes, I need to grant mercy on my dark, torn soul and push through and finish what I had started at what felt like days but in reality was only a mere hour ago.

But what if?

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Letter to death

I had to write a letter to death for my creative writing class so I wrote about my dad being sick. Just a warning it is a bit dark so don’t read if you are more sensitive to that type of stuff.

Dear Death,

I hate you. I hate thinking about you. I hate knowing about what you have done and what you can do. Within a split second you could break down the world around me and strip it bare. A whole life with billions of memories, laughs, and cries alike, is gone, leaving only a memory that fades over time. I hate that what you’ve done haunts me everyday. I hate that you mock me by ticking down the clock yelling when time is up only to rewind the clock again. You have people claiming it to be a mystery but I know it was you who rewinded that clock. Time is different for you. You play games controlling how fast the time moves or how slow. What abhors me the most is when you let the good ones die and the bad ones live. No, it is not coincidence or just luck it’s you and I don’t know why you do it. You make me question the ground I walk on, the air I breath, and the God I believe. You have a person’s heart in your grasp squeezing at the most convenient times as if to remind me of your power. You make my happy memories false because through them all there is the thought of the life that you are holding in your cowardly hands. The days that were supposed to be good, were not. You made me know the wailing screams of sirens like the way some know the sound of laughter. Tears streaming down my face no longer phase me. I know the smell of hospital beds better than I know my own. It’s the perfect show. That’s what it is to you a show. I am the puppet and you the puppeteer. And with that it would be naive of me not to say that you have forced me to not take things for granted and live life in the moment with your clock constantly ticking to midnight. I’ve learned to love the little things as that’s what matters the most because you never know when time could be up. I question everything and am therefore see in a new perspective. So, the tears are now dried and the rage is subdued, I believe it is time to say goodbye to this one way chat. I learned that I hate and love you for the same reasons and what I will do with that? I don’t know.

Until the next chat,

[anonymouswritertales-blog]

Chapter 1

Hope is one of the world’s most powerful and dangerous elements. One might even say that it is stronger than love. Hope, when given can propel a person to have the desire to overcome the impossible. It gives one a purpose for living and keeps them pushing forward. But, when taken away, hope can be devastating. It will tear a world apart and take away all meaning in life and cause one to lose the desire to live, breath, feel.

I lost my hope.

One thousand eight hundred and twenty five days. That is how long I have been imprisoned and left to die.

Five years it has taken me to lose all hope. Not a single ember left. My hope was that I would get rescued and I was not. That was what propelled me to hull myself out of the dretchid and damp cave I called “home”. I couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculousness of that word. I have not had a home in well over six years. I am not sure I even know what home is. I survived from sunrise to sunset everyday for five years convincing myself that the notorious acts that I committed which tainted my soul a little more every time was worth it for this “home” that I am not sure I even have.

In the beginning when I woke up realizing what had happened to me I promised myself that someone would come for me having mercy on my soul believing that I was innocent. I told myself that in five years if no one came for me, I could finally end my life as I wanted to do from day one.

I knew I should have felt something, pain, fear, joy even for being able to end my misery. I felt none. It was as though someone ripped my soul from my body and I had become a void. I stared into the water at the shore and a reflection of someone I could not recognize stared back. It was lifeless, a void. If this was the rock bottom they were all speaking of, I know I went beyond it and into the bottomless abyss of blackness.

I had no clue what was happening back home and I honestly did not care. They probably felt nothing for me anyway believing the propaganda that was told about me. Hell, even I began to believe most of my guiltiness, thinking myself as the wretched beast they made me out to be. They were had to be relieved and joyous to finally be rid of the shame of knowing me and worked hard for everyone to forget me.

Without the burden of care I felt weightless like my brain had been scraped out with a sharp knife and only my most basic senses were left behind. With this weightlessness, I began the trek upon the steepest cliff on the island. The whole place felt quiet especially for the tropics. Even the animals could sense the dread of this day. Or I there were non left as I no doubt cruelly slain them all convinced my life was above theirs. The first kill I ever made is still seared into my head like one would be branded with a searing hot metal rod. The kill never became easier, but as time went on I became numb to the sensations after. I no longer threw up eating the meat of a life a stole from the world. Maybe in that sense it truly does make me a monstrosity.

As an hour past and then another my legs became weak and were shaking but I did not slow down. Whether this climb injured me did not matter as it all ended with the same destination. By the end of this day there would be one less monster roaming the planet.

Not caring how I died, only that I died, I became careless and cut myself on branches and rocks and presumably rubbing against harmful substances or leaves.

Another hour or so passed and I began to relentlessly pant as I had not bothered for food or water. My body was begging for a break but I kept going as my destination was only one hundred feet away now. Eighty feet. Fifty. Twenty. One.

I reached the edge of the cliff looking out at the beautiful view before me. How could something be so stunning yet so deadly? The land was covered with great rich green trees and a deep navy blue ocean that spread further than the eye could see. 

I dared to look down on the rocks below. These were the rocks that will end it all, a life full of heartbreak, ache, and the joy that used to once exist, before it was ripped away. I held my breath begging myself to feel something but I couldn’t, there was barely anything left to feel.

I looked out at the ocean one last time wanting that to be the last thing I see. I paused, stumbling back and falling on my back feeling the numbing sensation where pain should exist. I pulled myself up and squinted intently at the ocean again making sure I could see this right.

 A large blurry grey dot was creeping along the horizon making it’s way toward me.

Hope.