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[arandomdumbass]

Remember Me

Remember me, please, even as the waves continue to push and pull, as the sands continue running and the clocks keep ticking, remember me.

Remember me, please, remember how my hand melded into yours, how your laugh rang in tune with mine, or how your arms fit perfectly around my waist.

Don’t forget me, please, don’t forget how you changed me, how when I was tired you left me rest my head on your chest, how you introduced me to world where I couldn’t bleed.

Don’t forget me, please, even as my memory fades away, and your voice doesn’t sound as clear as before, and the scent of your perfume doesn’t visit me anymore.

Please remember me, don’t forget me, please, I don’t want to die.

[arandomdumbass]

Words I could never say

Look at me. LOOK AT ME. I didn’t fall in love because I saw your good and loved it then. I saw your mind, your smile, and your laugh, and I love them as I do all of you.

But I couldn’t love you because of them. I love you because I saw your darkness, that dark part of your soul no one likes to get close to. I saw that part of your past, present and future, and I loved it more than I could love my life.

I didn’t love you because I found peace in you, but because my monsters did. Your light complimented my shadows, and your darkness fit perfectly with my light.

——

Don’t tell me not to watch you cry, don’t push me away from the pain in your heart. Tears come from love that was shattered, dreams and hopes that were broken, and sweet words that grew thorns to blood you.

Let me see your anguish. Let me drown in the ocean of your tears. Let me collect the pieces of your heart that fell into it and build a mosaic of your love. Let me give you your love wrapped in mine, your heart healed with pieces of mine. I would break my heart if it meant yours would heal.

[arandomdumbass]

Might not wake up tomorrow, you know?

It’s the feeling of having so much love to give that it pours out of you, burning like fire because it wants to warm someone else. But everyone else was already warm, and they didn’t want it. It’s the feeling of dying with so much love to give it hurts, of loving so deeply that annoying them is worse than a bullet wound, but no matter what you do, that’s the best you can be, an annoyance. It’s being afraid of them not remembering, of them not knowing you, where they only remember your bad and then any good you had, it just gets washed away. It’s the feeling of wanting to hug them until you die, of wanting to pour your love out for them, to warm them one last time, but now, there’s no one to give it to. So it turns back and hurts you, you reach out, but all you get is ice and bitterness. You’re surrounded by cold, praying for someone to give your heat to. Or maybe, just maybe, someone to give you a bit of theirs. The line feels so blurry sometimes.

You just want to be loved.

Sounds so deceptively simple doesn't it?

You haven't found anyone that can fill that role, but that is normal it's going to feel like that for a while.

It hurts a lot. I can’t breathe when I think about it, so I don’t. It’s too easy to delude myself to not think. But it’s so cold all the time, it’s boiling hot in my room and I’m shivering. My hearts so cold, and I don’t know how to warm it. It naws at me, eating away my soul and my insides like some sort of animal I can’t feed. It hurts too much to stop, I’m scared of what’ll happen if I do. I’m driving on a road that’s collapsing as I go, and I’m nearly out of gas.

[arandomdumbass]

You can't make this up if you tried. Istg humans will be the smartest and dumbest species to exist and we won't have any foundation in anything but rampant “f you’s” to the laws of our world.

Athletes

The humans were a truly terrifying species, with their resilience to pain, adaptability, high intelligence, sharp teeth and nails, and about a million more things that made us happy they were friendly.

But there was one thing that made even the hardiest soldier of the Intergalactic Federation quiver in fear, or whatever their species’ way of showing fear was.

Athletes.

When the Grang’nash species had first studied a human during their third visit to the desthworld named Terran, they had assured the council that humans had an upper limit.

The more I learn about them, however, the less I believe the Grang’nash.

When we, the Artilens, studied human culture, we came across terrifying videos.

Humans fighting other humans for sport, bleeding and risking even death for a small trophy and fame.

“Cross-countries” as they were called by the humans, capable of running for hours without breaks, pushing the human’s already incredible endurance to its limits.

“Rock-climbers” who scaled surfaces that would make even the Everams queasy with just their fingers.

“Sprinters” capable of running at speeds so fast that they can catch up to even the Yar’lisj. “Powerlifters” that had the strength to move our ships on their backs. “Marksmen” who could hit things even the Asereks had difficulties doing.

And there were people who enhanced their bodies with synthetic hormones, pushing them past even their horrifying limits.

Yes, the more I learn about humans, the happier I am they packbond with anything.

[arandomdumbass]

Stories

Ok, we all refer to books and their settings as universes, right? We call them worlds and they’re created by us, essentially making us a god. But what if aliens didn’t have that? For all we know, creation of stories is a strictly human thing, so it’s not impossible. Anyway here’s my take on it.

—————

Finally, finally. They were through the history of the humans. The Galactic council had, as custom, reviewed the history of humanity to learn more of their new comrades. Humans, beside being absolute anomalies in every way imaginable, had a tendency to fight each other for the littlest of things.

Oh sure, sometimes they made sense, like a killed ruler or a custom broken. Other times though, not so much. Seriously, starting a war over a stool thrown at a minister, really?

Geocerk, the leader of the expedition, leaned back, eyes swelling painfully as he went through the information.

He jumped, however, when a young Xenog, a race known for its ability to smell lies, burst into the room, carrying several “books” and rambling in Xenmerorek.

“Wait, tell me that from the beginning?” Geocerk asked.

“The humans,” The Xenog, nicknamed “Phillip” by the humans, exclaimed. “They’ve made universes.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Geocerk yelled, the room beginning to smell of fear. “Surely you’re joking.”

Phillip shook his mandibles and placed a small disk into a “player”, the screen flickering to life.

It started out normally, a standard city with average human civilians. Geocerk jumped as something red rushed by the screen, moving fast enough to create a sonic boom.

The camera sped up, showing a human male wearing red armor, a lightning symbol on his chest.

The man moved insanely fast, and Geocerk felt his legs shake as he watched the man reverse time with nothing but his speed.

Phillip paused the screen and played several more of the disks. With every one, Geocerk felt his fear for the humans grow exponentially.

“How do you know the humans made these universes, and that they didn’t just find them?” He asked. Both options were terrifying, but at least the second didn’t make them omnipotent.

Phillip pointed to the books on Geocerk’s desk. “They’re written by humans, hundreds of them. They’re called “writers” or “authors” and can make worlds with just their words.”

Geocerk quickly contacted several human officers, asking them questions of if these “authors” truly made worlds.

He received an unanimous ‘yes,’ but it seemed that not all humans could do it, giving Geocerk a small ounce of relief.

He sat in his chair, his entire body shaking in fear. “We must never, ever piss off the humans, lest they destroy us,” He told Phillip.

“Agreed,” Phillip replied.

“But why haven’t they destroyed us yet?” Geocerk asked. Any race with that power would be unstoppable.

“Maybe they believe we have that ability too?” Phillip suggested. Geocerk nodded; the humans he had spoken to all acted like it was a normal occurrence, as about as strange as the weather.

“Let’s make sure they never find out otherwise,” Geocerk stated, and Phillip agreed.

“We have found gods,” He muttered. “Gods that are too humble to recognize who they are, may their blessing be upon us.”

[arandomdumbass]

Athletes

The humans were a truly terrifying species, with their resilience to pain, adaptability, high intelligence, sharp teeth and nails, and about a million more things that made us happy they were friendly.

But there was one thing that made even the hardiest soldier of the Intergalactic Federation quiver in fear, or whatever their species’ way of showing fear was.

Athletes.

When the Grang’nash species had first studied a human during their third visit to the desthworld named Terran, they had assured the council that humans had an upper limit.

The more I learn about them, however, the less I believe the Grang’nash.

When we, the Artilens, studied human culture, we came across terrifying videos.

Humans fighting other humans for sport, bleeding and risking even death for a small trophy and fame.

“Cross-countries” as they were called by the humans, capable of running for hours without breaks, pushing the human’s already incredible endurance to its limits.

“Rock-climbers” who scaled surfaces that would make even the Everams queasy with just their fingers.

“Sprinters” capable of running at speeds so fast that they can catch up to even the Yar’lisj. “Powerlifters” that had the strength to move our ships on their backs. “Marksmen” who could hit things even the Asereks had difficulties doing.

And there were people who enhanced their bodies with synthetic hormones, pushing them past even their horrifying limits.

Yes, the more I learn about humans, the happier I am they packbond with anything.

[arandomdumbass]

Memories

Where do I put it? This love I have for everything you do.

My love for the way the wind blew through your curls.

My love for how your face brightened when you laughed.

My love for how your dimple showed just a little when you smiled.

My love for how you moved, how you breathed, how you lived.

Where do I put it? Where can it go when it can't fit in my heart any more? Where can it escape to? If I were to scream how I loved, would it leave? Or would it come back harsher than winds in winter?

Where can I put our memories? Where can I scream for the love and heat in my chest? Where can I cry for the ice that creeps in my veins?

Where can I put my memories of your love if that’s all I have?

[arandomdumbass]

My WIP’s book pitch

Archangel and soldier, Yilachim Thavala wanted nothing more than to end the war and settle down. But when he finds two teens nearly get themselves killed by the Devil, he steps in and begins training them. Can Yilachim keep himself and his two students alive until the war ends, or will the forces of Hell rip the trio apart as they did to Yilachim’s family so many years ago?

[arandomdumbass]

Did I ever truly love?

Are they lost?

The memories of my past?

Are they lost?

The love that I used to feel burning in my heart, pouring in my veins.

The love and joy and smiles that burned into my soul more than any brand could.

Are they gone?

Did I ever truly have them?

Did I ever truly have the acceptance of a stranger’s heart?

Did I ever feel this burning feeling be not the fire that burns my throat, shutting out my screams, but a warm, comforting presence that made me smile.

Is this ache in my heart my soul crying for that warmth again? Or is it simply a figment of my imagination, as false as my daydreams of smiles are, as far away as my hope for love is, so far away that my soul can no longer read it’s language.

[arandomdumbass]

I would let myself get stabbed if it meant I could hug the person holding the knife. I would let someone shoot my skull into pieces if it meant I could hold the hand that did it. I would drink poison if the person who gave it to me smiled. I am so devoid of the things I want that I will turn to Hell just to get a glimpse of Heaven.

[arandomdumbass]

My heart, which loves too hard and forgives too fast, is trapped in a cage made of the loneliness I live in. I’m a dying fire surrounded by the cold, dead hate of my solitude. My loneliness bites at me from the shadows, mocks me in the night, yet it is more consistent to me than my love is. A kiss on my hand would be enough to break me like thin ice hit with a stone; a smile of appreciation enough to melt my chains of despair. But would I have it? If I asked the world, would it give it to me?