vexedveetrix

[vexedveetrix]

Tomorrow morning

Tomorrow morning

Is going to be nice and bright

The sweet birds will chirp

The sunshine will be bright

Tomorrow morning

Will be fresh

I will finally put away the mesh

Everyone will smile

So wide that their lips will spread a mile

Tomorrow morning

I will be free

I won't have to cry in plea

Ambition, passion and zeal

Will bloom in me again, making me feel

I wait for this morning

The whole gloomy night

With swollen eyes and yearning

That I will wake up to this dawn before I lose my might

My pillow is wet

My heart filled with regret

All I can do is fret

And hope this lovely morning shows up

Like the smell of rain

Like the lovely jazz

Like the sweetness of honey

Like a delightful bouquet of roses

Like the feeling of a cold stream on a warm day

Will be tomorrow morning

And every long night I repeat

That I will wake up to tomorrow morning

Hoping I dont choke on the tears and meet

The skies before the morning

Okay I kinda wrote this emo shit when I was depressed a little while ago 😭 and then I went back to check on it and realised it wasn’t too bad so I’m here to post it. I literally didn’t tweak it or edit it again so don’t mind if it seems unfinished y’all. Lmk if you like it.

[vexedveetrix]

#1

The hourglass

Ben woke up to his alarm again. ‘Another day’ he mumbled, smacking it off. Ruffling his messy dark hair, he got off his bed. ‘How boring’ Ben clumsily reached for his glasses, perched exactly in the same spot as everyday. A hazy memory flashed through his head- one in which he would struggle to find his glasses every morning while shouting for his mom's help. But he couldn't say if that was a memory.

Ben shuffled down the stairs, in his usual blue shirt and faded jeans, way too big for him, obvious hand-me-downs from his older brother. Wait, usual? Ben paused, stopping at the last step. He realised he wore the same clothes for a while, but couldn't say how long. He shrugged it off, perhaps he was too preoccupied with his projects to realise it sooner. He reached the dining table, breakfast was ready as usual. ‘Sandwiches again?’ He took a bite. ‘Oh what do you mean sweetheart? It's been a solid month’ His mom responded from the kitchen, perhaps packing her lunch for work. Ben just hummed, not really paying attention to what she said. He was too busy thinking of ways to skip school today- it had been awfully boring since the past few days, so repetitive. And what makes it worse is that Ben had absolutely hated school. He would tell his mom that he could study by himself at home and faster.

Ben took lazy strides on the pavement, hands tucked in the baggy pockets of his pants. He looked up at the sky, it had been cloudy all spring. ‘I thought the forecast said it would last only a day.’ He mumbled to himself, pushing his dark blue glasses up his nose with his long index. That made him pause- how long has it been since he checked the weather forecast? He quickly tugged his phone out of his pocket. ‘Cloudy…. 64 degress.. with a chance of rain?’ Odd enough, he read the same forecast perhaps a month ago. But he decided to shrug it off. It wouldn't hinder his outdoor robot trials anyway. Suddenly, Ben gasped. Something flashed his mind. A memory? Deja vu? A dream? He couldn't say, because he didn't have the time to think about it. More like his body didn't let him, it acted on its own. Before he knew it, Ben had saved the life of a 10 year old kid on a skateboard. He stood there, flabbergasted. A car crashed neatly to an electric post, the driver squatted next to it, complaining about his dented car. Ben was on the pavement, his eyes wide open, next to the crash, holding the hand of the kid who was supposed to be where the electric post was. ‘Thank you’ he heard the boy's voice, finally noticing that he looked as shocked as Ben did, if not more.

Ben walked through an empty street, dragging his feet absent mindedly. Ever since the “accident” his head was messed up, everything seemed like some kind of a deja vu. He groaned, scratching his messy hair. He used to brush his hair, but when did that stop? A month ago? Two months ago? A year ago? Forget it- he couldn't recall what he even did yesterday. ‘My diary’ Ben suddenly mumbled and turned on his heel, rushing back home. School could wait.

After successfully reaching home and jumping through his room's window, Ben sat at his desk that had papers, books, wires and screws scattered all over it. He had done this many times, sneaking back into his room when mom wasn't home. But this time it felt different- like he was about to unleash his greatest project yet. The whole house was quiet- well except for the rustling noises of his diary. Ben flipped through the book, stopping at the 4th of May. If he wasn't wrong, that was the previous day.

‘Pancakes for breakfast…a comic con visit? It feels like.. it has been forever..’ Ben mumbled, pushing his square framed glasses up his nose. He squinted at a particular sentence in the diary- written in his usual messy handwriting- something about buying a cool hourglass. His dark eyes instinctively landed on an hourglass that sat on his table amongst some crippled papers. He reached out for it, remembering his encounter with the eccentric man who sold it to him in front of the comic con event. A few blurry memories made it to his head- how he had to listen to cock and bull stories to make the purchase, how the man threatened him with something about getting stuck in time and how the sand on one side never falls to the other side once it's set to motion, until the loop is broken. Ben didn't take the man seriously, he just wanted the hourglass. And surprisingly enough he hadn't even looked towards it since the previous day. He rotated the hourglass the other way, expecting the sand to fall to the lower end again. But nothing fell. ‘Impossible’ Ben muttered looking for defects in it. It was perfectly fine, but why didn't the sand fall? He thought back on the man's words- stuck in time, a loop. He thought back on how oddly everything felt repetitive, how he felt deja vu, how the previous day felt blurry and far. How he saved the kid. How he felt his hair was messy since ages even if it had only been a day since he brushed it. How his glasses were perfectly in the same spot every morning. He shook the hourglass desperately a few times, but the sand stayed intact.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

‘I'm stuck in a time loop’, Ben could feel a shiver down his spine.

[vexedveetrix]

Why I am starting to write.

This is my first note here.

The reason why I’m starting this? It’s not popularity, it’s not money

(not like any of it is granted to a teen blogger anyway, that would be comical.)

I’m writing this for something called ‘experience’. I believe writing like this is going to promote my skills.

I won’t have a specific topic, perhaps many of my articles aren’t even going to be based on information, rather be based on experience. Or perhaps I will improvise it as we move ahead, perhaps I will find new writing genres or I’ll try something new, maybe I will write some short stories that run through my head while I wait for my stop on the bus.

I want to become a writer, but I don’t suppose I write like a writer yet. My work is raw, unpolished, but I want to share with my audience this raw work. I believe an author is the most authentic as a beginner- it’s not that I don’t think professionals aren’t bona fide, that’s not the kind of authenticity we are talking about here. The type that we are speaking about? The rawness of the language, thought, expression. A beginner doesn’t know how to convey a message although they may know what to convey. And that fellas, is the word straight from the heart.

A professional would have been exposed to so many writing styles, so many articles, books, themes. A professional would have refined themselves so much, obviously, to reach where they are. And before I become this professional? I want the world to know my backstory, my authenticity and my journey. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to know myself how far I would get in my writing journey.

I’m not a mainstream writer, writing is one of my side-hustles. But it’s very close to my heart. Writing has been a way for me to express myself all my life. Apologise to someone? Write an apology letter. Show gratitude? Write a thank you message. Overwhelmed? Write it and figure it out. This was my way in life so far. I have also been told to have a flair in writing, so I decided to make something out of it? Try to make the world hear my voice through my pen? I found it very thrilling, and I don’t think this thrill will die down any sooner.

So this, dear audience, is my first post. It may not be perfect, it may not be the best work you’ve read, but it’s probably going to be as raw as my voice can get. I do not expect an audience here, I do not expect applause. I’m just doing this in the hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the first brick to my writing empire.