7th and 8th Day of April

 Well, I have to start working at some time, shouldn’t I, but, oh well, I have neglected my work too much, and because of this, today, I have to write 10 thousand words, that is a lot of words, and it doesn’t stop there, no, it has also the point of contention, that I can blabber for as long as my chest rise in breathing, but to create 2 coherent stories… I don’t have the ability, not yet at least, but I am going to make my best efforts, and even if they are utter trash, at least I am going to get my work back on track, and them I can stop putting an negative right beside my gains, like, dear lord, have you seen the amount of negatives I have? at least two, and that is not good, I want to have a positive, a positive means that I am going over the bare minimum, but the negative means that I am not even doing the bare, so… I don’t want my whole calendar filled with my incompetence, so, today, I am going to right my wrongs, and maybe I will let the 7th be my last negative, that it has been so for a long time (3 days) gnawing at the back of my mind.


I wonder if the speed that I type matters, if I write slowly, the words are able to get more organized, I am able to use a more sophisticated vocabulary, it gives me the opportunity to right my spelling mistakes and things of the sort, but if I write really fast, I am working more instinct than reason, and that gives me the opportunity to free the thoughts that would be otherwise censored by my own shame and fear of failure, because I know, when I want to start a project, is better to write really fast, to get all the ideas out, and after finishing, give some time to cool down, for the empty of the ideas simmer for a little and new ideas to appear, them you modify slowly, you can rewrite whole paragraphs just for the sake of getting it all in order, I want to try writing faster and faster until only by instinct the worlds would fall out of my head, or something of the genre.


7th Day of April:

Farewell-

I really want to strike the mortar, the bricks, the sacks of sand with my bare fists, I want to smash all the bones in my hand, I yearn for my skin to torn open, to feel the blood pumping through the wound, I want to feel the surge of adrenaline that pain brings, I want to feel awake, I want to feel alive, I just want to feel something for a change.


But who am I kidding, I have nothing going for myself, I have all the goods years kept in a jar, I am keeping them safe so that I can enjoy them in my old age. after all, aren’t what they taught us all, work hard so you can stop working sooner, save money, maybe make a difference, but I guess that depends what kind of job, I bet nurses and doctors have their moments when the child with cancer recovers, and they think to themselves that it is for that they live for, or something like that.


I wish I could wake up one day and stop feeling the soul crushing feeling that I have wasted all my years in a dead end job, how can I even start save some change for posterity when I have worked for 5 years and I am not even close to pay off my student loans.


I watched that movie from pixar, Soul, and I cried, I cried bitter tears, cherish the small moments of life? since I was small, I remember being made to study, being shamed for every little mistake, scoffed for wanting to play, for not working towards my great future.


I have no small moment to cherish, during school I worked to get into a good college, in college, I studied for a good paying job, and now, I work so that in my old age I can finally enjoy myself…


But here's the thing, I doubt I will have enough of myself for my old age, I never had the chance to become a proper person, I am nothing, and I am tired of being nothing, I’ve been tired for so long, so this is a farewell.

To whoever reading this note, please take care of mr. whiskers.






Well, I just wrote the coherent story for 7th day of April, and it was a suicide note… should I be worried how smoothly that came out of me? or… should I exploit this suicidal ideations of mine to every short story? I can write depression like nobodies business, but like, if I ever write a reincarnation novel, I am using that beginning there, like, what is up with all those people waiting for the overworked truck-kun come for them, if they want so much that blank page new start, why can’t they take matters into their own hands? stupid fucks.


not gonna lie, if I ever expand on that idea, I think I would write an slice of life novel where he reincarnates as the son of a florist, like a modern setting lit rpg, like, there is people fighting monsters and exploding things, he is just the son of a florist, who learns to love flowers


like, I myself have this biases against flowers, like, what is so great about plants genitalia? well, not going to use the genitalia part, I am just going “what is the point, flowers are so useless” then, I can use the language of flowers or something… oh, just thought about something interesting, since he has trouble comunicating, like, a little autistic, he uses flowers to pass his feelings, like, magnolia means strenght, lily means purity or friendship


man, I feel so exhausted from my researching, like, dear god, god, but darn gosh it, It is going to bust my head open.


so, not going to keep doing whatever it was that I was doing. I am going to let that suicide note on the waiting if I ever need it, I know where to find it, not here, but in the seventh day of April on the document.


okay, I wrote 1k, just more 9k to go… I am really feeling that sting in my heart, I might cry, but can’t waste energy on tears, I need to put it to good use.


So, I come to a realization, that I suck balls when it comes to writing romance, like, I am completely garbage at it, because I suck at being in love, I doubt that I ever been in love in this life, and haven’t seen a good romance story in my whole life, not that there is none, but like, you know where I am coming from.


so, yeah, I suck at romance, and I am thinking of putting it in my novels, I really want romance, even if I don’t know where to put it and how to weave it. I need to learn romance. one of this days, but for now


lets go to my expertise.


I am very good at writing depressing stuff, I have a knack for horror aesthetic, very good at making bleak situations, insecurities, fear, I bet ya I can even do some fun things like schizophrenia given enough time for studying

maybe that is the reason why I am dead set on writing horror, too much talent at feeling dread during my constant state of existence


but, I can do familial love, I think I can do a good family, relationships, I know how to deal with relationships, social and personal, I think I can do something with that.


I was watching kimetsu no yaiba, I love that anime, but maybe I am getting a too old for shounen, like, I love a good battle scene, but I guess if it was one per season, I wouldn’t say anything, like, I want more of the character, I am exhausted, it is like, one fight right after the other, and even if they are all so beautiful, I still tire


but well, I love komapajirou, best boy of the anime, I am going to order an anime pillow of him like I am going to order one of sugimoto and other the hairy tamagi. but going back, I decided to watch kimetsu no yaiba again for writing purposes, I was going to watch it with a critical vision in mind, and like, I have some observations from the first episode.


I like tanjirou, he was stablished like a caring brother, willing to work in less than optimal weather going down the mountain for the sake of feeding his brothers and sisters, also in the town, he is stablished as a do gooder, he helps people, he is mild and caring, so people are willing to buy his coal to help him, also, his special ability, his keen sense of smell


which is cool, but sometimes it can be really dumb, like, the fucking are you talking “i CAN SMELL THE THREAD OF OPENING, LIKE, THE FUCK BITCH, WHAT IN TARNATION DOES THAT MEAN.


But I overlook the dumb five senses theme of the anime, because they are all such good boys and girls, I love tanjirou and nezuko, I was so sure that nezuko was just going to be this writing device, you know, the protagonist has a loved one under a curse, and then he has to go in a journey to cure them, like, he already has the dead family, I really thought nezuko was just going to be sleeping for the rest of the anime, and I am so happy that wasn’t the case, nezuko is quite active for the plot, even if she needs her heavy doses of slepping to regain her strenght since she doesn’t eat humans, Love how strong she is, and her blood abilities, to set things of fire, to grown, she is so strong, I am so proud of nezuko, and I am just as proud as her brother, he is so hard working, I love him, I want to write a character just as kind as him, the look he gives the onis, he know it isn’t their fault they became monsters, but he doesn’t hesitate to finish them, since if left unchecked, innocent people would perish.


I have only… 1.7k words, and I am 30 minutes before the day is done… well, isn’t that a little funny? how fucking screwed I am?


well. I have no idea how to circumvent this issue, I have no idea, I have no emotions, I am thinking about sparking, how do I spark, an emotion, can I force something, I think that I can gradually sink into depression, but the only way I can see that happening if I stopped writing, at all, and just looked at myself in the mirror with self loathing for giving up on my dreams, like, didn’t you have an objective, now, look how that turned out, aren’t you way behind your goal? I am really wondering what I am going to do, so I am just going to stay here, and try to write, something, anything, I don’t know what I want to write, I am thinking about swords, and blasts of magic, maybe a far way kingdom with a mad king, there is a princess somewhere, the knight is in a relationship with the sage, they are very in love, the knight was born in a noble house, since he wasn’t the first born, he carries no title besides being the son of a marquis, but through his training, he achieved a lot of fortune and merits to his family, being of quite pride, he would lead excursions, holy land, that kind of thing that conqueror do, until he found the sage, the sage was an scholar who loved learning, loved books, could barely get his face out of them, he learned how to manipulate the threads that make our very reality, so, how to conquer this paradigm shift, of a notice that your land is being invaded by conquerors, he was sent to the battlefield, or not battlefield, I guess it works as an assessment of strength, if the place is stronger than them, they would fight to keep in their good graces, but since the sage’s country was a poor little thing that didn’t merit to much, they just, invaded


I don’t like this pocahontas plot


I sure love the dynamic of nerd x jock, why should the loser envy chad for his popularity when he can be his, I love the dinamic, brains x muscle, you know how I like a good himbo, a simple man with a heart of gold, they care for their friends, they care for their family, they care for everyone, but they never care enough with themselves, so you can reap the angst when the himbo ends up collapsing due to stres, and you can have this sweet moment of caring, of deepening bonds, of friendship being laid over the foundation of trust and care, and blooming into something else entirely, I don’t know, I am not sure of a lot of things, the only thing I know is that I am not feeling too up for care, or stare, or exist, I really kinda of just want to stop being for a moment you know, like, time doesn’t pass me by, I can think, for an eternity, or maybe, I don’t know, take comfort in having a time to just, think, with no strings attached, you know, not stressing over churning a set amount of words, I really think that the mindset that I am carrying with myself is leading myself to dread writing, like, I am not sure how to put my finger on it, but I am sure that I am not doing very good, and because I only see this writing stuff as work, even knowing that it is improving my thought capabilities and whatnot, I still am kind of… dreading it, like, I feel myself tense when I think the amount of words that I have left to do, but, I shouldn’t be doing that, right? I should be more relaxed, I should see writing as something that I adore, because I really think that I am doing great, and I hate how slow I am evolving.


but at least, I am going in some direction, even if it isn’t in the speed that I wish it would be, I think at least there is wisdom and stewing a little on my own thoughts, but like, not in an spiral of shame and self loathing, no, I think I am aiming for that consistency of chocolate on my thoughts, I wish all my thoughts would have that consistency, I think, the faster that I think, they less I am doing, and that is a fact, if I stop to meditate, I know for a fact I am just going to open another window to play cookie clicker, and, like, I love cookie clicker… do I really love it or I am just a junkie with serious problems of… I don’t know, addiction to see numbers rising?


I know for a fact that right now, I want to go to the bathroom and just fill myself with water, than empty me of whatever is currently in there, like, I don’t know, blood and tissue of my intestine at this point, like, really, it is the fifth time I would be doing that today, and I doubt it would be good to my health in any shape or form, not that I do that shit to be healthy, I guess if I wanted to be healthy, I would burn my cellphone down an go run a lap around the world, or something like that, I don’t know what healthy people do.


I think writing is just like playing in the park, if I just let myself get swept over it, I am going to finish in a jiffy, or something like that


I am too tired to finish that thought, so, instead, I am going to put it on the backburner and let it influence my action.


I am really hungry. and I think that I am going to go eat something, and I probably am going to make something complicated that takes a lot of time, and I just know that when I come back here it is going to be 1 am, but you know what, it happens


now I am horny.... and I knew it, you can’t see, but just as I started writing, it turned to 1 am


well, I have a lot o new advice from a writer that I used to admire, Brandon Sanderson, but like, I guess I admired the amount of content he could just keep churning, then I learned that he used to be homophobic… like, I know people grown, I know I have my own bias to battle against, and I know he is a human who commits mistake. and you know what, I was dearly considering overlook that. but then I discovered, about the gay character that I was so waiting to meet and love… turns out he is a balding bridge-men who barely has any screen time… I can’t understand myself why this is such a deal breaker for me, it just like, snuffed out all my interest on the Stormlight Archives, and I know it shouldn’t… but it did, so, yeah


so, even if I now see him a human, and not like this god like figure of fantasy and art, I still believe he has quite the greatest of advises. so, while frying my ham and eggs ( it sound like an euphemism to masturbation, “let me just fry my ham and eggs in peace” pathetic) like, it is good to make a monologue from the point of view of the character, it helps with getting a grasp on their personality


Charlie’s Monologue

I loved my mom, she was the one present during the most part of my life, I remember her smile, it never failed to cheer me up, how sunny she was, she could light any dark day, one of my most cherished memories was when it rained during the autumn festival and since we couldn’t go, she taught me how to make pumpkin pie, from the crust to the whipped cream, mom could make a pumpkin pie like no one.


One day, four years ago, I remember the first time I saw her so scared, looking over the shoulder while taking me to the car, I could see the trail of tears staining her face. I remember asking “What is going on mom?” and she said “its going to be alright, everything is going to be alright” more like to herself than to answer my question, her anxiety passing to me, I remember start shaking, I was such an useless child, such an horrible son, when I think about the day, I keep thinking all the things I could have done, over and over and over again. deep into the night, trying to think how I could have saved her.


But I am not a stupid child anymore, they would never let us leave

“Trust no one” was the last thing she said to me before they pulled her from the car


\-----


I have not been idle in this 4 years, I tried escaping, to see what would happen, my goal was to get to the next town. So I would use my bike, go on foot, and in my latest tries, the car mom used to drive.


And during all those trials, it came to me, there is no escape from this town. at every trail would be neighbor, right on my path in the woods, in the middle of the night, always asking what I was doing, and why I was so dead set in giving my father a heart attack, I had no answer to that, I knew he was the reason mom is gone, they all were guilty.


But I stopped trying escaping a long ago, there is no way, they have eyes on all sides.


So I changed my goal.


They told me my mom was being held in a mental institute, that she was sick, but would never let me visit her.


But now, I know where they are hiding her.


And I want her back.




So, in a strange twist of fate, I am back once again at my cellphone… for those that don't know what I am talking about, that is probably everyone that isn't me, I used to put down notes on my phone, as an writing exercise, I almost feel like I can write short stories once again, like, I used to write so many of them, none of them of note, but I could jump through subject like a frog in a perilous situation.


Well, I didn't want her to die… she kinda of just panicked after seeing me holding a knife… and I guess the blood stains didn't help either, and her dad's corpse… yeah, I think that is one strong point of contention, but it is not like I wanted her to die.


She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now, she had to pay the price for it… I am gonna miss the little shit. We were sisters for less than a month, but the dog of her father thought that taking my meds away would make me more susceptible to his advances, stupid fuck.


But his daughter, she was barely out of her teenage years… she was 26, but she acted like 14, so I kept forgetting about it.


Well, fuck, what am I going to do now.


I broke off my musings after hearing the sound of tumbling on the corridor. getting out of the room I see my mom on the floor, with horror in her eyes, choking down a scream.


Not you too mom.




I really can write short stories if it is on my phone, huh? Or maybe it is the fact that I am in my bed, quite comfortable, and my whole hand isn't aching for typing a shitload of words everyday, so, I think, I should try doing this here more often, like, I feel way more confident in my own dark corner, my damp bedroom that smells funny from all the sweat from my filthy body,


I wonder if it would make a person gag to see the description of where I sleep.


I guess I am just like a pig, sleeping in my own filth, it is kinda of sad, I am going to do something about it tomorrow


I was going to write before dumping all this here that I am dumping, I was going to say that I am going to invest more on familial relationships, like, big sis, mom, distant father, monster grandma, I think it would be fitting, but, I don't want a carbon copy of my family on the paper, they might be real people, but the people created by me must be written for something more than the aimless existence that we all have been living drifting all over this plane, but unable to make a dent on it.


I really want my legacy to be remembered forever. I want my legacy to be like gravity, forever remembered, but not like the theory, no, I want to be like the force itself, the whole cosmos affected by my creative prowess, that would be a little funny, it is kinda of not hard writing this way, I wonder of I will be doing this more in the future, I really want to write 10k words today and start writing once again without the threat of negatives dragging from the prior day where I failed to achieve my objectives, after all, the tenth day of my writing should unlock something interesting, of which it is today, so, I believe I have something I need to be doing, doing harder than I had been doing before, and I am going to drink a little water because my throat is fucking aching, so, if my death is something inevitable, I want to work hard enough that my body would last the years that will take for me to make myself a legend.


Just 6k words to go…


God have mercy on my soul


I changed positions, and I do not like the way this feels while I doing it, it feels wrong, it feels tiring, it feels like should be different, I saw teenagers in movies writing this way, the way I mean belly up, because my back was killing me.


A short story about finding something in a place where you didn't expect to find that kind of thing, maybe… a dildo in a kitchen drawer.


Every fiction has to be approved, I wonder, what is the kind of fiction that is banned? It would be a little funny if they banned a fanfic for having the notp of the admin, wouldn't it?


The fleeting winds of may, where it might be the beginning of the spring over there, here it is just the beginning of autumn, and let me tell you, I was born in the autumn and spring, I believe I have the power of decay on the forefront, and at my back I have a patch of moss, lichen and mushrooms growing at my back, the waning aspect of life is what keeps me driving forward, knowing something is close to the end, I am quite elated to know how quick the words seem to flow from my fingers, like, It took me a good 3 hours for me to write 3k and  little more, but here on the cellphone, it seems to flow like the water bank pouring into a river, as this was natural for me, the birds fly, they sing, and Pedro can write very good on the cellphone.


I wish I had something more driving myself to do the thing that I want to do, or I don't want to. I remember time


A long long time ago, where I used to read fanfics for fun, and I read so many of them. The more memorable I seem to remember is this very sexual fanfic of this guy who was raped to death, but he comes back for revenge, and it is quite hot, very violent, very majestic in nature. I remember having so much envy of the writer of a fanfic called the fujoshi goddess (this here are all Brazilian fanfic) I remember something, something special, something different, iI remember at the beginning of quarentine I wanted to write an original fanfic, and before even having a full fledged chapter, or anything besides the concept, I went looking for a beta reader, it is kind of funny now, but I remember feeling so ashamed of myself for being unable to do good on my promise of writing a fic, I really should try writing something again, I wonder what


I know that I don't really do… portugues, but I kind of want to, since I wrote this piece of summary for a possible original fic, and don't want those words to go to waste, after all, this could go somewhere… maybe


Todo mundo já conhece o ditado da vida e os limãos, para tirar proveito do que você conseguir das piores situações. E pra ser justo, é um ótimo conselho, todo mundo deveria ter suco de limão quando a vida ta indo ladeira abaixo.


Não no meu caso é claro, não, a vida não me dá limão algun. Nem mesmo um limão mofado o bastante que da pra encontrar penicilina nele.


Ela me atira pedra, e eu sei que a maldita quer me ver sangrar.


A historia apresenta a vida de Matias, um pobre rapaz sem sorte no amor, trabalho, e vida em geral. Sendo que no dia que ele ia propor ao seu namorado, dito cujo desapareceu sem deixar rastro algum, e pior ainda, ele esvaziou sua conta bancária e levou o gato.


Bebendo para esquecer as magoas, ele acaba botando fogo por acidente ao tentar queimar seu


I just want to say… the guy was fucking 16 when he finished 3 fics… all with 100k words each, like, I am not even sure I will have 100k words at the end of the month, and I am 17, and nowhere near the level of accomplishment of that child…


I feel envy, not that bad kind of envy, but I was friend with the guy, and he wrote l those damn things.


I wonder if I hadn't read too much, I would be less self conscious and just write the damn thing, instead of doing this shit that I am doing here


Lets try writing the rest of the thing as… I don't know, a story?


Matias was a prince from a faraway kingdom, his beauty was enough to lay his foe to waste and made them tremble at the sight of his nearly white eyes, no pupils, because they aren't sexy.


And the rotating head and his bog, clunky joints, he was just the most beautiful manequin spider from the realm… oh my, did I just say mannequin spider? I meant to say prince, beautiful prince, always on the forefront of the battles


I have two pieces of oranges, hear me out, I know it is a little strange what I have to say… I think I am only going to write till the 5k mark, then I am going back to my cellphone, my wrist fucking hurts, it does so bad.


but, I am going to write something gay, something less stifled, something grand, something that will make me proud, even if it isn’t good in any way shape or form.


Well, I doubt I am going very far today with this writing business, at least for today, that is what I would have said if I hadn't drank a whole jar of coffee, I believe the things I am feelings at the moment is nothing short than an anxiety attack. Like, really really bad


So, I am going to try and find the spark


I have died, not in a good way, not the good death of being surrounded by love ones and peacefully passing, or overdosing. No, by the state that my ghost was in the first years, I was not human, I was barely consistent most of the time, but my reflection on the rain water at the alleyway that it happened, showed a mush, I was cut to ribbons and probably chewed by something very hungry. Needless to say, the thing that killed me wasn't human.


No rime for passing, no time for regrets, my life I wasted, but it was mine to throw in the garbage, yeah, I wanted to die at every waking hour, but how dare you take away my choice of killing myself. I even had a neat stack of heroin, not that I used, I robbed this ex of mine while he dealt with some very dangerous looking guys, poor thing, his body was found 4 days later drifting amiss on the river, inside a black body bag.


I thought about selling it, all that heroine, but like… I am skin and bones, I can't even cut a vegetables, even less cutting people.


Like, I can suck cock for a meal, convince a fuck buddy to let me stay the night, sometimes I can even score breakfast. like, my life isn't a sea of roses, but I was living by, doing an honest to god 5 to five 9.


Actually, it was quite funny, I didn't even had a house to get back to, but I somehow managed to score myself a position of… something, I don't even know what I have been working all this months, but I know they must have committed a mistake since the name tag on my table is not mine. Poor Mitchell, he deserved this job way more than me, but alas, this office supply isn't going to steal itself.


So, I been talking about my life like I am still living it, and… its hard some days to realize that I am dead, for the most time, I spent dreaming, the thing about my life passing through my eyes, I thought it was an one time deal before you expired for good, but not really, when my eyes closed, or something like that, I simply forgot everything, my death, my miserable life, all of my mistakes, only to see them occur, again, and again… and sometimes I would wake, I would remember my death, I would drag my tattered body to an end to the alleyway to the other, not much I could do, like, dead and all, until I accrued the years, it isn't happening any time soon, because, you see, every time I wake up, I seem a little less… chewed. My face is not whole by any means, but now, I got my nose back, and I love my nose, cute as a button, my whole face was to die for, at least it used to be, the whinehouse treatment I had and all, I remember I used to have this scar on my face from necrosis tissue when I tried Krokodile, after that, never more, it fucked the only thing I liked about me.


The interesting thing is that it cut right through my nose, the scar, that isn't the interesting part actually, that part kinda of sucked, but my reflection didn't have a trace of it. So peculiar, I can even think with big words like that, I was pretty sure I burned all those neurons with the English degree with the help of my crack pipe. Now I am just fucking with you, bet that you think since I am a junkie I tend to use every drug know to man, and to that, I guess I can't argue. But not crack, I am already a twig, the thing would burn through me faster than fire through hay.


Man, I feel so smart with all this big words and metaphors, almost reminds me of the great before, not the soul one, I did watch it after my death, I can stick my head through walls, it is so convenient, even if I have only two option, and can get too much pass through, guess just an eye and an ear pass through, but maybe it is because I only have one of each at the moment.


But yeah, you know, when I was younger, I used to believe I was going to be big shit, make a difference, lot of difference you can do with an English degree, like, if you have no toilet paper and is too lazy to go buy right now.

But I didn't do that to mine, I left it at my parents house, it was something from before I got too fucked up, even if now I thought of it as a waste of time, a waste of money, and college being the place where I started going down this path. But the major was one of the last things I finished in my life, so I guess it mattered, so I left it in my room, together with all the memories of the son that used to be something… something that mattered, like, I wasn't going to change lives, but I had a chance of living happily, instead of haunting a shitty alley where junkies go to die and no one cares, having to relieve the same mistakes over and over again, dreading sleep, because even if it meant getting a little more whole, it also meant years of torture, never learning, never learning…


Something that I learned through the years in my own piece of hell is that ghost can cry. Tears of blood coming from the lacerations of my face, even when my left eye became whole, the tears were still blood red.


I never stopped crying. I just wish I could feel relief from these tears, instead I just feel pure anguish, no one can hear me screaming, even from the top of my lungs, the winds just picks the scream and takes it so far away, I once saw a person turning to me after my longest scream, they didn't saw me, I fell sleep without remembering when my eyes closed.


I had a little brother, I forget him every time I wake up, I wonder what is going on in his life, seeing as the people on both sides of the alley have changed more than once, maybe he is already a little grandpa, he was just five the last time I saw him, I wonder if he remembers me, O really hope he does not. Please, let them forget that I ever existed.

I am so exhausted, I wonder how long will it take? Why do I have to suffer, and suffer in such an horrible way. I understand that karma is a bitch, and I more than deserve it, but that is so much  mind can take without breaking, and because the fucking reset button in my dreams, I never reach that point. I just want to break, so bad, so horribly bad that not even this snail pace regeneration is going to be able to bring me back.


I want to break enough to stop caring, to break so bad that I become completely numb, that awake or asleep, nothing would be able to shake, I already have a wisp where it used to be my brain, I just wish i could truly die.


Why can't I just fucking die for real? I am so tired, so exhausted, can't I fade into nothingness, like it should be?


In my waking hours, I try to stop being, and during that horrible torture that is brought with sleep, I see new things, not in anyway affecting the display of my life laid bare, no, the thing that I see now are between the moments of respite before the repetition commences again.


It is flashes, of light, small voices, I can hear mom, she is saying something about the news, it seems there is a strange sickness going around the world, I wonder if it means more company for me.


How funny that, all this years of being dead, I never seen another ghost, even though I saw a car accident on the road besides my alley. Her head split open like a crack in a coconut after she went flying, the juice spilling all over the pavement. If I had energy to mock her, I would, like how stupid she was for not wearing seat belts, but instead, I felt so hopeful, with such a brutal death, maybe she would haunt that street, we could talk in our bout of wakefulness, and, I don't know, haunt each other till the end of time.


One can hope.


But no, she bled to death on that street, nobody called for an ambulance, this is not a very good neighborhood, maybe someone would do something in the morning.


With her body cold in the pavement, I hoped to see her spirit, I wonder if it would get out of the corpse, it would be the first time I would see something like this.


But… no, I think i shouldn't had gotten near her.


Black wisps were released from her body, but instead to clumping together to maybe form what should be her, the wisps of darkness were draw to my mangled body, and I just… absorbed it, to the very last drop.


And she tasted so horrible, so empty, I could taste the pills on her blood, absinthe too, not a great mixture, the taste of sweat, of despair, she tasted awful, it made me want to gag, to puke what I had left that could be called of inwards, they hadn't been 'in' for a very long time.


But holding my stomach, holding back my puke, I realized my entrails being sucked back in, the slashes closed at the speed of the naked eye, leaps and bounds from the prior days, the more I held her in. like taking a drag from the foulest of joints, I could feel my stomach becoming whole once again, until my ribs were completely covered in skin and all my organs were back inside of me, and at that moment, I couldn't hold any longer.


Puking empty orange bottles and shards of glass, they clawed their way out of my throat, until I completely emptied myself of her leftovers, being a photo of her and a man holding hands and smiling, looking happy, the last vestige. until it became smoke and disappeared in the wind.


So, what is up with that?


\-----


My sleep is really bad, like, it hasn’t been good since I died, that is for sure, but now, besides having my own nightmare of life to deal with, I see my life stopping right beside my very eyes, and suddenly cutting to another house, another scene, another body. It felt cramped, stifling, in a way that I never felt before, I was naked, it hurt, it hurt so bad, it was the first memory I had from, her, and sadly, it wasn’t the last.


Snippets of her days, of her life, her friends and… she didn’t have a family, she lost them.


Good, it wasn’t enough having the weight of my own life pressing me down, now I had to bear the regret of other souls…


A little more of pain, what is one more drop in the bucket  an overflowing flood, it makes no difference, I wish it was the case.


I am actually really pleased with the results of this exercise, like, I made 1k worth of story.... and like, I am not know for doing something like that


soon enough I will be having whole books, in a future… be it near, be it far. like, I have


I am feeling weighted in my head, not enough energy to form coherent thoughts, I doubt I will be writing a lot more, at least, I don’t know, I remember how I felt, meditating, hearing music, closing my eyes and having my head stop swelling, and through this process, I gathered enough strength to write that whole story, like, I am proud, and I think I am getting closer to the answers that I am looking for.


I don’t know how I plan to write in the future, like, my horror aesthetic is the only thing I can kinda of do well. and like, it is not even true horror, it is like, creepy stuff used as decoration slapped on top of a boring story


also, yesterday, I believe something that put me back into motion was the fact this fanfic author that was 16 at the time, wrote fucking 300k worth of words, when he was like, a child, younger than I am today, so, I guess there is no better drive for me than envy, jealousy is what moves me, there is nothing that makes me take a spoonful of coffer raw and work my ass off than the fact that there is people better than me out there. I am going to learn how to pantser, I know I can, and that is the kind of thing that I want to be doing


so, lets wrie… or, we could watch kimetsu no yaiba.


good point my good sir, maybe it is for the best.


I remember telling myself that today was going to be a special day, 1k short story is nothing to scoff at, but, it isn’t enough for me, no, it isn’t yet.


Well, I doubt I am going to be written for a very long time here, like, i just know that I am not finishing it, or maybe I will, I am not sure, I feel tired, headache building, i wish I had.


You know, one thing that I regret was not putting more effort into The Prodigy, like, I was never a prodigy for to long, they told me I was smart in fourth grade, when I got to 6th grade, I already didn't care anymore, so.


Yeah, I think that Child Prodigy is not a story that would make much difference for me… no, that isn't right, it is in fact, very wrong, too wrong, I don't even want to acknowledge that thought, every story that I make is a piece of me made physical, and child prodigy, was going to be something like that, I remember writing the presentation, where the protagonist would wear this white dress with magnolias along the rem, together with the other prodigies, just as well dressed as her, the auditorium shined, it was spotless, it smelled like a day of spring, even if the temperature was enough to make her teeth clatter, so cold, but she did her presentation, spotless introduction of her class, her voice crisp and melodic to the years, almost supernatural the way she carried herself, maybe was the looming death that gave her the ability to do something that great.


Big emotions can really do wonders to motivate a tired mind.


I had this idea of a peach tree, it dropped green peaches, and when cut open, it would already be rotten,


Like, I tried to write a romance low energy to read and to write, but instead I did once again the story thing equivalent of oversharing.


It would end with her and the class representant instigating a rebellion, killing all the adults, but after opening the gates, they realize the street goes past beyond the horizon, schools just like theirs until the eye could no longer see.


I was thinking about stealing that comic concept of the girl who took pills to keep sleeping, cause the world in her dreams was so much more beautiful, worth living, instead of her true reality


Well, I have awake not too long, and I feel like shit. You know how hard I fought to build this resistance of mine? Not very long, I wish I slept more.


I have an older sister, but, she hasn't been quite right for a very long time, I think she is crumbling at the seams, far away from wondering eyes, oh, to be smart, I am going to finish this words here and after that, I believe I will be reading the cannon fodder from a novel, how his whole family hates him, and it is actually quite comical the amount of hate they have for him.


And let me tell you, the progression of the main couple is not very good, we just know that the main lover loved him a little while after they met, and the protagonist feelings just, sprout out of his ass or something, because at one moment, he is manipulating the guy for protection, using the fact that he knows his desire for him and uses like weapon, and I have nothing against that kind of protagonist, maybe they both can be shrew, the ml can realize that he is a little schemer and that can be even more of a turn on, you know, like, if they just dropped the bullshit of pure like a kitten in the eyes of ml, like, everybody can be fooled, but the ml should acknowledge the vengeful nature of this "little guy"


But no, we got dumb character when in love, and… well, I believe a lot of them have been lacking for a very long time, so long, so horrible and evil, the sumrise, summit, evil, blood, shrewd, and downright unlikable ml, I just want himbos, is it too much to ask, I don't think I am asking for too much. Like, can't you give me one that at least respect their lovers


Well, 2k words to go.


I have too much time in my hands, I have been sick for a very long time, my body is weak and fragile, so I will not be alive for very long, and I already accepted that fact.


Contradictory, isn't it? I have so much time in my hands, but I also will die very soon. But that is the way that I see my situation, and I am just so bored.


Too bored, how can they let their wards have this much time in their hands, I just want something to do, before my heart stops beating, I want it to race with all emotions I can think of, I want to do something wrong, like stealing or something, I want to fall in love, I don't want to die… I don't want to die a virgin.


But doubt that anorexic zombie would anybody's type, I could play the xilophone with this protruding ribs.


I sigh, ahh, should I post in the craiglist? " Terminal ill guy doesn't want to die a virgin, fuck my brains out before the meds do it first"


A little too desperate, and I don't think the kind of guy that I am looking for would answer this ad, but I am going to archive this on the maybe. If it all fails, I guess is good to have a plan b… maybe that one I will let more like a plan u, or z.


Can I guilt trip one of the nurses to do it for me?


I think to myself, until I realized I came to the abandoned part of the building. Walking through this empty hospital is a little creepy, but, the deeper I go, the louder it gets this grunting noise


I really was going to write erotica with a terminal patient and the doctor he blackmails after finding him fucking one of the nurses despite being married… like, I am quite austounded at what my mind can conjure when tired, mostly out of horniness.


But, thinking about life, I just come up with an idea that gives me great happiness.


The third prince, who works with the meeting of important people… or does he?? Well, there is this plot in my head where he does that, but is also used to assess threats, and in case he finds things lacking, he also works at the head of the imperial assassins.


Lets play a game, if you drop this cup, you will have to do anything I ask of you while our fathers meet


He drops


I refuse to play your stupid game


The sound of splatter, as the cup was filled of cold tea, soaking the back of his clothes, since it was a special royal brew of jasmine, the scent soaked him thoroughly, he smelled similar akin to the concubines who made use of incenses to make themselves more appealing.


Which was a funny contrast paired with his murderous aura that he exuded at the moment with that evil scowl, truly terrifying.


Then it would have this scenes of them going over the royal palace doing some real mischief, the prince makes the general's son eat some really spice candy, like, toe of Satan kind of spice.




Sorry, I thought the great general's heir would be able to take a little spice. Here, milk candy, it helps with the hotness.


The chewing and sweetness filled his mouth, and even if it still burned, it felt more bearable


Then, we would have more of this meetings, like, the prince taking the general to do some mischief is the way he endears the general, showing his youthful personality, but also kind and knowledgeable. He also see a different face of him in front of his second brother, a scholar extremely respected and sought after to deal with matters of economy, agriculture, philosophy and others science for smart people.


He sees a cold and calculating glint on the eyes of the brother, while the third prince shows nothing but humbleness and respect, or something that clashed heavely with the image that the junior general made of him in his own head.


The spice candy, mischief, bothering the eunuchs


Well, the third prince is a very endearing person, but… relationship is a two way street, the third prince is no maniac pixie dream girl, he does this espontaneous things because he is very good at reading people, so he adapts to their needs.


But, while the third prince dragged him to eat candy and do mischief, the general does something that is very good and earns a lot of goodwill.


I am thinking about the children of servants who they caught doing their own mischief

They end up hurting themselves, bleeding and everything, and before the prince could get help, the general just takes this whole med kit out of his sleeve, with cotton, thingie that makes the bacteries go dead

And bandages


The general has bandages on his face, a lot of scars.


Because scars are sexy, love scars


I thought maybe I would be able to do more, but right now, I realized that I will be putting a double negative on the 8th day of april, since today is already the tenth of april, a really need to pick up the slack, before I fuck myself over


So he is very good with children, in fact, he is a big brother of nine siblings, the youngest being 4 years older.


I remember when I was a child, and I was just a brother, and not the admirable eldest.


I miss those times of peace, but I doubt I can live far from a battlefield, father doesn't for sure, maybe that is why go have so many expeditions.


There is more blood in my hands than there is in a butcher, maybe that is what I was born to do, I am an edge, a blade for my country, to butcher the enemies of my home, there is honor in that, even if the gaze of dead never leave my dreams, I can sleep knowing the threats of my home rest 6 feet under


The third prince can show him the little things in life, and the general can repay him with love and devotion, they would go to festivals, watch the dancers, hearing the energetic music and on and on,


You know, something like that villain novel that I refuse to read because of big feelings of which I have zero strenght to deal with them, but it is quite the good novel, and you know what, I am going to make pure fluff, with imperial setting, and maybe they


Are you a dog? How come there is not a piece of skin on my body that doesn't have your mark!


He looked at the body of the prince with a long trail of bites going from his navel to his chest and up his neck, he just now realized the firm sensation, giving a good squezee, he realized how red the face of the prince got at that.


Oh, its his butt that I been groping


Sir, if you keep groping me like that, I will have to cut your fingers off


Well, no misgivings allowed, but I seem to be able to write even without a reliable source of wifi, at least on my phone I am able to do that, doubt that would be the case in any other device.


Well, I other what the name of my chinese historic novel would be called


I guess, peach fuzz, or something like that, imperial affair… I don't know if it gets right there.


So, yeah, I was planning for him to be an assassin, so that whenever his father needed, he could dispatch political enemies with just a meeting, or something like that, but I really believe there is no need for this element since the novel is more inclined towards fluff, and other good things, maybe I should read remember my name, if anything, it had one of the most healthy relationships of the genre, which is quite sad, since one of them assaulted the teacher with a chair, but oh well, the bitch be bullying the weak, choo chop on his head, I wonder why didn't I read more of it, I am quite sure that I read till chapter 26, more or less. So, I have no idea, of anything, I thought about doing gym when I was on the hotel, but I was going to stay for five day, doubt it would be enough to offset all my power and whatnot.


Man, snatching the cannon fodder had the funniest side characters, like, I wasn't a fan of the protagonist, but at least he had a distinctive personality, something that in doubt I can say to any other of the genre, okay now I am just being nitpick, yeah, his personality is quite distinctive, and even though I love me a good greedy protagonist, I was just so tired of the showing of wealth, like, good for you that you have this very expensive car, bet you that all the children your company is taking advantage of would love a ride on it, or maybe food, but I am no sweatshop laborer, so, who knows.


I am just going to finish this here, and I will try to finish the ninth one as fast as I can, because… god, was such a bad call on my part, like, I am happy that I wrote so much content, but I am a little sad that I have written so slowly, to the point I haven't finished the assignment in two days after it was due.


I can only cry bitter tears and pray that I can pick up my own slack, and evolve, like a beautiful butterfly.


I wish my wings to be made of flesh and sinew, the the flap of them bring dread and horror to the listener, that the sight alone could drive a man to despair and madness, I wonder what would be like, a 2000 meters butterfly, bet you she would be big.


I wonder, how big is the largest plane in the world? I wonder if they are available to comercial flight.


I am truly just rambling for the sake of rambling, I hope that today as well, I can come with something good


But… well, while I can't make something good happen, I guess I will have to rely on the might power of power rangers, or something like that


Well, I am going to power through the last 200 words with my speech to my psychiatrist


You see doctor, I believe I have OCD, or maybe some sort of thing, I know it might not be, but I have a problem with spiraling, like, at a moment I am going to be having a good time, feeling satisfied with myself, and then my mind will bring the exact moment I gave up, and all the hate just commes flooding back in, like, I regret so bitterly it keeps me wake at night, I try to sleep earlier, and then its a replay, all my friends graduating, I am a useless piece of shit who spent most of his time in his bed, wasting money, wasting time, doing nothing to make sure my future will be better of what it is right now, and they just keep going and going and going, and I just need to pick my cellphone, anything to distract me, until I am so exhausted that I just pass out, and I can't sleep for long, it is generally from the 8am to 12am


I remember at the beginning of quarentine, that I would spend nights reading this book or another fantasy, adventure, and I would spend a lot of night awake, I remember one time I pushed myself for two whole nights without sleeping, and just remembering makes my brain start to prickle, like an evil something, and I hate that feeling