Friday, December 23, 2016

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Kathunk Kathunk – hearts beating

Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
(everything in my mind faded away)
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
(nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing)
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
(nothing but the soft brushes on my face and the red strings that–)
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk Kathunk
(nothing, nothing, nothing, but the white light nearing)

Quinn was unshelled.
And she walked into the brightly lit room.
The red strings came down in straight thin lines but not all of them were connected to a body. Yes, a body, for there were the Hearts walking in a perfect row by the long table that stretched out over the entire length of that brightly lit room. Heart formed chairs were placed before it, its colour a pulsing bright red; as if the strings connected to the chairs had blood running through them, filling the hearts that pumped it out again.
The Hearts didn’t have that, though: the strings were just strings that led each of them to a chair, each of them synchronically.
The strings led Quinn to her chair, synchronically with the others.
Like the others she was facing a mirror.
Meanwhile the visitors to the theatre were dripping in, one by one. Like the Hearts, they were stripped down of their mind and their feelings, of their consciousness (or were they brought to a state of pure consciousness?) and the red strings that pierced through their bodies led them to a specific seat. Unlike the Hearts, they were truly empty, nothing but a soul. (or Soul?) The Hearts were far from empty. They were simply closer to their radiant and vivid core that defined their whole being.
Quinn was not empty, simply much closer to her radiant and vivid core that defined her whole being.
Quinn, like the Hearts seated beside her, knew who she was.
While they waited, some of the red strings started to move towards the Hearts. They curled their eyelashes a bit more, took care of the tiny smudges on their painted faces, combed a bit through their hair.
The girl on Quinn’s left had her sky blue hair combed through carefully, avoiding the glittering, tiny diamonds placed in it and the detailed braid that was placed around the back of her head.
Her face was barely painted, just a few curling white stripes on her cheeks, but her entire body was an artwork. They had painted thick and thin stripes on her chest and arms. Between them ringlets and circles dyed in a silvery white made a long chain on the entire length of her body; the ones on her arms were much smaller than on her chest and legs. And her stomach had a beautiful rose on it.
She wore a long silken vest that looked soft and flowy, even though she simply sat there and barely moved an inch. Her most intimate parts were covered with real white roses and she wore bracelets that tinkled with a very soft and soothing sound.
She was, truly, serenity itself.
The girl on Quinn’s right had her body sprayed on with a glittering substance.
She obediently – though without a mind – removed her gloves from her arms and spread them out. She closed her eyes as the strings sprayed it on her face and moved it around so it could get everywhere.
She never changed her tight posture while she moved.
She wore a ball gown colored in a soft gold with sparling diamonds and her skirt was majestic. But even though she sat in that chair, it was never made to look more majestic than she was. Though she could not want, she would not allow it so.
Her ball gown had a collar that was fan-shaped and gave her something queenly. The silver tiara on her head made the image complete with the tight bun of her auburn hair.
The tight and severe expression on her face made her look even prouder.
Her pride, in fact, was quite overwhelming.
Quinn herself, on the other hand, wasn’t being fixed up by the red strings. They were actually trying to make her behave. As the curious child she was, she had let loose a few of her own threads to take a look at the Hearts, studying them as if they were exotic animals. The red strings kept pulling them back. Carefully, for they might fight back fiercely and have Quinn herself turn into something beastly.
Yes, Quinn could change. Yes, Quinn was not to be compared to any of the Hearts in this brightly lit room.
For she looked like a puppet cut out of glowing, pulsing white paper, who had its own white strings rather the red ones.
For she looked like a ball of yarn, loosely put together, making it seem like an oval or another weird shape. Some moments she took the form of a naughty little fox and, if the red strings pulled to hard, the form of a tiger or a bear or a gigantic mythical creature like chimaera or no – actually, she liked to make up her own gigantic creatures. Even though she had no mind.
She could turn into a silent, lazy panda. Or a silent lion, in a very tight posture.
Or a calm dove, staring into the mirror.
Then the mirrors started moving back and forth. The red strings that were fixing up the Hearts quickly, moved away quickly, but the red strings that pierced through them were being pulled even tighter.
The mirrors started to bounce, to twist and turn, to break and even burn before they shattered into bright red hearts.
The hearts fell to the ground slowly, and moved in a spastic way towards the heart formed chairs.
The hearts made them get up from the ground through the holes where the mirrors used to be.

The Hearts were led to stage.

And what will happen on that stage? See for yourself in chapter 5 of The Stitcher of Souls!
See you on the next page! <3

[PIC ORIGIN: ; made by MARIday]

Thursday, December 8, 2016

Giggles in Grown up clothing

The first thing I see when I walk down the stairs are the variaty of legs.
Yes, legs; legs as long as mine, as covered in cloth and legs as bare as theirs, a little piece of black on the top or with many holes in the covering cloth which is always branded with "Hollister" or something like that. And how dark it is up there, above those legs. I mean, yes,
they have long legs, beautiful and healthy ones, able to lift the upperbody high up in the sky. But not beyond the atmosphere, right?
I get a bit closer to them and ah, I see now! It's the smoke. Very thick, too - all their pretty faces that took them ages to bring to perfection this morning are almost entirely hidden!
Well, it is more about the bombs anyway - the faces are, hm, what should I say? The battle cry? Or more like an admirable painting? Or a sausage, perhaps, looking very, very and I mean very tasty - If you know what I mean, guys. *wink* *wink*
It's hard to tell, since their munition is the same, the same bombs are thrown, used in the same way. It's a never ending cycle of bomb throwing. hard to get through, or more like - I'm unwilling to get through. Other outsiders, like to watch, though.
But if we could just see inside the sausage and the sausage-making, then we'd probably know whether it was battle cry or not.
Ironically, they hate using bombs or more like, they're scared that the bombs might explode in their hands and not in someone else's so that they can claim victory and laugh, but at the same time they need the bomb throwing to feel alive.
*Cough* *Cough* This smoke is suffocating! God, how do they keep this up?!
Then I see that the smoke which seems thick enough to make them invisible for each other, isn't as thick for outsiders.
They're giggling while throwing their bombs, but their not keeping up.
They're pretending to. Desperately.
We might find it annoying, but they are dying. And it's their own fault.

I don't understand and I shake my head.
I continue walking down the stairs and then through the hallway. It's a bright, colorful path I walk and I barely recognize the darkness and giggles from above anymore.
For the brightness of my own path and the rainbows above, the giggling of pixies and animals and the people from fantasyland are filling my head.
Whether their giggles are better than the giggles in grown up clothing, I do not know.
But I do think they're nicer to listen to. Although I'm the only one who hears them.

Hehehe, o, you cute dog...O MY GOD A PANDA... NO NO NO - I DON'T WANNA FLYYY-AAHHH--
Erhem. Sorry. As you can see, I totally can't relate to the "I" in this story. Erhem. Nope. Not at all.
See you on the next page.


Wednesday, December 7, 2016

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Mad tiny guys, mad talking birds and mad hearts

Aaanddd… I was still stuck at Guna Plaza.
With these six gigantic, beautiful, mad buildings around me, though not as truly mad as all that I had to witness before which had made my head turn red and had made incomprehensible words escape my mouth. Yeah, not one of my most charming moments.
Sigh, Quinn. Shut up and do something useful.
Right! Something useful.
So these six buildings. I walked a bit around the fountain, careful not to get to the part of the plaza where people were still walking in those strange rows and where the fireballs were still thrown from here and there. Nope, I wasn’t ready to mingle with these strange citizens yet.
Not that I ever will be – oh my god, won’t you look at that! How? Just how?
My jaw almost fell open by the sight of these three buildings. They were so simple but so special at the same time. They were kind of the same, I mean they all looked ancient they had the same kind of doors and like a pathway leading to those doors, lined with pillars, they were all tall and ooh – they looked like those mausoleums, from the Romans (yes, I do pay attention in class), only then from time when they did look pretty.
There was only one difference – their color: blue, red and black. And there was something with these colors. I had no idea what or how, but they were just so… there. So unmissably there. Even blind person would see them! (I think)
And now comes the weird part – were they each shone on by their own color?!
Through the streets twirling above them, a, well, divine sounds quite appropriate here, so a divine light shone on each of the buildings.
There was blue holy light for the, well, blue one which was called the… Indigo Institute of Intellectuals, pressed in the upper part of the building with gold – divine gold, hehe. Red for the red one which was called the Crimson Centrum of Civilians. Crimson? As in… Crimson Chin?! (Hehe, Fairly Odd Parents reference – whoop whoop) And black – wait, black? Yes black! – for the black one which was called… the Black Bar for Barbarians? Barbarians, huh – not my place to be.
But, no, there wasn’t any useful stuff here. So I teared my eyes of those divine buildings and started exploring the other half of the plaza.
There was some sort of Colosseum-like building which had its name beaming in neon light above it: the Theatre of Hearts. A gigantic library stuck out there, too, which, of course, was called the Giants’ Library. Perhaps I could find something useful there…
In the middle was this really big castle, which was like really white and there were like spades all over it. And it had towers shaped like a spade and a spade-formed entrance – it was big a spade! But it wasn’t as cool as the other stuff, though, so I didn’t look at it for too long.
Not that I was able to, when there were beeps and bells all around me and people walking around and – through me?! AGAIN?
I scurried back to the big cocoon, still cold as ever, and shook my head. Good. Good good good. Good good goooooooooooooooddddd.
I am completely naked under this coat. I need to find clothes. Then I need to go to that library. And then I’ll see what I can find. Ready? Go.
And there was the first problem. Where do I find these clothes? For free. Without stealing them. Scratch that – if stealing is what I must do, then I shall do it.
Someoneeeee! Help meeeee! Not that internally screaming would help meee!
Okay. Okaayyyy.
I died. There was a knife and it was doing strange things in my body and I stopped breathing. So I died and I shouldn’t be here, because I’m dead and dead people aren’t alive. So why was I alive? Why did I end up here? How did I end up here? Why is this place so mad? Why did that damned guy leave me? Why were there fireballs? Why were there divine buildings that looked like mausoleums? Why were all these buildings so big and abnormal? Why were these people walking so weird?
Why was I asking myself these random questions? I was making myself suspicious – hold it – when I was supposed to figure it out on my own, because I’m not weak or incapable – Hold. It. – but this place is too mad and were the people watching me, was I going to be followed and killed again and die for good – Quinn, hold it – and could I survive anyway?
I started walking towards some building, like I knew what I was doing, like I knew this place, like I wasn’t naked and hadn’t just risen from the dead. I clenched my fists and looked forward as if that building was my destination. I didn’t bump into anyone, I waited when a dancing carriage flew by and ducked when some kid threw his fireball towards me. I froze when I heard the voice, saying: “I know you’re naked.” The tiny, squeaky voice started giggling and pulled my sleeve, pulling me down, while a male voice said through gritted teeth: “Get down here, you damned bird.”
Then her grip loosened and I immediately turned around to face the creepy – tiny guy with a bird in his hands? The guy was wearing a black suit with green patches on the shoulders. He also wore a big hat with his red, bushy hair underneath that basically surrounded his tiny chubby head and came down in a beard. He wore a warm smile and that red nose of his was pretty cute.
But that was only what he looked like – I still had to be careful. Pay attention, Quinn.
The bird in his clenched fist, squeaked ‘lemme go! Lemme go!’, but the guy didn’t do as much as blink at his desperate protests. Then he moved his hand to the inside of his jacket where he seemed to put the bird away. So this little guy had a bird who could talk and who knew that I was naked. Huh.
But –
Shut up. Focus!
The guy kept smiling at me. “Don’t mind her, girl. She simply doesn’t know how to act appropriately.”
His smile suddenly faded and he drew closer. When he had made sure that no one was looking, he waved at me to lean in. I did, carefully.
“Well, you know,” he said, “if you’re planning to go the theatre, you can’t just walk in there wearing only a coat. And,” he looked around him again and continued on an even softer tone, “I’ve seen you with him, so I feel obliged to help you. Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone. We just need to go through the back door where you can get to the dressing rooms.”
I didn’t have the chance to say something, because he was already pulling through the rows of people to theatre which was the building I seemed to be headed to.
Play along, but run away when it gets dangerous. Get out once you have the clothes. Don’t speak unless asked and don’t show any kind of emotion. You understand? Yes.
We quickly disappeared into a dark alleyway where the sun didn’t seem to shine. In fact, we were turning corners under a very dark sky. Soon we reached an alley where the wall across us climbed up in the sky where a color bomb had exploded into the letters T, H, E, A. The wall of the Theatre of… I couldn’t remember. Doesn’t matter. Don’t think about it. Just go.
The guy seemed to know exactly where he was headed and pulled me even further into the maze of alleyways.
Then we reached a lit part of the alley. Heart-formed lights were placed on the wall across us and a dark red carpet was laid out before us and turned around the corner. We ended up before a heart-formed entrance, carved out of a brick wall. The guy let go of my hand and looked at me with his vicious yellow eyes. It seemed as though his face had grown darker and his chubby face slimmer and pointier. His nose had grown longer and crooked. His hands had turned into claws.
And his voice sounded gruff as he said, “Go on, then.”
I did as he said.
Play along, get the clothes and get out.
Past the entrance, was an extremely red hallway. Dark red walls and red heart-formed lights on them. The red carpet went on here and led to another heart-formed door.
The dark version of the tiny guy, appeared next to me and pointed at the door.
Play along, get the clothes and get out.
Play along, get the clothes and get out.
Play along, get the clothes and get out.
I took a quick breath and walked towards it.

My mind quieted down and was empty, hidden behind a fog.
I didn’t hear my footsteps, breath or feel the presence of the dark tiny guy lurking behind me.
I just saw the door coming closer and closer.
I saw my hand reaching the doorknob –
It turned –
The door creaked and opened –
Hands flashed out –
Quickly, madly, roughly they reached –
Pulled me in –
I screamed –
Hands around my body, my face –
My mouth –


That's the end of chapter 3 of The Stitcher of Souls... 
See you on the next page!
[PIC ORIGIN: , made by Neolucky]

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Unearthly City

“This is Unearthly City. But, I suppose you didn’t know that either.”
He really didn’t buy my act, though it was half-true. Because no, angry hot guy with sexy messy hair, I truly didn’t know that we were in “Unearthly City” and I found it a rather misleading name, because I was pretty sure there was nothing unearthly about it. Were there any stores with faces who could talk and would groan happily because the people who entered it were filling its belly? Were there mermaids and hot fairy guys with pointy ears and long hair which make them a little less pretty? Was the city a chaos of colour and optical illusions?
No, no, and well… Maybe. Although I’m not sure if you could call it optical illusions.
Because, okay – fine! This city does have its unearthly things. O, who am I kidding – this city was the very definition of unearthly!
We were on a road where people immediately jumped away to fall into another road that went up – UP! Up to some other streets above us – ABOVE US! Above us there were people walking on those streets where they seemed to have adjusted their height as to not hit the people below them.
Like I was looking at a miniature city above me and next to me – it was true madness here!
And it didn’t stop there! No! There were doors – or was I supposed to call them latches? – right above me and suddenly a guy grew bigger in the miniature city and basically stepped on the door. I could see his bushy, curly blonde hair and the sunlight that shone on his head, which seemed to grow smaller as he reached for the doorknob underneath and walked inside normally.
I realized that it was the same sunlight that shone on my own head, and on the stern guy in front of me and the other people on this street.
Other than the streets leading up and down and twisting and turning around us and the doors above us, the streets themselves were insane too.
I held on to the guy as tightly as possible as to make sure that all those things here wouldn’t kill me.
Because there were fireballs. Waterballs. Earthballs. Kids throwing the balls. Kids stamping on the air to make the pavement shoot up in the air as a part of a game.
There were sparkly trails of sprinkly and sparkly dust of butterflies – no, wait, tiny humans with wings – HOLY MOLY THOSE ARE PIXIES! Or fairies? I didn’t know – I didn’t care!
There were floating tents on the sky, almost in those other roads, no ladders climb on to get wide open tentflaps and no need for them anyway – people could just walk to inside of them, no floating and flying needed or a ladder.
There were women standing on balconies, who dried their clothing by throwing them away and smiling at hot guys – sadly no fairies, well, they don’t look like fairies anyway – while the wind which literally hummed carried them to the washing line. Yeah, because why do it the hard way like the losers from the place where I live, right?
“Sit still, would you? And please refrain from screaming in my back,” the guy on the horse grunted, but there was no need for him to tell me that, because just like in the animes my face had turned red, my eyes turned into spirals and my mouth half-open, while I was murmuring something incomprehensible.
Then my attention was drawn to clothes the people were wearing. They wore cloaks in different colours; blue, red and black.
But blue never walked with someone in red or black, nor did people in the other colours. In fact there were three rows of blue, red and black. And some had stains of the other two colours and were basically forced to walk in between the rows. Even those kids seemed to play in those rows, their fireballs not coming as far as the gap between the rows... Huh.
The road must be extremely big to be make it for both these people to walk in three rows and those kids to play in the same part as those roads. No wait there were three separate roads. No one big road. Three separate ones? One very big one? Uhm… Huh.
Maybe if I’d go just a bit higher, maybe then I’ll see… Nope, too high, too high. Let’s go back, let’s go back. Pretty cool that I can see so much from this point of view. Hey, look at those white threads above me... Huh.
Then everything turned white.

As if we rode straight through a barrier, we ended up on a big plaza with six gigantic pointy buildings.
The guy on the horse didn’t seem to be amazed by all that craziness back there and honestly, I didn’t feel that amazed either. I mean, I remembered feeling amazed- because it was true madness, a really mad experience – but then it became, well, nothing, yeah, nothing. I don’t know, maybe… Maybe I’m just tired –
“As you can see,” his stern voice suddenly interrupted my hazy thinking and felt like a slap in my face, “we’ve reached Guna Plaza. I’ll find a place to drop you off safely and then you’re on your own.”
Talking about subtle, huh.
I let a small trembling “yes” escape my mouth.
Damn, very subtle, dude. He was right, though – I could not deny it. I was going to be on my own. I was going to have to figure it all out. On my own.
I started to shudder and became suddenly very aware of me being naked underneath this jacket. I felt being watched by the few people walking in three neat rows.
Oh damn it, I’m scared. I’m scared. So fucking scared. Damn it! I really am scared!
I breathed in and out. Oo… Kaayy…
I opened my eyes, clearing my mind.
Let’s do this. BAZAAM. Yup, I ruined the moment of heroic-ness.
The plaza was madness, too.
Heck, this whole city was.
Heck, this world, probably.
The guy took me to the biggest fountain I’ve ever seen. There he almost threw me off of his horse. The fountain stood in pool of foggy… water? Smoke? And was made out of a billion thin and really soft threads that – holy crap it was cold! My bare leg bumbed into the side of the pool, because of a certain someone, and if you could die of coldness, I’d be long dead by now. For second time.
But those threads were probably the most normal things I’ve seen around here, because they didn’t make any twist and turns, they didn’t go left and right and round me, no they just went all the way up and made an egg-like form, as if it were a big ass cocoon. Yeah, and I bet there’s a big ass butterfly in it, too.
“Stop being so clumsy,” the guy on the horse grunted with the same old frown on his face. “Or did you also forget that this is the Big Butterfly’s cocoon?”
I had to keep myself from dropping my mouth because – ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
First I get killed by some random Slenderman-wannabe, then I wake up naked in a forest, I get to this city of true madness – MADNESS – and now the angry guy who isn’t buying my shit is telling me that I should stop being so clumsy because there’s a fucking butterfly in the egg-like fountain behind me?
This was the moment where everybody would drop their shit, give ‘em a “nah-ah” and a snap of the fingers, ‘cause this was too much to handle.
But instead I just nodded slowly and took a few steps away from the cocoon.
He rode away on his horse and then I stood there on my own.
I gave myself a facepalm.
I’m so fucking stupid. Really, I had to make a billion jokes in my head about everything I saw instead of looking out for useful spots in this mad city. I had to be scared. I had to end up here.
Damn it, what am I doing? This self-pity wasn’t going to help me either! Jeez. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. 
How the hell was I supposed to do this?


Wednesday, November 9, 2016

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 1.2

Chapter 1: After Death - Part II

A gate. It opened.
Three thick threads, blue, red and b;ack.
I walk on them. They pierce through me.
And we’re blinded by pulsing whiteness.
I sat on a tree trunk.
I was surrounded by massive trees.
I was in an open spot – it was green.
I was in a forest.

I felt the wind on my face.
I saw how it moved my bare feet, my bare legs.
I looked at my hands, bare too.
I looked at the rest of my body and realised it was naked.
I also realized that it wasn’t a body. It was a shell.

The wind blew again, but it didn’t reach me.
I sat on a tree trunk, but I didn’t feel anything underneath me.
I saw the forest, but it didn’t change me.
I even stood up, but felt no difference in height and experience.

This body was a shell.
This shell carried me, Quin.
I am Quinn. Nothing more, nothing less.
I am Quinn.
I walked and the sun beamed straight at me, but I felt no warmth and no changes when walking.

That is, until someone yelled.
“Hey you– What the hell?”
Someone sat on a horse, which someone put to a stop, but after seeing the shell someone was moving it away again, slowly.
I reached out.

I ran straight at the guy on the horse, but stopped because what the hell indeed.
Where am I? How did I get here? What am I doing here? What is this place?
I looked down at my body and thought of the guy standing before me.
It was just like the animes, really, jeez.
No – Quinn, no time for anime references.
First, hide behind that tree.
Okay, okay – good.
Now slowly, show your face to the probably extremely traumatized guy – I couldn’t really blame him – stop it, Quinn.
Now say something, yes, open up your mouth – WAIT! Don’t say anything – you might screw it up and get yourself in trouble.
Just, eh, ah – got it! Act all innocent and lost and scared.
Yup, perfect.
I stood there, my body hidden behind on of the biggest trees I’ve ever seen, and looked at the guy on a horse, who also wore a badass – Quinn! – cape, in a very innocent, lost and scared way.
He frowned at me, obviously not trusting the naked girl, but also not too sure if she’d really do any harm – well, she might- QUINN! – and after a while he opened his mouth to say something.
He sounded very stern and accusingly.
“What are you doing here, butt naked?”
I cowered under his stern and accusing tone and looked down.
“I-I… I don’t –” what do you say in these situations?
‘I don’t know’ sounds too easy, lying about that this is how I live, suspicious and lying about that I’ve raped and robbed, too obvious and can easily lead to my end, because why didn’t I look tackled and painful?
I didn’t have any info or knowledge that could help me out here.
Well, then the easy one – then I could at least sound like I’m speaking the truth, because I honestly didn’t know why I was here, butt naked.
“…I don’t know.”
He snorted and mumbled, “Of course you don’t.”
Yup, definitely too easy. Well, better stick to what I started.
Even though he was going to think I’m the typical helpless girl. Hallelujah – just like in the movies.
I bet he’s a prince, too.
Quit the sarcasm, Quinn, and make sure you don’t die.
Wow – I died.
I remembered then: I remembered the guy in the dark cloak and his knife – god, that cold knife that did terrible things to my flesh.
Holy shit – I died.
I died. The jokes about dead sounded pretty pathetic at that moment, because at the time I made those jokes it seemed like I could handle it, like it wasn’t a big of a deal, but…
The way I died –
The fact I’m here now –
I couldn’t help but cry.
I slumped against the tree and eventually fell with my knees on the ground.
And I couldn’t help but being utterly terrified and feeling truly innocent, lost and scared.
And helpless, o so helpless.
Ironically, I’d say afterwards.
I started to cry even louder, more desperately and I curled myself up in a ball. I forgot that there still was this guy on a horse with a cape watching me and that I had more important things to do than to cry, but I just let it all out.
Slowly the fear, the tension slipped off of me, just when I felt a heavy jacket fall on top of me.
I looked up to see the guy towering over me, his dark brown eyes staring down at me with a kind of sneer on his face, making him seem quite dark and evil, in that bad-boy-way. His dark, almost black in two earlike pieces, like the ears of a wolf, stood on his head in a well, sexy and messy way, perfectly adding up to his evil face. His olive arms were crossed over his chest and he looked away as soon as I looked up.
“Cover yourself with that jacket,” he said plainly and as I was about to say something, he walked away. “I’ll take you to the nearby city, but from there you’re on your own.”
I carefully put on the jacket, which was longer and warmer than expected, and stood up.
I wiped the tears off of my face and took a deep breath.
Then, I followed him to his horse.

Next up: Chapter 2 Unearthly City
See you on the next page!

[pic origin:]

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 1.1

Chapter 1: After Death - Part I

There I was, just walking out of the school on a normal – ended – schoolday. Completely normal.
Because that’s what I am – I’m normal. Okay, maybe I’m not normal, at least not that day.
I was more, like, dancing. Yeah, dancing! Because I just got the greatest news ever: I got a 10 for my project, for which I worked my butt off but for which I wasn’t sure if it would be good enough and I had to work till late in the night, doing even more research and figuring all that shit out, because it was soooooo haaaarrrrrdddddddd and then mom just barged into my room –
So I was pretty happy to hear that all of it was worth it. Though I was the only one who that my project would be failure; my classmates were literally looking at me with those not-impressed-emoji faces, basically telling me: “Really Quinn? Really?! You, you, of all people think you’ve failed?”
Hehe – I know I don’t get bad grades or anything but still; I can make mistakes, too, you know?
But, ah, well – WHATEVER!
No need to get all emotional and philosophical and stuff.
Anyways, I continued dancing my way to my bike, because I walked out of school to the cycle shed to get my bike and get home, eventually.
But then I actually got to my bike and oh my, what did I see. What did I see!
It was hideous, chaotic, dramatically wrong – devil’s work (though the devil is my best buddy – he’s pretty funny you know. Sorry.)!  How on earth could someone – or should I say, someones – do this? What did I do to deserve this? I just got a 10 for my project – there’s no need to be jealous!
(I’m not arrogant, I swear.)
Why would you make it impossible for me to get my bike, by throwing your bikes against it and oh, yeah, squeeze a few between them, because I’m smart enough to fix it, huh.
Jeez – people these days…
It felt like an hour – when it was only three minutes – to set aside all those damned bikes carefully, without letting them fall over like dominos, and squeeze through the still small space between them.
That’s when something even more horrible happened.
As I squeezed through that damned space and got to the lock of my bike, I felt the front pocket of my backpack, forcing my arms and hands and fingers in the most impossible and painful of positions (gymnastics weren’t and will never be my thing), and then opened it and tried to put my chubby fingers in it, which didn’t really work, forcing me to carefully take off my backpack and put it on the back of my bike and search through the pocket.
As I searched it very thoroughly – I even took the time to search my entire bag with all the heavy books and stiff – I came to realize that I lost my keys. Yup.
They were – nope, not in the lock of my bike either.
I sighed and took just a minute to damn myself, before I squeezed myself through that damned small space again – God! I’m not anorexic, for God’s sake – I don’t even believe in God! Jeez.
I really felt like being in those animes, when I was walking with my head low and sighing my way along – like there was this dark cloud above me, which rained down on me and like I had these blue lines of sadness, pain and depression running down my half-blue and now eye-less face.
Now I understand what that feels like and I regret laughing at them at those moments of pure sadness. Sigh.
My half-blue and eye-less face then met a very hard surface.
I looked up, still wearing that sad – and at that moment also pretty agitated – face to look up at this… guy? Was it a guy?
He was probably cosplaying…at school. He wore this black cloak with this hood over his head that hid his face in such a way that it almost seemed as if he didn’t even have a face. Pretty cool, actually.
And he was tall – BRUH (okay, BRUH sounds so inappropriate and weird here – no, nope, just a big no) he was taaallll!
Wait a second – where did all that black smoke come from?
Did he carry that smoke-, no smoking-, no, no, smoke-machine with him? On batteries, I suppose?
Wasn’t that, like, heavy?
O, wait, that must’ve been the hard surface. Right.
He was a bit spooky, though that probably was his intention – you know, sixth formers trying to scare this girl who looked like a freshman but really was fifteen and then pulling out a camera to film my reaction. Yeah, great people, sixth formers. I’d probably do the same though.
I mumbled a “nice costume” and quickly made my leave, ‘cause it was getting a bit too creepy and I just wanted to go home.
But instead I just gasped, because I couldn’t believe – I could truly not understand, not understand at all why he pierced that knife into my body.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t understand – I could only look into his empty, nonexistent face and choke as he moved his knife, painfully, terrifyingly, idiotically, hilariously, even – because this was just a damned movie scene, wasn’t it? –, he moved it higher towards my heart.
He even stop to twist and turn a bit in my flesh, as if he was looking for something or drawing something inside of me, and still, all I could do was gasp at the coldness of the knife, gasp for air.
Then his knife reached my heart and instant blackness came over me.
Sadly, I didn’t have an anticlimactic joke to end it with.

A gate. It opened.
Three thick threads, blue, red and black.
I walk on them. They pierce through me.
And we’re blinded by pulsing whiteness.

YAY! My first series on the blog! Hope you enjoyed it!
Stay tuned for Chapter 1 After Death - Part II!
See you on the next page!

[pic origin:]

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

A Writer's Thoughts: Fearfully Written

Fearfully Written

What to write? What to do?'

I’m bored out of my mind even though it’s being filled with music. Beats and words bouncing through my head – inspiration flowing in…

Or not. Mostly not.

So what do I write? What do I do?

I’m so bored. No, actually I’m not. I feel awkward sitting here, I feel watched and judged. Like everybody’s reading what I’m writing down right here. Or typing, because I was so stupid to leave my little notebook full rambling thoughts – hey, hey, my blog – and really good pieces, though in need of editing and sometimes chaotic. Always chaotic.

Just like me.

Just like right now.

Because suddenly I actually start listening to the music and I feel like dancing. I imagine myself in some prehistorical fashion with a man dressed as an angry bird beside me. He’s blue, I think, and has this yellowish slowly flowing into gray –

O the song’s over. “I just can’t waaaiiiittttt (…) To be kiiiiiiiiiiinggggg”

Oh. A story about a king, perhaps? A feared king who’s organized a fighting tournament and someone participates in it – our protagonist – and this just sounds just terrible. Yes I used "just" TWICE.

It all sounds terrible.

But not this remix of Light It Up by Major Lazer.

But my writing does.

What do I write? What do I do?

Can I write well, actually?

I mean, this piece sucks. I don’t even know what I’m trying to achieve by writing all of this down.  Or is that what makes writing fun? Didn’t some author say something inspirational about how writing is the chaos of the mind put into words, in some rational order? Didn’t some author talk about–

Just thinking about it gives me a headache. All those cliché, supposedly inspiring quotes! What do I do with them? How will they help me when I’ve heard them so many times over and over again?

What point is there to them?

But then, I’m getting angry for nothing. Because how cliché they may be, they can be helpful. They share the most obvious of the obvious, but sometimes, that’s EXACTLY what you need – what I need.

Because sometimes I think too hard, too difficult. I think as if the whole world is reading my mind and will judge me on my imperfections and the lameness of my ideas.

I fear to write what sounds nice, because what if it’s too cliché? What if I can’t think about anything to add to this idea? That I have a beginning but no end? An unfinished story. An unfinished project.

A failed attempt.

“No matter what you do; finish what you started. If you do so, you’ll do it always.”

My dad told me that not too long ago. And I knew that it was true all along, but I feel like I didn’t follow this rule of life, from the many rules of life. That’s when I feel like I have to finish every story I’ve begun with RIGHT NOW. That’s when I feel like I’m pulled back from my o so happy and perfect imagination and plunge into the darkness that confronts me with the downside of all things.

I mustn’t begin with another story, because I won’t be able to finish it.

I must finish the rest first. But I have no ideas. No inspiration – lame excuses. Just excuses. Always excuses.

Always excusing yourself, huh. Calling yourself a writer, huh. But where’s the writing? Why aren’t you writing?


Ugh – I hate that word. But it’s there more often than not. Failure. Failure. Failure.

What a nasty word – so negative and dark. So present and pressing. And o so effective.

Then the darkness stops and a neutral clear spot in my mind catches my eye, where I float to.

I then look at this piece.

Calling yourself a writer, huh. But where’s the writing? Why aren’t you writing?

But I’ve written.

And it may not be good. It may not be bad, either. It may not be powerful and beautiful. It may not be interesting or mindblowing. It may be meaningless and chaotic.

But it’s something. Something written.

Something I’ve written.

And then I started imagining again.