Snippets and Stories: (R) Nothing Unusual

It's nothing unusual.

A late night turned morning, the annoying fatigue and exhaustion, and the overwhelming urge of an itch of frustration that can't be scratched.

Sleep will not come easy tonight.

It never does when doubt prevails.

I wonder useless thoughts, think, question, and wonder some more.

But regardless of how high one piles them, the thoughts of a fool amount to nothing.

And that is what I am. A fool.

I welcome the comfort of lacking consciousness, for thoughts of the late hour evoke naught but the long baleful woes.

Memories of a friend who has better company to keep.

Of an underappreciated and enduring Mother who gave up so much for so little.

Of a bright little girl. Who should've been so much more.

Who they claim to be of a memorable smile, and to impart one in those whom she meets.

One who has grown but only bitter and jaded, yet harbors oh so childishly and foolishly, a meek candle of hope.

Neither strong enough to stoke the flames nor smother it.

Useless, indecisive, cowering, little thing.

A little girl now grown.

Who can do little more than cry.

For friends who were never her's.

And a Family she once had.

Blind to her blessings and fortunes.

Because she is, but a child.

And a fool.

The book closes with a soft, yet solid and firm thump of paper. And I lay the pen down.

It is exceedingly late and in the late hours the body protests too much for little. Odd that he hadn't yet spoken.

"Merely waiting, as any gent would. Done already?" His voice is silky with mock sophistication. Overly prim and snobbish.

A jeer at the values which I myself held dear.

"Neskyii." It's difficult not to sigh, and harder still not to bleed exasperation at his name. For a moment I'm at a loss for words. Not quite as unusual for one such as myself as others may be inclined to believe.

"I hope I didn't keep you long." Was the mild reply, copying his mock etiquette, and I make to stand. Only to find him mere inches away as I turned.

It's startling, unnerving, and I stumble.

Backing away, I could see those mirthful golden eyes as they regarded such wariness with glee.

It ever delighted this shade of mine to engage in such awful games, harmless though they may have been thus far. They are unpleasant at best and wholly onesided in their entertainment.

He relishes in his petty triumph a moment longer, his grin baring the slight peek of a sinister arrangement of teeth, before casually returning, "Not at all." A pause. "It's a good night to die."

Prickles sting at my back, tickling up the spine. "Is that so." It comes out as more of a statement.

He doesn't answer, staring flippantly at the bound journal resting atop the polished wooden surface of the desk.

He's curious. He hadn't read the most recent passage and I'd no mood to let him skim the pages.

"Then I welcome it. Quick and painless, if you can."

This catches his attention, as I knew it would.

Not often was I content to sit back and permit his transgressions without struggle or retort. Less so to beggar mercy of all things.

"I'm tired." Is the only explanation I would supply for his silent yet buzzing curiosity. Rest assured, it was a necessary reprieve.

Surprised, but quick to recover any shock, he grins, "The candle you would snuff?"

"To burn, but longer and brighter the next day."

His face falls and twists into an ugly snarl, jagged teeth bared.

"Let me rest where I can Neskyii, I'm not strong like you."

And that little compliment is enough to make him leave the room in a rasp of sand. To grant me the recuperation I so desired, and to permit myself the hurts, that they may take their due now and not when the heat burns fierce.

When I next open my eyes it will be to an equally dark world, but one where my dysfunctional eyes were of perfect clarity. Where the skies were simultaneously dusk with last light, and blue with midday languor.

And he would be waiting, flashing steel in hand.

To deliver me unto the hands of sleep with a mercy I'd not known he had.

No mockery, no games. A flash of steel and--

--I awoke with no sense of the passage of Time, only that it were Time to rise.

Yet it was not of Neskyii's doing that I awoke, but that for however long it was, was blissfully unaware in the throes of sleep. For once, sound.

Wordlessly I thank him, and he nods but once, and retreats deep into the recesses of mine mind.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Unsaid

Some things were better left unsaid.

What point was there in dredging up such thoughts? Best leave the sword buried lest you hurt yourself or others digging it back up.

Inconsolable, for there's nothing to be gained from it, nothing that could be said that would amend.

The thoughts swirl in my mind and in the end I talk to myself, for there isn't really anyone else to talk to. Or whom I'd want to speak with.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Parental Love

There is nothing more tragic, than when a parent outlives their child.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Red Mist

It's a strange city that I wander through. Yellow lamps glow ominously in the murky darkness, and the tall buildings stand hauntingly across long empty asphalt streets.

And then it comes.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Life in Cardboard Boxes

"... And..." The word stretched on my tongue as I propped the brown box on its side, crawling in, "... There we go."

Neskyii looked it up and down, plainly unimpressed, "What does this... mundanity accomplish?"

A low laugh left me as I sat further back into it, "Nothing, of course. There doesn't need to be a reason for everything."

Snippets and Stories: (R) Lucky

There is nothing better to ruin one's day than a game of chance.

Luck has never been in my favor, even when the odds point towards a favorable outcome.

I hated it more than anything else.

Because it never happens.

And I watch everyone else get lucky and so happy. And I wonder why it never happens to me. You're suppose to smile and shrug it off.

I'm too old to be upset about these things, to be bothered. But it still does, and so I avoid it. Because it's no fun to get your hopes up for nothing.

Everyone always wants to hear things about themselves. There's never any room for me.

I listen to my friend talk to everyone, play with everyone. Yet never with me.

I want to be done.

I want to be through with it without regrets.

But I always remember their company and miss them all the same.

No different than if I were with them really.

And so I stay.

Because whether I'm there or elsewhere it makes no difference. I'm miserable through and through.

But at least with them there's a chance that maybe they will play with me.

I guess I play with luck every day.

I just never get lucky.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Falsities

It was a distant memory, but one that wouldn't fade.

Displeasure and disappointment both, showed in her disapproving frown, and she asked me to raise my head.

"Hold up your head, that others may respect you as you do yourself."

And so I did.

She taught me how to walk, to talk, to dress, though we had our disagreements.

"Do not linger in a crowd. Put your faith not in people whom you know little and less of, for though altruism is well and ideal in utopia, ours is not the making of."

She looked me square in the eye, "You're far too naive, and a bleeding Heart besides."

It was an epithet which in itself was not derisive, but I had long since learned to hear it for what it was. Naivety, foolishness, immaturity, a lack of common sense, acumen, worldliness. I had long thought far behind me.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Living Lives

"You would don on yet another mask? When you cannot even find your own?"

I smile and flip through the script. Mine was but a simple part. A small part, "Come Neskyii, it would be fun wouldn't it?"

Peering over the odd scythe on his right temple, he shrugged, "Why so keen on acting?"

Setting the papers down I give it a moment's thought. "A person lives but one life, but an actor lives many, if but for a moment."

"Pretend then if you will, to be what you are not. I understand little why one would revel in such foolishness."

"For fun Neskyii. Know you not of such?" I chided in a mockery of his archaic tongue.

He grimaced and vanished. Retreating to the hazy recesses of my dream.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Empty Promises

"You promise stability, even while you waver still. An empty promise, that you can fallback on should you fail. How very like you."

"It is with all seriousness that I pledge myself."

"And it is with the same genuine Heart that you will lash out and loathe them in that moment of Time in which you break your promise."

When I whirl on him he is already gone, his mocking laughter fading, "Your heartfelt words mean nothing."

But it isn't his cackling laughter that stings at my pride, nor his words that cut deep, that blur my eyes.

But a single thought then.

What do you do when you're a writer, but your words mean nothing?

Snippets and Stories: (R) The Perfect Mistake

You seem like you're going through hard Times, so I'll tell you a story.

Do you know what it's like to be the only one who believes you can do it?

I know no one else believes in me.

There are so many who tell me to give up, that I'll just fail. And the others who don't? Who tell me they believe in me?

I ask them, "Would you bet $100 on my success?"

And they answer as is expected of social obligation, "Yes."

To which I answer, "Then will you bet those hundred dollars now? It will help me pay for school, that I may take my classes and continue on this path."

I have yet to receive even one.

There are many people who are all talk in this world. And I've no interest in false words.

But I try anyways, I'll try, try, and try again.

I'm not afraid to make mistakes, because everything I do, is a mistake. You get used to it.

But just remember.

It's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to be wrong.

It's okay, just pick yourself up, and keep trying.

Because someday, you'll get it right. Someday you'll make the perfect mistake.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Mistaken

Yet another blunder. He sneered at the charcoal smudged image. Give up while you're ahead why don't you? Wasting such fine materials to create utter garbage.

There was no denying the pathetic attempt as anything more than a waste of precious materials and Time. It was a mess, smudgy, odd shadows, misshapen forms.

Hideous​, ugly, disappointing, frustrating. All of them and more.

All there was to show for my efforts was a worn out hand coated thickly with charcoal.

I let that fall to my side as I took it in. Still, it was a first step. These speed runs that our professor had us making were pitiful at best.

The only thing that could be done was to learn and get better.

But I was never able to deceive myself, and perhaps it is because of that, that I so suffered.

Talent was something that others had. Certainly, it takes dedication, practice, and whatnot, to hone one's skill, but I knew I was no competition even then. I never was.

Inside something believed in the potential, but there was something else. Oppressive as it was, or perhaps it was just life's toll.

They learned it quickly, they learned it well.

Artistic talent was something that I worked for, but never had. All of my skill, I obtained through practice, and it lacked the creative expression and character that so many others had.

Not long has my presence been, but it would be insult to say that I couldn't recognize talent when I saw it, and I saw none in mine self.

Sure, one could practice, but not everyone succeeds.

That's just the way of life. Not every comic makes the frontlines, not everyone can be amazing.

"I'm not afraid to make mistakes, because everything I do, is a mistake."

He stops whatever nonsense he is doing. Perhaps surprised by my candor.

"If I'm just going to mess up, then at least I tried."

Ah, but inside, you wonder why you tried at all.

Indeed.

"I will manage, just as I've always had."

So full of hope, and so full of emptiness.

"Has it ever been any different?"

The silence I take for an answer, and when I had thought to myself that he had gone, he replied.

Once.

I didn't ask for when that "once" was, for I needed not to hear what I already knew. Just as I didn't need to hear the plastic dollar-store encouragements that were oft passed out.

Few cared to know enough to be genuine in their words, and I cared less for those who were of falsities.

But are you not the same? You attempt to be what you are not. You have not even the abilities to achieve what is obtained through practice, not talent.

"No Neskyii, I am not. Because I believed, and still believe, that I can. I am not just doing the motions to do them."

A brave face, and a weak Heart. You are ill-suited for this path. A path you will only fail.

"Probably."

People stare as I pass and a snide voice wants to ask, "What are you staring at?"

But another voice, snider still says, "I don't care enough about them to want to know."

Was it my clothes? I had little fashion sense. Maybe the ribbon headband was too much at my age.

Or maybe it was the enormous drawing pad in one hand, duffel bag in the other, and overweight backpack.

Maybe there was something on my face.

Who knows. I didn't.

Snippets and Stories: (R) The World Beyond

"Your loss again." he chortled. Neskyii was off to the side, that typical and ever sly Cheshire smile on his face.

I'm scowling at him, I can feel my lip pulling back, though never parting, as if to bare teeth.

His eyes are slanted and narrow, often reminding me of a wily fox. The image suits him well.

It was another one of those dreams. Not a nightmare per se, but a daunting game of cat and mouse. 

When it started I know not, and the bits I could recall are as follows. 

My first awareness that I could remember was amidst a dark city of antique and color. Not quite rustic or bearing the steampunk theme, but like a sleeping toy miniature of a city. I followed a path of train tracks and gradually the sound of footsteps reached me. 

It was another of his games.

Keep out of the shadows.

If there are any rules in the dreamworld, this certainly numbers among the top 5.

Rule two, don't stop running.

I ran, and though I couldn't feel the burn, my body was weakened as it always was in this realm. No matter what corner I turned it all seemed the same. The buildings arched overhead, their twisting shadows splayed across the cobblestone streets.

There was a low din, like the disgruntled mutterings of seething crowd, and I made a mistake of craning around as the whispers rose in volume. 

Three, don't look back.

Behind me something was in the shadows, its monstrous form silent, but no less deadly. Horrifying clawed appendages reached for me, the black talons snagging and rupturing blood from mundane items. 

I'm not sure how a lamppost could bleed, but it did, and the blood that flowed out seemed to become an ocean, thick and murky.

Four, don't go in the water.

Swimming is always a bad idea. Even if I did manage to somehow swim in my dreams, there's always something in the water. 

Though I felt none of the exertion, my dream self was panting, their pace steady as they grasped a railed stairwell and raced up onto the roof.

Five, it's just a dream.

It took a long time, but seeing the world in its entirety, this toy replica of a city with its own steam engine train puffing through the streets, I realized.

From past experiences from an astral's view, my eyes were likely glowing. 

Dark clouds from the steam engine blanketed the city with cloud and fog, a light drizzle showering all beneath it. Yet I could feel none of it.

As I always did upon reaching a state of consciousness, I took for the skies.

It was hard to fly this time around, and my mind felt heavy trying to sustain flight. It was brief, but I relished in the sensation of flight. Something I never dreamed of doing (pun unintended), but enjoyed at its opportunities

With my hands in front of me I willed the clouds to part, and slowly they did. There was no sun, but it was brighter now.

In a rare moment, I admired the field of green beneath me. It would only be much later, in the waking world, that I realized it had transitioned into day. Likely due to my subconscious fear for the dark and all things in it.

It's amazing, the world created within the mind's eye, and now I had the lucidity to fully appreciate it.

The clouds weren't fully dispersed when he appeared, all smiles.

"Conscious are we?" came an amused voice. 

His arrival wasn't unexpected. Being a spectator in that moment I could see and feel more than what my dreamself was restricted to looking at. 

I turn to face him. This wasn't someone you wanted to turn your back to. 

And yet, exposing the front was sometimes more perilous still.

"Ah yes-" his eyes open just a slit as his voice takes on darker tones, "-but not yet awake." 

It's rare for anyone who speaks in my dream to maintain their own enunciation, yet he always speaks with his own voice.

"What are you doing here Neskyii?"

The raven laughs, as if the answer was obvious. And perhaps it was. My dreamself was never all that coherent.

Ah, yes. I forgot one last thing. And perhaps one of the most important.

"To wake you, of course."

Don't trust anyone or anything.

I'm not sure I like the smile on his face, but then again, when have I ever? But what he said was strange, and I voiced it with a matter of fact tone, "You can't touch me while I'm lucid."

"No. I can't." his eyes become slitted again as he narrows them, that smile still lingering. "But neither are you able to maintain it."

And with that a black tendril coils up from somewhere in the slumbering toy city beneath me. I lurch back as it twists around my ankle, and having my concentration broken, forget.

The light dims from my eyes. It was no longer a dream. It was real. 

Neskyii appears in front of me, his own eyes glinting with unmasked mirth. 

As he pulls back a clawed hand, he bids me a final farewell, the last word laced with a mockery and distaste, "It's time to wake up, dear creator."

With that, he plunges it into me. 

And suddenly I'm staring at pastel blue walls and a blanket of maroon and forest green.

The blow doesn't land. It never does. Still I reach up to touch my sternum. His claws were aimed for the soft unprotected flesh right below.

I hear a low laugh and fix him with a jaded glare, "That wasn't funny Neskyii."

"Come now, don't be upset." he chuckles, nonchalantly shrugging off the withering look I sent his way and grinning wider at my glower, "It was only a dream."