Flash Fiction – Celat, The Ranger

Posted in 99 Cent Novellas with tags , , , , , on November 30, 2016 by TheDisfigured

Time had claimed the slick features of youth, dragging the long lines of grief, anger, sadness, smiles, and laughter into a silvered hairline which melted into a calm, but wooly beard. Age had also claimed Celat’s urge for violence and revenge. Perhaps claim is too final. Soothe would be more accurate.

He still thought of the pigs. Of Elgon. The bodies. The screams. The tastes…odors…

But those thoughts weren’t as sharp now. They were easier to evade, and the act of dredging them up to mind didn’t spark an unquenchable urge for violence. Instead, Celat found new ways to help the wildlife of Enpelison, his homeland, the land he had protected for his entire life.

Stepping from his small hut, Celat inhaled the cold air of the forest’s wet pines. He was the local herbalist, vet, and hunter. Unable to keep up with prey, or train a bow on target any longer, he offered advice on the local fauna and stuck to gathering herbs, roots, buds, and other vegetation to keep his reagents stocked. His hut was several miles off the beaten path- hidden but not impossible to find and an essential stop for most anyone looking to venture deeper into Melias.

He smiled as he watched a herd of deer gently make their way through the pines to a hidden meadow a few dozen yards from where he lived. In the spring, if the timing and weather had been just right that year, the meadow would partially flood into a vernal pool. Being this close to nature…he loved it. Celat helped animals here. People. Himself. Without bloodshed. It was his first, and only, true home.

Locals would stop by looking for remedies, herbs for their own concoctions. Children would often bring Celat creatures they would find injured beside the road or in the forest, wounded by misadventure or cruelty. He would mend these little souls, and then send them back into the wilderness, much to any nearby child’s joy. These people didn’t know him here. Didn’t know what he did, what he was, or what his name meant. He was just a wise old man in a hut.

A drop of water hit the top of Celat’s head from the awning above. It was cold- it had hit a balding spot right at the crown of his skull. He rubbed it with his hand, smiling at this silly little situation. He jumped, startled by an animal’s scream from the road. He exploded into a sprint, his aged body protesting at every hinge. As difficult as it had become, (in his younger days, sprinting might as well have been walking) he had barely lost any of his speed. He rubbed an old medallion at his belt, comforted by its warmth.

Before he approached the noise, he slowed his pace to calm his heartbeat and breathing rate. Electric vein patterns burned bright shadows into his vision as his pounding heart pushed blood into every hidden inch of his body. His movements as breath, he disappeared into the underbrush and inched toward the disturbance, almost right in the middle of it all.

Celat spied three boys torturing a stray cat. The cat was lucky- they had just started their fun. A boy held the creature by the end of its tail (an act which is agony in itself for the feline) which another slapped at its face, laughing as the cat tried to claw his hands. The final boy had a small studded club. Celat had seen enough cruelty in his lifetime to know what was to happen next.

“Hold it still!” The boy with the club yelled, “I wanna good whack at ‘er!” The cat was pregnant. The game was to bust open her womb in the least amount of strikes and make her kittens spill out of her belly. “I wanna see those babies!” The boys screamed and laughed with rabid glee. The boy with the club raised his weapon.

A bolt of pain exploded from his wrist down into his shoulder as three fingers made of living stone bruised and crushed his delicate skin and flesh. The boy shrieked and looked at his friends’ faces, both of which paralyzed in horror, the cat released without thinking. The club wielding boy turned slowly, tears streaming from his cheeks.

Celat towered over the boy, his fingernails dug deep into the child’s skin, drawing a few drops of blood. His face was twisted with anger far beyond any the child had seen in a grown-up. Celat’s eyes wide, his brow furrowed, his mouth relaxed, even, but slightly turning into a scowl. His hood cast his features into shadows, the shine of his eyes almost like a animal’s against the moon.

He uttered, “flee.”

The two boys fled; the club wielder screamed in horror as Celat held him without difficulty. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO, PLEASE! LET ME-“ Celat released the boy as he jerked himself away, causing the boy to fly backwards. The club fell from his hand and slid to Celat’s feet. Sheer instinct shot his foot out, kicking the weapon deep into the woods. The child scrambled to his feet and began to run, looking back once at Celat, who was still standing there, staring to walk toward him.

He doubled his pace, his horror ignited anew. He dared not to turn back again, feeling the heat of Celat’s body bearing down on him, hearing the crash of his boots just inches behind him, his labored breathing. I’m gonna die, the little boy thought, I’m gonna die! I want my momma! Dadda! He turned around and closed his eyes, shrieking, waiting for Celat to finish him off. When he opened his eyes, there was no. Trace. Of his attacker. He had completely disappeared.

Sobbing, the child didn’t question his sudden good fortune and took off for home.

THE END

A Flood of Work

Posted in 99 Cent Novellas with tags , , , , , , , on November 22, 2016 by TheDisfigured

In the time I’ve spent away from this place, I have created six works, all ready to be purchased, all outlined below. If you’ve been following this blog for awhile, you’ll know that documenting my whole experience from writing to publishing is kinda this whole blog’s thing. As much as I like to use the blog for emotional release, I’ve never forgotten its true purpose.

1. The link below leads to one of the first novellas I wrote that took place in Melias. The main character, Thas, is a Warrior Shaman- a strange wanderer unique to the planet and all of its inhabitants. A hero first and foremost, I wanted this story to not only give the reader an excellent introduction into how magic can work in Melias, it also illustrates the finer points of Thas’ personality, ideals, and goals. Find yourself curious?

Path of the Warrior Shaman: http://tinyurl.com/jyos2e3   $0.99 on Kindle

 

2. One of my favorite legends, this work depicts what can happen when people work together to oppose evil. I introduced a few new characters with abilities and secrets of their own, along with a vile. Antagonist. This story was meant to illustrate the mark of the truly privileged- apathy. And with apathy and power comes cruelty. Is your heart beating a little faster? The Heroes of this tale think it should.

Suffering and Hope: http://tinyurl.com/hpzqmmp   $0.99 on Kindle

 

3. This tale is one that stands to scream a hideous truth; shining light on the abuse and ruthlessness of man. However. Celat, a Ranger (and the protagonist), is a human that aims to turn these hideous qualities on those the most deserving. This tale illustrates that no man is invincible. No creed is certain, no fate, no fact. There is only Celat and the lifeless, broken bodies of evil men left in his wake. Push the weak around long enough and they push back. Hard. Did this speak to your darkness?

The Hunters: http://tinyurl.com/z27b43e   $0.99 on Kindle

 

4. Might as well be a campfire tale. This work illustrates how the fanatical never make sense- and only seek to destroy what does not suit them. Humans have turned to human/animal sacrifice for eons to communicate with the otherworldly. More pleas than communicating really; hoping to appease a being that doesn’t answer to our base, and disgusting offerings. But…what if one such being answered back from behind one of our bloodied and broken boons? Indulge that shiver in your spine.

A Memory of Suffering: http://tinyurl.com/jh2fe5j   $0.99 on Kindle

 

5. A tale coated in rust and scalded by salty winds of the sea, Gruun the Barbarian tests his mettle against seafaring bandits hell bent on raiding and destroying any village that gets in their way. The story seeks to truly highlight the mortality of even our most dangerous, horrifying foes and obstacles can be crushed, and crushed by everyday people like you. Ready to draw steel with Gruun?

Joy and Misery: http://tinyurl.com/zwnbgj4   $0.99 on Kindle

 

6. Truly the best for last, this is the first novella I ever wrote for the 99 Cent Novellas series, and was a launchpad for my entire body of work to date. This legend follows Gruun as he carves his way through a nasty batch of bandits, putting his sword and skills to good use against evildoers. His employer, however, seeks to change the terms of his employment. This does not bode well for out hero. Witness a caged beast break free.

Path of Violence: http://tinyurl.com/z22yvu7   $0.99 on Kindle

These are the works that I plan on presenting first because I feel like they make the biggest impressions. Not only do I want to entertain with my writing, I aim to enlighten, educate and inflict cognizance.

Truth be told, a lot of the fucked up things that happen to characters in Melias are based off of things I’ve seen, experienced, heard, or studied about first hand. Many protagonists highlight the best in humanity, while the antagonists highlight the bad; both sides constantly being influenced by the other while being influenced by nothing. It is this struggle that I am interested in. If you are a reader of the Fantasy genre, prepare to become obsessed.

 

Rotted Vile Hole

Posted in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue with tags , , , , , , on September 20, 2016 by TheDisfigured

There is no hope. There is no help.

Longer than the usual have weathered the wear, each moment something to be selected and discarded. One foot in front of the other, watch life curdle and die before innocent eyes, what hope can be dashed that has not started inside? It’s where it always is.

Stuck in a mire. Guilt. Time and time again the message is lost against the bones they fall on, the need replaced with the desire. One person lies, the other smiles. The other again smiles ’till death. See it lurking? Writing through the thick shades.

Light a luxury, the future holds the lies of all kinds dear- unknown, realized, or otherwise. Familiar faces vomit ugly words as they continue to forget to listen. Apathy realized, there is nothing but a fleeting odor of rot. Hollow and lifeless. Empty and hopeless.

Where is the waiting? Always waiting. Fatigue. Despair. Guilt. Terror as the inescapable becomes accepted. Submission. Envied, spiteful submission. Jealousy.

Hiding where we should thrive.

I’ve lost my patience.

Dark Hope

Posted in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue with tags , , , , , , , on June 28, 2016 by TheDisfigured

Human matters have become more and more alien to me.

There is no purpose in this pathetic life. Why do you breathe? Why do I? I don’t have any reasons except the need to find a reason every day I draw breath. Why? I don’t know. I truly don’t.

I guess friends and family can stay the tide of self harm. But when does that cease being effective? Or when does it stop offering comfort?

This world and its people deserve to die and burn in the fires of unimaginable agony to pay for all the terrible, horrible destruction and corruption we have plagued this planet with. All my endeavors are tainted by my own humanity, my own innate disgusting human- my species.

Watching the world with tired, angry eyes as the humans scurry around me, worried about problems that I will never care about. When I am told by someone that they purchased a new car, I truly don’t care about your pathetic achievement. I took a shit today. They are on par. When I am told by someone that they love their job, I want to suffocate them with my fists, jam them down their ignorant throats and fist fuck their face until death. Why? I don’t fuckin’ know. Envy? Jealousy? Frustration? Anger? You pick. When someone gushes about a new product they’ve purchased, or an inconvenience they’ve suffered, or the dues that they no longer have to pay my only answer to them is SHUT THE FUCK UP.

That’s the answer I have for myself most days. Not today.

Ever spent some time in the burning purgatory of retail? What about customer service? If one wants to find out how petty, useless, and pathetic the human race is, enter the working world and listen to what people complain about. Are they valid? Or empty? It doesn’t matter because they will tell you if it is or not. And you must believe it. They will abuse and berate you, and you must exercise control.

I knew a greeter for Sam’s Club once. Vietnam veteran. He asked an individual for his club card as he entered one day, and the individual spit on him and said, “I don’t have to show you a fuckin’ thing.”

Because he took that abuse, he kept his job. Was it worth it? Fuck what you know. When others complain, I cannot listen. Mostly because there is too much running around in my mind and coherent thought is a luxury most days. I complain. Right now, I’m complaining. And I am just as useless as the rest because I am doing NOTHING about how I feel. I am letting myself feel miserable, and every day I recognize this means nothing. Nothing beyond self awareness. But I am functional.

I found my hatred bare one day before I adopted it into my soul. Hatred starts scared. Tiny, puny, shrinking from conflict. I took it in, sheltered it, and it became a part of me as I nurtured it with fear and watched in horror as it grew into a black, endless rage thickened by depression and despair.

In this world. This shitty, terrible fuckhole of a gaping diseased asshole we call modern society, there are people working actively to make it worse. Are you one of them? If yes, kill yourself.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t tied my own noose yet.

 

The Suffocating Odor of Humanity

Posted in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue with tags , , , , , , on June 15, 2016 by TheDisfigured

I don’t want to be alive sometimes.

With that said, why choose such a dark phrase? Is my life really all that
bad? What drives me to feel this way other than myself? Are there
stressors, triggers, loops? Endlessly playing and relentlessly screaming. I
hate this planet. And I hate how it makes me feel.

Human interaction is one of the worst possible outcomes of any given moment during any given time. They’re crass, apathetic, disgusting, bigoted, oblivious, dull, blunt, useless. Utterly and completely useless. Those who are worthy of such labels run the gambit from friend, family to foe. In reality, there is no help from these sources. Only guidance. But the joke has yet to be revealed.

Apathy. It is a sickness bred directly into the dna of humanity through
years of shitty, terrible decision making and false, almost cruel,
humanitarianism.

Loved ones bare this apathy gene, the very unproven but very fucking godamn OBVIOUS gene that disables them from any prolonged sense of genuine help. Humans boast lies all the time. I’ve listed them in
previous entries:

“I’m here for you.” “You’re my one and only.” “I’m sorry.” “I’ll never
abandon you.” “I care about you.” Figure out the rest.

Love is real, sure! It is real and it is powerful, but it is not seated in
reality. We give gifts that are useless because we believe them to be not.
We do things for others without understanding how to, there is only the
sinking apathy that clings to me even now, whilst I write this fucking
abortion on this shit tube flying through the air.

Things said to others are thrown with clumsy haste, only to
hang there or insert like a fucking dagger into an unsuspecting heart.
Scoldings…adults telling other adults what is against the rules…spankings
like children, like the herds of children I was once assimilated into. Told
that there are always others who know better. Others who have a right to
make me feel like garbage. To take my way of life. To take my life itself.

If I reciprocated the feelings screaming inside me that have been inflicted
by my fellow man in perfect reflection I’d be destroyed like a wild animal.

I am a slave. Driven to the point of apathy, like the other greaseapes
slithering to their next pathetic and meaningless goal. I sit here not from
choice but from pity and pain, divided as always between a family that should stand up and unite. But there is no union. There is no acceptance. No apology is heard, rather considered. I go where I am told to go. I do what
I am told to do. I am struck down with un-necessary gifts and items, ones
that I am not grateful for, ones that I never even asked for. But that
doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve killed but 20 minutes pretending to care
about the next four hours of my future, but I can’t.

People work on their issues for the most part never, and this undeniable
fact of humanity causes those who exhibit effort and time, sometimes in
direct proportion to elevating the fallen, to suffer- and appear
unsuccessful. The mark of success is poor health, statin drugs, and a
shitty family dynamic. Money has nothing to do with it because money never measures success accept for when it is useful to utilize such a false and pathetic metric to subdue one’s own feelings of dissonance and
inadequacy.

Those emotionally retarded adult children throw tantrums that others who
are more able to help themselves are forced to deal with. It is obvious
when one is unwelcome, and it is obvious when someone is too weak for
reality. I have seen loved ones turn their cheer into spite as they
believed themselves to be spurned by those who have not betrayed them.

I have seen loved ones simply ignore those they care about even as their
loved one is speaking to them. I have seen loved ones make excuses for the
terrible, horrible fucked up things that the loved ones in their life do to
them. It is sad. Pathetic? No. Just sad.

Those who depend on such miseries long for those who are trying to improve.Trying to achieve better, happier, fuller lives. But motivation can carry someone a long way. Especially when the person has no will of their own and needs to destroy the hope and light in others to power their own selfish, childish, pathetic purposes.

I am suffocated by the thick odors of tight humanity- the greasy sticky
odor of processed meat, stale sweat, and bad breath. These odors are
imbedded into skin, and stained into my meat. No amount of washing will
free this odor from my corpse. It will always be there. I want to bite on
my fingers and mangle them with my teeth, forcing the odor out, forcing my body to grow back flesh that doesn’t fucking REEK of stale human stink.

People notice and support affliction when it is convenient to them. Fears,
illness, timing- they are all meaningless in the face of want. One can
express, per say, that they possess fear of a particular situation to
another. The other, sympathetic, may offer to alter said situation to
comfort a suffering individual. However. This is not an innate desire to
help speaking. No, this is convenience at its most cruel.

I have suffered situations like this many times, often at the hands of
those whom I love and trust the most. People are sympathetic to your pain
and struggles as long as it does not cost them one of two things (at
least): money or time. Those fearful now are forced to accept the reality
they thought to be safe almost immediately, and when there is resistance?
Those anxious to help offer venom and guilt to ensure their “charge” has
been properly subdued and processed for the future they have decided for
them. Like I said, these betrayals have almost exclusively happened with
loved ones in my experience, but in general, human interaction is just
awful and should be outlawed with the exception of text and email.

Why must I be invested in another human being simply because I am told I must? Why must I endure the destruction of my way of life and happiness
because what makes me able to wake up and stop the suicidal thought loop
isn’t what others think it should be?

Lies like to flood the mind, too in the heart of this ridiculous storm, one that no one should have to weather. They are meant to confuse, confound, and bury dreams and hopes.

An adult is created when the joy of life has been beaten out of them whilst
a child. Behind every successful, employed businessperson is a collection
of poisonous shattered glass. There is only misery in capitalism. Global
markets. War. There is only profitable misery in it all. There is only the
will to control others when the motive is examined.

We work until dead. We love until numb. We hate until we kill ourselves.
Why do I want to be a part of this again? To engage with other humans? Why do I want to do anything to participate in a society that has consistently forced horrific, blinding, choking anger and pain upon me? I don’t. And suicide isn’t an option that seems…intelligent at this point in my life.

Sounds like complaining. All of this crap. Every fucking word sounds like a
child screaming back at a world that knows more than it, but I can no
longer give a flying FUCK if that is the case because I refuse to believe
when others tell me they know the only way to live my life. They don’t know because they can’t live their own lives.

Help is an illusion. In the world that has been thrust upon us the very
moment our mothers squirt our little, slithering, pink malformed bodies out of her fish-rotten cunt, we are expected to accept help when it is
relentlessly given (even if unneeded, unasked, or incorrect), but in the
same breath, become completely self sufficient. Do you understand yet? If
not, start this blog entry over.

I hate humanity. I despise every second I draw breath as I watch each and
every one of you useless fucking mongoloids shit and piss all over everything you come in contact with. And the sheer fact that I must share my species with such loathsome pukes ruins me by way of a humble buttfucking that that drives my need to tie a noose.

I have seen what humanity calls help, and you better be ready to die if you
want to accept it. No one is there to help, and no one cares enough
outside of an emotional or tangible reward to spend any real time offering
aid. No, you must be the driving force for your own help and well being and
undying love because their is no one, not your mommy, or your daddy. Your wife, husband, or significant other. You teacher, your grocer, your police officer, your judge, your drug dealer, your pharmacist that GIVE. TWO. SHITS. About your well being once it is no longer convenient.

Fucked up Family Values

Posted in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue with tags , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2016 by TheDisfigured

Family emergencies burn away the refuse of false intent and reveal to those suffering the true colors and motives of those who once offered faux
support.

Once married, a new family is meant to formed. The stupid think that it is
so because of breeding. The selfish think it so because of breeding. The
egotistical think it so because of! Yes. Breeding. No. No you simple,
stupid fucking morons, no. A new family is forged because of the two
separate sets of strangers joined by a common thread of love.

This is not seen. Never seen. At least not by me yet, and I’ve been around
long enough to be jaded by this, amazingly, foreign notion. Family never
steps up, in my experience. There is always guilt, or inconvenience, or
chores attached to aid. In truth, I despise asking anyone for anything
because I fear their reaction. Their…tasks being held in their mind that
they believe are proportionate to the aid I ask for. It is never pleasant.
It is never quiet. It is always a big deal.

Death in my family- I man who I knew for a short time but loved died a
horrible, lingering, miserable, painful, agonizing death and I was there
with his grandkids and son. All would argue my time spent with this man could not possibly be significant merely because I didn’t know him. Like always, traditional human assumptions, traditions, and culture failed me and him and his kids. But stay I did. At times alone, listening to him waiting to die. Not me, mind you but him. Seeing is misery, knowing is pain- death was all he had left. And as I left to see him for the last time, I was made to feel guilty. I was made to feel guilt because I was neglecting my family.

Two sides of this fucked up puzzle are being jammed together, and all of
the adults embedded in this disgusting slurry of forgotten manners and
painful assumptions are making it worse by trying to give advice where it
isn’t warranted, needed, deserved, or even fucking wanted. But give their
two cents they must.

When my grandfather died, I was made, by my own parents/bosses, to close out the day and finish the deposits after they took his body off to be immolated. Why? Money. It didn’t matter, by the way, the amount of puissant money I shoved into the rotting cunt that is an American bank, but it was done, right? The morning he died, I was working and received a call to finish my task and then come and see my dead grandfather. They didn’t even wait. They didn’t even care. If they did care, I was blind to it.

As his death burned forth, my grief was stolen from me by my very family-
the one that said that we were all in this together. My grief was stolen
because it couldn’t compare to my mother’s. It couldn’t compare to my
grandmother’s. Who was tying to compare? Who was trying to win? Why did they think I was even trying to compete!? All I wanted was to feel my grief with
my family. Instead, I was forced to feel it alone.

And now when another grandfather in my life is dead, his death means less because the family business (the one established before  I married my wife) will suffer in my absence. I had to stare at my grandfather’s face after his death. It was frozen in the lingering misery that I left him in the night
before, hand clenched around his bed rail, the infection so bad in his
lungs that he couldn’t hide his pain, I had to stare at his grey waxen
face, and shuttered at his touch for my family failed to prepare me for for
just how long he was fucking dead, which was a long time. His body was
stiff, and beginning to swell. They never covered his face, and wouldn’t
let me when I expressed my distress.

The final moments of this new grandfather, the one outside my blood family but well within the new huge one created at the moment of my marriage, were lipped with guilt and unease as I try to grieve for the dead and those who he leaves behind, but I am accosted by the sensation of failure, of abandoning my family and placing my aging parents behind the wheel of a business that they don’t want and I can’t take.

All through this, my wife is barely there.

I stared at my new grandfather’s face after he died, me being the only
person in the room. His jaw fixed wide open, his eyes rolled into his skull, the repetitive, unceasing wheeze of the now useless oxygen machine, his
deathbed now stained with his lingering agony. I slept where he died for
this most recent visit.

In a full circle, the place where I work every single day of my life is the
same room my other grandfather died in- after his death, my father (who despised my grandfather) saw an opportunity to move the family business into the house. In either case my feelings were never addressed considering that I cared about both these people. When I addressed the issue, I downplayed it. I downplayed because I could.

True to form, I return to a place that now wants to hurt me because it
believes that I hurt it. This revenge, this sick familial revenge hangs
like burning tar in my stomach. Why must I be forced to do extra, or feel
poorly when I need help from the people that say they love me? It’s not
like I wouldn’t do extra without the guilt. Abuse. I would never want a
family member to feel this way, let alone my child! But this is the case
for me, and I fear for thousands upon thousands of others.

I love my family, and it makes me fucking sick when they feel they need to prove a point, teach a lesson, or give tough love from the position of settling a score.

I am an example. I am an example of what happens to a human being when they allow their surroundings and not their own person dictate how they think and feel. I am an example of modern day slavery in its perfect form, I am a mistake thrust upon this world by parents that never really got the point.

And above all this, above all the shit, I feel guilt. I feel guilt, anger,
and self loathing because even though family does terrible, horrible things
to one another, I still love them. And it’s not their fault for being as
atypical as every other bloated sack of organs on this wretched sewer we are somehow still calling a planet.

Tricked

Posted in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue with tags , , , , , on June 1, 2016 by TheDisfigured

Life is a cruel joke. One that hides the punchline deep within an individual’s time on earth. So deep, in fact, that one never discovers that they have been the butt of this ridiculous trick.

What do I mean? Observe the pain around you first. Now, understand that you are a part of that pain. Part of that pain is the urge to be unique, to stand out not for the world, but for yourself. What is choice in that matter? What is the choice in that matter? I’ve heard rumors that free will is false, but I never believed it. Perhaps I was not completely correct in my ignorance.

I used to think I had free will.

The choices I make are less for myself and more for those around me. Do I make such choices to place myself at an advantage further down the line? I don’t know. I don’t have the mental capacity to calculate, and if I tried, I would start spiraling.

Want is unimportant in life. I thought that it might have some meaning, perhaps a tiny impact on those around us. But want means nothing. Need means nothing. They are just words that have lost meaning in an already meaningless and wounded society.

Must we all do things we despise?

I’m going to say no. No because there is always another choice, albeit it may not be a good one. If need and want mean nothing unless in the first person, then what is choice? A need? A want? A command?

Pressure goads on, however. One always has freedom of choice, it is merely the restriction placed on such freedom that forces coercion. Friends, family, television, internet, radio, commercials, billboards, playbills, flyers, spam, coupons mailings, names, products, businesses large and small, politicians, clergy (Christian or otherwise), teachers, government, police, bullies, magazines, newspapers, containers, ships, cars, trucks, FOOD, MONEY, SUCCESS, DRUGS, FAILURE, PAIN, PLEASURE, SILENCE,  HATE, LOVE, PRODUCTS PRODUCTS EVERYWHERE, NEVER STOPPING ALWAYS AN ADVERTISEMENT, ALWAYS PRESSURING TO BUY CERTAIN TYPE OF BOX TO ROT IN, FUCK A CERTAIN TYPE OF PERSON, SLEEP ON A CERTAIN TYPE OF MATTRESS, DRINK A CERTAIN TYPE OF ALCOHOL, EAT A CERTAIN TYPE OF FOOD, ALL COMMERCIALS, ALL GUIDING AND DICTATING THOSE READY TO SERVE, ALL BULLYING, PUSHING, THRUSTING THEIR OPINIONS, DESIRES AND WANTS UPON YOU UNTIL YOU ARE RAPED BY THEM, VIOLATED BY THE VERY INDIVIDUALS THAT CLAIM THEY CAN HELP, HELP BUT STILL COLLECT MONEY AND BEND YOUR WILL. They are not here to help you. They are here to control you. Destroy you. Breed you. Sell you.

Free will personifies itself because free will often comes to light regardless of effort or machination. This personification is easily visible in humans- ever see someone stand up for themselves? Another? That’s free will. A conscious choice to break what is thought of as fate, or destiny, or slavery. Perhaps all three are linked?

Do not become as I. Beaten down by my own fears and anger, floating from choice to choice, making decisions and swallowing the regret. Knowing the whole time, however, that there is nothing ahead of it. Nothing ahead of it except another choice I can’t bring myself to care about. And as I regret and suffer in the wake of my lack of free will, as I watch others control me, I know that I was the architect of my own design.

 

 

 

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