This Is The Look You Give When People Are Talking And All You Want To Do Is Write!

The Rambling’s Of An Unsuccessful Writer

Please read it all, it will make sense at the end – Thank you.

Writing is my religion, paper is my temple; now kneel before my God, pen! Your words are senseless, copy – copy – copy – copy. The rules of this writing game, is to take what others have done and rewrite it; what idea is your own though?

Now I am one of those writers, afraid to approach a Publishing House or a Literary Agency because I am fearful of what others will think about my work. I have thoughts pressing against my brow most days, so this blog is a lifeline to the writing world for me. I don’t consider my writing to be good, great or phenomenal, but how I see it is my words do their job, there are thousands of writers out there, with fancy educations and warped minds better than mine who deserve it more than me, so I don’t mind waiting a couple of decades.

I have read so much and in doing so have character built myself; I know who I am now. Yes, I am a little fuzzy on the details and road journey, but I am here with a pen or keyboard, whatever writing tool is available. But I know one thing, I have my own mind!! I do not see Vampires falling in love with humans and thinking, I can have a better take on this story; I MUST WRITE IT AND IT SHALL BE BETTER!! That’s a Stephanie Myers thing, she made that bigger than most orgy stories and it has gone down in history. A clever lady she is, tapping into a market and going for gold. Well done, little Miss!

See for me, I like The Minds Narrative, for example…

“Should I write now? Not too sure Alex, I mean you haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, dawg. Get some shut-eye and blast back on that page, dude. I care about you man, don’t want to see you wander off away back onto the darkland. Write it and they shall come!! You’re a good guy; show them later what’s really inside of your heart. Now get to bed, you ugly fool.” 

Yes, I talk to myself in my head and it is very therapeutic to know I am on my own wave length. But I am getting off topic. Let’s get back to the writing aspect.

If you want to be taken serious, you are going to have to amaze the world. Show them something different. But it has to RELATE to people’s lives.

Whether it is dark and emo = Twilight

Sassy and sexy = Any Jackie Collins novel

And so on and so forth. You need your niche! Find it and utilize it to the fullest extent of you.

See mine is dark humour wrapped in a cocoon of pain with a silver lining showing it face every once in a while. My niche.

But I am not saying everyone who types or write is a terrible writer; know where your writing wants to go. If you want the big writing contract (Like most of us do.) Write for it. If you just want to write for general purpose, to ease stress or bare a little piece of your soul, then show it. But know where you want to go.

PUT IN THE WORK NOW AND LIFE WILL BE LESS LIKE WORK!!!

Some days I don’t even know what I am doing, should I be giving up this pursuit of a lit agent? I mean I have the tools and ideas, but I have the urging feeling when I think about doing it, yelling DON’T DO IT, STEP AWAY FROM THE SEND BUTTON!!!! And I don’t, I scurry back off into my corner to scribble all the while people could be taking my dreams.

I AM SUCH A HYPOCRITE!!!

I won’t even follow my own writing advice.

I am lost, lost in a world full of everyone else. But to be honest, I can write a good game, but some days I am not even playing; hence the blog a broken writer.

I’m not sure what I am doing here, I write and people tell me my work is wonderful or awful, I don’t mind but I am just think about my end game, the final trick I will magically reveal.

I’m just babbling now!

I think my blog is broken, I do wish for more views on my wordpress blog but I get I can’t have it all. I can have the skill but no eyes to read it. And if that is my niche in the writing industry for me, I guess I will have to take it.

And another thing, I am getting weird emails from people who are being really abusive; friends just say is jealousy. But these online bullies might be right; I might be a poop sack or deserves theirs pens jamming in my breathing tube. (It’s called a windpipe, my friend; if you had picked up a book you would have known that.) And some other emails are people saying I have stolen their thunder or some S*&t like that. If I have I am sorry!!!

I’m not a bad guy, only confused about this whole writing life and I would like to strive for more, but that slapped hand keeps brushing on by. I did have a dream the other night, where I did get a Literary Agent and she was so fine. Hey, maybe I could write about that???

But I would like to state that my blog has almost reached that glorious number of 100^TH POST!!! WHOOP WHOOP!!!! (Man, there are a lot of exclamation marks in this blog post!)

And I couldn’t have done it without you peeps. Some of you have read my work; THANKS GUYS! And some have just clicked the like button, thanks, I think!

So today I am going to Watch season 1 and 2 of New Girl, because this show is fantastic and I am kind of addicted to it. I know I am a guy, I have girly TV fetish, get over yourselves.

If you have read this, I usually know; because you comment about my work and all my goofy wording. So have a nice day!

Keep that pen busy or just work towards your goals in life.

Smell the roses too. It’s good to just stop from the hustle of life.

I’ve been your rambling writer.

Alexander Kennedy

The Worst Writer In The World

That would be me… The Worst Writer in the World

The world hatched and gave birth to me, silver linings are traced over with bad-luck; I’m mad as fuck, not even military precision prayers could save this mutant of the pen. A pill in my mouth, a bee in my bonnet, high as the clouds, I’m running against comets and anger comments. This motherfucker is climbing out of the gutter, flushing away his past because it’s all shit. Too controlled for suicide; too educated for homicide; so I will imagine them both whilst scratching help signals above my skin. Handicapping and happy-slapping the retard living in my brain, fuck your feelings Alex, for your life, you’re the only one to blame.

Alex, you’re gonna’ die alone. Walking along your path and your only friend will be the freezing breeze to join your cold heart upon an icy chessboard. Cause a supernova of words; turn the cement to flames, skin to lighter fluid and jungles to fire-food. They swept you under the mat and expected you to rebel, I’m telling you; give them a wake-up call to the killing moon. Crimson critics live under your fingernails; green with envy because you are not writing for The Green…

The golden boy shimmers off his shine with a deadly chill. Sucker-punch this fucking world and while they are not looking boot them in the ball into the sun. Exact your revenge upon your Ex-girlfriend who got your hopes up with a fresh start of love, then gave you the middle-finger when she found a new cock to control. Chase after the man who took your smile as a child, run him down and slowly take away his cries. This is the war-cry of a manmade madman, I was not laboratory created and synthesized in a bottle, this is my chemical reaction to this blackened planet with my own two black eyes.

Open my eyes; strapped to the chair and made to watch while everyone took a piece of me and stamped on my innocence as if it were shit. Screaming at the mirror, pulling out my hair, totally lost… I couldn’t talk to the psychiatrist so he kicked me out his club house; the numbness is really taking over, where is he now? Did I fail him or did he fail me? Swallow another pill, self-destruction will cope against hope. I’m a piece of shit; I will never amount past the flies.

I pretend and camouflage well with the nice sane people, but today has taken its toll. Pushing all the right buttons, don’t you know you’re dealing with a potential killer / Writer? Wipe away a tear and wash away all you are with whiskey, you’re a happy drunk, pilled-up to the eye balls, what are you crying for? You are a party animal.

I’m not trying to shock and awe, you probably haven’t read this far down, I had to get it off my chest. No clean versions to life, so bring your fucking swear words; I was watching my mouth, worry about what I write. Don’t worry baby, I still love sex, I really am a freak in and out of the bedroom. Talent? Stripping skin skilfully sinfully so sufficiently such souls scream soundly sweet as they sleep; sayonara sunrise, scaling scary sights as silly-fuckers still stand still. What more do you fucking want? What more do you fucking need? Have I not bled enough with my pen? I can write, final…

I need out of this dirt-ridden poverty, I barely get by with this bare-trap ankle bracelet chained to my home of the brave. What do you know about the street? Except staring at us all from your penthouse suite. I turbo my bad-attitude on my blog, enjoy!!

Mommas’ at the gate shouting come on home,

I’ve got so much hate; I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

Mission impossible break-out from hospital,

This kid has lost his soul, frostbitten to the core,

Make the most of my living,

When everyone doesn’t want me to win,

So I’m going in for the kill,

Showing a sea of people my fin,

The mister of enigma,

Most sinister move finisher,

Finish him!

This is game-over,

Immoral combat,

Better get another brain-donor,

I can’t borrow because I lost that.

It’s hard out here for a madman,

Apparently I’m equal to a trashcan,

But I’m embarrassingly evil to say the least,

I’m a badman.

But with this pen of mine,

I line all my enemies in a line,

And swipe and rhyme,

This is a fight for life,

Because I have bide my time,

And now you will have to deal with this,

Writing is my meal ticket,

I’m hungry!

So I will wait my turn,

Then turn wicked. 

This is a close encounter of the insane mind,

Frozen at the top of this mountain,

Beyond space and time,

I take the time,

To look at my life and you know what?

I fucking hate mine.

This is coming off my chest,

I’m flying off these walls,

All these emotions inside can’t be stalled,

It’s time to let loose, it’s time to break free,

Alex has blew a fuse, here comes another side to me…

My Dying Love

My True Love

There was an accident; I just got the phone call. I run and I run and run past my lungs threshold, she is all I care about. Bypassing people’s thoughts as I sprint to her in the middle of the road, stopping traffic in its footsteps. The rain is against me, stings and pinpricks on my skin, the raindrops cover my tears as it washes away my hurt. Unnoticed to the beeps, finger gestures and vulgar language, none of that matters, only her. I live for her and I said I would die for her, will it come to either? Please, Lord, do not take her… She has saved me over and over again. I can hear the sirens; they are like gunshots to my ears, my heartbeats circulates my body unknowing in which way to turn, I can feel it in every limb that moves towards her, each step is one more closer.

I try not to think into what has happened, but my heart is tangled up within my imagination. Laid crippled and knotted, faceless and memory-less of us or vehicle impaled, taken by someone’s concentration. I can finally see the flashing lights and emergency personnel. I stop my raging feet and bring myself to the walk of concern, my fingers keep grip to the phone that had imprinted this thought upon me.

The police are not letting anyone have their eyes nightmare clenched; I cannot see anything as an ambulance is blocking mine and her fate. I climb over a police cars bonnet, vigilant to their sight, just to gain a look. I do not want to miss you, it took me years to find and keep what we have. A car lies on its side, broken and no longer road worthy; its underneath faces my way, paramedics kneel around the roof, running back and forth from the ambulance to get supplies. I walk into the unknown with a heavy tears and heart with a quivering lip. She is pinned under the car, the pain emulates from her in screams.

I stand unmoved, what do I do? She sees me finally, within that first second no time passed.

She raises her shaking arm, holding out her hand for me. I rush over and take hold of her invitation. It is hard for her to breathe, taking big gulps of whatever air she can take in. I brush her hair to the side, just so I can get to see my love. We both share in the moment a smile, no words, unable to speak; the shock must have hit us both. Just hold on to me. She turns her head away from me; she does not want to look at me… Have I done something wrong? Is she mad at herself because of this situation? I take my wet index finger and place it around her chin and turn her back to me to let her know I am here forever with her. She gives me that look, the one I wake to every morning. I bow down and kiss her for aslong as possible. A hand on my shoulder, a police officer picks me up and tries to usher me away from my destiny. I rip and thrash, all I want is to be with her.

She screams I can feel it in the pit of my stomach; this is not a scream for me but a personal one. The pain must be gnawing its way through her. No one is doing anything, no one. The police stop their job, the paramedics take over my position. I see through a slight opening between two medics her face, she needs me, more now than ever. If she is mine, this is my test. I slip away from the policeman’s hold to the car, one final glance; I squat down and reach my fingers under the car. It will not take her from me; I begin to pull up with all my strength, bear my teeth. I want to see her again, raise our children together, kiss her before I go to work, spend another valentines day with her, put a padlock on her finger, not visit a grave stone every year, stare out my window for days, cry myself to sleep, have to move on to second best, No… never.

I let out an almighty roar that would bring a battlefield full of one hundred thousand solders to pain I will feel if I lose her. I will stand up, I will and I will take this pain from her, even if that means cursing it upon me. I exhale all of my air, the car begins to lift. I must take this throbbing within my arms for her sake. I straighten my legs and back, she is my one, keep elevating, the car is off the ground leveled with my chest. I turn my head, my neck is stiff. The medics pull her from the wreckage and are able to attach and inject the proper equipment and medicines.

Your love makes me stronger, the man I am, more than I was, this is for you. I jump back from the death-dealing machine; it falls with more of its shell being broken.

I turn with a smile, her eyes have closed, no movement. They put her on a stretcher and load her onto another bed and head for the closed ambulance, the doors are wide opened they are trying to make her breath, pressing down on her chest five at a time then breathing the air back into her.

They stop, unable to do more. No… I will not have that, you cannot just give up on her because she is unresponsive, she usually acts that way it is a trick she likes to play. The world has stopped completely, I run over to the ambulance and climb in, they try to fight me off, but I am not that easy to stop in my tracks for something I want, ask her. I push them out of my way and bend down and pick up her head and lay my lips to hers.

The ambulance begins to quake, medical objects falls from their place, the doors begins to throw open and close again, there is a light that could outshine the Sun’s rays. Her eyes shoot open as she takes her first gasp of air and another until she is settled and coherent. She smile at me that way again, I mirror her back as she pulls me into another kiss, this must be a thank you but in true fact it is me who should be thanking you, my love.

The Syllable God – Poem

—

In front of this Lunar Eclipse,

This let loose humanoid lunatic turns mutant,

A grade-A student bullying school kids with the coolest new kicks,

Your Jiu-Jitsu flips are my amusement, your life is now truant, stupid!

Acoustic screams equipped to my new movement of music,

I’m on the run as a fugitive from their crucifixes,

Come to grips with this,

I want no part of your religion because you’re not fixing shit!

The movement I move in, so smoothly I’m moving,

It’s useless to copy; no no-body can stop me,

As I am a robotic computer, running solely on microchips,

Batteries not included,

Typos living at the end of each fingertip,

I can’t can this as a can of tuna fish,

You’ll need a tank and butane-gas to attack this nuisance,

Because I’ve just gained a new sense called no sense,

I’m merely giving lucid word pollution as a broken world solution,

So let all the new become ruins,

Light a fire under this world, do it and I will run through it,

I am emergency-calling your next-of-kin,

Maybe I’m talking articulate shit again, in which my tongue is too fluent in,

So get ready for some turbulence,

Because I’m bringing back the best of sin,

Before I am running for that border,

And become a Mexican citizen,

In 20 years when I am old and grey,

I’ll still be the same,

Even when I’m KING!

—

Alexander Kennedy – Creative writer

My Best Day For Likes On WordPress

Today has been a busy day, finished my fifth novel and started my sixth. Wrote and uploaded four new blog posts and in the middle of all that I took the kids to the park, cooked, cleaned.

But it’s all thank to all of you that I am sitting here with a smile in my face. Because of you, everyday I take a step or two to my goals in life.

If you keep reading it, I’ll keep writing it.

Thank you, again. Have a nice night. 😁🙏🏻

Who Am I?

Me & my boy, 4 years apart!

I’m a walking nightmare, my hands around my own throat, can’t shake awake! I’m dying to write dynamic dynamite; writing is my form of dialysis, I need all the badness out. A mental state of emergence has now been issued to you, personally. This is no jocularity; I mean this all the way down to my tormented soul. I’m rattling and shaking, I’m not afraid; you will twig-on when I snap. I’m digging up my own past, shovel in hand; I need answers and resolve some unfinished business, so you can lollop around my questions but remember this is my job, I write like a boss.

Misanthropy over here! So you’re either with me or against me, I’m going to war with humankind. I swindle and hustle my way out from my psychiatrist meetings; they label my big-toe as sane and packed me back to the free-world I am coming to conquer. If you were smarter you would have caught me out. I bring no attention to my shell, I blend in, disappear and robot-dance my way into the crowd, my circuits have shorted but this has made me a bigger man. If you knew my story, you would burn my book.

I’m heat-seeking for inner-peace,

But before I be seated,

These are my proposed proceedings,

I’m pulling out all my deep seeded beliefs,

A concocted mix of special needs, my inner-beast and deceit,

These are the things which live deep in me.

I am a soldier of the apocalypse,

Holding hostage every major metropolis,

If you can’t topple this, copy this,

Looking for my mind,

As I look for a lost wish.

I’m not a writer; I am the reaper of words,

My life is on an egg-timer,

What can be worse than being the worst?

Strand by strand,

I stand before you less than half the man,

I’m a problem they buried,

Now it’s time to raise hell,

The feeling of lost and deserted,

“This is what you deserve, kid.”

I cut myself to excel the bad blood,

It’s all fun in Hell,

Fall down this wonder-well,

Hurry-up before it gets backed up.

I’ve lost my mind,

A search and rescue team,

They can’t find me, 

Yeah, laugh it up!

Back when I was fighting for life,

It was frightening,

My personal war of Clash of the Titans.

It’s time to unbind the blind,

And just enjoy the ride.

I’m not coming down from this high, until I am grounded and surrounded by stars. An operated opened sternum sense of a nonsensical life, I have. My real name is Addict, I pour a bowl of Pill-pops, add my milk or vodka-shots and spoon my mouth what it needs. No more secrets, I am an opened book… I need help, I think. I have isolated all I love with my ice-cold heart. I am living a double life and people are fatigued trying to figure me out. How do I join the living again?

Welcome once again to my ribaldry! Sanctimoniously I dribble around what I truly need to deliver, but effusively I fumble my falsehood. I am a walking, writing blob of human but with a side dollop of insane lollop; you can be just like me. Still impecunious, but that is okay, one day I will dream and wake to a happy ever after. Perhaps I am impervious to a happier time? What I truly am in most eyes is an indemnifying writing object. I have a storm in my heart and love within my eyes; can’t I just touch the tip? Insatiable! I’m I accurately jejune to you?

If A Writer Doesn’t Write Does That Mean They’re Not Writers?

Thrashing around in agony, I am an injured run-over animal; slumped in this gutter dying. Internally bleeding for eternity, defensiveness is my primitive art. Keep your distance, my disease may spread and you may contract my illness, being broken. My heart is still in this race for life and when I drive down whoever was behind the wheel of the metaphorical car, I am wheeling over their heads.

This is the worst day of my life and I am carrying a smile in my palms to upset the dark clouds people have conjured over me with society’s black magic. Hunched at the side of this road the rain hocks at my indecent aura let this paper protect me while I root evil in the puddles of bloody muddy memories. I am simply a death-dealer, now who wants to share this half kilo bag of evil?

I am being held by the angels,

Does that mean I am in danger?

And now I can’t stay with you.

I’m afraid that death is my cure,

Jumped my last stepping stone,

Let myself in through heaven’s door,

Set forth for the light beyond,

Laying here going, going, gone!

Thrown into the darkest of holes,

This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home,

I wonder if my mother even knows.

No matter though,

Under these wheels,

Blood, sweat and bones

I am now part of the roads,

I have lived upon and always known.

You can only see parts of the horrors I have seen, all you can do is visual lies. My darkness moves within me, this is its job as it’s on the nightshift; because as it hits night fall this son will stand. I’m running naked in the rain; the shadowman is coming for me. I can’t sleep, not now, a shield of safety under my bed covers. If I close my eyes now he’ll take over my status in this hell. I will never bend over backwards for this dream, I am spineless that way. These pages are haunting me; they are the only thing besides coffee & sex that keeps me awake at night.

My writing expertise,

Gives me special needs,

The want for more can set me free,

My page is my bedroom walls,

These words can put a spell on me,

Is this blood or red pen on me?

If I ever mislay my mind and lose my place in humanity, I will re-member. One of a kind with two sides of mind, I misplace myself within myself. They say stick to what you know, so I glue myself to pain. My whole life is in complete disarray; do you get it? It’s my Mess-age! I should call my bully, Mud; as everytime I come close to him, he sucks off my shoes.

The Immortal Memoirs – Chapter 1

The Immortal Memoirs

Chapter 1

So once again, I stand on my castle tower staring at my kingdom, the sun has just set and a glow from the horizon still sits waiting to sleep, my only friend and greatest foe. The wind catches my cape and begins to make it almost alive in movement. The year was cart and corset. Humans are heading to the public house beneath me. I can hear every stretch of each leg muscle, and smell every dinner from days before on their breaths travelling on the cold air of an English dusk. The stray dogs below run in packs, chasing prey through the floor of the forests. Beyond the forest sits as an expanding industrial town which is trying to forget the past by building the future. Howls, hoots and drunken shouts control the echoes on the background of the snow enchanted mountain-side that deathly shadows the valley. The path from my home to the town moves like a serpents influence before a strike. And I am waiting for a target to capture, my patience sits on top of this world.

Hours have passed when I zoom in on a young maiden walking alone on the streets, covering herself up with her shawl from the murderous chill in the air, her black hair is knotted and her clothes are tattered, but to me through these hunger filled eyes, she is the most beautiful of creatures to ever consume my sight. The thirst almost sexual begins to take over my calm nature, my heart and adrenaline start obsessing over this being. I must have her; I must get closer and taste the music that plays within her. This feeling is almost benevolence but the undercurrent of this feeling is animalistic and dangerous. I am not an evil that you know of but I do have similar traits of them all, even though all distasteful myths dawned with me.

I step forward towards the edge of the castle. Downwards is Red Speckle Lake, which roars like violent emotions at the peak of passion when their colours kiss one another. I leap from the bounds of gravity from the structure into the air, I let its solitude drag me towards the lake for one second then with no effort I speed on the body of the wind silently towards the town; the smell in my sinuses of her overpowers any last rational judgment of human within this shell.

I land on a small home rooftop, gently stepping into a better view as I watch her, within the confines of the shadows of the chimney and darkness rays, I dare not blink. She stops in her tracks, her heartbeat beings to rush with fearful thoughts from her mind until it engulfs the world to its rhythm, then becomes deafening, killing the silent environment with the pounding. I move like an African wildcat into position. I creep towards the buildings edge, in a prowling shape; the saliva appears from my bottom lip, ready to lunge for an attack – suddenly a window opens.

“Claudia, come home!” A voice.

I retreat back to the shadows embrace, my prey escaped in a watched upon run home by one of her family members.

“Damn, it was a love not to be, Claudia.” I sigh.

But all is not lost as I am in the centre of my foods breeding ground and any human will cure my curse of starvation. I look across the town’s skyline, another beauty with loneliness within her pavement steps, trying to keep her drunken mobility to herself as she has judged the world correctly, as a dangerous zoo where true evil has no sex and will strike quietly at the weak. Her face walks the pavement to make sure her eyes do not lead in the wrong impression to other unsociable eyes. A clever action is needed in this hunt, if my mouth will become filled. I come back to the throws of gravity and begin to trek through the filth and rat ridden streets, through the crowds of drunken farmers, industrial workers and street walkers.

“You look in need of a release, stranger” A street-walker jaws to me.

I stare at her; all of her facial features are outlined with black make-up highlights, her eyes, lips and imperfections. She fidgets with her blood coloured wavy red hair, wearing an old faded purple corset, she smells of her last sex victim.

“And you look like you will die by the hands of one of your drunken strangers, that will be your release, my sweet” I reply calmly.

There are too many eye witnesses to take her life; the screams would draw attention, even though the thought had passed my hunger threshold a few times. I proceed in my endeavour.

The stars have begun to dance in the sky to the sound of change in climate. Winter is closing in, meaning longer nights and lesser days, a predator’s playground and the game will set off earlier. My eyes scream to be fed as I look for my love, she is nowhere in sight, her footsteps do not escape, her pace has quickened as she is left the comfort of the mobs. Her footsteps are like war drums heading for an unwanted battle, I was her opponent that would be revealed afterwards in this ordeal as victorious. Through the invisible crowds I pass, with a human sensation of lust and want. Her face to me is still faceless, my steps equal her own and my cape begins snapping at the air as teeth to the inedible, her presence shifts around a buildings corner; she becomes missed until my eyes climb around also to see her kneeling, picking up her purse. Her eyes rise like the sun to me, at this time set like it was extinguished by the fear of being the only life alive on the street. I react quickly as her look made me desire death.

I cross the street; if I was to approach her at that instant her voice would become loud and attractive to others. She rises, our bodies mirror on both streets pavements as we walk, both sets of eyes wander and wonder, both sets of lives are about to collide, her eyes do not leave my side, disbelief in my walking here rages through her. Voices further on the road chatter to one another, I stop and look upon the passers, scruffy and drunk as they stumble towards my maiden, I throw her another look, Beauty has only one word, you, a perfect body structure she is blessed with, brains and looks were her way forward in life, men from a distance would bow to her also, she also stops, her eyes rip through my camouflage and manifest itself within her as an idea to scurry to her home.

She charges by her street protectors, I have taken too long on my preparation for food; her brown hair ravishes her face as she runs. I run down an alley and leap to the roofs head and crawl back in the shadows in search for her, She is located at her front door, entering and slamming away the world, She walks into her living area, she is projected through her window to me through the nettings, out of breath and second guessing her motives in running from only her uncomfortable actions out in the street.

I take a few back steps until I am pressed against a chimney breast, One step then two, then I am pushing by the winds fingertips, over the streets drunken hassles but hovering above her home then gently planting myself on her roof. I listen to her, trudging around her rooms as a spoilt child does when they have been found out for their trouble dealings. Her coat of warmth is removed and thrown on her bed, a deep breath and her hair is brushed behind her ears, she gradually toes towards the window to see if her uncertain follower was still on her street, the street lights were not that clear to reveal all, but the outline of any beings come from the passed out alcoholics, propped up against the wall trying to sleep or piss.

Her double windows split to let in the night, far above people’s bodies, safety has enclosed her doubt. But like a spider to the fly I climb down my web of brickwork until I am vertically above her, I watch how she moves, her head shifting from side to side staring into the dark corners of her familiar surroundings looking for unanswered questions of why and who. She rests with a smile of self embarrassment and sigh of relief. A gust of Gods breath tears through the valley, through the fields to the streets, my cape begins to flicker trying to escape from me on the winds back. I stand from the wall, gravity is calling but its human cursed design has no effect on me because I am no mere mortal or infinite watcher. Her heart then sinks as my cape droops beside her sight swaying; her eyes follow the black shadow of clothing up to the heavens. Until faces and worlds nudge, she tries to reach for breath for a scream but I snatch the breath before it exits by grabbing her by her mouth.

“Hush, Hush, Hush, if this was not you, then who?” I hungrily imply with some respect. I look left and right, up and down the street to see if a circus had gathered, nothingness had shown its body. My stomach begins gnawing at my ribs, trying to tear a hole to eat, I falter in my intentions for a split-second; my hands re-enters the big game, one around her mouth and the other supporting the back of her skull, I begin to back, back up the buildings costume.

As I drag her upwards with depression on my quakes and a sea of regret on a tear, her dress becomes entangled on guttering. My eyes become bloodshot, sorrow almost undresses from me but then I shoot at her one look of blood from my eyes and with an unearthly scream, I pull on this woman’s head, her body rips away from the bottom half of her dress, she acrobats into the air somersaulting above me until she lands with a thud on the roofs garden. I leap upwards and land, she is lying there with pain mesmerized on her face. I walk over, with her between my leg stems and stare downwards beyond the path that I am on, she glares pleases and no’s, I kneel to her.

“Please forgive me, if there was another way, even if triple the effort, I would be there.” I recite remorsefully.

I feel her heart then cores her face; I wipe away reasons for me not to hurt her, brushing her caught, stressed brown hair from her mouth.

“What is your name my sweet?” I ask.

She is hesitant in her words, the fear and whys control her vocal cords.

“My, my name is Piper. Please, why are you doing this?” She purrs me in saddened bubbles from her mouth.

“If you let me kiss you slightly first, I will explain all for you” I whisper.

She nods in agreement to my proposal as she has run out of crossroads to run down from me to chase, my head bends down in a slow fashion, her bottom jaw begins to shudder, to my close in. Our lips meet, every feeling she has ever felt circulates through me like a wild drug, her memories that are sent to me like an unsought plague that has the of essence of love, fear and pain flowing as rogue waves. The world from me falls away in this kiss, I hold her face in my hands as the sexual rush overpowers. We part, my head rises from hers with a smile that could light the night skies, my woman forgets for the time, why I am here and she delivers a real smile to me. I thrust my hands to the right in one quick action, with her head still placed in my possession, snap; I snatch the yelp from her neck. Death is now her gift to the world. Now with my eyes closed I hold up my hand and clench it and with one power punch, I drive my fist into her chest and take hold of her heart, I drag it out, the red shields my skin. I puncture into the hearts fundamental nature with a hundred years of famine within my drive; I am a shark eating a peach with its juices dodging the inevitable dinner bell.

A short wait before the reality sinks into my stomach, I am and have hurt, the hunger dies away finally. My head shakes in disgust to me; I sit in distraught for a short while wiping away the blood from my fingers, palms and mouth on the maidens dress. Not my crave for I am my own grave.

I pick her up in my arms and rock back and forth, my tears bleed from me.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wish there was a hell for what I am compelled to do.” I rehearse to thin air.

I press my face against hers as she was all alone, when I took her from her peace and with that I let out a devilish roar to the stars that could tremor even the most fearless of higher functioning animals. I pick up my lady and shoot up into the opened sky with an army on my eye and criminal on my fogged breath, I am broken again. I glide through the air everything has merged to one; the rain has started to sprinkle down along with hail.

The Immortal Memoirs – Preface

The Diary Of An Immortal – Preface

She raises questions for the dead, giving them the chance for answers when time wipes the memories away. Chelsea hammers down the light swamped corridor, possible invigorating answers show in her focused eyes as everyone not part of her promise parts to let her past. Her dark blue overcoat wafts and flickers behind her. In her right arm she has folders of paperwork, the corners of photographs try to escape within the emergency she exhibits; in her left hand she clenches onto a flask of coffee which she slurps in-between breaths. She is a beautiful woman, very well kept, her make-up suggests to all she is more mature for her mid-twenties age she actually is. Her brunette hair belts against her face trying to cover her from some sort of truth, she brushes it away with a jerk of her head as her mind has already been made-up to see all. A young man is running in the opposite direction towards Chelsea, waving more papers in the air.

“The Holy Grail, Doc! We’ve found the friggin’ Holy Grail to it all, baby!” The male storms.

“Matt, this is the museum of world history, not a wrestling match, lower your voice.” Chelsea hisses in her American accent.

“Sorry, Doc…” He softens.

Matt, an unkempt bedraggled man, with monstrous black framed glasses circles around as Chelsea points into the paperwork before adding it to the pile she holds. Chelsea halts and scans over the papers.

“I had to take a couple of glances as well.” Matt speaks.

“Did they find it on site? Is it still intact?” She looks up and asks him shockingly out of breath.

“Look further into the findings. Everything is still there, still readable. The diggers didn’t find it on site; they found it at the base of a huge oak tree on the outskirts of the excavation site. It was buried with a man-made box; wrapped in, wait for it, four hundred year old leather. This could be a real account on what happened there.”

The pair walk up to a large door, Chelsea shrugs to show she cannot move. Matt reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his I.D. card which he swipes at a machine beside of the door. As soon as the doors open the clatter of debating natter and orders shatter through the silence. Chelsea rolls her eyes before she enters the room. She places down the plethora of paperwork on a large counter top.

“Okay, okay, okay, quieten down. I know we are all exciting about the buzz from the dig, we are here to do a job; we’re gonna’ break off into three teams and go over what was in this box. Team leaders will be Thompson and Rimmer, only until the first body arrives. Okay, let’s take care and gather as much info as possible. Let’s go.” Chelsea firmly barks orders.

The team disburses and scatters like flies around body parts. Chelsea and Matt walk over towards the book. It is propped up on a transparent plastic stand, opened at the middle page, six interns corner the pages.

“This is a really a unique find; at the start of the book all you have are names of people, certain places and dates, from the nine A.D. till Piper Morris, eighteen sixteen, before it begins onto this title section. Ah, Good morning, Doctor.” A young female intern declares before she takes a step back. The six interns stand to attention towards Chelsea. Chelsea ties up her hair, indecisively creeping her eyes over her soldiers of the past.

“Good morning all. We don’t have a lot of time to study these items, so time is really of the essence here people.”

“We have already taken the correct precautions and have handled it with the proper methods, doctor; we are turning the pages with cotton-bud pincers.” The female intern nods towards Chelsea.

Chelsea almost says something but the book takes her attention from everyone in the room. The pages of the book are murky with time. Chelsea puts on her rubber gloves, she holds her right hand over the title page to try to feel its presence.  A smile is drawn upon her face. Her eyes are dragged across the page. Matt walks over to a computer and begins typing.

These are my last thoughts of my lost soul. I wrote my days I spent with her. Not by my hands but from my love, death came. This is the diary of an immortal. 

“Wow, this is amazing. Kingston may have its answer within this journal. There has been no detailed account of anything and this is the only record that has been found, even close to this town.” Chelsea holds in her excitement with a clenched fist pressed against her lips.

“That’s not what’s going to excite you. Are you ready, Doc? Drum-roll, dum-da-da-dumm. The inks on the pages are dated around two hundred years old, thus putting the date of when it was written around the time of when the town disappeared.” Matt says from over a computer monitor. He walks around and stands at Chelsea’s side.

“Well the book itself is predating Roman times, wrapped in real animal skin and the jewels on the cover, yes; they are real, very pricy and rare. The odd thing about this book, it is divided into two sections, in the first part of the book; the pages are just names, dates and locations, could be a bookies list. And on the second part of the book this is where we are up too.  What do you want to do? Do you want to read it?” He quietly inquires.

Chelsea stands tough in stun.

“Pull up a chair because I am staying until it’s finished.” She puts forth.

An intern hands her some cotton-bud pincers. She takes hold of the top right corner of the page and flicks it over gently.

{CONT SOON}