The Fall Into Love – Short Love Story

holding hands

Falling In Love

I have finally fell in love and it is about to destroy me on this skyscrapers rooftop.

“Please, get back from the edge!” I shout at her unlistening ears. She has her arms open wide, ready to be caught by deaths grip and be auctioned off to the night at half price for her half-life. She is standing in her spotlight from the night’s sky with the idea of stepping down from her stage to end her final act. The moon is laughing at our light.

“Just look at me; just look at me… please.” The tears free fall from my face. The wind pushes against her, whispering warnings of what is to come as it makes her hair whip and dance. Gravity is the middle man within our triangle but bargaining with his power on his edge, results in death. She must remember me as she is still wearing the white dress I had bought her, if she only she took my arm and we take off to pursue life together again, hand in hand before death do us part. Her heart is cheating beats which is slowly killing her, this is the reasoning behind us being here.

“What will I do if you do this?” I ask her. “You will go on without me.” She replies calmly. This is a nightmare. “But the best dreams happen in real life; don’t you want to be part of that?” She turns her head to the misty rain that has begun to lie upon the horizon making everything distort, life is bleaker than the weather.

“If you do this, food will taste like it has been poisoned, water will seem dry and time will have no hands to save you.” She adds to the rain with her tears.

“Life is like a strand of hair, it can be as long as you want or as short as you need it, isn’t that my decision?” She says quietly to the wind. “In sickness or in Health… I said those words to you and you alone; I never backed away from what I pledged!” I plead to her emotions. So why is this happening. I look at my phone thinking about dialing for help but it is already too late. Love is the killer to the heart, not the sword or arrow but used as a weapon against itself.

“We can get the help, the doctor said there was still time.” I say almost giving up. Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing, but bad things soon follow. I throw my sight to the floor, collapsed eyelids and all.

“Come with me.” She wind-whispers to me, I don’t make eye contact; searching for a new answer to our old problem. Thunder murmurs from behind the black clouds which are passing over head. Weather calls for extreme conditions; angels will fall as the world sits by and listens. I nod slowly, holding back the right thing to say. She holds out the hand I have always held, I walk over and take hold, bringing myself up to her new level of living. I look down, the streets seem like mazes for mice and the people are going about their business, unknowingly.

“We shall take on death together.” I say to her, brushing her hair behind her ear. She wraps her arms around me and presses her head against my chest. “I love you so much. Whither thou goest I will go. That is my purpose.” She says. The destruction of my world is true love I gift upon you, dismantling my heart and sharing the pieces equally between us, who could want more? “I love you too.” I say. We tilt to the side within a deep breath of one another. We fall, still gazing into the eyes we wake up to each morning. It still puts a smile on my face. The roar and scorn of the wind rages passed our ear.

“Any regrets?!” I shout. “Not loving you longer.” She replies. Kissing me as the ground creeps closer. This is how you fall into love.

———

(Thanks for reading. It was an epic story, wasn’t it? If you could leave a like, that’ll be great, cheers.)

Keeping my pen busy….Always

Alex

World War Wednesday

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I’m sitting in this trench; my feet are slowly sinking into the mud and blood puddles. The rain is coming in from the west of the alien country shown in the opposed soldier’s eyes and uniforms, Germany. I press my rifle barrel against my forehead, just last week ago Scotch took the barrel to his mouth; I squeeze my eyes closed because I was the one that found him. I can hear the bullet shivering in the gun, either it’s the bullet trembling or it is me, either way I will not condemn this bullet if it was too scared to exit its purpose hole as I would not like to be condemned if I never wanted to jump over Ends Edge into Deaths Playground.

Are we here to win this war or are we just Cannon-fodder? I am not even going to put to rest my curiosity to see if that was catapult fire or thunder, I will sit here and pretend nothing exploded, I will simply scope through our grave for the time being where time is our biggest killer and hopes for us going home, keep us alive.

All I see is fear but I don’t want anyone to know I am fear ridden so I pull out my tobacco tin and rolling papers, as I roll my cigarette and lick the paper, I catch a glimpse of four men huddling around a going out fire, they are laughing, probably about an obscene joke but at every breath the group take, they have an undertone of an unsettling truth, destiny and inevitability. Every man looks at their weapons or hands or at Ends Edge, knowing out time for our movement into Deaths Playground will be soon. A whisper leaping from one man to the next, from ear to mouth reaches me saying “Five minutes.”

I throw my half smoked cigarette against the mud wall opposite me. Recount my pointed off chasing killers, grenades and breathe. I can’t be afraid no more; this is what I was trained for. I look at the sky passed the black smoke and dark passing clouds, it is still so beautiful in its endlessness blue, I touch the ground, shaping my initials in the mud so people knew I was sitting here, I don’t want anyone to steal my seat. I smell the gun smoked air, it maybe not be my mother’s cooked dinners but it will have to do. Men down the trench are getting into position, kneeling under Ends Edge, making their peace with God or saying prayers to their hidden necklaces or staring at the sky of black smoke silently or to family photographs and memory but I know now I am not alone, that is the thing that gives me hope. A nod of “I will look out for you, out there” ripples through the men.

I wipe my nervous brow but I am just adding mud to mud. Screams and shouts begin to erupt; now gun fire feels as though it is time to step in. It is time, I stand and place my hand of Ends Edge it is not that scary it should be called The Edge of muddy Oblivion. I jump as everyone else does to the chance to make proud my brothers, friends, family, country and most of all for all freedom. A single shot…

The Fire Inside Me

fire inside screamer

The Fire Inside Me

Standing in the flames of these words, all I can do with them is set my world on fire. I’m enjoying this pain; let us dance on the ashes of this painful reminder, life. I am more human than human. I cape over this page as if I were a marvel, bitten by a radioactive firefly; guess what my power is? My self-destruct button has been detonated, a magic mushroom cloud you can read as a nightmare. Do you have smoke in your eyes or are you rubbing your peepers in amazement? I’m drowning on this page; I jumped straight in this deep end, my pen is my life-guard; but don’t save me yet, I’m on fire!

fire

Stop reading this! My words concocted with my pain can burn out your eyes. You don’t use them anyways; you only read half the stories or read into half-truths. My flair never spontaneously combusted, I had to find the strike for the right match for my mind to go up in flames. I’m enflamed with empathy, I’m flame-retardant; my crazy is never empty. I’m bringing an archaic firing to this paper; this is my form of an S.O.S! I’m holding up my lighter towards the sky. Too intense for the eyes to warrant a tear, my skin will burn and bubble and eventually seep off from my bones. I’m reheating my memories for my fire-demon to slurp up for dessert. Revenge is ice-cream! A dish best served cold; I run on scolding hot exhaust fumes; how can I bestow a forest-fire on all those that are cold?

I’m living in the past with these third degree burns, scars have funny ways of reminding you of past mistakes you have made. I scribble with sizzle, fizzle and scrape. I’m breathing an inferno while it’s raining torrential, steaming up your computer screen.

I’m a jack of all trades,

I’ve gotten the rapid response late,

When I blow my top,

Along with volcano rocks,

My magma words roll this way!

Raining fire

Am I destined for greatness with my stories or am I flying too close to the sun? That’s right, melt my wings, boot me out of heaven; I’m already living in Hell. I’m rain-dancing naked, let it reign fire. I’m only a phoenix rising from the ashes, so let me write in peace.

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Saved By An Angel – Part 2

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Saved By An Angel – Part Two

As people shoulder straight through Jack, he seems unmoved by their barge, walking side by side with me. Crowds of people are herding either towards school or work, the whole sidewalk is ram-packed.

“Okay, time for a game changer, Natalie. What I am planning to do is to rebuild you, saying that, I will have to destroy you first; all in a hypothetical sense.” Jack reasons, fingering his septum above his upper-lip.

I stop in my track and share a glare of unease to his witty grin. He turns and stands right in front of me.

“What did I tell you? I asked you to trust me, it won’t hurt one bit, well not physically.” He chuckles as he re-turns and begins walking again. I really do not fancy answering him within this swarm of walkers; I don’t think I could handle the weird looks, laughs and points of their normal ways.

I jog up to his pace and take out my Galaxy S4 Mini phone and hold it to my ear.

“Jack, what do you have planned? You have a look in your eyes that’s not really settling well within me.”

He halts and looks over someone’s shoulder as they are reading text messages; the young ladies life Jack scopes into has a smile cut right across her face, the message must be a good one perhaps from a new love. He claps his hands together.

“I’ve got it and we can do it before school, Nat. Onwards and upwards!” Jack pinches my cheeks with so much excitement which emulates from his facial expression. He grabs my hand and tugs me down the street, all the by-passers look on to me being dragged by an invisible force.

“Jack, if you don’t stop pulling me I will be forced to call you an Archangel.” Jack stops in his track but I keep staggering and hurtle straight into his back.

“Hey, Guardian Angels are the poor men in heaven and those Ass-Angels are the movie stars. I am nothing like those douche bags and I sleep better knowing that.” He affirms with a cocky tone.  “We’re at your first task anyway.” He pecks me on the cheek. My affinity for this man, slash angel is growing on me.

“Task? What task? I thought you were sent here to help me.” He creeps up to me and throws his arm around me. “I am but the help cannot only come from me, think of me as a coach who hypes you up before the big game but it is inevitably you who will be doing all the running and scoring.”

“Great, Self-help, Jack I could have done this myself.” I exhale gently.

“Sort of self-help but you will have to help yourself to my advice. I don’t lie, Nat.”

I give in with my hands wiping my old life away within my nervous sweat.

“Now, do you see in Jacks-Snack-Bar to our left; there is a guy named Steven Jackson, he is the one wearing a leather jacket.” I glance through the window and see the most rough-looking, chiselled jawed guy I have ever seen, sat with five other loud-ass dudes. “Nat, look at me. What I need from you in our first task is I want to walk in there and tell that guy that he is the most luscious and sexiest guy you have ever laid eyes on and all you want to do is lick his bare chest. Then walk back out before he gets the chance to reply.”

Only thinking about doing this deed freezes my every limb and chases my heartbeat.

“I don’t think I can Jack. That’s way too much for me to handle first off.”

He puts his hands on my face and holds my head within his palms, looking at me right in the eyes, right into my soul.

“Natalie, you are a new you. You have a new look and a new lease of life. I would never have asked this of you if I myself did not think you were ready for it, I wouldn’t have asked it from you. You are, trust me.” I lighten up. “Now get that ass in there.”

Step towards complete demise from the social structure. I enter through the door with a ding and silently I strategize all that I must say while trying to keep it all together. The laugh from the gang in the corner bellows through-out the Snack-bar; all other sitters are unnerved and scared to ask for them to settle.

I walk over panicky but with a mission to keep me marching.

“Hi-Hiiii Steve.” The whole room stops and stares at me about to make a fool of myself. “I would… Like to say-y-y-y… You are the sexiest of all men and I would lick to like you… I mean like to lick you.” I quickly close my eyes, turn, open and march straight out of the door.

“I mess up, Jack.” I almost wail.

“No you didn’t. What you did was stand up to everything that was telling you not to and you took a step into the beyond of your normal state. First step complete, tick it from the list. C’mon let’s get to school.”

We cut through Jenkins Park, which is a wooded area but if cuts the time to walk to school by at least twenty minutes which in theory means an extra twenty minutes in bed. Jack is hopping over logs.

“What’s it like being an angel, Jack?” I probe into his life to get to know about this mystery that has chained himself to me.

“Boring at times, all you do is watch; we all really watch the intimacy side of life, that’s kind of our movies. That one spark between two people that flourishes into a forest fire, it’s an F’in treat which goes great with popcorn.” He reports without ever making eye-contact, still hopping over branches.

“The Devil was an angel, right? So is he still downstairs?” Jack cocks his head and burst out laughing.

“Okay, let me clear the whole Lucifer story up, for your ears only. Lucifer was the most beautiful of angels, females wanted to be with him and the males would have carved off their right-wing just to be him for a day. So one day he and our all mighty father had a major falling out, which got him kicked out our house. That’s the part of the book that all you guys have read, but like it is in heaven it shall be on Earth. My dad forgave and let him back in ages ago, he messed up, paid the price and now he is the golden boy again; a vain ass-bag but still a daddy’s boy at the end of the day. Why do you think whenever there’s a movie made about him, all of the people say there is a curse on the movie set. I would be pissed too to have people think for a millennium that I was actually evil. He’s back at home, think as hell as a rehab centre for angels. He’s bringing his autobiography out on scroll in a few months, I have pre-order my copy along with the audio version of his story in hell, narrated by Elvis. We’re not that different, baby.”

A ruckus of male laughter and shouts comes echoing from through the weaves of the trees and leafs. Me and Jack pass deer in the headlight stares at one another.

“Jack! What could that be?” I hush over to him.

“I don’t know…. Werewolves, maybe?” He chucks, undeterred by the hollers as he stares into my deep blues.

From the bushes behind us comes Steve Jackson, clicking his knuckles.

“There you are my sweet thing, I didn’t get the chance to reply to your compliment earlier, you ran away so fast, so me and my boys…” All Stevens’s boys come out from the shadows of the woods and stand behind Steve. “…Drove around looking for you, to thank you in our special way for making our day; I hope you like it.”

I start to back up with the trembles of fear shivering me. Their evil deeds show in their eyes as they step forward and try to flank me from the sides. Jack steps in front of me.

“Natalie, slowly start to back up, I will deal with this. Nobody and I mean nobody gets in the way of my work.” Jack bows his head with his eyes closed, focusing himself. Without any effort his flutters into the air; the forest turns dark. The shadows of gigantic wings attach and open from Jacks back. Within one flap of his almost invisible wings and ferocious winds tears through the forest, ripping up logs and sending the spiralling through the air, brush that laid still distorts the entire forest; along with the roar of wind help pick up the hooligans and somersaults them through the woodland until they are out of sight.

Everything soon settles and begins to rest on mayhem. Jack comes back to the throws of gravity. He turns with a smile.

“Shall we get to school, then?” He bubbles like nothing has happened.

I nod incessantly in shock as he brushes by me with a wink.

What have I gotten myself into? Who is this guy? Why me? I guess by the time this week is up I will find out, won’t I?

I Received Another Rejection Letter From a Literary Agent

I received another rejection letter again from a literary agency… Hey, we all go through it as writers, at one point or another.

Their exact (Key) Words they sent were:

  1. We are sorry to inform you…

(Always a no-brainer where this is going)

  1. Not currently seeking out new clients at this time…

(Erm… Okay)

  1. We enjoyed your stories but…

(…no words…)

  1. All the best in your future representation…

(Worth a shot…)

We can’t always hit a bull’s-eye on the first shot. I was told by another writer when I first started writing “You will get nowhere in this industry if you don’t have a name people remember.”

I guess he was right; without exposure I will not get anywhere in this writers life.

So I came up with a plan, a plan that would boggle the minds of most… I shall write and lie in wait.

What more can I do?

If I am to write all that overcomes my pretty-little head and share it upon my blog, sooner than later the readers and views will come, which in turn could eventually bring forth the right eyes for my work. (That’s innuendo for an agent.)

So instead of writing and passing out your work to Lit-Agencies who will NOT cloak you within their name, write all you can through a blogging portal and bring the agents to you.

You have waited this long to be a great writer; why not wait a little longer?

Look at my blog;

  • One year ago I was a no one. Now I am less than that…
  • Today my blogs views have increased almost 400% within the last 3 months.
  • With the ten new wordpress followers a day, comes ten new readers.

We as writers will always find a way to satisfy our urges to scribble.

Find your own and be comfortable with it and I bet my soul, respect, a name and your dreams will soon venture your way.

Write!

Keep your pens busy!

I will be posting another post for you all tomorra’

Alexander Kennedy – Creative Writer.

Wordless…

I treasure my secrets so this world cannot find me. An X marks the spot; this is why I write when I am cross. I will wait here for you, I will always be here. Keep digging the dirt from on top of me; you will never uncover my truth. Set sail for a better life, towards the horizon line into the sunset. I cannot stand these calm oceans any longer; I am falling from the edge of the world’s ledge.

This split personality is splitting me in half, personally I am a person of pure fear, I don’t get along with many people, I blow up if you’re here. How would it be if I were famous? That would never happen; if I had a working brain this nameless delinquent would be too dangerous. I forecast more contrast, the light from my eyes have been snatched by a bad-man, gone fast. These naked trees vein over my skies, Alex, stop looking up to those stars unless they’re exploding!

Life is lawless,

Jobless with no benefits,

Hopeless and can’t get to grips,

With this whole mess I am living in.

Welfare will recur,

So will their slurring eyes,

The greatest loser,

It takes time to get use to,

We’re all living in this warfare,

Don’t feed this animal, tattooed,

Check out my new head-ware.

Ill-starred since my life started,

Killed my heart for my writing passion,

My time machine has broken down,

I am reliving my remembered past in a passing glimpse,

I’m turning off my humanity switch,

Hey, these hits happen.

Down this wormhole I go,

Clicking together my heels,

There’s no place like home,

Falling on my face, comatose,

You’re now watch an apocalypse taking place,

I’m diving in headfirst, hold your nose,

I am swimming in insane.

These words play no part in my everyday vocabulary, my existence is a horrific ordeal; ideally I am lost for words. Don’t wake me up from this nightmare; my everyday life is much worse. What can I write to have you on my side? See these horrors I never borrowed in this heart lives only hollowed morals.

Define: Writer

If you think reading is boring

Define: Writer

  1. noun

Noun: writer; plural noun: writers

  1. A person who has written something or who writes in a particular way.

“The writer of the letter”

  • A person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or occupation.

“Dickens was a prolific writer”synonyms:author,   wordsmith,   man/woman of letters, penman,   creative writer; Moreinformalscribbler,   scribe,   pen-pusher,   hack,   potboiler

To look at what a writer does from this perspective doesn’t hit the bone; this only shows you the skin. Writing for me and many other worldwide is pure magic. It is the belief in oneself when words are all we have; and now the whole world has some sort of writing device in front of them. We can all be writers.

But what this doesn’t tell you, from of all of the “Writers” out there; there are scribblers who are “True Writers”

These creators of stories and other articles do not give up. If they blog like myself, no matter how many people are viewing their work or if they would ever get noticed but a publishing house or literary agency, they will keep writing because it is all we have at the end of the day.

But I have to hand it to people; some do try at their writing and give up after a certain period of time because they find out that it is harder than it looks. But you have it in you to make a difference within your life.

Keep at it and show the world what is within you.

Have a look around my blog and see the different types of writing styles and stories you could possibly write or go on to write when you are ready.

Practice makes perfects and re-writes make a great story writer.

Sorry this was a short post, I will make sure you have something great to read later. 🙂

Keep your pens busy!

Alex

Writing My Insanity

Insane 11

Slinging slithering slander as a sufficient serpent strike suffering in stupendous stillness. This is where I will be, padded cells for all. Blessed with this curse to slur my toxic thoughts from my fantasy world ravished by war, patients versus doctors; who will win? Who will win? Me…

My opaquely dysfunctional posture stands firm, this sedition could coffin this world. The human race kicked me out of their private club-house, now I am taking up new hobbies, dismemberment. I am transcending through my writing, my transport to the other world. My climb to the top is in a spiral staircase crisis, giving myself a minuscule nudge into the unknown immortal coil, this is all I know. Read between my lines until you get cross-eyed.

I am a totem of total solemn; my soul purpose in this asylum is to tear until worn-out, my body, collapse these obituary columns which keep me grounded whilst I run away from my demons. Where I have been, your imagination is classed as a weapon for explosive exploitation; I swaddle all of this twaddle I dabbled in. Mirror promises with filled eyes, I can’t look at myself, the fear will become non-fiction.

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I overshadow my own characteristics, feral and feeble, I paint on a clown smile; the tears are real. These words may seem as a pathetic or embarrassing; this is only the top layer of my thick skin I am flaying and writing upon. I emaciate my mind so I can traipse back from the fires inside; I fill these pages because I can no longer afford to fill myself. All I can do is march forward with my fingers.

I learned from when I was a toddler, people are the worst type of monsters; so I grew-some and became gruesome.

I have a way of bringing the best out of you when the worst is going on. I notice everyone jumping on the bandwagon whilst I am fall off the wagon. I don’t want your money or pity, I want your eyes. I can show any extra enemy an empty welcome entry or experimental empathy entirely for eternity, depending on my mood. I will never divide my divine but deny all of this denial as the devil has deeded death on me.

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Have A Great New Year To All My Writer Friends!

Just wanted to give a huge thank you at all of you for all the positive feedback on my work. I truly appreciate it.

For a New Years Resolution, how about writing that book or staring that blog. For the love you have shown me, I promise to show you in the future.

If any of you ever need any help, with writing, bouncing ideas off one another or just to hang out. Get in touch.

Love ya’!

See you next year.

Alex