A Story of Fiction: Sentiments of a 13-year Old

I was walking along that dim, strange sidewalk, when a flock of hungry bats obstructed my way. With no hesitation, I tried to capture one but never made it. With that striking hunger vicious in their eyes, it flew over me, and flogged me, bit me one by one, until the pain covered my capacity for reckless feedback. It stole my strength, blaming on me my weakness.

I had been hardly breathing. I had laid there for a few minutes dead meat, for scavenging cats and roaming rascals to have a party tonight, when I woke up.

From then on, that indescribable pain never lasted. It reached into my memory, digging in the lasts of what was reality to me. That once in a creepy dream, I had been left spared in the dark, is the present which continuously leaves a mark on me being human. For I lamented the grievances of someone seeking for affection. When all I really wanted was to feel the brilliance of life.

I begged that I may feel NOW as my past, wherein I could jive with them, click some shots, sit stuck amidst the traffic, crack those jokes, play with the music in marsh blending, watch the movies flicker, drop the compunctions, evade the snubs, derive an imbroglio, and imbue the ecstasy of life.

Now, I'm left with an inchoate character. I feel imaginary. Misplaced in yesterday's realm. Buried 5 feet and 11 inches, just an inch before extinction.

If only humans had such an ability, to hear the whispers of the longing heart, I could have stayed and escaped from abandonment.

I couldn't have been mute, in expressing my sentiments to this abject loneliness. When all this time, I needed them most, to resist the lame upshot of being left.

Copyright © 2008

posted last January 29, 2008 (WritingCampus)

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It's not That Hard To Imagine

I used to feel that I know my own limits, and in me lay the concept of what I am to become, of what I want to be part of, of what I will be doing in the near future, of what I think would be nice for me, of how my fears would start to end its dreary situation, of which path would I choose next.

It's amazing to see myself living with no one special to care of. All I have to think is myself, my own survival.

Sometimes I start to wonder, am I assuring myself what's best for me? Have i grown up enough to face the crowd of danger? Or am I just playing with this contemporary game I entered, running backwards, and hiding from the challenges associated with maturity.

That's life I thought. "Life is just a chance to grow a soul", I told myself of this familiar quote by Powell Davies. And, from that point in time I learned the value of sacrifice, to this point where I write my responses trying to reach out to my fellow readers and express the privileges of being human, I push myself to the essence of having a life lived for others which keeps me worthy intended to solving every day's riddle, and to reserving my strength to unexpected, fallen circumstances of failure, which almost got me to the point of surrendering, to help me uplift my personality and improve my well-being.

And now, I dream that someday I may stand up with my feet solid from the rocky steps through which I have fallen, wherein my downs would have carried me one step higher, to that certain fulfillment of a lifetime.

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Dreams Aimed: a Sacrifice

Those phrases, a construction of words soothingly echoing back and forth into my ear, wherein she would try to interfere in the blissful sleep of the morning.


Always the topic discussion of the House. When will I learn to comply with the discipline of forcing myself to stand up in the middle of the chilly dawn? When will I grow up?

Till now, when I had been wondering how I could have done it
right, without the alarming nuisance of the ticking clock, without the waste of
an hour for my soul and body to reach out and compose a ring-a-bell rhythm, and
without that speech heard-spoken. I just found out how ceremonious it
could have been. Buzzing within your sense of hearing all the time. But,
somehow I found out how I grieve for those
minutes of emancipated talk.

And now, all I've been trying to focus on, is the goal to score the days' worth and the aim to scrap all those blank pages off my memory (so faced) to attain a positive result, to retrieve back.
Yes. This is what I've dreamed of, what I yearned for, to take the flight and direct my plight to where it would lead me to. To accept the challenge and lead the way. But, I never really demanded to be separated from home for it is where I truly belong. It's the sanctuary of my own emotions. I seek refuge through it.


I am for my happiness, but to purpose, I crave for passion.

A reason why I always direct my dreams tomorrow. Cause it's always pain and frustration that arise from my perspectives, not minding the completeness I feel being with some friends to rely on.

Copyright © 2008

posted last January 28, 2006 in WritingCampus.com

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