Got Bored… So, Here’s An Awful Song/Story

Context for this one – I was fighting crippling anxiety at the time. So, it was just something to help cope.

(From previous blog, unedited)

[Untitled 1]
There once was a prince locked up in a castle
He was held there by a wicked wretched evil witch
And every single night he would work up a hassle
For the wretched evil liar who lured him adrift

Locked in a single room with hardly any space
The prince believed it was only a phase
That some daring knight riding upon a steed
Would come to rescue him in this hour of need

And every single night before he fell asleep
He gazed up to the stars ready to plea
Kneeled down in a fashion that pained his knees
With beaming eyes and a hopeful heart
The poor young prince broke into part
“I beg of thee, set me free
Send down a fair young knight
Riding on a swift pony”

As he woke in the mornin’ by the sun beaming through
His ugly looking curtains came into view
Hope gripped his feet and it sprung him from bed
Then a disappointed answer left him with dread

With no sign of rescue or any knight to be had
The helpless young prince started missing his dad
Thoughts flooded and memories flashed
Remembering all the times time went too fast
Then he remembered his mom and remembered his dog
Remembered his sister and remembered his secret frog

Soon the prince found himself spiraling out of control
Sinkin’ deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole
Now the prince began a’ thinking
And the prince began a’ breathing
He had an existential crisis that left him weak feeling
Pretty soon the prince was thinking too much his breathing
And the dawning realization of the end was nearing

Bouncing around the room looking for a way out
This frightened little prince wasn’t going to wait around now
Instead of hoping for some brave and clever knight
The prince began a’ plotting and scheming all night
To calm himself down he would take the time
To sit himself down and rehearse a rhyme
“I am here, here is now
My mind is clear, and one with Tao”

Then once the prince hatched his brilliant scheme
He started hearing movement beneath the seams
And when the prince was finished he readied himself
Preparing for the escape that might just save him from hell

Ready and waiting, the prince became focused
He was staring down the door rarin’ to go for it
And at the very moment the handle began to turn
The eager young prince started into a run

It was then he quickly realized what he had done
Springing a trap on a certain very special someone
It was the knight he prayed for and didn’t look too well
He seemed quite agitated and rarin’ to break through hell
Squirming in the net, the knight lectured the prince
But all he could think of was “Who is this?”

So he cut down the rope that opened the net
And let down the knight who he hoped would forget
About tying him up and how they had met

Then the knight grabbed the prince by his wrist
And rushed him through the window with his armored fist
The window shattered and the pieces scattered
Then the prince’s clothes became all tattered

They landed on a horse positioned outside
The young prince screamed in terror
And the knight said “It will be alright”

As they rode off over the hill, the prince said
“Thank you, Ser Knight, I almost wound up dead”
The brave fairing knight lifted up his helmet
Only to reveal long flowing strands of velvet
And the prince gaped in awe at the ever flowing hair
Entranced by the movement of it passing through air
Combined with the rhythm of the fast-riding mare
He soon became unable to cease his glare

But then something new caught a twinkle in his eye
It wasn’t the hair, but he was still surprised
By the brave fairing knight’s majestic face
Amazed and overwhelmed by the beauty and grace
It was pale and accompanied by a cheery smile
And the prince became flushed as they reached a mile

The prince became all shy and began to stutter
But suddenly his heart was sent all a flutter
At the very single moment, he turned away
The brave and fairing knight leaned into say
“I hope you don’t mind a fair young maiden
Over a brave and daring knight
I’m not much a’ fighter, but I couldn’t sit tight
I had searched near and far to come to aid
And then before I knew it I was given this blade
I set upon a journey arduous in task
Met with people that caused me to ask
“Have any seen or heard of this missing prince?”
And each and everyone said they hadn’t since
As hope began to weaken and despair began to sink in
I had reached my limit before I had even seen him

Then as fortune would have it
I was led to you by a small white rabbit
And I rode full speed determined at my best
Certain that I would be successful in my daring quest
After cutting down the witch and rushing up to your room
Everything down turned into an upside view

Next thing I knew I was trapped in a net
And though I yelled, I wasn’t really that upset
When you cut me down I knew who I’d found
And had a strong feeling we wouldn’t hit the ground
With adrenaline-fuelled veins and you by my side
I was certain that it would be alright
So I rushed through the window, certain in my choice
Next thing I know we’ve landed and there’s a terror in your voice
My instincts called to me saying we should rejoice
After riding for a while you’ve seen who I am
So tell me fair young prince where to shall we scram?

The Art of Manipulation (A Short Story)

(From previous blog, unedited)

Here is the other short story I wrote a while back.

The Art of Manipulation
 John Liebert. A college professor adept in all fields, but focuses his teaching skills on philosophy and literature. A seemingly ordinary individual, but deep down he is a cynical, narcissistic sociopath. His mind is addicted to manipulating people and he will always find a way to make someone’s life a living hell.
 He sits outside a Starbucks with his long dark brown hair, messy and untidy, no attempts made to style it. Today, he is wearing an elegantly tailored suit and a long, flowing overcoat, both black in colour, with a dark purple tie.
 He takes a sip from his hot cup of coffee and then gently places it back onto the saucer. He opens his newspaper, ruffling the pages, speed-reading each page, absorbing the most important headlines. He finished the newspaper a while ago, but he feels an obligation to society to appear busy. He stops at a particular headline BODY FOUND! YOUNG WOMAN BURNED TO DEATH! and laughs to himself almost maniacally so. There is no attention drawn towards him, but he stops himself in order to prevent a scene.
 He leans forward glancing at passer-bys, judging their personalities by their appearances and movements. Liebert thinks to himself, “too dependent, too lonely, too masochistic, too frugal, too altruistic, too impulsive, too trusting.”
“All too easy,” he says disappointingly. Liebert sighs deeply.
The waitress is standing beside him holding an empty tray, “Is everything alright, sir?”. Liebert takes a brief pause before replying, “Long day.”
“I’ll bet,” she says annoyingly. “Would you like some more coffee?”
Libert glances at his coffee for a second just to double-check the waitress’s intelligence. He fights the urge to point out that his cup is practically full. “I’m fine, thank you…” he reads her nametag, “Harmony?”
“You’re welcome,” she smiles and wanders off to pester more customers. Before getting a chance to take another sip of coffee a woman sits down in front of him. In only a few seconds Liebert has already memorised her appearance; velvet red hair, dyed, hazel eyes, a pale complexion, smooth-looking skin, beauty mark on left cheek and a red dress to match red lipstick and red stilettos.
“Are you John Liebert by any chance?” she asks excitedly.
“Am I supposed to be famous?” Liebert says nonchalantly.
“Oh, don’t be modest! I’ve seen you do Shakespeare. You killed it as Iago!”
“Did I now?”
“I must have your autograph! Would you be so kind as to…?”
“It would be my pleasure, my dear.”
“Oh! Thank you so much!” she hands him her copy of Othello, “It’s Scarlet by the way.” “Your name? Or your hair?” he asks jocularly. Liebert signs his name hands it back to Scarlet firmly. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Did you have something else in mind?” she said flirtatiously.
“Well, I was planning on going for a stroll after I had finished my coffee,” Libert says matter-of-factly.
“I have two tickets to the opera.”
“What time?”
Startled, Scarlet blurts out her words, “Uh.. umm.. Oh! Uh.. 7:30!”
“And what opera will be showing?”
“The Pirates of the Carib-No. That’s not it. Um.. The Pirates of–”
Liebert interrupts with suavity. “Penzance?”
“Yes! That’s the one! It’ll be fun, won’t it?”
Liebert stands up and takes his coffee up off the table. “We’d better get a move on then.”
“It’s only gone one.”
“Exactly. We only have six and half hours to get to know each other.”
Scarlet opens up her red handbag and checks her reflection while occasionally looking up at Liebert. “Let’s get going then. Shall we?”
“After you.” Liebert keeps his composure despite the plans flooding through his mind right now. His thoughts get the better of him later during the opera showing. Liebert felt like a king sitting front row on the balcony. If there was anything good to say about him it was that he had fine taste in arts and furniture. He could feel the lumbar support of the red velvet seats caressing his back. He then turned to Scarlet and realised he hadn’t completed his objective for the night. Liebert whispers to Scarlet and leaves. Scarlet follows. She pursues him to the rooftop worryingly. As she barges through the entrance to the roof, Scarlet screams “Don’t do it!”
Liebert is standing dangerously close to the edge. He places one foot in the air, gently leaning forward.
“Today will be the day.”
“Is doesn’t have to be!” Scarlet moves closer to Liebert, slowly so that he won’t do anything rash.
“Will I be missed?”
 Liebert turns to Scarlet. His eyes pierce into her. Now frightened, Scarlet panics and rushes to Liebert. Liebert backs away from the ledge, presuming that Scarlet’s speed and movement was just enough for her to trip and fall. Dangling on the edge, Scarlet struggles to pull her body up. The weather picks up some wind . Liebert walks over to the ledge, admiring the starry night sky as he kneels down with one knee. He reaches out to her with his hand. Scarlet grabs his hand in desperation, trusting him with her life. Lifting her arm high enough for them to be face-to-face, Liebert looks Scarlet dead in the eye and says “People are so predictable.”
He let’s go of her hand, watching her plummet to her demise, and then walks away with a blank expression.
 The next day, Liebert sits in the same spot as he did the day before. Holding the newspaper in one hand and sipping his coffee with the other, he reads the headline WOMAN FOUND DEAD! NO EVIDENCE OF HOMICIDE. Liebert smirks before taking another sip from his coffee.

“…a new beast, slouching towards us…the beautiful mutant”

(From previous blog, unedited)

Thought I might speed up the process and post two more stories I wrote a while back.
Here’s the first.

A sci-fi story with quote “…a new beast, slouching towards us…the beautiful mutant”.
The date is Friday, the 31st December. The year; 2027. The location; Downtown New York, Sacred Mind Laboratory. The night had rolled in over Manhattan. The air is still and the sky is tormented with clouds. The city lights dwindled to the smattering of stubborn night owls. A cold breeze rustles the trees. The owls are sent on their way.
One of the owls catches the gaze of one absent-minded scientist, Phil Tucker, age thirty-four, seen wearing a white lab coat with brown slacks staring out into the starry night, seated facing the spine of his caster-wheel chair. Amber Grey, age thirty-one, blonde, wears a similar lab coat over her blue dress shirt, calls him over to join in before the clock strikes midnight, but he ignores her. Cecilia Cross, age twenty-seven, a kind young woman with silver-like hair, crystal blue eyes and a smile that convinces Phil to join them in the celebration.
They all count down “Ten. Nine. Eight…”. Phil turns his head towards the window, refusing to say the words. “Three. Two. One! Happy New Year!” The sounds of popped confetti and party horns are followed by a celebratory crack of the cork by Phoenix Temple, age twenty-five. Phoenix has the appearance of a lanky young man. He has short black hair swept back and has a small amount of stubble on his chin. Cecilia holds the glasses while Phoenix pours the champagne. Everyone clings their glasses together “Cheers!”. Phoenix and Cecilia trade smiles.
Amber observes Cecilia’s hand “Cecilia! When did you two-”
“I’ve been wearing it since Christmas. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.” she says playfully.
“I should have noticed sooner. Sorry.”
Cecilia giggles “It’s alright, Amber.”
Phil glances around the room in an almost paranoid manner.
Phil is caught off guard by Phoenix’s pat on the back. He turns to Phoenix, scanning him up and down.
Phoenix asks “Is everything alright? You look a bit overworked. Maybe you should get some shut-eye.”
“I’m fine.” Phil argued. Phoenix places his arm around Phil’s neck.
“Don’t overthink it, I’m sure we didn’t overlook anything import-”
Amber interrupts urgently, “Guys! You might want to see this.”
They rush to Amber’s computer only to find on screen-
“It’s out!? How did it get out!?” Phoenix exclaims frantically.
“I told you! I told you this would happen!” Phil complains.
Amber looks closely in on the camera “Is that Cecilia? When did she-”
They turn and examine the room, then quickly return their gaze to the monitor.
“Cecilia!” Phoenix yells anxiously.
“She can’t hear you.” Phil says sulkily.
Phoenix rushes out the door, through the corridor and down the flights of stairs until he hears a scream of agony from Cecilia. “I’m coming, Cecilia!”. He makes his way to the room where Cecilia was last spotted “Not here.” He then passes through the corridor until he discovers a trail of blood leading into the room labelled ’17B’. His eyes widen as he hesitantly pulls the slide door open. Nothing could prepare him for the horror inside.
One glimpse. That’s all it took. His skin turned pale and his appetite rendered him nauseous. He drops to his knees, facing the ground, weeping. He can’t bring himself to look, but he can’t look away either. His fiancée, Cecilia Cross, soon to be Cecilia Temple, lies with but a torso left to recognise. Her intestines have been half-chewed and her legs have been devoured whole. What remains of Cecilia Cross is but a disemboweled corpse with a pretty face. Before Phoenix gets a chance to compose himself his phone starts to ring “Phoenix! You daft maniac, get up here before it… before it… Amber, what are you doing with that-Ahhhh!”
He hangs up the phone. “I’m sorry.” he cries softly.
The thought of being eaten alive by that beast is what gives him the strength to stand up and lock the door. He does everything in his power to ignore Cecilia. He rummages through the desk drawers in search of something to defend himself. His mind drifts “Why should my fate be any different than theirs? After all, this was my idea. This was my project. This was my fault.” With eyes closed he hits his head off the wall, clenching his fist, bearing feelings of both grief and guilt. He checks the last drawer, Phil’s. Inside the drawer is a handgun. He takes the gun from Phil’s desk and checks the magazine. “It’s loaded. What was Phil thinking?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He walks over to Cecilia (or what’s left of her). “Nothing matters anymore.” He takes a seat with his back against the wall, right next to Cecilia. The lights go out. “It’s even smart enough to cut the power, huh? I guess in the end, we reap what we sow. ‘A new beast, slouching towards us… the beautiful mutant.’ That’s what Amber called it. Remember how we laughed, Cecilia?” A roaring snarl is echoed through the corridor. “It’s on its way, Cecilia. Death will soon come knocking on my door, and then we will be reunited.” There is a clamorous clonk at the door. It makes a noticeable impact. Phoenix looks to Cecilia “You always wore that cross, even when I teased you about your name. Your faith is so much stronger than mine, but… for you I’m willing to give it a try.” The violent thumps at the door are beginning to take shape. “Forgive me father…” (thump-thump) He raises the handgun at the door. “… for I have sinned…” (thump-thump) He steadies his aim, lining up his shot. “… for I have sinned…” The door is knocked down. It is too dark to see the beast, but that’s not what the shot is for. “… a lot.”
An ear-piercing bang echoes through the laboratory.

A Short Story About a Reunion

(From previous blog, unedited)

After flicking through some of my old stories from school, I decided to start posting them here. They are titled after the questions from past papers, so here’s the first one I’ll be posting.

Write a short story about a reunion.
I find myself reliving the same dream over and over again. Birds flying behind white, puffy clouds in an azure sky on a bright and sunny afternoon. I alone occupy a park bench placed in the green area behind the smooth, grey pavement. I sit, patiently waiting as joggers pass by, some in tight, usually black bicycle shorts, others in either dark tracksuit bottoms or grey sweatpants. Each one keeping to themselves, too engrossed in their music to take care in their surroundings.
 I can’t help shake the feeling I made a mistake coming here. I think to myself “What am I doing? Why did I agree to this?” unsure whether or not I should get up and leave. I don’t. I say to myself “Just another five minutes. Then I’m leaving.” I repeat this sentence once every five minutes, each time I frantically turn my head left and right, then return to my original composure and shift my eyes from left to right wildly, looking for a sign that I haven’t just wasted an hour of my life sitting alone on a park bench waiting for someone who’s probably not even going to show like the fool I am. “Why not just call or text me to say she’s running late?” I think to myself, bewildered.
 “That’s it. This time no regrets.” I slowly push myself up from the bench and assume a standing position: back straight, shoulders broad, legs a bit numb. I turn left and start walking, trying my hardest to let go. I stop and turn. I see a hand waving in the distance. I squint my eyes, raising my hand above to shield them from the intensity of the sun. My eyes beam with excitement. “That’s her!” I hoped, dashing her way as she hurried mine. I then suddenly bring myself to a halt, my face losing all sense of elation. There was something off, something wrong in the air. Then it hit me. She was gone. One minute she’s running my way with the most cheerful smile and innocent blue eyes and the next thing I know she passes through me like a warm summer’s breeze.
 I quickly come to the horrifying realization… none of this is real. It’s a dream, possibly an obscured memory. My mind can never seem to distinct between the two. The scene rewinds as though it were a movie and plays right where she enters. “Am I in control now?” I wonder. “Or is my mind turning against me?” I contemplate, frightened by the notion. I observe her more carefully this time. Pale skin glistening in the sunlight, dark brown hair rendered bright by the sun, and that infectious smile…
 She passes through me again. The scene replays. “What am I missing?” I feel too anxious to focus properly, but I take a deep breath, close my eyes, exhale and take in my surroundings. “Okay.” I am filled with clarity, my mind pulsing at the opportunity to test its newfound power. I rewind the scene manually this time and play where she enters. Things are becoming clearer now. The blue denim jacket over her pink hoodie. The dark yoga pants with white vertical stripes descending to a seemingly new pair of white runners, laced, clean.
 I rewind and play the scene one last time. Her hair – long, wavy, maintaining its sleekness despite the occasional strong gust of wind. Her neck – tender, bruised, scarred. A heart-shaped locket hangs around her neck – “genuine gold” she once told me. A gift from her grandmother, she said. I pause the scene just seconds before she reaches me. I examine her neck more carefully. The scar runs all around and back to the origin point as if she was… then it suddenly dawned on me. This wasn’t a happy reunion. This wasn’t a dream or a memory. No, this was much worse. The scar around her neck could only mean one thing… she was… gone.
 A single tear runs down my face and hits the pavement as blood. Suddenly, she rewinds and fast forwards as though possessed by some demonic entity or outside force. I turn away and see everything change. The trees fluctuating their leaves through all four seasons at a supernatural rate, the clouds and sky constantly varying in colour and weather. I turn back and she’s gone. Everything becomes still. Time has stopped. I look down, stupefied by the events that just occurred to discover a box with my name on it. I find myself holding a knife in my right hand. I cut open the box and take a deep breath before looking inside. One glimpse. That’s all it took to drawn all the life I had left from my face. I was in shock. I had no idea what to think anymore. Up until now, my dream seems to have been reacting to my observations of the world, now I feel like it’s guilting me for something I have no recollection of…
 Her head lays severed in the box and I can’t look away. “Why? Why can’t I look away?” I become tense and distraught with anxiety and fear. My eyes lock onto hers. There is an ominous feeling in the air, but I am too far down the rabbit hole to care at this point. Her eyes burst open with terror and I remember everything.
 We were to meet at this exact park bench but she never arrived. I waited and waited for hours, each moment becoming more and more infuriated and self-conscious. It wasn’t until it started raining that I walked home, only to discover she had been in an accident. I can remember the tears, the stillness of that moment and the bitter emptiness that came with it.