|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 1:11:52 GMT -5
Once upon a time, there was a college.
Once upon a time, there was a girl.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who enjoyed this girl.
And, once upon a time, she didn't know he existed.
He sat behind her in class. Or rather, he sat on the level above her in class. A single staircase step hovering over a world of beauty. He decided that, one day he would follow her after class, perchance to speak to her for the first time. He'd admired her for a very long time, and had glanced over every curve of her.
He knew of her circle of friends, her phone contacts (she texted in class), and even her favorite fashion statement, but he couldn't possibly share this with her. He simply wanted her to notice him.
He was a rather attractive man. Sure, not the most atheletic, but with a suave charm and a literate demeanor that would make librarians melt like butter. At least, he liked to think so.
He nonchalontly walked down the hallway and eventually the campus, following close behind her. She occasionally stopped to talk to her friends as they passed, or order a mocha or two.
Whipped cream, iced, and with a touch of chocolate sprinkles. He noted that that was how she liked her coffee. Making a mental corner for it, he gathered his things and continued to follow her, back to her dormitory.
As he watched her enter her room and hear the door click softly shut behind her, he decided he hadn't seen enough. Her beauty required more, a longer gaze. It took perhaps twenty minutes to get from class to her room, but it simply wasn't enough.
He decided to do the honorable thing and not stare from the bushes outside like a lecher. He swallowed the lump in his throat, took a single, deep breath, and knocked on the door. He saw her crystal blue eye glance through the peephole momentarily, and then heard the locks turn and open with a jagged crack.
She said a feeble hello, and remarked that it was quite late for a boy to be in the girls' dormitory. He chuckled and nodded, but then cursed himself silently for it. He looked like an idiot in front of the girl of his dreams!
She remarked how the speech he gave in class that day was very nicely worded, to which he gave an honest thanks. She toiled with her curly blonde hair and smiled. It seemed to be going so well. He asked her if she had any classes, and she shrugged, saying all of hers were over for the day.
He suggested dinner off-campus. She smiled and nodded, walking back to grab her purse and sweater.
However, she could not find her sweater. Being the gentleman he was, he offered to give her his letterman jacket, and she accepted it gracefully. The two went out for dinner, and had a merry time together. He paid for the dinner, much to her anguish. She had offered, but he decided he wanted to prove how gentlemanly he could be. He drove her home, walked her inside, and recieved a peck on the cheek goodnight. He slept well that night, dreaming of her and the next day he would see her.
The next day, she died in a car accident, involving a drunk driver and the opposite lane of traffic.
He decided from that day on, that he would never stalk anyone ever again.
[/sad but true story]
|
|
|
Post by Qwerty on Feb 28, 2009 2:16:29 GMT -5
So sad...
Great, and I was already sad.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 2:49:31 GMT -5
It was definitely a bad end to a very good previous day.
I'm so sorrowful. I wish it had never happened, but now that the girl I admired for so long is gone, I never got to tell her how I truly felt about her.
I only got a glimpse into what could have been, a mere taste of what may have turned into love. The short amount of tiem we spent together was probably the happiest I've felt in a long while, and it was on the upside of three years ago.
I just wish I could have told her, I just wish I could have perhaps said to her that I'd been admiring her from afar for so very long. I longed to tell her, but I couldn't work up the courage to. I was afraid she might think of me as a creep and never speak to me again.
If any of you really want to know why I cleaned up my act after my alcoholism, and why I'm so literate all the time, and even why I sometimes believe everything is my fault, then read on. What happened is unbelieveable, and it is all my fault. To be honest, I wrote these few stories years ago, and found them while I was cleaning my hard-drive today. As I can recall, I was crying when I wrote them because I knew it was all my fault. But now, I am emotionless. Now, I can live with it. But, at that time...
=== For someone as young and fearless, he was definitely scared.
In fact, he was so afraid of the speech he had to make that he simply hadn't gone to class in the past few days. He wasn't sick. He knew he wasn't. But, he had to stay away. He couldn't give a speech on his personal life. He just couldn't do it.
The assignment was to paraphrase your life, to abridge the unabridgeable. To deny that you had been alive for years, to document yourself in only a few pages. A simple assignment for a college course.
But he couldn't do it. Whenever he would pull open his laptop, sit down to type, and play his favorite music, nothing would happen No magic.
He was rather overwhelmed. He had to get out, he had to do soemthing. He ignored his 7:00 class that day, and, instead of reporting to speech liek usual, he headed to a bar. His favorite bar, nicknamed The Pabst across campus for its wonderful Pabst brew. He chuckled a little at how absurd it sounded until you'd had a sip of it.
He sat down with his bottle and took a drink. Simple, yet effective. Bitter and tasteless, but he knew it would be until he'd had three or four. He reran the routine in his head over and over, every time he came out to drink, to get away, and every time it would get a little better. A little easier.
He smiled down at the empty bottle and sat it aside, quickly ordering another. He wasn't quite spending all his money at this particular spot. He liked to travel around a little, but The Pabst, which was actually called Pub '89 because of when it was founded, was practically his home. He didn't exactly know why he drove, as it was only a short walk from his dorm. He quickly downed another Pabst, and then another, eagerly awaiting the bliss that would follow.
He sat at the table he'd found his way to, ignoring everyone around him. He thought of how much he'd had, and attempted to count, but then remembered his hands refused to work. He decided to lean his head back a little and rest, just for a little while.
He awoke a few hours later, woken up by the bartender who was telling him to go home. The bartender asked where he lived, and he replied that it was on campus. The bartender had assumed that the man had walked instead of drove, since campus was only a little while away.
A grave mistake.
He decided he'd hitch a ride in the unmoving station wagon that looked surprisingly like his. Driving down the road, he decided he'd play some tunes he would remember several years after that, ACDC's Back in Black, as well as a few other songs.
He closed his eyes and sighed at the music, which clamed him somewhat. He knew he was drunk and that he shouldn't be driving, but he did anyway, and he thought it would be okay.
He woke up a few minutes later outside of his car on the sidewalk. He'd smashed the front end of his car into another's somehow. But, he had no time to think about it, because blood clouded his vision and he was suddenly unconcious.
===
No, I did not hit Her. I did not kill anyone. I was not prosecuted or sent to jail or any of that. But, I was left with a horrible scar on my head because my airbag did not go off and I was vaulted out of the car's windshield. The hair that grows in the spot where the scar is is gray, leaving my slick black hair quite blemished.
Now that the memories are flooding back to me, I can recall every little detail. In my alcohol thread, just outside of this subcategory, I talked about myself battling alcoholism around my college years.
This is what happens when you drink. This is what happens. You almost lose your life. A few inches left and I would have had a pole forced into my eye. Please, if you aren't old enough to drink, don't do so when you are. It will ruin you.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Feb 28, 2009 13:54:50 GMT -5
Who is this person who you speak of (since this is true)? You?
|
|
|
Post by SilentlyRandom on Feb 28, 2009 14:42:39 GMT -5
dats so sad
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 16:03:24 GMT -5
The first is indeed me.
The second is as well me except altered a little to make my experience more storylike and less bloglike. For instance, I was indeed vaulted out of the windshield, but it wasn't all the way to the sidewalk. That would require immense force considering I hit someone else head on.
EDIT: The song really was Back In Black, by the way. It's the last thing I can really remember. I don't even remember what type of car I hit. I think it was a Chevy something-or-other...
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Feb 28, 2009 18:22:30 GMT -5
So it's BASED onn a true story.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 18:30:43 GMT -5
Well, think of it as a novelization of a video game. You have a linear plot to stick to, but you can change the attributes of the plot as long as the same thing ends up happening.
It's based on a true story, yes, but it IS a trues tory to me because I lived it.
It's strange. You never really know how insignificant your life is until you're propelled out of a windshield at fifty miles an hour by the sheer force of nature.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Feb 28, 2009 18:33:11 GMT -5
I just use math to prove that I'm infinitesimal.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 18:36:07 GMT -5
Well, have YOU been propelled out of a windshield at fifty miles an hour by the sheer force of nature? Lemme tell you, it hurts like hell when you wake up afterwards.
Math is simply numbers. Numbers that mean nothing.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Feb 28, 2009 18:51:40 GMT -5
And yet we are all formed by them. Are you saying that they mean nothing, therefore there are 1 of you, and therefore 0 of you?
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 18:58:47 GMT -5
Well, if you are a nihilist much like I am, then nothing exists. All that we see and hear and do is created by the human psyche. I came up with math. I cam up with history. I came up with anything that has ever existed. I created you as an antagonist.
If you think I'm wrong, then prove me wrong, which is theoretically impossible.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Feb 28, 2009 19:57:21 GMT -5
Well, I don't care much for existence. I try to prove what exists to US (and doesn't to those that DO exist)
|
|
|
Post by General Veers on Feb 28, 2009 20:36:24 GMT -5
Well, I can see the truth in your stories, and I see that you also have mastered literary language in general like you stated. As good as others may consider me, I can only hope that I can write 10% as well as you do. The universal language of math is my forte, not English...
I also see that you like to include "story-truth" in "happening-truth." I could never include "story-truth" because that, to me, is lying nonetheless in my own works.
I am, however, thankful that I haven't had any of your experiences...yet. Congratulations for having progressed so far, and good luck to you with the rest of your life. Knowledge is pain, but knowledge is also hope for the future...
Thank you.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Feb 28, 2009 21:10:36 GMT -5
Whoa. Thank you very much, Veers. Considering how well you write, that meant a lot to me!
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Mar 1, 2009 16:40:30 GMT -5
Knowledge is pain, and the truth hurts. To feel the crushing sensation of your dreams collapsing inside you (which may cause internal bleeding) is often avoided by ignorance and stupidity.
You don't sound like an oblivious person, and I can see why.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Mar 1, 2009 19:30:32 GMT -5
I can't tell if that was a compliment or just a statement in general.
Either way, thank you. That was uplifting somewhat.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Mar 9, 2009 15:36:39 GMT -5
Kind of both. I'm not entirely sure.
|
|
|
Post by doomish on Mar 9, 2009 16:30:24 GMT -5
=== He decided he'd had enough with this whole situation. Once he'd hit rock bottom, he knew where he was and where he was going.
And he was going nowhere.
He took the long way to his dorm that day, to do some thinking. His dormitory was all the way across town from where his morning classes ended. On the way, he stopped a few times to pet a stray cat or dog, or maybe just breathe in a little air.
He'd been going over it in his head a few times, and he knew that it would be the last time he would. He knew he'd enjoyed the sights around him for the last time. He'd run out of tuition money, he wouldn't be able to pay for anything next year. Not even living expenses.
Living...
He felt that he'd reached a dead end. His life seemed to have two paths, and he chose the wrong one. He shut the door to his dorm quietly, trying not to disturb the dust settling on the hinges. He sighed and looked around his practically empty room. A closet, a dresser, a bed, a computer, and a TV. Nothing that could be of use to him anymore. He considered pawning the TV since he never even turned it on, as he had TiVO on his computer, but he quickly dismissed the thought.
He recalled his earlier thinking, and he wasn't going to back down this time. No, not this time at all. He sat on his bed and reached behind the post for a small box. It was a lightweight leather with a strange locking contraption. He sat it on his idle knees and clicked open the first lock via his secret numbers. He then opened the second lock by hitting the box on the side with incredible force (He could never figure out how to open it the right way).
The lid slowly slid upwards, revealing a shiny handgun, given to him by his father at around age fifteen. He stared at the gun, but not really anything else. The entire world seemed to dissipate. He picked the gun up and felt that it was heavier than he'd remembered it. He tosed it a few times before slowly sliding a bullet into place.
It was an old revolver, each cartridge filled with dust and rusted shut. He spun it once for good measure, and an eerie groan came from it, a cry of desperation not to do what he was thinking about doing.
But, no man or gun in the world could change his mind now. He told himself once more he wouldn't think against it, and brought the gun to his mouth.
He felt the cold metal twinge over his tongue as it involuntarily swept underneath the barrel, slightly tilted upwards for maximum effect. He sighed once more, and then remembered he'd spun the barrel AFTER he'd put the bullet in. He was now playing a single player version of Russian Roulette. He considered putting the gun back and putting the bullet in the right way, but there was no time for that. His finger began to slowly clamp on the trigger.
But nothing happened.
His hand trembled a little. He pulled the gun out of his mouth quickly, gasping as if he'd just been held underwater. He couldn't do it. In that one moment of hesitation, he couldn't do it. He sighed and sat the gun back in its place. But then, he wondered if he would've died if he'd pulled the trigger.
He picked the gun back up and held it towards the ceiling. He pulled the trigger quickly.
A bullet went upwards.
He sighed again. ===
There is absolutely no spin on this. All of what you read is completely true. I did attempt suicide, but now I've realized that NOBODY would've wanted to discover me splattered all over the wall.
Suicide isn't the answer. Please don't if you ever think about it.
|
|
|
Post by Sandmaster on Mar 9, 2009 16:32:13 GMT -5
Does reverse psychology work? If you put it correctly, it is very true.
|
|