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Those Moments..

Those moments when you feel alone, but happy to be alone with your thoughts. When there are people all around, while you are just there in the background, pondering.

Those moments when you think about life, the Universe and everything. When you wish you could see it all, but you are bounded. When you realise you are nothing but a speck on a small rock floating through the endless void. When you briefly understand what life is about, but the thought is blown away like a leaf in the autumn breeze.

Those moments when you are remembering your childhood, when you had no worries. The times when you were content with what you had, giggling your worries away. The years gone by that still live on in photographs—windows to the past and the person you once were.

Those moments when you don’t know where you are going, or where life is taking you. Whenever you feel alone, on the outside. You feel cold, dark and deep. You need a hand to pull you out of the depths.

Sometimes, we all have these moments.

But, of course, the colours change. The hand you oh-so-needed comes along, a warm heart thaws you out, or a smile brightens your day. Then, you realise that there ARE people out there who care for you.

There are those moments when you see a clear path ahead, and brave yourself to take it. When you are confident that, although you are still only in the shallows, you can make it across the oceans.

Those moments when you are—truly—happy.

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Frigid

It was cold. Oh icy hell, it was cold. The wind bit at my face, howling angrily across the Arctic. Ice crystals bombarded me as the storm blew on. I trudged on aimlessly as my feet sank into the snow, as if being grasped by an enormously powerful wintery creature.

I was sure that I would soon be dead. I nearly cried when I thought about my life up to this moment. They say being dumped during a date is the worst thing in life. Wrong. What’s worse is being dumped in the frozen arctic with only a compass, thermometer and torchlight to stay alive. I searched around for shelter from the blizzard. The soft snow began to feel hard, encasing my feet in a layer of crystals, making my every step feel painfully heavy.  Even though I was covered in layers of coats and jackets, I felt exposed to the howling wind.

A sudden blast of snow blew me over & I rolled backwards a few metres. The wind picked up & the temperature dropped. The compass & thermometer attached to my gloves were the only indicator of the surroundings although he mercury in the thermometer had frozen solid. Somehow, I instinctively followed the compasses needle that led to the North. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I wailed & bawled, my tears instantly solidifying upon contact to the arctic air. Why? Why did this happen to me?!, I screamed, using up all the breath left in my weakened body. My cries transformed into hollow laughter. I suddenly felt ridiculously happy, as if all my cares melted away into the summer sky. All the thoughts crammed up my dying mind -stemming from her, no less- shattered into a billion icicles. My mantra of madness was lost in the wind, never to be heard by any soul. Perhaps the cold had taken its toll on my brain. Perhaps this was the end.

A glimmer of hope came in the form of an icy blast which uncovered a small cave about 20 metres away from me. So close, yet so far. I struggled to reach it. I collapsed on my knees & all my breath was knocked out. Too exhausted to stand up, I was forced to crawl to the shelter. I won’t make it. I couldn’t move anymore. My limp body flopped onto the ice as snow began to pile up on top of it, pushing me down even harder. 5 metres in front of me was the small cave. Although it was barely enough for a polar bear, anything felt like a haven to me now. I’m going to die. The sound of the wind became mute & all sensation of coldness left my numb skin. Through the sheets of ice & snow, I saw my life projected like a slideshow onto the sky. Every frame of it flickered in front of me. I remembered my first flight. Without knowing, I had forced my self forward a bit. An echo from an old film.“You never can tell when you might need a friend.”

I reached the cave. The little warmth from inside managed to get me back up on my feet. I cried, unsure whether out of joy of being alive, or sadness of my imminent death.

The entire place collapsed. Torrents of snow and ice fell in an avalanche of white. I fell unconscious when a block of ice hit me.

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This Isn’t The End

jcostabile5093

This Isn’t The End

By Jason Costabile

Based on “This Isn’t The End” by Owl City

When she was eight years old, Emily’s father disappeared.  She waited up all night for him to return, but he never showed.  They had once been best buds, she and her dad.  He was a good guy who everyone liked.  She remembered every autumn, when they would go apple picking, and he would hold her in his arms up high so she could reach the golden orbs of fruit from the trees.  She remembered how once when she was six, her dad had taken her go carting, and she sat in his lap and felt the wind rush past her face.  She would giggle and squeal with delight as her father, her hero and role model, shared in adventures with her.  She loved her father dearly.

But, Emily’s time with her father was short…

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Saltwater Room

Based on ‘The Saltwater Room” by Owl City.


He opened his eyes. It’s been far too long since he had a good night’s sleep. Looking at the clock, he realized it was midnight. He sighed as he walked towards the window. A burst of cold night air rushed in as he opened it to look outside. It was pitch-black, besides the single streetlight that illuminated the road in front of the house. The stars danced across the sky, singing a lullaby to the planets below. He took no heed of the sight before him, as he was far too tired to care.

Nothing worked. He just couldn’t sleep. The monotony of the world around kept him awake and, in the end, forced him silently downstairs and out the door. There were two paths to take; the first followed the streetlights and led to the heart of the city, the other followed cold iron rails that carve their way through the countryside and eventually meet the ocean. He took the second one.

The fresh night air that blew gently across the hills grew stronger and stronger as he neared the bay. The only sound that could be heard was the soft rolling of the waves, sometimes accompanied by the hoot of an owl nestled in the trees. While walking, he took in all the details of the world around him; the clear sky, an albatross on the docks and moored boats, the running lights of an airship moving across the sky, the old lighthouse that jutted up from the rocks, and the starlight that spilled all over everything.

Finally reaching the bay, he sat down and thought about everything, about the air traffic, about the sea, about love and life. The music started playing in his head and soon filled the port with a blissful ambience. He didn’t notice time passing by at all.

A sigh was heard, but it wasn’t his. He quickly stood up, noticing the girl standing beside him. “H-h-hi?” he managed to squeak. The girl just smiled and continued walking down by the bay. The poor guy was in a state of utter panic; not knowing what to do, he decided to follow her. Immediately regretting this decision, all his words started pouring out.

“Umm, so, why are you here?”. She simply answered, “Staring up at the stars that aren’t there anymore.” They looked up, and noticed that indeed, the stars were fading away as the first few drops of sunlight hit them. Is it morning already?, he thought. They resumed walking until our star was above the horizon, then she began to leave. He opened his mouth to ask her something, but no words came out. They both silently went their separate ways.

He hadn’t even asked her name yet.

The next night was the same, a trip to the bay, secretly hoping she would be there. True enough, she was. They didn’t talk this time, but it felt as if they could read each other’s minds. He heard her asking the same question he had. Soon after that, the Sun rose, and they parted.

The following weeks were his happiest, knowing that he now had a friend. Every night they would meet, stroll down the bay and start talking. As time passed, they talked more and more; commenting about the beach, about life and introversion. The lingering question in both of their heads begged to be asked, but neither had the courage.

The Sun rose once again. Just before they parted ways, she opened her mouth to ask the question they had always thought about. Before she could begin, he answered it with a smile.

“Oh, all the time.”

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Thoughts on the Sea

scenery penang

We humans have always been mesmerised by the sea. Of course, I’m no exception. Every time I visit the beach or the coast, I can’t help but take as many pictures of the view as I can. I can’t help but stare in wonder as the Sun sets below the shimmering waves. Just the thought of setting sail on the morning tide makes me feel dreamy.

By our nature, we were made for land. Our bodies are just so slow and cumbersome in the water compared to, say, a graceful dolphin. The way the water just curves above their smooth skin and how their fins cuts through the water is simply beautiful. They were made for the sea. But us, we are forced to stay in the shallows, gazing out to the open water, wondering what that other realm looked like. Many tales were told of sea monsters and mermaids and sailors who sailed too far & simply fell of the edge of the Earth.

Still, this didn’t stop our curiosity. We built rafts, then boats and ships, to set sail and explore the uncharted waters of the world. This led to what some people call the golden age of exploration, spanning the 17 to the 1900’s. The age of colonisation. Conquerors and explorers ruled the waters those days. Just compare a map of the Earth from the 1700’s to a map from today; you’ll see how far we’ve come in just 300 years.

Sails were soon replaced by propellers, and ships grew bigger and bigger. Luxury ocean liners are still used today. Of course, none of the modern ones would have the grandeur of the Titanic. With a gymnasium, theater and countless lounges, the ‘unsinkable’ ship weighed more than a hotel, yet was buoyant enough to float on the water. Alas, it was lost due to an iceberg.

Of course, following ships were submersibles, allowing us to traverse the great depths of the ocean. Yet we have only explored less than 5% of the sea. Who knows what lives out there in the remaining 95%. Perhaps all those stories of mermaids and sea monsters are more than just a myth. The fact that we know more about our solar system than we know about our own oceans right here on Earth always fascinates me. This just shows how limited our understanding of the world around us is, and yet we still have this wonderful thirst for knowledge.

We’ve since mastered the oceans. But there still is much more to discover. And still I long to set sail from Port Blue on Marlin Isle to the open sea, and disappear beneath the waves.

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What

Ugh. UGH. I hate having to think too hard. It just messes up my brain. sometimes, I get ideas, put them on paper, type them up, then post. But most of the time, they just wither away like a paper airplane on fire. Doesn’t even make sense. Then there’s homework.

Oh my god, the homework. It’s like piles and piles of solid depression landing down on my head. Thoughts can weigh me down.

Sometimes, my thoughts can wander away. Like how Michael talks on VSauce. I mean, he can start a video about pencils then go on about the rules of war. Speaking of war, what’s up with the world now? Why all the violence?

Anyway, ever wondered why clouds don’t fall? They do, actually: rain. Speaking rain, each drop of water on the planet probably contains hundreds of lifeforms, so when it rains, you’re actually getting hit by tine microbe packets. Also, the dust you see on windowsills? It’s astronaut underwear. Speaking of underwear, why does….

3 HOURS LATER..

..so vacuums can’t suck themselves out of existence like black holes can.

Y’know, this is the most links I’ve ever inserted into a post. Oh, look at the time.

Bye!

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Leather Apron

London. 1888.

The town of London was known as a utopia for many across the world. The centre of a growing empire. Tales of golden pavements and roads were commonplace. In truth, the cobbled pavements and roads were no golder than a blacksmith’s gloves. Many of these roads led to dark alleys and streets which were lined with pubs and bars filled with shady characters. One of these streets was a host to one of the most notorious killers to ever live.

It was about 5 am. A man was standing in the dark just behind backyard.

He was tired and angry. He was poor. Barely enough money to feed him for a month or so. Insomnia ravaged his mind and depression tore at his heart. For the past month, he’d been demanding money from the many prostitutes that infested the streets. He had eeked out a living by threatening and abusing the pub owners to give him their well-earned money. But that still wasn’t enough. He needed more. An urge drove him to do it.

So he did the deed. The man was educated enough in surgery. He was handy with a knife. It was simple really, slicing the woman’s stomach open and dismembering her innards.

His victim lay in front of him in a pool of her own blood. Annie Chapman used to be her name. The killer wasn’t sorry at all. She knew the terms and conditions of their agreement so she should have saw this coming. But no, she had to scream and flail while I carried out my part of it. Can’t people just die in silence?, thought he.

This was his second victim so far. Why did he do it? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he liked it. He enjoyed watching people scream and collapse as their vital organs spilled out to decorate the pavements. He also knew that he needn’t worry anymore about money. Money could only buy a person bread or a place to stay. He knew it well enough that just food and wealth wouldn’t quench his thirst for he craved something else: Life. Or rather, the removal of it. The only thing that could fuel him was a taste for blood.

That day, this man finally realised what kept him alive. That day, his heart stopped pumping blood and instead burned with fire. His blood-stained hands grew cold and his eyes lost all emotion. That day, an icicle froze through his lungs and mind, puncturing all empathy he ever had. A crooked smile colder than the Arctic filled his pale face.

He thought of new strategies. He could frame it on someone else. He could terrorise the streets of London and tear its citizens apart. He would be known as a Ripper.

The killer lay down his signature clothing beside his second victim. He would change today.

He was leather apron no more.