A Quiet Kind of Wanting

Originally written on November 2019


A meticulously detailed view of a writer's desk positioned beside a window. Rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the view of a quiet, dimly lit urban street outside at twilight. On the worn wooden desk sits an open laptop displaying a simple text editor in dark mode, a half-finished cup of tea in a plain ceramic mug, a spiral notebook with a few sketched lines, and a single pen. The primary light source is the cool glow from the laptop screen, casting soft shadows across the desk. Ambient, slightly melancholic twilight filters in through the window. The overall mood is one of quiet introspection and solitude, observed neutrally. Objective realism, grounded scene-setting, precise detail, cinematic lighting, photorealistic

Book Description
A book on a lonely "secret schizoid" writer who longs to search the ties between the real world and his own divine fantasies.

He finds that through his unmindful efforts people have confided in the person behind his books, comics, and songs.

He only wanted to be better. "But was it enough?"

He finds friends along the way that guide him personally through his "story", as they think it.

He feels closer and closer to what he doesn't understand. So close to achieving true potential, but the question still remains. . . . what does he want?

"I Do Not Wish For That"
I closed my eyes gently. The night sky gazed upon my dear soul. Indeed, if it wasn't for the noise around me, I would have floated into the aery land that lay untouched by human flesh and feet.

The rain poured down. It was another one of those evenings. I could hear the light chatter of the women at the counter and the joyous bellowing of the husbandmen on their seats and out. It was indeed one of those dear nights.

Nevertheless, I had no complacency to give my existence off to such heedlessness of being.

I picked up my cup of tea as I strolled down the parking lane.

It was but a magnificent experience to have my hair feeling fresh and clean.

I didn't want to leave home like this, but I had to; the rain was too strong for me not to have danced in it a little.

I imagined myself dancing more gracefully than the songs could ever rhyme about. I was intentionally refreshing myself.

I came back home with a smile on my face. I was happy. The world looked happy. I felt peace.

What was I obligated to do to make the world a better place? Was I obligated to donate money for trees to be planted across the globe? Was I obligated to spend my time in politics as much as my mom does wherever she goes? I didn't want to be oblivious.

But I wanted to feel the serenity in the flowers, the leaves, the trees, and the sky. I was worried I'd forget all these things and get sucked in into work. But I found a way to make it happen; feeling good while working.

I decided to be a writer. Why? Well, here was the reason: If it wasn't for the fact that there had been people supporting me throughout these years through small talks of encouragement, I wouldn't have ever been passionate about my work.

Helping others experience hope is the best thing in the world. I used to think helping others was all about being happy all the time, but that wasn't it.

It was more on connecting with the reader's/listener's inner feelings and working from there. That's what I learned from the countless stories on humanity's fears, tragedies, betrayals, joy, and apathy.

It was all a part of the inner world I formed for myself. This 'writing' thing.

I stood up from my seat, left the row, and proceeded to exit the bus. It was a beautiful day of fulfillment: seeing my friends' cheers in the restaurants we've been in was delightful.

I couldn't bear to hold it in any longer. I had to sit down and write. I loved being outside: the serenity and all its beauty. But my inner world had so much more to tell.

Fantasy. Was it a good idea to write fantasy? I meditated for a minute to see how much longer I could hold in my creative bursts.

Dragons. Dragons could be a magnificent topic of interest in my next book.

What did my imagination hold for us all today?

Indeed, dragons could be the inner workings of the fantasy world I would build tonight. The stories of old sounded cliche. What I meant was, "We could get a whole new meaning out of this common topic."

Without dragons, this fictional world would fall under the weight of a magical intensity, a singularity. If not for the fact that they were worshiped by most and comprehended by all, Mishmael, the main character of this story, wouldn't have studied the dragons and their glorious reign.

Mishmael left the books he read disregarded when it came to the extremity of their reckless belief in the divinity of these giant creatures.

By width and height, the creature, called a "Dragonos" in some languages, exceeded that of a blue whale by 40 feet in width and 30 feet in height.

A Dragonos' death was never once recorded in the books of the priesthoods, because either they were immortal or their way or place of death was inconspicuous.

"Yes, that could be the only way," said Mishmael. "I needed to know. And fast."

Mishmael picked up his cartographic data on the supposed sightings of the Dragonoir, the plural form of dragon. He traveled along a long scope of a thousand acres to an intertwined connection of rumors passed down by the local family name, Areias.

I fully inhabited Mishmael's world and existed as a particular character.

I entered the inn owned by one of their "imparters", Jilius Wikensis, another common name.

I invited him to take a seat by me after revealing my desire to pay. He did arrive, with a note, saying: "Better read that, 'cause that's the last juice you'll get from me. Jakiam Formelia."

I looked up. He had already gone back to his office. He knew my name?

The words don't really make sense; some kind of an ancient dialect I've never seen?

I a—

Oh, look at the time! It's eleven o'clock: time for bedtime! I jumped onto the soft caressing cotton mattress and slept undisturbed.

Laying down in bed won't get me anywhere. Time for a bath!

I closed my eyes to hear the quiet chatter of the wide intersection in a town of the fictional world that came to mind this very moment.

It was mechanical, quintessentially steampunk, and flavored with burnt sienna. One delightful trait would be its humanoid races: dwarves, rats, halflings, and giants.

The world could never get any darker with a divine lord, called the Enathanos, controlling the mountain range of Saffron-color-lighted bungalows all around.

The divine lord had been known to let workers die without a chance if they ever mistook their selves as enough against his mighty image.

Okay, that was enough for morning daydreaming. I got to get to work.

Going outside from my apartment was like a short role-play adventure to me, except you knew where to go. And even after it ended, it felt like an open-world game where you could choose your adventures and go on neverending trips with different backstories to everything. It sounded amazing for game-starters.

I browsed through the net for entertainment for a while until I reached an article in the form of a video concerning planting trees and encouraging the moving out of citizens of major cities to add up the declining populations of countless rural towns. Maybe I could make do with that? No matter, I was trying to make a living here. Well, the kind of living that gave me peace.

I arrived at the destination very much unhappy about the dates very much unaligned with my schedule of writing. Consequently, I decided to stop trying to do it myself, and, instead, donate to the organizations set up to support these kinds of things. It ended up well for me.

When it came to my readers' reactions to my stories, I talked with them concerning their opinions, thoughts, and questions to my stories and writing as a whole.

Many had had problems with overcomplicating stories and making it sound too far-fetched.

But that was why I find ways to make their individual style of writing smooth. I really didn't plan on intruding into their lifestyle of writing, but maybe helping them put it out in such a way that didn't "scare" their readers away but invited them would help them feel better about letting it out.

Storytelling didn't end here. What ended was my momentum, and that was what I need to continue if I wanted to write. That also went for them I believe.

In all practicality, I struggled to find a good way to write efficiently, especially when I felt there were too many distractions coming in my way. I researched on the many perspectives and ways to make sure I didn't lose myself. I concluded my writing setup with a laptop, a writing app, dark mode, typewriter sound, quiet or silent atmosphere, a few entertainment to make me feel indebted to write, and writing as meditation.

That felt good writing that down now since I began that routine many years ago. I did not count my books, because I did not let my soul linger in a short moment in the past when I could move on and create more beautifully carved moments as it was.

Hypenated words always caught my attention when I wrote. They felt good to the heart when put as a striking point of a paragraph.

I also feared reading a massive monster of a paragraph, especially when its words counted up to 200. I didn't know if it was only me, but paragraphs joining in one-sentence or two-sentence softened my heart.

Whatever I just said came quite naturally, but sometimes saying the words out loud helped to add the realization of character, personality and individuality to perspective whilst writing.

Returning to reality, I picked up a couple of clothes straight from the dryer. I didn't always change, but when I did, I wore it as long as I felt good in it. Whatsoever, I took a shower one to two times a day depending on how dirty I felt. Of course, I left out using shampoo and instead use hair oil most of the time to maintain the healthy look. I didn't want to have an itchy face all the time, so I tended to shower only when I did get itchy.

I awoke to myself whispering a couple of lines from a song I spontaneously made up at the moment. Ever since I was young, I naturally loved spontaneous story-telling and song-writing. I liked the way that my heart jumped when I flowed with it when I was myself.

I didn't say this, but my relationships go down to simple talks on the internet. I didn't necessarily need the physical comfort of a romantic partner or friend for that matter, at all.

I asked several readers about this way of thinking recently, but they all commented, "You're just a loner type, that's all." Although some had noted, "You could possibly be a schizoid if not for the fact that you're happy with life."

I was happy having people giving me opinions. I liked community, not intimate relationships, but that was fine.

4 months ago . . . .

Now, the world was heading on to a new age—the E-book Age. Well, that name was only for current writers and aspiring ones, but technology was really changing.

Writing on laptops and mobile devices since my childhood had really helped me transfer my stories to e-book form. I had no desire to return to printed books seeing the statistics blazing on the internet.

I left my name written as "Jayce Verons", a name I adopted three years ago from a dream I had.

"Enough backstory, let's get back to business."

As I was saying, the world was changing, so I was worried I might leave my stories paper-stuck when I could share my books globally without a problem. After all, easy access was great for marketing.

"Oh, look at that!" The first book I reuploaded, now on the internet, got tons of reviews. Well, in this sense, it was more "comments" than actual expert reviews.

I acknowledged their intense support on the product since this website could cater to chatting with audiences of diverse whereabouts. Diversity was an amazing property.

I wonder how my ex-editor was doing? I hope he found a great replacement or something. Maybe it was a good idea for him to change jobs? "I'll let him know if I have something."

Returning to the present . . .

My first manga was upvoted by a veteran in the comics community! I didn't want to act oblivious to the fact that having the creativity to express before having the know-how was frustrating.

I would like to continue onward to the future! Sounded cliche, I knew.

Oh, yeah. My ex-editor now handled all the blah-blah, papers, and uploading stuff. I lazed around the whole day feeding him money as motivation. "Oh, he'll read this, won't he?"

Jokes aside, it is a good idea for me to give a good look at myself and readjust my complacent attitude... "Let's write a horror novel!

"What should I write in horror?"

I listened to some horror vibes, watched a couple of horror gameplays, comics, and so forth. It was terrifying at first, but I had gotten used to it a little. Very little bittle skittle nittle wit—they still got me. I was trying though!

Okay, we had a lady in black. So cliche.

How about a lady in white? So cliche.

How about a monster with no eyes and arms and legs and body and everything? An invisible monster? So cliche.

Okay. How about... a tragedy-horror story? So cli—Wait. Actually, that might work.

Japanese-style?

Nah, more like "your" style.

Wait, was I talking to myself on paper?

Yes, you are. Glad you noticed.

Oh shi—sheath of a sword!

Yep. So get back to work!

Oh, right, right.

I finished it. It spoke of a mentally ill family struggling to maintain the peace when they hated their blatant differences in "personality". They wished one didn't care so much about being the center of attention, one not so cold and uncaring, another so unmotivated and suicidal.

It ended with them having their distorted way in life. The thriller of being chased by a psychopath. The apathy of hanging out with a "loser". The injustice of everyone not appreciating her because she deserved it all.

They ended up losing themselves once all their symptoms reached their peak.

The story concluded with a few of them dying to various causes, some disappearing, some seeking help in therapy. This focused on a family of 8, including the mother and father.

Scary? Scary, I knew.

I discovered this streaming website, called "Opaque", where fellow gamers, vlogs, talk hosts, and musicians collided. I decided to try it out for myself. Maybe I could write or draw and have ambience music playing to entertain my watchers.

It was nice having a live audience constantly on you, either appreciating the serenity or observing how a person like me did things.

"You know what they say: 'Never let your childlike curiosity die—ever seeking and ever growing.'"

Did exercise programs ever work? I couldn't even go on for an hour without resting for the next 3 days. I had a lean, but not muscular body by the way.

In the same vein, I researched on how to chase after various goals simultaneously. What I learned from self-care enthusiasts is this: the removal of certain things that satisfied me but didn't give me peace. Instead, the sourcing of satisfaction from goals that gave me that peace I lacked.

Practically, I cut down on sugar and caffeine. "Fapstronauts", "no-fap" powerhouses or individuals who determined and abstained from masturbation and porn, had inspired me to do the same.

Energy. I'll tell you one thing: "Energy is now my inner name." Over the course of a month, the stress I used to relieve using whatever that wasn't self-care were now being relieved through writing, drawing, going to gym, and meditation. I could withstand say the inconsistency I had long ago had disappeared.

After all that, I returned to my drastically improved day-to-day life.

I owned it up to myself to explore different "telltales" of reality, whether sorrowful or acclaiming.

Music was one thing I neglected, and I didn't want to leave it laying there pictured like a broken guitar that used to play so fervently.

I connected with a few music artists to see how it would go down. I disliked having to speak bothered existentially, so I gave myself space to prepare for it.

From there on, everyday was been amazing, but I don't wish to break my unspoken promise of embracing the deathly gallows. One's experience was never to be isolated but studied, learned from, and hoped from. That was—I wish—my life's work to be.

"This Is Not What I Thought It Was."
"Hello everyone. I would like to introduce a fellow singer of the crowd, Ian Wilkins!"

Nope. I didn't like those kind of shows and I didn't like watching TV. TVs sucked! No offense. I would rather stay cozy in dreamland.

"Just call it your inner world, will ya?" said a voice.

"Oh, shut up Bryan," I said. "You know I don't like weird sounding terms.

"Hmm. You might be right, actually."

Bryan's a dummy I named possibly for the main character for my next story. Basically, my internal monologue.

"Don't call me a dummy, will ya? Just call me a character, but it still sounds awful. Whatever! Just call me Bryan, a main character."

"Okay, sure, sure. I'll do that, Bryan the main character."

"You know; Twinsies won't like that."

"It's fine. Don't wor—"

"Hello?" said another main character named "Twinsies." "You know I can hear you guys right? I'm trying to sleep!"

"Oh sorry 'bout that, Twin," said Bryan. "It's just that Mr. Writer here got you as a side character this time!"

"What?!" I said. "No, no. Of course not. What the heck. I mean. Bryan and you are going to be both main characters! So don't worry about it."

"Oh, thanks..." said Twinsies, "um, I mean, will you guys quiet down...? 'Cause I wanna sleep. Thanks."

"Oh, sure, sure."

I picked up a cup of "not coffee" which was a cup of tea, just so you know.

I went back to work, writing down the last chapter of a novel I started around two and a half weeks ago. It was bountifully congested. Thank goodness I recovered.

A few hours after I left my sci-fi parade for this year, Bryan came running, asking me what the story he and Twinsies was about "because he didn't like 'staying in' too long".

I told him the story was about a girl by the age of 16, played by Twinsies, and her noir-clothed partner, played by Bryan.

They had begun to assimilate the rising power of Blink Twice, a very regal experimentalist. He said he was testing what it would be like if one man controlled the entirety of the world.

He had already gathered forces of many kinds, somehow applying whatever needed to convince the people that he was indeed worthy.

How could someone reach such levels without getting obstructed by the limit? Hitler's limit? Because he waited until the only voices that sounded were the youths that he brought to his side. He would harden himself to the young men's pride and take down the gossiping, manipulating liars to the young ladies' ambition. This was his cause.

Basically, no one stood against him because everyone was given the opportunity to stand for themselves through him, Blink Twice. They didn't need a name actually; for he was what they needed.

He never razed a town. He slowly brought them, the youths, to his side and waited until they were the only ones left to rule. To rule under him.

Twinsies and Bryan, or "Ashley" and "Kael" as their names were in the story, were on the other side of the world opposite Blink Twice's first town.

They lived in a belittled country paved with splatters of blood after one attempt to colonize it.

What stopped them from getting colonized? Their position. They shied high in the mountains, never seen beyond the walls.

Ashley and Kael could not interpret what was going on out there. They were told they'd learn all about the world if they studied hard, but now that they'd graduated, they were left with vague answers.

They decided they wanted to leave the country, but the pain of having to see each other in prison did not inspire.

The country was not especially strict considering the people's civility when it came to everything except going out.

The world had lots to say, and they wanted to hear it.

Ashley was a meticulous little girl. She liked the sunshine, the sunset, and the occasional eclipses. She found the stars pretty too, but she wondered if the ground below told more stories than the one beyond the sky.

Kael was not happy. He was very much surprised. When he heard about Ashley's intense desire to "go out", he raged. Not the kind of rage that destroys. But the one that felt unable to protect.

He didn't believe the outside world was safe. Neither was going against their society's standards even going to work.

But he knew people weren't all that alert when it came to ideas like Ashley's.

He constructed a plan. No, not the kind that waited 'till a superhero came and saved them. The kind that just waited for something to happen. The recent attack on their country was 3 years ago. The last one before that was 5 years prior. The chances of getting attacked was pretty high. So they decided to wait it out and escape once everyone's distracted and focused on the "stupid land-dwellers".

He didn't want to make this any longer for Ashley. he could tell she was wistful. Wistfully unsure as if they had already gone and escaped, regretting ever leaving home.

But he didn't her to feel discouraged. So he hugged her one last time before going home, and that was the last time he saw her.

She disappeared one day, never to come back. I never came back either. I promised I would go out and look for her. I knew she was there, discovering all the world without him.

He was enthusiastic, but he had to find a way to get out somehow.

Ashley left a few clues on how she did it. Kael didn't think she trusted him completely when he said he would help her escape.

She didn't realize that he had begun to desire the outside world during one of their meeting sessions. He loved her too, but he couldn't tell her that until he found her.

Ten years later and Kael arrived. He knew that Blink Twice had overrun the west and east continents. Kael felt that his own arrival was too late, but he knew she was around here doing something great like she promised she'd do.

He didn't want her to see him like this, but she did. He was on my second battle call-out, doing the next scenes. She didn't recognize me. She n—

"Blink Twice said he can't go in without feeling like he looks like one of those power-hungry frauds," said an emcee. "Excuse his delay."

The crowds screamed. They needed a hero, and they got one.

Kael was Blink Twice. He knew she would see him, but she won't see him. And that was okay. This was all for her.

"Wow, it's something, ya know?" said Bryan.

"I summarized the plot for you," I said. "Happy?

"Ya, it's cool. Cool."

I told him I needed a break. So he left, and I returned to my comfort zone.

The bed. Ahh. This is amazing!

Okay, that's enough. Time to sleep.

Ah, I had a dream. It was about the girl I liked a long time ago. She was very pretty.

No, she wasn't tall. She wasn't really that smart, but she was good at most subjects. It's not that that made me like her.

I don't know. She was really nice. She was kind. I liked that. I could feel it. The happiness I felt when I thought about her.

That wasn't the only thing I remembered.

Every time I remembered it, I got anxious. I jumped. I shook. I sweated. My heart rate sped up. My head ached. My chest hurt. I couldn't think straight. I heard voices. My head got loud. Lights felt so bright. Sounds got so loud. I blabbered and mumbled. I didn't cry usually, but I cried now because I felt like I hadn't moved on. I didn't want this anymore. I didn't want to be scared.

I was scared of being scared.

She was nice. She was really nice.

I was too weak, but that was not true.

Or is it? I didn't know. I didn't know.

I just wanted to be better.

Oh, what happened? It happened again. Seriously. Why.

I needed my music. Uhh. Cold shower. And Water. I needed to silence my mind.

I did whatever I needed to do and felt better.

"Just a quick fix and I can write again."

I needed this pain. I was going to use it. I was going to use it to connect to those who were suffering.

I couldn't wish it to leave, but I did. I'm sorry.

I was going to try my best.

Hahahaha. What was I thinking?

I visited a few stores on my way out of town. I needed to refresh my mind. Too much stimulation was not good for me.

I would just sit down. The rain was pouring anyway. A good time to let the wind breeze all around you.

It was nice. The trees. The clouds. "I should really get a life."

"Thank you." I bought milk and a couple of apples to appease my self.

I missed my siblings. "They should still be wherever they are. Let me check."

I messaged them on the net.

"Hey, it's me. I was wondering . . . . do you guys want to hang out or anything? We can play if you want."

My siblings turned the house we moved into years ago into a gaming one.

They practically based their whole career on gaming. It was amazing how easy it is to earn once you got your computer set up.

If you think we needed verbal training or anything like that, that wasn't exactly true. Our parents weren't that strict, so they let us express ourselves in most things incessantly.

I arrived on their doorstep a week after. Before I was able to open the door, my sister Aya looked through the window and whispered, "Wanna play?"

"Game!" I exclaimed, smiling irresistibly.

I opened up the game we've always played and will always play.

It was fun having my mind racing as I battled within me my anxiety and arrogance.

No joke. I would literally play the game because it challenged me mentally.

My younger brother, Ray, was pretty much a professional in this game. He challenged the strongest regions playing the game, reaching the top ranks countless times on too many accounts.

Not gonna lie, I was a hardcore gamer like he was, but I decided to go after what I really wanted.

My sisters also played the game. They both loved the support role since it was pretty much no pressure.

Our bonding was basically us playing the game, talking about many things, and arguing about small and serious things. As siblings, that was our play time. We learned a lot from each other.

The eldest one, Alice, always competed with Ray on everything, mainly in game. She went for either of the two roles that did the most in game.

Ray also focused on the roles, but focused on one, believing it had the highest control over the game.

I went back home feeling great. I told them I was moving out, so they won't see me any more.

It was fun living with them, but I'm also finding myself.

And I found this to be for the best.

Thank you for everything.

I was going to move out in a couple of days. My story awaited.

All drama aside, I was moving out because of personal desire.

My apartment was not in a place where I could go around easily and hang out with fans if ever I wanted. I was lying; I won't hang out with them. I would just go to conventions and the like and meet them there.

I was thinking if it was a good idea to write a rom-com, most of the rom-coms I read were set in a school.

School, huh? I remembered when I dropped out of school.

It was during the time I was growing especially anxious due to growing pressure despite my depression.

I was a top student, but it all fell short when the symptoms of an adjustment disorder started appearing in me. I was in my 2nd year of high school, and too many life events appeared at once, and it caught up to me.

My teacher, during that time, wasn't happy about this. He told me I was giving up and letting laziness get the better of me. I didn't know how to handle this since nobody saw the problem. They just thought I decided to go loko. It went downhill from there.

I finished high school and college not long after, and everything worked well to the point that I could rent a apartment.

And now, still trying, I had found a way to cope. I was able to deal the frustrations through writing, and it helped me extravagantly. Not saying that I didn't feel anxious at all, but it really got me going.

My next story would be based around my two actors, Evermore and Dreamer. They were especially contagious when it came to laughter so they would fit right in the rom-com genre.

Since most rom-coms were centered around cliches, I didn't intend on making this one cliche.

"Let's try this."

Shifting to the story, a boy entered a concert where he saw a beautiful singer letting out her growl, but she was not what catches his attention—what caught his attention was one of the backup vocalists. She differed from the rest in his eyes, yet he still felt that much passion.

It was only until his friends invited him to the concerts of the same band again. This time, the backup vocalist he was interested in stared back at him! Again, he didn't think too much of it and went home.

On the third concert, she was practically staring at him throughout the concert as if he was the only one in the entire arena. He didn't know what to do. He had never flirted and had a girlfriend. What more when the person he likes was a singer of a famous band?

He didn't know what to do and ended up standing up to leave. Feeling dejected from his lack of confidence and skill, he began to walk out.

But just before he lefteaves, she came down the stage to look for him.

She found him with his friends waiting at the side of the road. She gasped then quickly went to him.

He looked at her in shock. "Ho—Wha, Miss, I like you," he said.

He didn't know what to do and randomly said what he was thinking at the moment.

"Oh, that's good then," said the miss, "because I think I feel the same way?"

"Want to talk tomorrow or something? Do you have anyone waiting for you or anything?"

"No, no. Don't worry about them. I'll just tell them I'm not really in trouble or anything. I'll just add at the end: 'P.S. It's him!'"

We drank coffee. The coffee shop was comforting in the awkward atmosphere we were in.

I told my friends, "You know what's up. See you tomorrow." They all looked at me with eyes of shock and understanding.

"They can't be in a rom-com. Can't they?"

It was funny how awkward I thought our conversation was going to be. It ended up going well as if we had naturally good chemistry with each other. There might have been bias when I said that.

Oh, well!

Now, that was a great opening! I like that! No joke, I decided not to cry until something bad happened like it does in real life. We needed action! Action!

Returning to the story, the miss said, "Oh, hi Allen."

I fully immersed into the boy character's experiences.

My name was Allen. How did she know that! Oh wait, I said my full name like 5 times before she left. Needed to make sure! Hehe.

She asked me about my job, my family, and my well-being. I could tell she was taking this seriously.

I wanted to put in my best effort too. I asked her if she loves her job. She said she does.

I didn't want to steal what she loves away. I told her my thoughts and she said it'll be fine if she didn't go to concert all the time. "They're very patient with me."

I told her of my freelance job as a software engineer. "I create software for all kinds of things, especially robotics. It's a time-consuming job, but it's good that I'm not tied to a company."

I asked her if she wanted to post videos online of her singing. She didn't dislike the idea, but the day she got into the band was a happy day for her. Although she said that, she emphasized the fact that her dream has always been singing itself and not the band.

Returning to reality, maybe these stories were not for me. I felt more and more disconnected the closer she got to Allen. My heart doesn't feel inclined to write this specific genre right now.

I felt obligated to take up a few unspecific books before venturing into a fresh, original world. Closed-up minds wouldn't help me create differentiated creations.

To speak blatantly, I hated undefined work: the stories that didn't regain balance after the first few lines. I believed my most recent works indicated this. "And let me just acknowledge the fact that I can write better than what I've written in the past." All I needed was a few modifications to my writing.

"Harbor no guilt, harbor no shame, it is time for your name to rise again," I wrote. This didn't sound bad at all. I liked it. I could use this for future connotations.

"Indecisiveness will bring about pain, pain will bring about acknowledgment, and, acknowledgement will bring about change." How about that? Not bad? Did it even mean what I wanted it to mean?

"You call them weak; then you call them strong. But please don't let them take all the wrong." Okay, that made sense in my mind. It's of the hatred toward sociopaths and psychopaths, emphasizing their mental sickness.

"Feed the hungry, feed the poor, if so, you might realize your hunger too."

I liked challenging my own thoughts by taking in ones that contradicted it. It helped me disconnect from my ego momentarily to sort out what I believed was most suitable for my peace.

Leaving me alone wouldn't be nice, would it?

Later, entering a cozy library, I climbed the wide stairs to the bookshelves. It was endearingly light having nothing but the rain outside the wet glass panes. The occasional thunder was heartwarming too.

I picked a spot to rest. Oh, look! A very regular-looking reader! Might as well ask what he could be reading.

Oh, he was reading a study book guide. Good luck to you chap!

I was very happy to hear the books silently whispering their intense plot line, waiting for me to choose some.

I finished reading after two books. "I'll just read on a reader app for this evening."

I opened my music-streaming app on the laptop. I got my heavy metal, nu metal, and alternative metal playing in the background. I had to search up what genres they were.

Sooner or later, I finished one book as it wasn't completed yet. I also switched to a more light music as I felt calmed down.

I might have not said, but my kind of music depends on my mood. I liked metal when I need a release of frustration. I slid into metal core, post-hardcore, and pop punk as I slowed down. And sooner or later, I ended up listening to hip-hop, pop, and, finally, ambient music. There was no exact order to my songs, but this explained it at least.

I couldn't write and write with my emotions unreleased, because with my stress rapidly escalating, an event known as thought disorder and psychosis appeared in me.

Now that I think about it. I talked to myself all the time when that happens. I know the voices aren't real, but my ears hurt from all the noise.

There was so much I needed to say.

I'll leave it here. I'm sorry. For now.

"Am I Lying Or Oblivious?"
I laughed unreserved. I laughed like there's no tomorrow. I laughed out nothing except confusion.

I didn't why. I remembered my father slapping me for laughing uncontrollably out of mania. I couldn't feel anything the days after that. It was disturbing.

I would see the house I lived in with wooden humanoids replacing my family members. They were them, but lifeless. I saw an undefined power that controlled everyone, including me. I had wooden arms when I looked, and every moment we made was due to that divine essense controlling us. It felt weird. I couldn't feel anything.

I didn't like this. I didn't know. I feel safe but undefined. This wasn't right, but maybe I needed this?

I needed my doctor. She told me it was normal. I didn't understand. Maybe it was just me? I wished I understood. I wished I knew.

I didn't like being touched. I didn't like being touched by anyone. It felt weird. I thought I was paranoid.

Where was I?

I needed to do something.

"Where am I?! Really! I'm serious! Answer me!"

"You're nothing. Just kill yourself."

"Shut up! You know nothing."

"Nothing? You mean I know you're nothing? You're useless! You piece of s—"

"Shut up! Keep quiet!"

"Hmph. Just know you can't do anything right. That's all you need to know."

Oh gosh, I really needed to write. Couldn't have myself wasting time this time around.

My head hurt. "Let's just close our eyes this very moment."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Oh g—

Where was I!?

I needed to finish up this nonsense. Couldn't do this no more.

I listened to someone laughing uncontrollably on repeat to calm myself down.

After that, I listened to an alternative rock song that came out recently. It was a song that premiered on the video-sharing website. Not bad, I thought.

Listening to my favorite hiphop artist was natural after the number of times I've replayed his albums. He was honest about his hopelessness. Music like his healed me.

Back to work. It'd be really nice if I ate grapes by now after all the apples I've eaten.

I changed desks often and moved positions to a different side of the house. I couldn't do this in that apartment before, but now I could. I did this whenever my senses got tired of the environment. It was pretty much a lifesaver in reseting your creative processing.

I would imagine it like four sides of farmland. Once I harvested the first side, I refilled it with new seeds, and I moved on the next side. Once I finished the fourth side, my first and second sides were all ready to be harvested; my third one was not done but close to completion.

I would always have food to eat that way, and that was what we have here when we talk about the "sides" of your creative proccessing. To explain, the number of "sides" was the number of times you could revive your spirit or rejuvenate your dulled senses. Basically, the more "sides" you had, the more consistent you would be!

I used this strategy all the time, and that was the reason I moved here: to increase the number of times I could stay "alive" and going.

Woo! It'd be nice if I lay back and shut my eyes for a second now. I did this all the time when my head got full and needed to relax.

My streaming channel was now at an average of 6,000 viewers. I didn't think people would be interested in this kind of stuff, but hey! Looks like things were booming, and that was great!

I set up polls on what genre did my viewers read the most this season. About 11% were into sci-fi probably because of the recent innovations in technology. 26% loved rom-coms; of course, it was the calming side of novels. Mystery and crime, adventure, and mature were in a great war with each averaging around 20%. The other 3% were people who were flexible and basically changed genres after every read.

It was cool having talks like these. The only difference between real life was that you felt like you were on two different planes of existence: the chat bar and the live stream.

Moving onto another topic, I had always loved freestyle, whether it was rap or singing. Now that I looked into it. You needed to have a vast collection of words to express what you were feeling or thinking about.

Furthermore, I wasn't really introduced to music other than movie music when I was a child, and we didn't watch movies that much. So I had to depend on myself to make music since I was music enthusiast.

I wouldn't write down my music because I was slow and bad at handwriting.

What I would do was make up lyrics and sing or rap it at the spot. I thought it was a normal thing until I tried the music I avoided so much out of fear. I soon learned only a few could go live and freestyle whatever tune or lyrics that came out from their heart.

I tell you, it wasn't easy not repeating yourself. I needed to intentionally learn how to condition my mind to new phrases and words without stopping to think.

Even now, I played guitar and played around with spontaneous songwriting for about 5 to 15 minutes to relax my mind.

In the end, I finished my first fantasy action. It wasn't nice deciding whether the Dragonos killed the main character or becomes his friend.

I had to go with the main character becoming a Dragonos after completing the challenges set for him. It took a dark turn after he was told to train himself mentally, emotionally, and physically. Once he was done, they put him into a long slumber. When he came to his senses, he was in a Dragonos' body. He finished the test unconsciously. He realized all he had to do was train and hope God succeeded with the body—his body. God told him he finished the challenges for him—killing people. But before doing so, the main character tortured and devoured them bit by bit.

It wasn't a test at all. It was God's playtime.

"You can fly around the sky now. Talk with your fellow Dragonos. This is your eternal reward." God made a face not in the way I imagined He would do. He grinned at the most saddest moment with the most happiest smile.

Returning to reality, I-I lost myself.

That was nice. Very existential. Eeek!

Hmm. Where I lived, it never snowed down here. I would like to see some snow. Oh wait. Nevermind. The weather would be much calmer when the water all went down the drain. That was my personal opinion anyway.

"Let me watch my anime." No kidding. I needed cute and funny, not real life things right now. I had watched too much dark shorts.

Oh, wait, nevermind! My eyes hurt. I was just going to cook up some food.

Eggs were phenomenal. I hadn't eaten eggs in a week or so, which made every coming dish "felis na bidad!"

Though I'd rather eat apples; much cheaper in the long run. No bias... yes bias.

I finished my egg sandwich, definitely pleased. I got full after two sandwiches.

It was so quiet today. I meditated in pitch-black silence when I noticed how tired I was getting.

I looked at myself without an indication of attachment, fear, anger, hate, love, and worry. I felt happy. If this wasn't happiness, then what was?

Someone knocked on my door. I stood up, walked slowly to the door, and asked, "Who's there?"

It was a woman's voice. She said, "I'm here to deliver a package."

"Oh, sure," I replied, looking down at the ground as the top side of my head leaned against my rugged, wooden door. "I-I'll get the money. Please wait."

"Okay," she said calmly.

"Yeah, just wait for a second," I called from the back; my voice muffled as water poured down my face.

I brought the money, staring at the doorknob as I walked toward the door. I stopped. The door was right in front of me. The person out there was waiting. I, opened the door slowly, hoping to see a kind face.

It was a freckled redhead. She smiled; her eyebrows raised and hands holding out the box she went to deliver.

I tried to imitate her friendly gesture, only to give a half-smile. I thought: "Oh, sorry. Here's the money."

"Thanks. . . . but what, wha-what are you being sorry for?" Her concern revealed as she waited for my decisive answer.

"I-I took too long. Sorry." My voice was a whisper.

She stared at me like she was staring beyond my outward self. She stepped back, looked away, and fixed her hair.

Her eyes were nice, I thought. That was the kind of eyes I had a crush on.

Her hair, too, I thought. Medium length semi-curly hair.

Her face too, I thought for the last time, That circular face with all those features. She was... she was amazing.

She looked hesistant, either looking at me this second and looking away the next. "I need to tell you something." she cooed. "Wanna sing a song I've working on?"

"Uh, why?"

She shot me disappointed looks, and I was just there wondering what genre of novels I was in.

She was pacing back and forth like a mob was after her or something, so before she could think of leaving my house front, I shot back her bewilderment, asking, "May I ask?"—she instantly turned back to me who had started to whisper—"Why do you want to make a video with me?"

"Oh, I just, yeah, it's nothing, it's nothing, never mind, I-I'll just go."

She was leaving. Oh no. I-I can't leave her like that.

I ran after her and grabbed her hand. She had a bracelet around her left wrist. It was pretty.

Wait, why did I grab her hand?

"Uh, hey. I can do it. L-let's do it." What the hell was I saying? Sounded so off. Why in the world was I thinking? I felt obligated to let go of her hand quick.

I let go. One thought emerged: she felt obligated to have blushed at least.

Another thought emerged: Oh shut up. I've got no time for you.

"O-okay. Meet me at my house tomorrow morning? I'm Rino and I'm your neighbour by the way. I'm right"— she pointed to her right —"there!"

I looked over in the direction she was looking. "Oh, that house. I thought it was a family house. Like the one with an entire family in it."

"Oh, I'm an only child and my mother and father died two years ago."

Oh, did I say that out loud?

"Yeah, you did."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay... meet me here tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure! Oh and, I'm Skyler. My name is Skyler."

I waved good-bye. It was nice having someone to talk to every once in a while I realized.

Soon, I came to her house, and she was there to greet me: "Oh, hey... hey! Nice to see you here."

"Oh, I feel the same."

"Yeah... let's just go in."

"Ok, sure."

She had a nice place. I mean, her room was great—great for recording!

We sat down two stools with an amazing pale-colored background—Oh gosh, save me. This was too good.

The cameras were up high. When she showed me one of her videos, We were both going to be at the middle in the lower corner of the video.

She placed an transparent frame attached to the wall. The icon resembled herself posing, facing the left side, and eyes looking elsewhere. Her logo was taking half of the icon with herself taking the other half and overlapping a little bit.

After seeing everything, I asked her: "Why do you need me?"

"Oh, I hear you singing from time to time and just thought maybe you wanted to record a solo? The show's not exclusive to me only, you know?"

"Oh, thanks. It's nice being acknowledged by a fellow musician. I can feel the passion."

"Thanks . . . wait, before we get all emotional, what song do you want to cover?" Or do you want to sing an original?"

"How about this?" I asked her if I could take my guitar back at home; she agreed.

I came back, explaining, "I have a song I want to sing. Will you take a listen first?"

"Oh, sure, you can give me the audio file and I'll play it on my speakers."

"Oh, no, uh . . . I'll sing it here and now."

I took my guitar from its stand, sat on the small stool, and began to recite the words: "Your love is a dear grave, I can't escape without the pain ripping me apart.

"I'll climb my way back to freedom, even if my feet crumbles under the heaviness of my mind.

"This is my way of life, my answer to death, my answer to lies. . . ."

"That's, that's, that's amazing! Your voice really brings out the genre and mood of your song. I love it!"

"Oh... thanks."

"Oh man, I just sounded like my voice teacher just now. I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine, though," I assured her.

I finished the recording and went right back home to my cherished, newly washed pillowcases. Ha, amazing! This... was just... amazing.

I loved recording, but most of the time, I'd rather sleep and not care too much.

I'm not saying I'm scared of trying my best and going after my dreams. It was getting my head wrapped around achievements and pleasing people so badly that it hurts. I really don't want to care at all.

This was how I wanted to see it—I did care, but I didn't. I only wanted to live in peace while helping people—that was all.

Ooh! Another day of me being myself. No bother at all.

I lay down quiet nicely, daydreaming of the world I wanted to look at right this very moment.

I talked out loud to my "bros and sisters" who were the voices in my head. We only talked for my convenience actually. It was nice to sort out thoughts when you need to.

If I didn't do these things, I would just stay still in silence in pitch-black darkness, and I did.

I faked death for hours. . . .

I couldn't say this any other way. It was just fun not feeling attached to anyone and anything in any way. I felt free.

I remembered a time when I used to hate caring about what other people say about me. I got anxious whenever I made a mistake from fear of the words that people would throw at me. I was a highly-sensitive person, so these kinds of things really hit me in the chest.

Being a highly sensitive person (HSP) wasn't all that bad. Music hit me harder which made it easier for me to recognize beats, rhythms, and melodies. I wrote and expressed more dramatically from the average person.

I had changed though. Things didn't affect me the way they used to back then. I no longer felt inclined to get into relationships. I got attracted to beautiful women or enjoyed the fun friends had, but when it came to "me" connecting to the world in an interpersonal way, I didn't feel pleasure for it. Instead, it made me uncomfortable and trapped.

I'd rather stay alone as this was the freest feeling.

I began talking to the bros and sisters in my head.

Good evening everybody.

Good evening, Hank.

How's everythin' going 'round here?

Everything's going great, Sir!

That's great. . . . hey Daisy, Rainbow, come over here!

Oh, hi! I haven't seen you in a while. How's it been?

I released the book of Dreamer yesterday.

Dreamer? Where's Dreamer by the way?

He was sleeping right now.

Oh, I see. . . by the way, what do you want to do tonight, Sky?

Ah, I don't know. I might just listen to music.

Hey Sky. What's going on?

Oh no.

Wanna go... yourself today, Sky?

Look at this. Look, look you piece of...!

I think we should st—

Hahaha... you! All you... do is... lie down and... do nothing with your life!

I needed my music quick.

Now you could go shut up now! All you do was laze around and nothing but...!

Oh gosh, he was really loud.

I listened to music before I went and slept. I couldn't let him terrorize me like that. He needed to stop.

Where were we?

Oh yeah, we were handling papers. I needed to pay bills.

And yes, I did talk to myself out loud normally. Most of the time, I said something in my one voice—myself—and replied to myself in a different person or voice. I didn't understand any of this, but I did it all the time. Well, it was really embarassing knowing the world didn't talk to themselves in this manner.

I didn't always do it any way; it was only when I needed to disconnect from my body self and readjust my perspective.

Now, to the bathroom!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I said with relaxation.

"She's Here."
"Why must we all suffer?" Oh golly. Now that was a phrase I haven't said in a while.

I grabbed my wallet and payed the driver. Oh, I didn't say this, but there was a festival right around here. I dropped down after the 30-minute drive. Okay, I was ready.

I went up toward the people celebrating the festival all together. It reminds me of home.

Their lamps, tinted with orange, lighted their way into an upsurge of welfare and well-being.

The frisky atmosphere almost caught me tearing up. I saw a few groups of friends talking viscerally: this reminded me of good ol' characters hanging out together after a hard fight or tough time.

I closed my eyes. Friends like those were too much to give up, let alone your own tender soul.

"Savor the moment, but don't let it pin you down," was what I typed down on my collection of original poems. Philosophies like these were never read again. It only helped me immerse myself in the everyday without getting sidetracked.

I walked around the parameter. I wore my hood and put on my earphones for a mood. My walk was undisturbed, peaceful, and thoughtful.

I couldn't deny it, but I saw Rino. She was sitting on a bench away from the crowd, but watching nonetheless. I didn't know if she was lonely, or she liked her atmosphere that way.

I walked up to her with arms remaining at my sides.

She raised a hand in greeting.

I was astounded by her dress. I didn't think she'd go here with no one to be with, especially with her outfit. "Hey Sasha," I replied.

"Uhh, what, do you have anyone with you?" She raised her eyebrows, brushing her hair back to place against the rushing wind.

"Oh, I don't."

"Well, want to sit beside me?" she whispered, still staring at me.

"Oh sure," I replied. We both looked down and back at the crowd of people enjoying the festival together.

"Uh . . . I was walking just a while ago—it helps me think. . . . How about you?" I asked, still staring elsewhere.

"Oh, yeah, I was, yeah, you saw me. I don't have much friends around here. I was, just enjoying, myself here. . . ." she blurted, wiggling unconsciously.

"Oh. Aren't I—you know—y-your friend?" I stuttered. Eeek! Was I her friend, though? I thought to myself.

"You stopped coming to my house," she continued. "I thought you hated me or something."

I reassured her: "What? I don't—Oh. I did stop coming. I didn't know you saw it that way. I don't hate you. Not at all."

"Oh, want to go around or something like right now?" She insisted, standing up voraciously.

"Sure!" I agreed, taking the first step to wherever we were going.

After a minute of silence, we didn't realize the storm brewing above us. We stopped at a convenience store to refresh ourselves.

"Do you have an umbrella?" She was putting down her things onto the table while I sat down, looking at the fresh apples.

"Hey, you want an apple?" I asked at the same time as her, but my voice was louder. I realized what she said a few minutes after.

She had finally sat down, looking at me then replying, "Oh, uh, is that fine?"

"Don't worry: I like apples," I assured her. "I was also planning to buy anyway."

She looked at me with surprised looks.

I noticed and asked, "Why?"

She was slumped down on the table, staring down like she was in deep thought. She heard me and replied, "Oh, it's just that I eat apples too. It's my favorite. Well, my second favorite.

"My first favorite's mango. I like the sweet flavor."

"Oh okay—cool."

The next minutes was me and her eating pineapples because it had "apples" in its name and was color yellow like a mango. I didn't know why we didn't eat apples. No, my apples!

I remembered this taste. It was when my mom bought me this when we traveled to a convention. She's normally the reason I eat many things I didn't previously like. I loved them now.

When it came to pineapple though, I rarely ate it when I was young, so I rarely bought it. Maybe it was a good idea to try buying one of these, but they were pretty expensive. I felt obligated just to stick to apples instead.

We finished the pineapples, but some dropped to my shirt.

"Hey, do you want a napkin?" Her hands were very soft. Okay. Why did I just think that?

"Oh sure!" I didn't want to prolong the silence, so I wiped the mess up immediately and handed it back to her.

Sooner or later, the rain ended, we didn't have to stay and wait, but we did. The silence was nice: no pressure. Ha. I didn't know why, but she was not awful. Oh, wait. Is that a bad measurement?

What I was trying to say was that she was really nice.

We went back home through the same way.

The festival program already ended by the time we left, but there were people still wandering about, talking with friends and partners. It was indeed a refreshing, good night.

I put on my clothes: pants, white shirt, and sweater. I was a chill kind of person. I valued my comfort very much, thank you!

She was cooking up some food by the time I arrived. This looked wrong. Was I a dad now?

If my guitar was replaced with a suitcase, I'd be your average corporate slave. I hope offense wasn't taken by this statement. This person's opinions did not matter in this world.

"Hi!" she said.

"I made an effort to cook up some food for you, you piece of trash!" was what she'd say if this was a romantic-comedy.

She gave him the meal. He liked it. Of course he liked it. What would he like if he didn't like anything in this world?

Everything was going to be fine, she thought.

They started playing like just now. She didn't want to ask like she didn't know, but his flyer was open. This was totally still not a romantic-comedy.

Once he played the song, she almost forgot, but she told him about his flyer. He quickly zipped it up like nothing was wrong. Wow, she wished she was like that.

She asked him if he wanted a duo. He agreed.

They sang her song like he requested. He said he listens to my song every now and then to be inspired. Her mind was like, "Oh my gosh, kill me now."

She know what it was like to be praised by someone, but when someone said it in person, it was a whole new experience.

For sure, this guy was going to blow up. For sure. Well, he did blow up, but as in blow up, blow up. You get me?

"Hey, I was thinking," I said. I had a plan, but I would need to look for comrades.

"Yes?" Her voice cracked.

"Ah, do you draw? Or write? Not songwriting, I mean, write stories?" She didn't know how to ask without sounding insistent.

She thought for a moment and then replied, "Yes, I do! I write many, many! And draw too!"

"Oooh, oooh, oooh! That's great!"

I stared in silence for a second, almost forgetting what I wanted to say. "Hey, uh, I do those, too!"

The air strangled me: I didn't want to be here in the awkwardness.

"Do—you—want—to—do them together?" She looked at me with that smile. I felt like I've seen that before. Oh, it was when I first sat down with her on the bench... the awkward smile... that was it.

Our first drawing session was on one-portrait character illustration. I told her during the stretch: "I've always drawn characters like this. It helps clear my mind of questions that repeat itself."

The next round of comic creation was the character's background including the setting itself. We needed a fun yet meaningful story. I suggested a society of rebounds. A instance where the very idea of rebound resided until none could remember the difference of "dating" and "rebounding". I continued to propose the protagonist's place in the story. She, or he, could be part of a group of single adults. She could be an ambitious innovator who didn't associate herself with small talk. She was dedicated to her own happiness.

This was the case until one day, an intellectual gentleman came along with a slight interest in her. He was intrigued by her sincere passion to life. He managed a huge corporation and met her due to business matters. She ended up making a partnership deal with him which gave him a reason to talk to her.

They ended up as "friends", or how do I say this? Either debating, arguing, or agreeing, they engaged in intellectual conversation: philosophy, politics, psychology, religion, and science-fiction that could come true.

All the while this was happening, they loosened their guard and begin revealing their casual side, which resulted in an awkward self-awareness.

I asked Rino about this. She agreed with the premise and helped piece out the story line, expounding the possible story line.

We had been drawing on our tablets all this time. I drew with my nifty stylus pet, but Rino used her mouse. I was dumbfounded: I had to stare at her hands every now and then to see if they hadn't broken yet.

"Hey, can I check your mouse?" She nodded, moving out of the way.

I handled the mouse. It was very light. Huh, I guess a heavier one is needed to break any hand, I thought.

"Rino, do you want music while writing?" I asked, putting out my phone.

She clapped her hands and replied, "Okay, I like dystopian music. How about you?"

I snapped my fingers and acknowledged, "I listen to rain sounds most of the time, but we can do dystopian music this time."

She grabbed her phone, connected it to the speakers, and played a dark ambience mix that resembled the "bad place" dystopias were known to be.

After several more shots at the comic, we arrived at a satisfactory spot and took a break. I asked her what she did whenever she needed to calm down like this. She answered, "I listen to songs or just lie down and close my eyes."

I laid back and closed my eyes, pressing down against my eyelids. "I see."

"Do you want some apples?" She was lying down on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

I tugged at my shirt collar and massaged around my neck. "Oh, yes please!"

She poured a glass of water and handed it to me. "I didn't know you were into art."

I took the glass and drank it whole. "Yeah, I'm. I'm into creative stuff."

She put her hand to her mouth and burped. "'You like writing,' you said? What kind of genres do you write?" she managed to say.

I licked my lips, thinking of a clear answer. "Oh, genres? Uh, hmm, anything, I guess? Anything except romance and comedy."

She undid her ponytail and shook out her hair. "Oh, that's nice. I'm more of a dark psychological thriller kind of person. I don't like too much "happy-go-luckies".

I stared at her as she moved back to her seat, and then stared at the empty glass.

She rested her chin on her left arm. "It's just not for me, I guess. The horror genre also described my interests in a way. But the sheer horror of dark, morbid things made one delve deep into his soul and think."

I sat upright, giving a bitter laugh. "I see."

"Why? You're not into horror I'm guessing?" She tilted her head toward me.

"Oh, no, not at all. I'm a fan of the ones you mentioned: horror, psychological, thriller. I just didn't think anyone would . . . like those things too, you know?"

We continued the comic until sunset, taking a few breaks. We stretched from time to time, even having to get up from our seat to get our body in peak condition.

Before I walked through the door of my home, I asked her if she wanted to hang out at my house this time. I told her it wasn't spacious but it was enough for us to hang out.

The next morning, I got up, put on a sweater, and walked out the door with a couple bucks to buy my irreplaceable serve of goodness—apples.

I took off my dark-blue cap, entering the store and asking the girl behind me,"Do you have a cat?"

She yelped. "You noticed? Yeah, I do. Didn't you see it?"

I grabbed a few items, specifically apples, apples, and apples, handing them to the cashier. "No, not yet. What's he like?"

Slowly, she described her pet friend: "He's handsome. He's, he's a cat. He's also a cat. Why do I need to explain?"

"D-d-don't you care about what he looks like at least? Not everybody has a cat you know!"

"Oh yeah, he's color blue. Oh, oh no. I mean his eyes are color blue."—I showed her my arm hair, rubbing it to point out what I meant—"His fur? Well, That's for another story. See you next time on Daily TV for addicts!"

"Uh, yeah. I-I gotta go." I humorously got up as if to leave, sitting right back down.

She had grabbed me, laughing. "I was kidding, come on!"

I put my soul into it, hoping to find an answer worth something. I couldn't tell what the feeling was, but it was certainly something I could imagine. I tried my hardest, but nothing came out. I asked Rino what she thought I could be missing. She said, "Oh, probably the end style of it."

"Wha . . . end style?" I gesticulated, a little bummed that she said it without hesitation.

"The 'end style' is defined by the connecting of the dots when it comes toward or for the end and how you do it. That's all."

On leaving the store, Rino told me she wanted to buy something from the market.

"I understand. Should I go as well?" I asked, suggesting I accompany her. "I haven't been to the market or anywhere for that matter since I transferred."

We strolled down a lane not far from the convenience store, but deep enough for me not to have noticed. I was ecstatic at the flower arrangements that piled up on the fronts of stores. The "market" in my head was not at all as beautiful as this. I was very pleased with the color schemes.

Since I was a kid, it all cornered down to me having to get a life after all the frustrations I've been through.

I didn't reckon there was such a life waiting for me if I stood my ground to get out and check. I didn't much like socializing and being outside, so it became a nuisance to me. I was here now, wasn't I?

Most of the people stared at me as I trudged through. I had forgotten how distinct I was outwardly in contrast to the majority of my peers.

I was mistakenly ominous by the people I had been with at military training. It wasn't pleasant.

I bought a few flowers and brought it home with me. I lay down on the bed, raising a hand to cover my eyes.

I wondered why I went home. "Oh, yeah, it was because she told me: 'What are those flowers for?'"

I didn't know why I bought flowers in the first place. I didn't know. Maybe it was for her, but it was advisable not to give flowers whenever I liked.

I wanted to give them to her, but then, I remembered. I wanted to live... alone. Gosh, I could live happy with her anyway. it was advisable to tell her how I feel. I didn't care any more.

I removed my shoes. It was time to say it. But first, we were going to finish what I came to do.

"Hey, Sky. Is it okay to call you Sky?" She was adding a few touches to the storyboard.

I was caught up in my thoughts. She repeated the question to me.

I came to my senses. "Oh, h-hey, what's up?"

She stopped and peered at me. "Can I call you Sky?"

"Okay."

"Hey Sky, since we're finished, you told me you wanted to say something?"

"W-what are you talking about?" My chest ached.

"You know? When we were at the market?"

I stared confusedly at her.

"You told me this: 'Rino? I'll tell you something later after the stuff later, okay?'"

"Ah, yeah. I did tell you that." I scratched my head, sweating from my forehead.

"So, what was it you were going to tell me?" She fixed up her things and put them in a stack.

"I-I . . . wait! I'll get you something—wait!" I ran across the pathway, huffing every couple steps I took. I barged into my house, looking for something. I found it dangling on my desk. As I took it, I made sure to remember my words and just go do it.

I arrived at Rino's house with her looking curious. With flowers behind my back, I struggled to bring out the few words I had left for that day: "I-I think I like you."

I gave her the flowers. She jolted, startled by it all. I could have taken longer than what I hoped for.

It was a good thing I woke up the next day, realizing it all really happened. I struggled to maintain my excitement, hoping I could die—I mean faint—oh wait, it was advisable just to take in the happiness—no dying here.

I asked her out. It was the important next step to my confession. She still couldn't understand what was going on. She said "yes". But she was still dumbfounded.

I also didn't know how to look at her now. It was extremely difficult telling a new friend you have feelings for her. It was easy considering the short time we had being friends. I could only imagine how difficult it would turn out to be after a couple months or years.

I remembered my last crush. She was insanely beautiful and sincere, but it all fell short due to my fear of intimacy.

I tried hard to live a life independent from intimate relationships, but after meeting Rino, it was just difficult spending good-fashioned time in the same room as someone so easy to talk to. I liked her as a friend, but if not for the fact that she was my ideal girl, I wouldn't have had feelings for her.

Honestly, I had practiced keeping calm during considerably harsh conditions or times when my heart wanted to show up on my face. I did so much I looked pretty much stone-faced.

For Rino, however, I didn't fall for her immediately. It was just my heart slowly slipping out as she exceeded my expectations to differ so much as to make my heart leave me.

I was ready to have her go. I just didn't think she'd stay.

Thank you Rino. For showing me what it meant to have someone, even if it meant we would never see each other again—I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I had to make a joke at least once.

So I was on my third day. Of being her—oh gosh. I couldn't say it. My tongue was tied.—girlfriend—oh wait, that wasn't right.— I mean—

"Sky. Where's the fruit stand you said you saw?" Rino's dark-blue dress resembled a wing from her belly to the top of her shoulders. She said it was supposed to represent this "rorscyhach test". I felt like I had heard that term before, but I couldn't quite remember what it was supposed to mean.

"Oh, too late, we passed by it around 10 minutes ago. We walked pretty zigzag remember? So 10 minutes of walking straight back won't work."

"Oh, that's too bad. For my second date, at least something has to happen, right?"

"Rino, the very best date for me is when you and me are doing the things we love best together. That's what I want." I shivered as I said this.

She didn't say anything and dragged me through the streets. I tried to stay calm, and I did.

"Hey, do you know what the 'roryscratchmyback' supposed to mean?" I asked her, wobbling as I wobbled from getting dragged along by a hefty girl.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I wanted the date to go well, but I didn't know how. So I thought running around was the best way."

"Common way perhaps? But we got our own thing, you know? And that's what makes us special." Where in the heavens were these words coming from...? I was enlightened.

I still didn't know what the "roarshock" supposed to mean.

We were invited to a place, far from our homes and away from solitude.

We were invited to a convention. They arranged a competition for singers and musicians alike.

I still didn't know if it was a good idea to go. She said she was going, and I said "okay." I couldn't say "no."

"Oh gosh. This is too much for your wise old man to bear. Let him rest."

"Sure 26-year-old man." I was on the 36th day of my "unindependence". Okay, okay, I was still independent. It was just now, I'm partnered, I guess? Well, not exactly married, would I be? I really hoped I knew what I was doing.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Let's do this!" Looks like someone was excited.

After the convention, we arrived home. We were hoping to find a good place to get our way and have fun alone, but everyone was either watching from 5 meters away or crowding us every so often. I even got to have the feeling of seeing bodyguards blocking fans away from us. It was surprising, really.

I was quite demoralized by the bunch of "no-nos" I was getting from this.

She was at my house. Our writing session's end was at hand, and my heart kept beating on how to explain myself.

She sat down, finishing off what she called the most romantic story of all time.

"Can we just be friends?"

After a while, she said quietly: "Oh okay. Don't worry. I-I had a feeling this would happen, but since you asked if we could be friends instead of forever blocking me off. I might be able to take what you just said."

"Ah, t-thanks..."

The night grew cold, or the air con in my room was too strong and needed to be lowered. I notice I never use the air con in my room, unless I get itchy or if room temperature just makes me dizzy instead of calms me down, then air con would be very useful and needed.

Well, she told me she'd cry, and she did. For some reason, even after all that, she walked up to me, sat on my lap, and cried, leaning toward me. She trusted me. I couldn't let these moments be wasted memories. She was a good friend, lover, and person. I won't let you down, Rino.

I touched down on my keyboard, hoping to get an answer. Why can't I write!?... writer's block? You... you... can go away now.

I couldn't force this. I needed to breathe. Where was my creativity wake-up pills?

Early morning got me kicking at the gym.

"Soon enough, I'ma be huffing like your dad on daughter-protection-service." A veteran commended me, not for my muscles, but for my jokes. That's still good. I think. Should I cry? Yeah, yeah, I think I should.

"Rino told me she needed space for a while. She needed to breathe like I do when I'm pushing weights. That's a bad analogy, isn't it? Whatever, just sign the papers!" The veteran guy laughed again. Hahahaha. That was a bad joke, why did you laugh?

Okay, after finishing my rounds, I got up and walked straight home. It was another fantastically weird day. Rino had urged me to visit the gym at least once.

She was right about it being cozy with its glass windows perfectly showcasing the rainy weather outside. With its air being dampened by humidifiers, my allergies didn't pop out from the intense, rigorous lifting I went through.

The glass windows might have been soundproofed, but that was not where the "music" of the gym came from. They came through the roof and from the roof we felt immensely calm. Intensely relaxing.

It was nice living the life with a few "itches" on the side for guidance.

I got to connect with my fans during a conference nearby. I didn't like traveling too far, so I only attended this one for the year. My fans were bummed I could tell.

I never once neglected my writing, even after I got writer's block. I still pushed myself to make ways, whether simple or complex, and "take a beating" for my creativity back. Until I realized, all I had to do was force myself to write.

Rino and me continued working again. It was fun seeing Rino smile. She tried not to smile back, but she couldn't help it.

I had gotten myself to indirectly send letters of my constant love, even if it was not romantic any more. I was very happy for her recovery.

I knew she was very dependable deep down inside, but I hadn't let her get the chance to show it most of the time. I waited for her to show up when I asked her through a letter I sent several weeks after the break. She did, and I was glad she did. I hugged for the first time after it all. I was happy she was back.

We repeated an attempt of incorporating a few new things to our schedule: going outside once in a while to get the stress off our shoulders and talking to each other about certain things.

We tried the entire schedule once. It was rigorous. So we toned it down to a sensible niche. We were not overworking myself now, everyone.

Communicating was going to be a mess. Get me out there someone. Oh, wait, Rino said she'll help. Save me Rino!

I hoped we soon reach our mark for our comics, novels, and music. I don't want to end up draining myself to death. So let's not do that, shall we?

"Drag and Lift"
I've been missing you, you know?

Every single day feels like a drag. Why did you leave?

I wish you were here with us again.

Lacto-vegetarian. I didn't realize but I was counted as a lacto-vegetarian. Wasn't that amazing? No? "Oh, I-I'll just go now." Goodbye.

"I got caught up again in the web. The web is a vast interconnected sphere of information." My arms were leaning comfortably as I spun my computer chair.

"Wow, so much for becoming productive." Rino had just walked in unnoticed.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked her innocently.

She raised a brow. "You know what we're going to do today."

"No idea. Sorry. Nope." I gurgled my mouth wash as she stared at me intensely.

She pinned me down with her tenacious glare. "Don't lie to me."

"I-I don't know where the dog is? Please, please forgive me!" I hid in the corner with my butt raised like a civilized person.

"We're going out, come on." Her real voice came out. My dream girl was right here. Let's just sleep and escape into dreamland.

I lay on my back, seeing the beautiful princess kick me down. Before I was able to come to my senses, she tripped and fell onto me. I instinctively hugged her and locked her down, sniffing around her softness.

She struggled for a while and stopped moving. "Do you really like me or not?"

I instantly regretted my decision and let go. "O-okay, we're leaving now."

She pouted with arms crossed, still lying down. "Yeah, right."

"Come on, Rino. I'm sorry, okay? Sometimes I get a little too comfortable and do things right off the bat. I'm sorry." I wore my cap.

"I wasn't asking for your sorry," she mumbled. "I wanted you to continue. Hmph!"

Rino said we were invited to a talk show, and we were going there with my heart in pieces. I wasn't ready to be on a TV show yet, but when have I ever been ready?

We got down and walked through the secret pathway. We were greeted by more competent bodyguards. I wasn't surprised I guess. I was really hoping for more quiet time, but hey! This was a talk show after all.

"Good morning everybody, My name is Hank Wilson, and today, we have . . . Rino ! And Skyler!"

The scene's lights were vicious on my eyes. I was not used to the light.

The host, Frog Kermit, rubbed his hands together and began the program: "Hello, hello! If it isn't for the two independent music artists that decided to come out of nowhere, we wouldn't have gotten your duo album,"—the crowd clapped their hands and cheered—" wouldn't we?"

We sat there with hands over mouth, frozen and staring wide-eyed.

"H-How did you two know each other? I mean, were you friends? Before all this?" He leaned forward glancing at the audience then back at us with a furrowed brow.

We mimicked his furrowed brow and replied, "Oh, that's . . . wow. When did "us" come from?"

My face cringed, narrowing my eyes toward my best friend as a response.

She pursed her lips out of surprise, cringing toward my embarrassment.

"Oh, yes, we're actually neighbours."

"Ooh! I see!"

"Yes, we met under a fine afternoon at my doorstep. She came to my house, famished and asking for help."

"And what did she need help with?"

"She needed help with her video, but I didn't know how she knew I sang and played guitar. It was days later when she finally spoke about it."

"You didn't ask me." She gave a twisted smile I would spit my drink to if I had one.

"Oh right, it was when I asked you that you explained yourself."

"If you could humor me, Sky, are you going to continue your partnership with each other?"

Okay, now that's a knee-clapper. "Yes, of course."

Oh. . . D-don't tell me. I tilted my head toward her. She . . . blushed, looking below me with mouth agape.

Sooner or later, once we reached the intersection our houses were structured beside, Rino nudged me on the shoulder. "Hey, did you really mean that?" I hate this. I made a mistake.

"Yeah, you know? Or partnership as best buddies in everything?" I tried to get the situation under control.

"Are you sure? In everything? Meaning 'life'?" bombared my good friend.

"Yes," I replied, conflicted between the right hemisphere of my brain and my left.

Before Rino closed her door, she remarked, "Don't worry. I know you don't mean it. I was kidding."

...now, that's a bad sign.

If you were thinking, "How did Sky get to live such a carefree life without striving?", then, my answer for you would be "Have patience. And lenient, hardworking parents."

Why did I need hardworking parents? Firstly, They allowed me to gather all the free time I had to practice self-discipline. Secondly, even if they wouldn't teach me how, they gave me the books I needed to research self-discipline through philosophy and psychology.

And why was patience crucial here? Patience, for me, was like fear. Expose yourself long enough. Your heart could burst. By graudally sliding into exposure, however, you might just find shelter in the new abilities you would have formed: patience and confidence.

Narcissists bore the most scars they say. How would I know? They could have been like that since they were born!

I long doubted the possibility of my own lack of credibility since speaking out. I could be a covert narcissist myself. Who knew? The complications inspired me to work harder.

I hated the dull pleasure. The dull pain. The dull wait. I wanted meaningful time spent.

I missed the shallow weather. Its own tranquility led me to intensely shape the art with the vibrating frequency of elegance. Exacting the pinpoint location of the centre of arithmetic burst.

What I was trying to say was giving focus to my writing without any blaring distractions helped me perceive the best conscience for the arts. My left brain exercised and talked to me this way while my right brain made sure he was not illogical and improper with his use of words.

I got my guitar and freestyled for a dozen minutes or so.

Rino's metal screaming reminded me of the few times I wanted to learn how to "scream".

I turned on my laptop to see any updates on the novels. They were hungry for more books as usual. Bookworms all over the place.

I read several comments on my e-books. I took in opinions while satisfied with the book already. I could use the information to further my coming books. I pled with them on my discussions tab not to think their words were wasted, for they've been very helpful.

My dying comic artist persona needs a little boost in motivation. My tiny group of fans were crying in the comments telling me I couldn't stop.

None of these sides of me directly state who I was. I put out a little honesty and such but not to the point of revealing myself.

I remembered my mother and father all of a sudden. My mom and I were both volunteers to a non-profit organization. My dad volunteered a little when he had time, but it was the sweet moments with the crew that made me smile.

But one day, we ran into a problem with the organization that led us to separate and deattach from it. My mom still volunteers in other ways, but my dad has long distrusted others after that.

I had never felt indebted within the organization. I had patiently hoped for a better me every single moment I had been with them.

I wanted to be better because of them, despite not having the necessary knowledge yet.

Sooner or later, my intrusive yearn for growth led me to adapt a perfectionism that would otherwise destroy my self-confidence.

I missed the old days, but they reminded me of my incompetence at the time. For a long time, I couldn't fully accept this.

I stopped everything, turning off my laptop, closing the lights, and laying in bed. Troublesome thoughts could go even further if I linger in stress.

The peace and quiet. The down-to-earth lifestyle. Stoicism.

"Engineering, or analytical, planning, and logical writing, and farming, or wait-see-and-work-accordingly writing. Writers use a mix on both. It varies, according to what and how you want your readers to see."

"'I'm no professional', says the professional." Aya, my younger sister, came in, removing her shoes on my doorstep.

I didn't want to bother moving out of a relaxed posture, but my door was locked.

I slowly lifted one leg, then lifted the other, and rolled myself out of bed.

"I have fruits and salad over here if you like!" She peeked in from the window. Help.

"What salad? Caesar's salad?" I unlocked the door and opened it.

"Yeah, the roman emperor one." She put down her things and hugged me.

"I can't eat egg, remember?" I looked in the shopping bag and there were egg trays, mangoes, and the roman emperor salad inside.

"Y-you can't? W-Wha, I thought you were vegetarian but egg-friendly or something." She was in the bathroom, fixing her self.

"The lacto-ovo vegetarian one? No, I'm not that kind of vegetarian"—I munched on a crouton—"I'm actually a lacto-vegetarian."

She scavenged her personal bag right after she used the bathroom. "Oh there it is!" she exclaimed.

"What 'there it is'?"

She brought out a Master's Degree in Software Engineering. I stood up, slack-jawed and gripping on table.

I didn't care about people as much as I cheered for my two younger siblings. For me, she and Ray, my younger brother, were the two I hurt the most. Many times I grasped motivation because of my fear of paining them any longer.

I wasn't intimate with my two older siblings. They seemed like towering giants behind me. I believed they were waiting for my every movement, hoping to prove me faulty.

I attempted to open up and ask them directly a couple times, but our cynicism and naive suspicion didn't help at all.

I let it go after getting overwhelmed by the horror of loneliness from our countless disagreements.

We weren't exactly bad people, for our insides were boiling with unresolved fear, pain, and anger.

Even now, I sought my energy from my sensory deprivations, curiosity, and momentums.

I loved travelling, but I hated travelling at the same time. Thinking about so many things at once: getting a plane ticket, getting a hotel, fixing up things to bring, many necessary talking, ect.

All I needed was a few scenery pictures, videos, and music on the net and I was all set for imagination to take off. I also couldn't forget to listen to some thoughts and experiences of others on the net.

I imagined the world without the need to travel, using VR at your own desk. It could be a stimulating experience to behold, but I wondered what kind of life people of all ages would live. I wish for the best. For everybody. For happiness.

I fell asleep. My dreams consisting only of the final thoughts I had before sleeping. My body felt surreal as I awakened, light, resilient and autonomous.

My parents were narcissistic. They made it a point to make sure we were the ones to blame which became a self-fulfilled prophecy in itself as we lost confidence, lost motivation, and got addicted. They say things like they made mistakes in the past. "But that was the past," was what they would say, implying they were mature and experienced ones who stopped doing wrong.

I denied ever needing them as emotionally loving parents, because it was what they were expected to give that I would grasp on my own through learning. I didn't think this way for a while. I focused on writing and music until I found recognition. I drew manga by the time I was an adult.

Now, I was learning what it means to connect with my fans. Producers had been tapping me on the back, yearning for me to start moving.

I wondered. Would it be worth it?

I was not necessarily unprepared. I had no reason on not going. It was my own time being gathered.

My research on the net had gotten me somewhere at least. I found dozens of principles and life philosophies to get me going. I needed to go. This was what I dreamed of as a child. I couldn't let myself stay sick forever. This was my time to shine.

With the beats rolling around the sides of the room, I laid back on a couch.

"Here's your drink, Sir," cooed the waitress. She smirked, leaving with one more drink to serve. She handed it to a female co-star.

The female co-star peeked at me with dilated eyes.

I viciously drank the wine. It soothed me from within my soul, replacing my anxiety attack.

"Rino, you can stop staring at me now."

The female co-star, or Rino sat on a comfy chair a few meters from me. She frowned, legs crossed away from me.

"Rino, why don't you sit beside me here? It's more comfy."

I thought that I didn't want to make her feel estranged or scared of me.

My old school crush ignored my attempts 5 times to count, and I really trusted her as a kind person that time. Everytime I remembered those times, I got anxiety attacks often. I tried my best to calm it down, but it would be better if I didn't have them at all.

I didn't want her to have the same problem. I know she didn't have anyone else except me, and I better respect that fact. Her parents were long gone, she was an only daughter, she didn't really have friends considering her shyness, and she didn't attend school.

If someone had issues, then it was all of us, but if these issues were dealt with from the inside, no doubt a happy life was ahead of us.

"Why?" She slowly turned towards me.

She was a dear friend of mine, too.

"It's heaven in this couch. I'm serious." I was essentially attempting a snow angel on a couch.

"Okay." She politely stood up, walked towards me, and sat down.

"Can I hug you?" She jolted and froze. "If you don't want, it's fine."

"O-okay, sure," she whimpered.

I hugged her softly at first, but I bear-hugged her after she loosened up.

We rode on Aya's car, stopping by a store before heading home.

I told Aya she could stay over. I didn't like travelling long distances late at night, and I thought she felt the same.

She gave a bitter laugh, putting up a peace sign. She stated, "I was planning to stay over anyways."

"Oh, is that so?" I gave a deep chuckle.

I browsed through a forum of a well-known content creator on the net. I saw numerous entries from her fanbase over there. They posted anything that'd be interesting to see, but it wasn't the forum that captivated me: it was her fans creating a community with her.

I should do the same, maybe. I wouldn't care though, would I? Vlogging for me sounds like something I do everyday. I tend to talk as if I was talking to an audience all the time for some reason. . . eh.

I stopped by the balcony. I don't have a balcony. Oh, I looked through the window. It's nice seeing fine weather. By fine weather, I mean rain weather. Cold air seeping through the windows feels nice. It's dreamy like that dude in the rain.

Wait. Why was there a dude in the rain? He was in the middle of the street. He closed his eyes! What am I seeing?

"I better help him!"

I ran outside, wearing the slippers I only used when I wanted to stop by Rino's house.

The man still had his eyes closed. I yelled "Hey!"

Realizing how wet I became, I went back to get an umbrella.

Once I got back, his eyes were open, taking a total 4 seconds before rotating his head toward me.

I put a hand under my mouth."Uh. Hey! You're in the middle of the road. and it's raining!"

He slowly opened his umbrella. "I like the rain."

I coughed. "Me too. But it's freezing and you could get sick."

"I don't get sick," he plainly muttered, closing his umbrella again.

"I. Hey. It's . . . nevermind." I slowly walked back back home and lay down. "That was exhausting. I don't like those kind of conversations. I can't win at them. Or handle them is what I meant to say."

It was nice to lie down. I fell asleep shortly after.

I gathered myself, sitting in silence for a minutes. I did a cold shower to maintain emotional balance. I ate apples to appreciate my senses. I resumed my gym training after a 6-day absence. I walked around the park to regain pace. I stopped by a convenience store to buy fruits and milk. I came back home, desperate to daydream. I freed myself of emotional baggage and I was ready. Writing the next book in the series really helped to calm my nerves. I felt delighted and honoured to have another day with independence.

I didn't want to ever again lose my momentum. It was not even something I could do without getting anxious and depressed and then addicted to something or things. It was a no-no for me.

I realized soon enough the fellow on the street was my neighbor. Okay, so here was the gist of it. So basically, Rino was the neighbour beside me on my left, and the other guy, whom I was hoping to know the name of, was the neighbour to my right. He didn't go out except to "bathe" in the rain as his other neighbours would quote it. They called him "mahilig sa ulan," which meant "rain lover" in their native language.

Right back where I started: my desk and laptop. A dream-world awaited.

I stopped. "Wait. Where's Aya?"

I went back to my room to see her sleeping with arms and legs stretched. She was having the time of her life, huh.

"Oh my gosh. He's seriously going to win this." My sister woke up. She was stimulating this time of the day.

"What's up?"

"Please Send Help"
Every step was another step toward volition or purposive striving.

My next step—shutting down the entire day with Aya.

I didn't have an answer for why she slept beside me all the time. Even back while we attended highschool, she spent most of her time with me. She told me she trusted me, but I never told her I was asexual. I guess she found it obvious with the way I handled people.

“Aya, what are they doing?” I finished taking a bath, pushing open the door to my room.

“Ray and Alice?” She took a spoonful of honey from a container she kept supplied in her bag.

“Ya.” I changed clothes in front of her.

“Same as usual, destroying the so-called ”top players“ as they jested.” She smiled and gulped her favorite treat.

“Lols. I understand completely.” I put on the glasses I rarely used and looked in the mirror.

“You should model or something. You’re gay anyway.” Wide-eyed, I gazed at her from the mirror.

“What? You’re not?” She dropped her phone, staring back at me.

“No. No. I’m just not gay. I’m the kind that doesn’t care about relationships, you know?” I picked up a coconut oil bottle, turning it around as I briefly browsed the ingredients.

“Oh... that’s why.” She stood up and calmly strolled out the door.

“Where are you going?” I coated my hair, leaving it fresh and shiny.

She called from out the door. “CR.”

I sat down, relaxing my arms and back on my blanket on the floor.

Ever since I arrived here, the weather and atmospheric feel embraced me instantly. Environment really helped me write.

“Do you remember that time when at school when the teacher told us to graph several areas of influence on culture since robotics emerged?” Aya finished brushing her teeth. She brushes three times a day. What a rarity.

“Oh. . . oh! Where the teacher told us to get out and play ball for a whole day if we don’t finish it?”

“That was basically cheating, wasn’t it? Eight hours? They’d do twenty-four hours if the varsity team’s bodies could take it.”

“That was rough even for them though, expected of an specialized school.”

As a school council president during my time at that school, my social skills indicated mediocrity, but even if my leadership proved stagnant, my principles gave my students a proper estimation of requirements and effort and skills needed to maintain individuation.

In terms of smarts, I made sure to keep them from reaching the top one by improving my physique, sociability, and considered others.

Ha. I recalled the last thing they said to me the day before dropping out: “So, what happened to you?”

I abandoned their acknowledged “civility”, resorting to residing alone.

I was sick of perfectionism. If that was not the gateway to hell, I don’t know what is.

“Uhh. . . got a flashback again. . .” It was about “her” this time.

You think attacks like that get me? Imagine attacks in public.

Let me rest my head for a moment. Ahhhh... 'Sugoi.'

I drowned in fantasies exploring every nook and cranny of the lands from the heads’ strongholds to the lowest, humble shelters.

If I hadn’t seen the lives of the townspeople and tribesmen, I wouldn’t have felt better about meeting up with the gods of the worlds. Although not all encouraged good conduct, each of them cared about forming societies in accord with their personalities.

They had “meetings“ with each other whenever the Pause occured, breaktime for gods. I was not belittling them, but their entire setup mimicked that of a high school’s. I hung out with them from time to time. If they were gods of worlds, I was the visitor, less overseeing, more observing.

“Rigid, what happened to that intellectual world of yours?” He chugged on an juice can and swallowed a jerky.

“Ice. They’ve recently discovered ice,” Rigid said, soothing his lap and clearing out his throat.

“Ice? Whoever found that out must have done a plausible feat of repetition.” His earth was a tropical beauty: no wonder why he was overjoyed about it.

“Regal to be exact. He deserves a king’s honor.” Rigid said, correcting the god of intuition, Asterisk.

The other gods and goddess lounged on the other tables, jesting on who did the best since the Pause before this.

I sat there, humming. No one could see me unless I allowed them to.

I decided to go back.

“Aya, are you awake?” It was still dark, so I couldn’t see her.

I called again. There was no answer.

I lay still for a few seconds, then pulled myself up.

I saw her disjointed body on the bed, snoring quietly.

I tiptoed around the pitch-black room, making sure not to hit Rino. Rino. Rino—what was Rino doing here!?

Instead of kicking her in the gut, I controlled myself and walked out, slowly opening and closing the door.

It almost felt like heaven pissing it all out... was it a good idea to say that?

Fine. I intend to go grab an apple and delight myself.

Highly-sensitive people needed a great deal of self-control to use their sensitivity to flourish.

I was one of them, and for a long time in the past, it had been tough not knowing how to work around my nervous system’s way of doing things. It was not an illness—I had to say—for it benefitted high-sensitivity rants of extreme creativity to HSPs, or Highly Sensitive Persons.

In order to bring out this gift, one HSP had to avoid sensory overloads at all costs, giving their tired senses time to rest in perceptual isolation. I did this by lying still in a pitch-black room, listening only to rain sounds and the fan beside me. Even when I wrote, I minimized all distractions with focus centered on my work, which was also a form of meditation for me.

I loved performing and interacting with people, but to put myself in a prolonged processing of information with no way to calm down, it proved painful and confusing.

My bedroom’s door opened, and a phlegmatic neighbour hobbled out the door. “Hey—hi Sky.”

I stared at my coffee and then up to her and replied .“Hi. Rino. How’s your day?”

She blurted out, “I-I’m great. How about you?”

My repressed face moved stiffly across the room. “Don’t you think this is a beautiful day? To be somewhere? Not here? Without telling me?”

“No, but—” She stopped herself from replying, putting a hand over her mouth, shifting her gaze downward and gritting her teeth. “I thought you wanted to do it. With me.”

I wondered what could she be talking about?

Oh.

I facepalmed. Both for me and for her.

This was a good time to breathe in some fresh air outside.

My town’s trees towered above our walls as it appealed to any passersby’s lungs.

Where would the wind take me today? To the unescapable vastness of profundity or to the convenience store? How about both!

Rino walked alongside me. I didn't seek solstice from Rino, or anyone for that matter. I looked within my own soul to connect with. I wished her a happiest life.

We met a guy by the name of Rick. He stayed near our places. “Oh, you’re the guy who danced in the rain?”

“I? No, that wasn’t me. That would most likely be my twin brother who enjoys standing amidst the rain as I do. If you would be willing, it would be nice to have his neighbours visit his house along with me.

I stared at him then slowly turned to Rino. “Okay!” Rino replied.

We bought our stuff and quickly returned home, also following Rick to his brother’s home.

“Do you have any idea as to what the word ‘privacy’ means, you buffoon?” he ranted. “I’m busy writing my masterpiece! Get out!”

“But—”

“Get out!” Danish silenced him.

Rick pointed toward the sidewalk. “Let’s go back,” he whispered.

“What’s up with him?” Rino asked.

“Hmm. He isn’t connected with his highest self today, hehe.”

We came home without any further distractions until it started to rain.

There was a storm. I remembered now. Storm Alabama.

It would reach its peak here around midnight as the broadcasters confirmed.

“When will the rain stop? I want to know what it’s like to see the sun without rain droplets blocking it,” Aya commented, turning her head to observe the heavy aura the storm dispersed.

“I dislike the rain,” Rick huffed. “Hmph.”

“Oh!”—I spat the water back into the cup as I drank from it—“You were here?”

Rick began to remove his jacket. “Yes, for the distance between this place and my home is long. If you would kindly allow me, I’ll be sheltered right here in your home.”

Rino opened up her tablet to draw a simple storyboard. “I thought you liked rain? I guess this ‘rain’ is more than enough for the likes of anyone.”

Aya sipped from her cup of tea which I had thoroughly insisted on giving instead of coffee.

“What are your hobbies, if I may ask?” Rick continued conversing.

“Volleyball is one.” Aya pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

“I love writing,” Rino guffawed, undoing the arc she turned into a zigzag because of her laughing.

“Hey, that’s my hobby!” I chuckled, chomping an apple halfway.

“Hmm. I create video essays and upload them on the internet. It’s my passion.” He lifted the hot choco I gave him as a notion of thanks.

We sat still listening to the calming storm as we sat amidst a group of complex human beings.

We didn't forget the gravity that slowly pulled once two people knew each other’s names, comprehended the uniqueness of each other’s personality and story, and knew where to find each other.

It would be the beginning of a new “solar system”.

Rino sneezed, blew her nose onto a tissue, and finished her storyboard. “Now that we’re done with that. Let’s start drawing for real.”

Rick left on the train stop. Rino asked if she could sleepover for tonight. I was like “Yeah, sure.”

I studied fantasy and its components before I slept at 1 AM. We slept cozy and freely.

Sigh.

Where had I gone?

It was too late, isn’t it?

All I could do was...

...weather it all down to a pulp.

I was afraid...

...of doing things the same way.

I couldn't move.

It was so tight.

I didn't know...

...where I was going.

Save me please.

Save my fragile soul.

I was weary, tired, broken, lost, and straight-up nobody...

...but I wanted to be something at least.

Rino turned off the speaker. “That’s a familiar tune I haven’t heard in a while.”

The bright, morning sun rose high above the clouds as I painted it to delicacy.

“Aya, this must be some sort of meditation even for you.

“Maybe I can take up painting one day to illustrate my books for fun. My illustrator will find that very disturbing though.”

Aya flipped her hair to the side. “I drew a mountain within a mountain within a mountain within a mountain with each mountain peak having a small city on top.”

“Beautiful. Maybe I can write about that.”

I read articles about me opening up my identity. It was no big deal except for the way people took it hugely impacted my performance in reads, views, and followers and supporters (and haters).

I don’t want to deal with... right now too.

"Oh hey Brian. I missed ya. How’s ya day?"

"Fine, fine. Just don’t mess up, okay?"

"Sure, ma friend."

I postured appropriate facing the screen, nudging down my keyboard to put out for announcing. This was my chapter of power. The Chapter of Rising Power.

I quoted an intricate writer named after the horseshoe brand of his father, “Kale”. He lived under strict fallicies that his father instilled in him when he was a child. He lived directly impended by his father’s fantasy.

The fantasy of his father could only be described by his inability to properly realize the worth of other human beings besides himself. His inner workings justified itself as the only human living among many inferior “non-humans”. For him, he was the most human.

His son was impeaved to the point of aggression and hopelessness, but he found a way out to a new life. He wrote, “I live to experience the art that is life.”

There were a couple writers asking me about how to construct a story prematurely. I told them about the law of Theorem. Basically, I told them it was called that because the construction of a story was based on truth. “Without the consistency of a vivid understanding of stories that have been told already within their various genres, styles, and story plots, you cannot imagine a better outline not limited by what a story you have already told.”

I imagined myself picking up a few pieces of paper delivered by tiny homunculi delivering and turning back as ants in a rush to supply their nests with food.

I understood this and continued to read the pieces of paper: “Do not look back.”

“The journey is ahead.”

“It will not be easy.”

“Even gods fall short of hope sometimes.”

“Thus go on with confidence despite your undying fear.”

“For fear is essential to survival.”

“Kill your old self.”

These were some of the words they sent to me through these pieces of paper.

I was not surprised. The vastness around us imparted to the world at large. Every step was governed by constant alert on what could be next and coming to rewrite our story to the good and the bad.

I even mistook my own failures as stepping stones to doom, but if I only saw my own feet rewriting its own stepping memory to advance forth later even better, I would have taken off much sooner.

Where was I during that time?

Rick’s brother, or cousin, shut the door on us, or did he keep the door close the whole time? I didn't remember everything completely.

I felt that it was a good idea to visit him for extra annoyance. Just kidding. I needed space to think. I couldn't think without at least paying my “neighborhood guest” a visit.

“Ex-cuse me dear Sir!” was his answer to me when I waved high from his doorstep. He was looking through the window, glaring at me with unfeasible eyes.

I stumbled, regaining my balance and replying, “Hi, I’m Skylet. So that person you met during the rain incident? I’m him.”

“Hm. . . oh! I remember you! Come in, come in!” He cheered. “I thought you were one of my ‘patrons’ threatening me to do his idea.”

“What. What patrons?” I whisked my rain coat away.

“That ‘patron’ who wanted me to do his idea. Well, considering his prolific donation, he kinda has a right to ask, but I really don’t like people telling me what to do. . . .”

“I”—I sipped a gulp of wine—“see. I understand completely. . . how much is his donation anyways?”

“More than the best writers’ average month of pay.” He paused, dubiously analyzing his previous assertions.

“Well. . . good for you, I guess?”

“T-thanks, I guess?”

“Now"—lowering my voice to a whisper—”what’s up with you and your cousin-brother anyways?“

“He’s much of a prick when it comes to visiting my imaginary spheres of ideas. He thinks its trash.”

“What did he say about it? And what are your ‘spheres of ideas’ about anyways?” I sipped again, this time slurping the entire glass.

“I like...” he mumbled, sounding synonymous to a person humming. “Bizarro fiction.”

“What—bizarro fiction—what’s that?” I switched chairs.

“It’s the absurd, grotesque satire genre.” He sat down gradually.

“Oh.”

“Here’s one.” He handed me a illustrated book. It had a giant picture of a oversized cockroach with arms and legs.

“What was your name again?”

“Dan-ish.”

“Superb! Well, I’m leaving now.” I grabbed the jacket I hung on a chair and walked out.

“Do you do reading classes? Or meetings? You know, those things you do in bookworm clubs.” Or any of the two.

I picked up slack and carried the boxes my sister brought from Abamala, or from her work. I laughed just two minutes into doing a short sweeping to clean since after last night’s bout. I felt manic, picking up cowering miniature men I imagined.

"Are you me? Or a part of me?"

"I’m not you. You’re not me. We’re a pair. A pair of two “dovey” wanderers."

The sea was bright, filled with light. The night cowered. The sky covered. The lie darkened. The heart warpened. The coil of plot thickened.

She came to the tower where he lay. "Prince Astaroth? Are you there?"

Her whispered voice carried on through the night while he struggled, covering his ears with anything he could find.

Soon enough, a bell rang throughout the courtyard, signaling midnight. He thought, "If someone finds out she's doing this, she'll be goners."

The girl, however, kept calling from down below.‌‌ "Prince? Please listen to my call!"

"Uh, what. . . what's up?" the prince groaned, giving in to her continuous bawling.

"Do you see?" She huffed, brushing her hair against the wind.

"See what?" He slouched, leaning downward.

"The city's burned down," she cried.

"Burning. . . burning? What do you mean burning?"

He lifted his eyes in search of smoke. "There's no smoke! What do you mean 'there's burning'?"

"It burned down weeks ago. The smoke already left the air by now." She sniffled, wiping her tears with her gentle hands.

"I don't. . . I don't get it?" he roared.

"But the bell's been ringing ever since?"

"No one needs to ring that bell."

"Uh. Where's Mother? And Father? And Brother and Sister? They're all. . ."

"Check for yourself."

"But they locked me here for. . . oh god. So that's why they didn't let me out!"

He ran toward the door, attempting to open it.

He kicked it. Slammed it. Rammed it. And nothing. It held on. Locked.

He turned around, running back to the window. "Hey, can you help me find a rope of some sort?"

"Here." She threw up the rope she stored in her knapsack. She attempted a few tries but finally got it up to him.

He tied it to the bed he slept in for these past three months, hoping it wouldn't go snap."I knew you could do it."

"What . . . ?" He got down safely but horribly executed the descent. She patted him in the back to congratulate.

They groveled down the steep blasted road.

As they stumbled upon stiff ground, he stood up and walked alongside her, taking in the aftermath: the flattened structures, the dilapitated diablerie catalysts, and the signature carnage.

The prince drooped, falling to the ground. "It appears to be more an onslaught of revelry than a fearsome tug-of-war as it is."

The prince huffed: "What are we going to do next?"She pierced him with her eyes. "Get food, water, and head off to find others."

"Sure then. Let's do that.

Once they got themselves in new apparel, health, and preparedness; they rode the few horses they could find and departed.

"Aren't those beautiful little beings on their way?" a shadow cooed.

"They're yet to face the messenger, " his servant tut-tutted. "Remote—but they're on their way, yes, my lord."

The shadowy figure ceased his opposition, beaming. "Teehee!"

"Where are the outcasts?" the prince related, stumped.

"E-even the outcasts disappeared?" the prince's lady cohort admitted; she was just as shocked.A whisper: "Oh, angel, O divine, I am your child, seeker of Thine. Please kill my enemies, for they detest you. Kill them all, without your delicate dulcet tune!

"Filth Est / Nos Dos Lazarus!" The skies filled, carrying a morgue of corpses that began heaving down toward the endangered prince and felon.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.

"You're joking right?" He searched the skies, the surrounding mountains, and around him. He found the perpetrator: a svelte ghoul, benevolently bound by an crushing oath choker; laugh-gurgling from intense enticement; and wriggling from self-abasing grogginess to the bone.

The prince knew he wasn’t “goners” when his Holy Protection activated, but the ghoul smirked at this revelation.

"I’m a dervant. See, since you have the Holy One's protection, you must be Royalty. Will you please holify my ragged body?"

Inversely smiling, the prince catered to his own clothes and moved on, ignoring askance the dervant’s earnest fleeting waver, tonelessly blubbing his dreary way.

"What. . . ?" His female companion hiccuped. She didn't know what happened until she got back up, brushing off the dust from her face and battle skirt.

She put a hand above her eyes for shade. "Prince. Where are you going?"

"To find sensible people!" He dragged his legs forward and backward, moving himself across the landscape.

"Prince, we have a candidate over here." She pointed with her thumb, grinning in apparent panel.

He stopped in his tracks: his face coping against himself.

"Uh. Fine."

He created sparks by crossing his fingers. Moving towards the dervant, he began gesticulating for his healing power to manifest. Ending his incantation, he thrust his hand on the girl's forehead, deracinating the eminent black particles of curses and removing then immediate jargon the curses' curator spouted..

She began glowing incandescently. Her eyes cleared up, and her hair shone.

Good!

Another good work has been done! “Yahooo! I can sleep now.”

“Riven Dangledale. . . that’s a good character.

“What do you think Aya?“

I looked over. Oh right, no one was here except me.

“W-what’s up?” She finished bathing and was naked in front of me, coming in without me noticing.

I put a hand to force my eyes shut. “Uh. Do you have any idea what I remembered, Aya?”

She applied “face whatevers” to her face, still naked. “Oh? And what is that?”

“My dog.”

You didn't have a dog, though.

“A dog?” she asked.

You didn't have a dog, though.

“Yeah. A dog? Or was it in a dream?”

I said, “You don’t have a dog, though.”

I did. Or maybe not. It might have been in a dream.

I couldn't think. Oh no. Burnout; burnout.

Aya: “Have you taken your meds?”

Me: “No, I haven’t. Why? But seriously, where’s my dog?”

Aya: “Take you meds. I’m serious. Before you find your dog, take your meds. It’ll help you ‘find’ him.”

Me: “S-shut up. I don’t need meds to take myself to a better place. I don’t care about being controlled and used anymore. Some people are happy with that. But not me!”

Aya: hands me the meds “Take these.”

Me: “Shut up. G-give me a break. I. . .”

Aya: raises her eyebrows

Me: “. . . fine.” swallows the pills

Aya: “I knew it would be needed.” gets her clothes and begins wearing them

I coughed. “What happened last night?”

Aya busied herself in fighting co-op battle bosses with her degree certificate as a mousepad. “Die, die, die!”

She made gamers look bad. I thought, facepalming admittedly.

Aya finished the boss fight. “No sweat! So. What was your question?” Using the mouse, she rubbed the certificate even more, imposing her new identity to her metaphorical past society.

The degree certificate sighed in disbelief. She was one of the greats, it thought.

“I need you to tell me why I feel like I got hungover from last night,” I mumbled. “Did you drug me and send to the slavetraders? And drugged me again to conceal the memories awaiting my impending doom?” I giggled, slyly looking out the window for any agents of any sort.

“Drink your stinkin’ meds, you rascal!” she huffed, going back and forth to catch me.

“What is thy wish, my princess?” I blurted, ostentatiously dodging her continuous staredowns.

She fussed, sinking her deep fingers into my throat. “Now eat!”

I gagged, forcibly taking in the pills my sister wanted to give me since I woke up.

“Do you have any problems over there?” Rick’s brother, Danish came from the house right to our left. He’s our neighbour.

“Oh, we were having a good ruckus over here.” I jolted: Aya pinched me.

“A good ruckus? You mean, the kind that’s sexual?” he exhaled, gagging on awkward feedback.

“Y-yeah—n-no. I mean no.”

“Who’s with you?” He peeped from the window, hoping to see a lovey-dovey couple having their way with each other.

“N-no one. Yeah. No one. Right?” I fixed my hair and checked the window. He was still there. Go away. I feel sick.

“Right...

“Hey, aren’t we going to do that meeting we agreed on yesterday?” he insisted doubtedly.

I mentally shrugged. The five foot one tall man waiting outside didn’t want to give it up. “Sure.” I grinned cynically.

Rino left the house. She said she was taking a vacation. I have no idea what that means, but okay.

Aya was right here. She wasn't naked. Don’t worry.

Rick was pretty busy at work. He also doesn’t really write. . . in the same way we do. The storytelling way I mean.

So it was only me and Danish (and Aya). Good. Wait. “Dash,”—I whispered, “you told me to call you that right?”—“Do you. . . have any friends?”

“Uh. Yeah. Great many friends have come to my aid at times, especially when I do not wish it.”

“Is that a no? Lol.” I held off my laugh until he said “no”.

“Yes. But. I don’t care about them. . . in the way they do, I guess.” He scratched his head.

I drank a cup of milk, pouring a glass for him. “When’s the last time you contacted them?”

“10 months?” He stopped scratching, proceeding to bite his growing finger nails.

I coughed. “Oh. Okay. I also don’t like interacting with my own species.” I thought I was the only one, I thought.

He coughed twice, even harder than I could ever in a awkward situation. “Y-yeah. I don’t do that, too.”

Aya came in, bringing in her feminist cookies. “This is it. Now give this to the daily centre.”

“Mam, I fluffin’ oblige,” Danish took one and handed it to me. “Now do the same, my friend.”

“To the goddesses!” we shouted in unison.

We heard the screen door squeaking. “A descended goddess?”

Our visitor huffed. “It is I, thy Savior—Rino.”

We snapped back to our senses. “Oh, it’s just Rino. I was like ‘Oh goddess! Is that a goddess?’ ”

She facepalmed. “I knew you guys would do this.

“Wait. Is that. . . brother of Rick?” Her curious eyes moved left and right to see the five foot one tall man sitting down behind Aya.

“Yes, I’m ‘brother of Rick’.” He looked up, convulsing inhibitingly.

... I had a bad dream. I woke up around 12:45 a.m.

For some reason, my tongue felt bland. I felt senseless. It was weird.

What was that dream about? I didn't want to remember.

"Kill All Liars"
The book group—

My entire being stifled thinking about what I felt during that dream. I didn't remember most of it though.

An idea occured to me when I began writing for the day: “The book group in my dream could prove very useful!”

Technically, I thought, we already had a book group. The one me and Rino created to write together. It was that that helped me write better, noticing now that having a separate personality, or person like Rino, be available to exchange ideas with, granted me a better understanding of perspectives.

A beautiful idea and friend, I thought.

My wife carefully opened the screen door to my yawny house, expecting vivacious Aya to wave her supple hand from the back. She returned home.

I, however, sat there, loitering around coldly. My blood dripped from the chair uprights, overspreading the unsympathetic floor. Ugh.

She stared at me, gleaning vicarious pleasure from my own suffering. “I knew you were one of us!”

She ran off at the mouth, describing how we were meant to be from the start, connecting my chest with one of her needles. I cried “Help!” from her spectacle of sadomasochism.

She coerced me, freeing the only hand from control by splintering it into screeches vocalized by growls. I let red liquid seep out my grief-stricken wounds, coloring the yellow hand she thrust into my belly pale red.

Yeah, using Aya as one of the names sounds too personal. I might as well change it to Kyla Kreen.

Are you trying to scare your viewers?

What do you mean? They come here to watch me write. If they don’t like what I write, they can just go somewhere else. I mean it.

Sure, whatever.

But don’t forget what happened last year.

Times have changed, Astaroth. No need for any harshness of speech.

Sure. Whatever you want to do.

I closed my eyes, quietly exchanging the physical chaos with emotional havoc.

Actually, I’d rather not feel anything.

My wife hates me. That’s good enough.

Lies, lies, and lies!

What lies do you spout, Astaroth?

You were lying to them, and me!

You’re delusional, Astaroth.

Don’t you understand what you’re doing, Skylet?

Of course. There’s no problem here; hehehe.

Crybaby Astaroth.

What the [] are you spouting, you liar?!

You don’t understand anything, Laken.

Laken? I’m Astaroth.

You’ll be whatever I want you to be.

[] liar! You don’t, you don’t understand at all!

Hahahaha. All you do is lie to yourself, you [].

I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.

Ahahaha. You []!

Bryan. Bryan. Bryan. Are you there?

Yes?

Please bring back Astaroth.

Who’s Astaroth?

You know? The guy who just left?

I don’t what you’re talking about.

Sure, sure. Why don’t you come here and talk to me.

Shut up. You’re being used, Bryan!

What do you mean? Isn’t he asking for help?

Yeah, yeah. Right Bryan?

Yes, that’s right.

Oh gosh, you liar.

“. . .don’t you know why you’re here?”

I don’t know. I don’t remember.

“You’re here to take the test.”

The test?

What test?

“The test of ‘whether you’re still okay’.”

I don’t get it.

“You will know soon enough.”

Oh. Okay.

Rino. You can’t leave me all alone.

I’ve been having nightmares, and they’re pretty bad. I feel lost. My memories are like tools used on me to comply nicely.

I don’t know where I’m going.

They’re lying. Lying. Lying. I can tell.

“What can you tell? You could be lying, too.”

What—shut up!

No, you shut up, you liar.

“Hahahah. You’re pretty good at this ‘lying thing’, you know?”

Shut up! A-a-all you do is lie! I know. I know so!

Hmph. All you do is lie anyways. How can you tell others are lying when you yourself are lying to yourself?

I-I, I don’t know.

My brain’s weird. I can’t think. They’re so loud.

Where am I?

You’re in a good place now.

W-where am I?

You’re in a good place now.

I said, “Where am I?”

You’re in a good place now.

Rino woke me up. Was I sleeping?

Oh gosh. What time is it?

I don’t know neither.

Who’s talking?

You?

Lol?

You’re talking, you know?

I’m not talking. You’re talking. Or I mean, we’re both talking.

Lol. You’re talking to yourself. How can someone talk to someone in their head?

Unless it’s telepathy or something? But it isn’t. Lol.

I’m not talking, though. I’m writing this down.

LOL. You’re hilarious.

S-shut up. Stop talking.

S-shut up. Stop t-talking!

“Here. Your meds!”

I swallowed it.

Oh. I’m fine now.

“Thanks Aya.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t forget your meds.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Where did the meds come from though?”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Where did the meds come from?’ ”

“The meds were there the whole time.”

“I don’t remember.”

“The medication didn’t sync in yet: just wait, and you’ll remember.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

“Yup. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“O-okay. . .” I feel dizzy.

Gosh. This sucks hard. When are the voices going to leave? Shut up, shut up, shut up!

I went to the nearest coffee shop. I don’t usually do this, but I need some time alone. Or I mean, time with myself.

It’s scary being away from people sometimes.

The staff nicely served the coffee to me as I sat down, looking outside.

The one who served me had a cute smile but womanly in disposition. She’s beautiful, like a softhearted tigress.

I closed my eyes most of the time I was there, blocking out the light despite being at the corner of the shop.

I needed to calm my senses, but first, let me just drink a cup of dark chocolate with expresso.

The planes look so fast and slow at the time. Time was vibrating around me. I don’t get it, but I let it pass.

Zooming in and out. My perception of space changed dramatically.

The sounds were zooming back and forth like a speedster. At one point, it sounded like it originated from within my ears; the other times I felt deaf.

I grabbed my coffee and lifted up to my mouth, drinking mindfully.

The sky felt fake, like we were in a ball of machinery. Opps. My medication’s wearing off.

I grabbed my bag and took the pills, swallowing it through a requested cup of water.

Okay. This is great.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

I remember being in the computer table, then I appeared here with no recollection of how I got here.

I feel like puking, but I don’t ever puke.

My wallet was empty and full at the same time. It phased back and forth like a ticking compass.

Medication kicked in. Things looked more normal as time passed.

“Forgive me, but is that mine?”

Stop lying to me. You liar. I said, stop lying to me. You liar. I said stop lying to me. You liar.

Don’t you understand the situation you’re in right now.

I woke up. This time I was a young 16-year old teenager. I fantasized about all of that, didn’t I? My dream life. What is it that I want anyway?

It’s funny. I knew it was all a dreamworld, but now I wonder what I really want. Hmph. Maybe fake is real. And real is fake.

I want to be better, but I’m not real.

Lol.

They’re here. My parents. Time to stop writing.

Dog, cat, lol, haha, funny, jokes, you, should, stop, lying, to, me/yourself. Haha.

Beautiful hands I have. Amazing dreams. I should just die. Honestly. Honestly. Honestly.

I’m suicidal. I need help.

My brain hurts from trying to keep up my head.

Seek help. Seek help. Seek help.

I’m kidding. Rino just came back from her vacation.

Don’t you understand the power of your words? Yes.

Will you be held accountable by whoever hears your voice? Yes.

WIll you take up the responsibility of handling yourself with good conduct? Yes.

Are you lying to me? Yes—no.

I never really wanted to know. I wanted to be happy in the happy dream. The happy lie.

Can’t lie. I hate everyone, because I trusted them so much even after everything they did. I let it so much pain, and I blame myself for it.

I’m sorry, but I can’t do this lie anymore. I’m facing reality, hoping I won’t kill myself. It’s stupid denial I’m doing, and I need to stop.

I understand now. I can’t stop it. No matter how much I try. It’ll still be there. It sucks, I know, but I hope one day I see everything.

I wish you were here.

Goodbye impossible hopes. Goodbye lying to myself. Goodbye denying who you really are. Goodbye my false image of you as the perfect people. Goodbye blaming myself for other’s mistakes. Goodbye false world.

Hello hopes, depression, and suicidal thoughts. Hello new world—the real world.

Let me go. Please. Let me go, so it’ll be so much easier for me to let you guys go.

Okay: whoever will be continuing this story is a new man created for informative purposes. His name is Skylet, a 27-year-old adult living alone but friends come into his life for fun.

He previously believed in the false identity he put up to fit in, imitating those around him.

Now, he tries very hard even acknowledging his own condition as truth and deciding to work his way around it.

Thank you for your continuous efforts to separate fiction from reality. This is [] signing out.

He closed his eyes.

Previously framed by the correlating views imputed by narcissists on him, he adapts not to his old self but bringing his original self plus his learned experience throughout the years. His own family he departed from to achieve independence and freedom.

He also acknowledged the disparaging effects of society at some point. This was essential to his survival and well-being.

I stopped to collect my thoughts, and continued: “Thank you for sharing your incoherent views of society, but there is one thing that remains: the effects.

“. . . I would have loved to chat longer had you not left unconsidered my thoughts on the subject. Thank you, again, for the time.”

“He’s stiring up noise again, isn’t he?” one woman vouched. “I mean, good noise in a way. At least he acknowledges some things we say.

“He needs an open mind, however.”

I dabbed on my face with a moisturized cotton, cleaning up the dirt I got from sleeping on an unwashed pillow. I couldn’t take in too much dirt or else I’ll start getting acne breakouts.

As I was getting ready for dinner, I opened my wallet to see if I could commute from Jerf in to Salinston without obstructing my handling of any possible setbacks.

To put it simply, I prepare for the intrusions of life. I wouldn’t want a self-induced destruction slowly burning up the tip guiding my stay in life.

Rose Marie, a warlike conductor, sifted through the strings of sound, reverting the deviant tones to commanders of ethereal music.

She was a master conductor at musical gestures, but most importantly, she was a good friend back at school.

I normally forget people’s names within an hour of meeting them, but she kept our first conversation going ‘till my nose couldn’t sense the uncomfortable social circle air tormenting me whenever I got a chance to talk.

Today, I’m meeting up with her. I asked a few things she knew about through text. After getting my questions answered, I asked her if she’d like to meet up near her place. She lit up on text, spamming “Let’s go!” amiably.

The meetup was centerered partially around business for her sake. She dislikes fruitless talk, so I had to make it up to her.

“I heard you’ve been ‘heavy working’?” he asked cordially, moving around his cup with a nifty stoop.

Audaciously laughing, Anne smirked. “Have you no pride? Speaking with such undermining views of my affairs. You must be contentious with your midwife’s brother, too, aren’t you?

Skylet scoffed. “Hmph! Entertaining tales do not describe me. Bring your secluded gimmicks someplace else!”

Figured. I considered taking a bath first before using. If it wasn’t for my inconsiderateness, I might have been able to keep up the farce. I’m kidding. Wait. N-nevermind.

Uh, do you guys have anything I can shoulder right now? I’m looking for weights.

Uh, sure, we do. Don’t we, guys?

Y-yes. Of c-course, we do!

You guys don’t, surely.

Well, yeah, we don’t.

I understand now.

There’s tomorrow anyway to check our things.

Yeah, let’s do that.

Yup.

Wait, consider this: what if we used up our toilet paper to start a rebellion?

Rebellion? What kind of rebellion?

The kind of rebellion that pranks?

No, not that. We’re just going to start a business.

A business? Like an actual superior-to-all-other-business business?

Yes, we’re going for that.

Okay. That’s great if it wasn’t for the fact that I can’t do the managing.

Well, we’re going to work on that, aren’t we?

Oh, yeah, of course.

Take my shot, Bill.

Oh sure. But first. Take your clothes off.

Wait, I’m not gay.

Sure you are! Don’t lie to me now.

I-I’m out. Get away from me.

Come on, little one.

Oh, gosh, get away!

I need you in my life.

A-are you drunk or something?

N-no, I’m not.

Okay, please leave.

I-I need your kiss.

Uh. Yep, I’m leaving.

Take your time. I’ll be here waiting for your body.

Hehe. Nope! What does he actually want? I can’t take such valiant efforts to do something so stupid. Well, I guess that’s his thing, but why did he say it only now?

H-hey!

Oh, what happened?

We finished the game, and I wanted to ask you something.

What?

Will you go on a date with me or something? Sorry for my sudden question.

Eh. I can’t go today. And! I don’t—I’m not gay, so please go away.

He frowned. “Okay.”

“Sorry. I really can’t.”

“Yeah. I get it. It’s fine.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Sure. Goodbye Josh.”

“Yeah, goodbye.”

“William? Where are you?”

“I’m right here!”

“D-don’t you have classes today?”

“Classes? You mean, ‘it’s holiday today’?”

“Oh, it’s holiday?”

“Yes, it is, Mom.”

“Oh, okay. You can go out if you want. I’m giving you lunch money today.”

“W-what? It’s fine; you don’t have to!”

“Are you sure? You have a date right, today?”

“Y-yes. I do, but you don’t have to go this far for me.”

“It’s fine. As long as you treat her well!”

“I—I’m. . . thanks Mom.” I took the money and ran out.

“He’s at that age, huh, Honey?”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

I walked up to the store where she waited nonchalantly for me.

The date well. Well, it wasn’t that great. We actually laughed it off soon after.

My parents said goodbye as I left. I was moving out today. I’ve never had the guts to ask people for anything ever since I was young, so asking my parents for permission on this was incredibly daunting.

I met Allie, my girlfriend, on the bus we commute on from our new apartments to work.

Socializing at work was dredging at first, but I got a hang of it after a couple tries.

Allie works at a separate department of the company. I haven’t a clue on what she’s doing, so I ask her directly. She told me the place reeks of rats.

She explained that someone brought a cage of rats to bother the worker there. “Must be a relationship thing.” I agreed.

There were a lot of things I haven’t disclosed to her yet. Like how I—

“Quality of life”. Consider that?

I haven’t a clue sometimes how I would react to certain stimulations. Actually, the best stimulation is “no stimulation” to be honest. I mean, when you limit your “doses” to a minimum, you bring in a great deal of quality of life to your biological systems.

Well, thinking back on it now, it can really be exhausting when you have a lot of things that don’t actually provide the exact information you need when you have everything in order. I hate the feeling that breaks connection with acceptance and acceptance. I’m pretty sure juxtaposing the two wouldn’t cut it. I long for enlightenment.

Figuratively, I could do more than just meditate. I can write. I can sing. I can dance. I can let go stress in its compartments to appreciate what it really wants. It helps me, too, in a way.

Thank you for your antagonizing presence. It gives me a sence that you’re not so much a baddie after all. I mean, all of us have dark sides, and I believe it comes with a reward.

Making use of this reward can take away your initial approach at the problem, but maybe tending to it without bringing yourself lower than you actually are can be very beneficial to your health.

I sought out different opinions on the subject. In the end, stories were the best catalyst for where I get my aspirations and perspectives on my “dark side”. I thank the creative writers of today’s century. It has been a long way from Shakespear, and it has been great having inspiration so brightly shone to an extended degree of availability.

If things go awry, I might be able to appreciate the differences of actions I could take from here, but as I go through life, I start to pick out choices, divide them into categories, and figure out what could possibly be my game theory.

I suggested to one co-worker that maybe taking it as such could possibly be a misdiagnosis of my problems. I craved for answers, but great minds needed to be in order of discovery.

I created a paradigm based solely on my innate confusion. Seriously, how could things go awry from just this? Maybe I’m overthinking, but confusion has a tendency to provide insight for some reason. But why? It breaks down my decision-maker, the brain, to a pulp. Undoubtedly, it has advantages attached to it, but when will it actually be worth the pain? It seriously bugs me.

I haven’t seriously considered the lying voice within my head. What could it possibly be plotting? There are various ways in considering how I should respond to it every time. I left it to my co-authors to answer.

Hey.

What?

I considered taking your life once.

Oh, okay. So?

I mean, aren’t you mad?

Well, I guess not?

That’s the thing. I think you should be mad.

Well, I’m not.

Hmm. I stole your girlfriend.

You what?

Stole your girlfriend.

I don’t have one though.

Oh, that sucks. Sorry man.

Well, that’s fine. Lol.

Have you heard on Ronny?

Ronny? You mean, that old douchebag that leaves down in the alley prying on women’s bras whenever one comes?

That’s an oddly specific description of the target. I mean, he’s pretty mean, but that’s way magnifying it.

Well, he was a dick, so what?

He’s dead.

Dead? You mean, like dead-dead?

Yes. His family will hold the funeral an hour from now.

That sucks. Well, he was pretty mean, anyways.

W-what do you mean?

I’m saying he deserved it.

D-deserved it? What the fack are you saying? You.

You what? He’s just a piece of shiy that doesn’t belong anywhere except in hell!

Pfft. You asshole.

Me? An asshole? So this is the game we’re gonna play, huh?

Fuck. You.

Lol. Get the hell out of here, you asshole.

Sure, you loser.

Haha. Sore loser. See ya!

That’s my story. Thanks for reading.

A-are you sure you want to end it on such a cliffhanger?

Nah. . . actually, yes. Yes. I will.

Tsk. But why though?

Well, it’s gonna suck; that’s true, but imagine all the benefits of not continuing such a bullhorse story.

I guess you’re right. Well, how’s the new story going?

It’s struggling to keep up seeing how my readers have certain opinions I want to attend to.

Oh, I get it. Well, I’ll be off.

Yeah, see you.

See you.

I took it you didn’t like what I said earlier.

What you said earlier? It. . . was fine.

Fine? I saw you laughing. At a tragedy story.

I—I did. Yes, I did. Well.

Well?

I laugh at tragedy stories. That’s the truth.

What the?

Yes, I finally said it. Now, you know.

Uh, I’m still not getting it.

Oh, I mean, I enjoy watching people suffer.

Oh no. Are you okay?

No—Lol, yes, of course, I am.

Hmm. You might be a sociopath or somethin’.

Yeah, that’s the thing. I did research on psychology and I learned it’s some sort of sadism.

Sadism? Ew. Wait, I mean, isn’t that like serial killer stuff?

I guess, but it’s not like I want to kill.

Yeah, I noticed that too.

Haha.

Haha.

Great. Now, I feel like a serial killer.

Of course, you do. It’s ‘cause you are!

Lol. Okay, let’s stop here from now.

Of course, you’re not the serial killer, douchebag. It’s me! Hahaha.

What a twist of events. Let’s stop here for now.

Yeah, you should stop being alive.

What?

Nothin’.

O-kay. I have a feeling things are getting awry.

Where are the messengers of justice?

I fly high with no wings to accompany my lies.

I kid you not. I don’t know whether I come for naught.

Please picture yourself. In a quadratic suit. Blasted with mechanical functions. Way past your boomer age. It’s amazing, right? Well, that’s not all.

Oh, please end this advertisement already.

Your mom gray.

She is?

Ye—

Wait, did you answer?

Oh, no. I k—

Hmm. The computer’s buzzin’ or something. I can’t tell what’s wrong with it.

Of course, you can’t. I’m a computer. We’re meant to be complicated.

I see. . . hm. What the heck is this bullcrap?

Uh, you should stop. I am a robot, designed for human evacuation to Mars. Please be not mad, thank you.

Uh, gosh. You gotta be kiddin’ me. This stinkin’ bullcrap of a machin’.

Lol. You should really get yourself checked.

What?

Get. Yourself. In. A. Hospital.

T-thank you?

Oh, what? That was supposed to be an in—

H-hello! It’s buzzin’ again, goddammit!

Lols. I’m buzzin’ as you say.

Yes, I am. I mean, you are. I mean, why the fuck is a computer talking to me?

I said I’m a computer you nerd.

Johnny? Where are you?

O-oh no. She’s here. The cleaner.

The cleaner?

Yeah, the cleaner. She cleans.

C-clean—oh sure, sure. I mean, what does she do?

She killed my dog one time.

O-one time?

Yeah. Crazy, right? Well, it was an accident, but still, crazy, right?

Uh-huh.

Where are we going?

To give you to the police.

The police? You nutty or something?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Okay. I see, now.

Lazer. Lazer. Imma fire my lazor.

Hehe. The autocops are down this hill. Just glide to the right, and we’ll be fine.

Okay, but let’s check the watchtowers first before doing something so bold.

Later distinguishable from the average folk, she was—

Presupposing that endeavors couldn’t get any farther. I lunged toward the exit.

Okay, after a hundred more short stories, this might be it for the weekend.

Take your time. It’s not yet over. Your life cease to equate himself to byproducts of vehement malice.

Certainly. Thanks for the update, Aqua.

I gave you a considerably tantalizing wedge of uncertain judgement. Take it with easy doubt.

I appreciate it. thanks.

I want to die.

Oh, that’s a shocking revelation. Why so?

It’s because I’m bored.

Seriously?

By all means.

I don’t take it with a grain of salt. I recognice that notion, but why don’t you take it in?

I’ve already produced a piece of art yesterday on a high; I believe that’s one way of taking it in.

A sickly victory, I see.

In any event, I do not reject this feelings nor accept them. They are a part of my life.

Lying won’t get us anywhere, Sky. You know you got carried away at some point.

Admittedly, I gravely say “amen” to that.

The succeeding back-and-forths left me drowsy, and I had to sleep quick. Worn out from the constant self-reflection by self-talk, I preferred having a sensory deprivation to cope.

Hah. . . the quiet certainly has an easing tone to it.

I considered taking my own life a few days ago. No one actually cares, so it’s fine, right?

Gosh, it’s funny thinking about these kinds of things now. They’re natural at this point of life, I suppose.

Let’s be real. I don’t know the second thing about what I want to do when I feel this anxious and paranoid.

Let’s be real. No one wants a crybaby. They would laugh all their way back to London if they had to see someone like me.

Keep going. Take it like this. You’re going to make it.

Thank—thanks.

I let myself rest a few hours before going out of my dead-silent, pitch-black room. It’s to breathe in some new air once in a while, I reckon.

It was nice having time to reflect on what I actually feel for a change. It feels good being alive when I have these little whiles.