Winter’s Breath – Part 1

The sun was dying, and we all had given up hope on trying to fix it. The land was cold, grasping life by its hand and pulling into its frozen slumber. Even the animals had gone to sleep, leaving us to starve. It was a cruel world to live in, but yet we tried to survive. We had to. When your life is in danger constantly, you would be amazed at the barbaric manners that are adopted by society. Some humans have even become the beasts that we once hunted, turning those who are weak into prey and stealing their livelihoods, leaving them to starve or even at times, using their body as food.

It had not always been this way. I remember the day I read in the newspaper that the sun had been reported to be dying and that NASA was striving to find a way to solve this issue, even if it meant relocating. It was the first day I cried.  Even the scientists gave up, and now they live with us, in this land we once called Earth, but now it is a wasteland of death and plague and lost hope.

“Martha, you don’t need to look.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder, pulling her away slowly from the grim scene. A boy laid in the snow; dark red blood trickled down the exit wound of where the bullet entered. He was only a child.

“Please, just go!” She screamed, pushing me away repeatedly until I stumbled.

“You need not be here Martha. Please, I’ll look after this.”

“Oh, so you can dig him a grave and just move on like he is nothing but a body filled with flesh. He had a life; he was my brother!” Tears poured down her face, bringing forth her details. She was beautiful and once the happiest lady I knew. Now she was just beautiful and sad, no smile ever painting her face no more.

The sky was grey, dark clouds covering the minimal sunlight with their ruggedness. The night was coming, and the hunters would follow. The weather was dropping quickly also, and if we did not find shelter, we would surely freeze or be killed and eaten. The clock was ticking.


The treasure chest as some may call it is believed to hold as the name implies; a treasure. We spend our whole life hunting down this chest, searching for it in everything that we see, wishfully thinking that it can save us and our miseries. It’s pure is it not, or maybe it’s just the concept that’s pure but the real contents within is imperfect and cruel and hurtful. You spend so much time and effort placing your life into the pursuit of this treasure that once you find it, you give a part of yourself to it and thus become consumed by it.

You allow your emotional wellbeing to become controlled by the state of this treasure, giving it the power to shift and shape your life, your heart and your soul. By the time you’ve given yourself to this “treasure”, you’re drowning and too far from the surface.

 I’m really not sure if I want this treasure anymore.

Just a story

There were some days I could not even battle myself enough to win the battle to pull myself out of bed. Those were the most terrible of days when even the sweet melodic tunes of the birds outside my window could not even assist me in my longing to live to see another sunrise. Not every day was like this, some were better than others and some were worse. These were the days in which I found myself in the darkness of my room, curtains pulled down to hide the light from outside and The Smiths blasting out of my speakers to muffle the sound of me crying.

I wished no one to know my struggle which is why I hid within my room to limit the chance of others finding out my defeat. I only wished to get better but if truth be told I did nothing to solve my inner disease but watch and read things to lower my mood even further. I needed to get better and I believe you’re the way out of this madness. You’re the first beautiful thing that’s ever been mine and I do not wish to let you down, never would I wish to see you cry. I’ll do anything to make you smile, even at my own happiness’ expense.


“You see this scar on my chest, the big ugly one?” A long dark scar ran across his chest, embedded within the hair and toned muscle of his body.

“Yeah I see it, what about it?” I questioned, tracing my finger along its surface, feeling each detail and curve with strong attention. It was ugly but it had character, the sort of appearance which made an individual question just exactly how they obtained the scar so they did not receive a similar fate.

“Think it’s bad? I’ve got a lot more my dear and most you cannot even see. They’re buried deep beneath here,” he said tapping his head with his finger. “And also here,” he continued, this time, placing his hand upon his chest with an open palm.

“That’s the thing with pain, it ain’t always visible. Sometimes it’s buried just underneath, while other times it’s been purposefully placed miles under the surface. Those are the scars worth learning about, not just the physical ones.”

I gazed upon him like a moth drawn to a flame and I realised that in an almost instant, nobody had ever cared to ask about my scars. Maybe that’s why I was so cold, maybe it was because nobody had ever tried to warm me up. “Yeah I understand, but do tell me, why do we feel pain?”

“How else would we write our stories and create art? We need pain but we don’t deserve it, that’s why.”


An extract from a book I’ll never write- 5


So was the last word my mother ever spoke before she never woke again, laying upon that hospital bed with her transparent skin and frail body. The doctors never diagnosed what caused my mother’s death, it was a mystery supposedly. I just remember her getting more sick with each passing day, her rising inability to participate in usual activities and the isolation that became all too common, which made me frightened due to her personality being that of an eccentric nature. I still haven’t forgiven myself for not being able to do something, anything, which might’ve eased her pain. It’s been a few years now since the day in which my world caved in on itself, and when people speak of the pain easing with time, I tend to decline.

Time causes one to reflect intently over past issues and make them worse by giving them much attention. I did that. I just don’t forgive myself, and in all honesty, I blame myself. She was sick and I let her down when she needed me most. Only villains do that. Am I villain or just a disillusioned hero who suffers from a guilty mind? I wish to know. Well not that it matters anymore. It’s happened and I have to move on with my life. After this next bottle I promise I’ll do just that. Now where did I place that drink?

An extract from a book I’ll never write- 4

The sea was a restless youth crashing upon the murky shore and I was but the watcher, caught within its stare. Its elusive nature was my humble servant, always serving to peak my curiosity with its far horizons and its ability to adapt the colours of the world to its skin. I guess I just loved to watch the way the water was present for various events of an individual’s life, like a second parent, always remaining gentle, even when caught in the storm. I wish I could be one with the ocean, float amidst its soft hands and feel its sweet kiss upon my cheek. I would understand life better. I would understand myself better.

The moon sang to the waves with its bright face, illuminating the beach and its many features. I was aware of the warm wind laying its fingers upon my skin in a gentle caress and I was at peace for now. The ocean always had a calming effect upon me and I do not know its extensive therapy it can have upon a crippled mind but in time I do hope to find out. Medication does not work, and I do not wish to plague my body with such things.

I caught the morning train to the cities harbour and thus have been caught in its many crowds and activities. I did not feel alone, for I felt humanity’s spirit running through me and felt as if I was a part of a bigger picture. No race separated us and nor did religion or beliefs. We were one in that instant and I saw that we all are not too different. I noted such a vision and wrote it down, hoping not to forget and by illustrating such thoughts, I would combat my forgetfulness.

My mind wandered once more. Why is war coming and why are we being sent away? We are just teenagers. I do not wish to die in an alien country, fighting for people I have never met. We can only grow together. They do not understand. Fighting will only separate us more and we need to become one, but I guess what do I know, I am but a lousy teenager. I just hope I have enough time to say goodbye, it may be the last time I’ll ever say such a thing.

An extract from a book I’ll never write- 3

This rain was atrocious. It never stopped, and no matter what I had tried to do to dry myself, I felt as if the water had soon become a part of me. It has been raining for two weeks straight with no hint of stopping anytime soon, it was if the sky was weeping for all our past crimes and in all honesty, I could not blame it. We had done some really screwed up things and we were being punished for it. The world is a mess, seriously I am not lying. The electricity just turned off one day and hasn’t turned on since, and within the first day, the streets were already piled with bodies.

The thing that frightens me the most is that ever since that day, the moon has become a crimson red and the sun has not shone. It’s as if the sun just died. Maybe it killed itself and if so, I’m wishing I had done the same in the beginning and the cold, oh it’s so cold I can see my breath like a curling mist, evaporating in the freezing winds. I will die soon and I shall be alone. I can barely even see past my fire, with its crackling noises and its scorching touch. I have seen no one, but I know I am being watched. I can feel it. They’re coming. I do not wish to be saved.