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Crap. So cold, isn't it?

I liked this one, it was very expressive, detailed, well written. Keep it up.

Yeah, I have a character that's like that. He's fourteen or so, suicidal, depressed, a cutter, etc. But it's definitely not for the reasons that other teens are.

It's mostly for the same reasons as Revlin--except it's not his dad that hurts him--and also guilt.

You captured the feeling very nicely. Like with the first chapter of that new one; I could feel what they were feeling. It was almost as if the words didn't exist.

That is very interesting.

If they had insane asylums in my world, both my people would be in it. They have this thing, where if they're separated for too long they'll start going crazy. With him it's kind of a long story. His twin sister (who isn't actually related to him at all) whom he fell irrevocably in love with was killed and he blamed himself, and then their enemy (a dark angel, don't ask) who wanted him dead but had to be a total sadist about it started torturing him--from afar, with nightmares. Not exactly nightmares, though, because in them he very often gets hurt, and he wakes up and the wounds are still there. To top it all off, they bring his sister back from the dead but she's only got three months to live, and being separated for so long nearly killed him, and he still thinks it's his fault (courtesy of Evil Angel) and so begins the gradual plunge into insanity.

I win.

Don't even get me started on when his sister went insane. X.x

Kirby: That's really interesting actually.


Jack: That is so much of a compliment... you have no idea. Though He and Revlin are nothing alike other than being tall and skinny. Hehe Thanks though.

Yes I do. t's a very lovely story, but I would appreciate it if you would stop pushing your stuff so much within my stories.
I'm not trying to be rude at all, it just seems like you're only reading my stuff to be able to compare it to yours.
Sorry Kirby. I do love your stuff though.

I know, I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just saying it really seems like you're only reading my stuff to compare it to yours....like you're trying to out-do me with everything. I respect your stories very much, but we both have completely different styles, that can't really be compared. heart

I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything. <3

I dunno, I guess I'm weird and don't like when my characters don't sound...unique, I guess? I just spend so much time on making them complex, having these intricate thought processes.

Thank you though. It really means something. My dream is to be a published author. I can't see my life in anything but writing.

I promise I'll finish your story eventually. I'm kind of a slow mover, and don't read much. sweatdrop

Each time I would look in the mirror, when no one else was around, I didn’t see a single thing. A ghost almost, a transparent embodiment of nothing. When I tried to watch my movements, my face, there was nothing there. Alone in the dark, there was nothing there. I would focus harder, forcing all my energy and effort into at least seeing something. Then my face would appear, warped into an unrecognizable form. My eyes, hollow caverns oozed gooey black tears, swarming around my cheeks. My mouth melted away, dripping. My hair rested in tangles razoring against my twisted face. It was like perverse joke my mind was playing against me. I could feel myself blinking, but my empty features still rested in grotesquely misshaped structure. My skin looked cold and pale… porcelain and cracked. Horror movies show this kind of thing. Nightmares. I fell to my bed, suddenly swept with an overwhelming dizziness. As soon as my head hit the mattress, there was a calm. I was floating for a moment, staring up at the moon through a dirty window.

Then suddenly, my pulse, or the hands of another, began to shake me. I was moving back and forth, up and down without my control, a floating feeling, almost. My body being tossed around was in no position to argue its torment. My heartbeat started to race, and I began to feel my skin tighten as chills overcame me. I clenched my eyes shut, tightly blocking out my surroundings, hoping that in some twist of logic that I could make the entire situation end.

You’re better off dead. Whispers.

Come on. You’ll be free.

Just go Away.

You’re not wanted. Hissed.

They began to argue, to fight over me, and my body began to shake. The music played in the background, but it wasn’t heard. I knew it was there, but their voices drowned it out. Shapes were twisted into human figures. Curtains were a woman holding a knife. A dresser was a man with a gun. All vindictive, malicious attacks against me. All terrifying. A pillow was a rotting corpse, calling out from within a deep coffin.

Take your medication.

I felt as if I was dead. Not quite passed on, but not among the living in this world. Trapped in limbo, I felt tears running down my cheeks. Screams wouldn’t come out. Thoughts of death and suicide only stayed within- taunting me.

Rope

Razor

Pills

Gun.

Do it.
Do it now.

Help.

But no one was there. Nothing. And suddenly the dark wasn’t so black. The night wasn’t so empty. But I was still begging to not be alone. I wanted someone to be there.

We’re here.

And there was a hand on my shoulder. And there was a calm.

Fractured reality.