A Collection of Writings

[Nap]

Raphael

I will be posting short stories, chapters, poetry, journals and what not here. A lot of my writing consists of tragic backgrounds, present day situations, and heart wrenching moments. There are many triggers in my stories. I write about such things because I'd like people to be more aware of today's society, as well as yesterday's. Bad things happen. They are inevitable. These events or situations may not be familiar to you but they might to the person next door. Know you can help these people who suffer and that you may be the difference between living or not living.


You guys are free to post as well but if you could, please place your stories in a colored accordion/spoiler that follows the key.. This will save space and help people find stories easier. Another option is without the color but make sure there are tags.

Key


Triggers (palegreen) - These will be stories that have emotional/physical triggers such as abuse, bullying, psychological trauma, etc.


Romance (firebrick) - These will be your typical romance stories. Some may, however, include somber backgrounds or violence.


Horror (black) - These will be more horror theme stories which includes mystery, psychological situations, and insane people.


More will be announced.




Note: I will try to put tags for all of my stories as a warning for those who don't like reading certain things. I am, by all means, not a professional. I'm merely spreading awareness for many things as both a writer and spectator.
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[Nap]

Tags: domestic violence, helplessness, denial


no slide

It'll Get Better

The night was warmer and more humid than usual. I could feel the the stickiness of the air clinging to my skin as I swung my legs back and forth. The swing I sat on creaked with every movement and the chains falling from the ceiling of my porch made clanking sounds. Sitting and staring out into the vastness of the ocean was rather peaceful. Most days I'd be trapped in my room, begging to be released but at that moment, I felt free. I wonder why I felt like so. Maybe it was the tranquility of the full moon's light, the chirping of the water insects, or the small chatter I heard towards the pier. I didn't have much time to think about that, however.


"Jolie." The feeling of serenity immediately left me and I literally felt the humid air turn icy. One by one the airs on the back of my neck and arms stood as I slowly turned my head to the left. He was here. There. Standing a mere five feet away from me. His murky grey eyes were rimmed with an ugly yellow. The veins on the side of temple protruded from his head and I fought the urge to sprint from my once comfortable position on the swing. I knew he would've caught me if I tried and when he did, he'd hurt me. He'd hurt me more than he already did.


He took small steps towards me, his legs wobbling slightly. If the yellow in his eyes wasn't evident of his intoxication, his swagger was. It wasn't long before the adult male was inches from my face. His lips curled into a sleazy smile and I had to hold my breath to keep from gagging. I absolutely despised the scent of alcohol, even after years of being exposed to it.


"There you are." The male slurred as he threw hands onto the swing, one on each side of my body. He peered down at me and I forced my gaze above him, noting the grays that were making an appearance in his dark hair. "Hey." I heard, though I refused to lower my eyes to his own. His hand crawl to my right shoulder and gave it a nudge. "Hey.... HEY!" He finally exclaimed angrily. With a deep sigh and unfaltering expression, I lowered my blue eyes and saw complete rage. My heart ached. His eyes used to be so beautiful, so full of life and laughter. So-


I suddenly felt a sharp pain on my left cheek and I was hurling towards the wooden floor. I hissed at the impact, especially when the wood found it's way into the palms on my hands. "You stupid bitch!" My husband growled as he brought himself over me, forcing me onto my feet. Blood was greeting my taste buds as I fought the tears that were prickling the corners of my eyes. Old wounds were beginning to return and it hurt to stand, but I told myself I had to get through it. I persuaded myself it would get better. That he'd be fine the next morning.


His jaw and his fist wrapped tightly around my arms. "Answer me when I ask you a question." He watched my head nod clumsily and his grip tightened. "Don't nod your head. You speak, you hear me!" My body was pushed against the bars of the porch and I felt myself nearly fall towards the grass. My heart pounded widely as I stared down at the thorny bushels.


Pounding footsteps were beginning to sound faint, and I took that as the queue to allow my legs to fall weak. I couldn't stop the shivering or the sobs escaping my body. All I could tell myself was...


It'll get better."

Yes, this is a domestic violence story. You're probably asking, "Why doesn't she leave? Why hasn't she called the police? Is she stupid?" Let me answer this by saying, it's not that easy. Many woman love their husbands so much that they ignore the flaws of the men. It's like an object you cherish deeply. Would you throw it away if it was ugly? Would you leave it even though it plays such a strong role in your life?


Women aren't the only victims of domestic violence. Men are also victims, though there are thrice as less reported acts. I know it may be sexist, or stereotypical of me, but most men simply don't allow these things to happen to them. I know there are those who would react the same way as a woman in denial, but from what I've personally seen, men usually have no problems with dropping things.


Don't hate. Appreciate. And support those around you.


For more facts: Domestic Violence

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[kou]

~Tags~

Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts.

Spoiler

Watch the people waltz on by as they pointedly ignore the girl in a ragged state of dress, her brain is filled with static and broken tunes to forgotten songs. She mumbles because the words in her head have taken up every ounce of space and have forced themselves out of her mouth because they are unhappy, they do not like to be contained and she must bend to their will. If she does not listen to the words then they will force her to press a razor blade against soft skin and she will have to

bleed, bleed, bleed all over the milky concrete. She has it in her pocket as she paces, a reminder that she will never be released from the sting of metal and hiss of pain, a reminder that she will always be insane. She could write a letter and place it in perfect formation, pronounce Shakespearean quotation, form of an aviation of pain and hurt and loss but no matter what she tries to do, she always feels so lost. So the little girl drifts between people on their way to bigger and better things, unaware of all of the thoughts within her head unless she whispers them and even then they never listen because they do not understand. The words will not let her formulate coherent sentences so she grumbles and whimpers and weeps, she grunts and murmurs and screams, she takes and loves and keeps, she is the perfect formation of utter defeat.


People are so blind to what they do not wish to see, open up their eyes only to close them when they dream, she knows this because she has done it as well and every dream she suffered through was a personal kind of Hell. Her tattered sweater and torn jeans drag against her skin to allow her to know of the state she is in, she knows, she knows, she isn't completely illiterate but she is irrelevant so she succumbs to the element of something clever and better to be treasured for another day. No one understands, no one cares, everyone's here but their not there and so she is invisible, a tiny dust speck in the air and people surround her like the wind and pay no mind when she has to begin again.


Struggle.


Struggle.


Struggle against those inner demons which leave you reeling, concealing all the hurt and agony and hoping for a bittersweet tragedy which left you in this state; little girl, little girl, so filled with hate. Hatred for yourself and yet you wish to be remade.


But all they'll ever see is a woman who's insane.

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[Nap]

Tags: depression, journal


no slide

Drowning

Your thoughts are like the water. Always moving, never stopping, and never the same. You yourself swim in these thoughts. Consider your being your mind, your will, your conscience. Consider your thoughts the waves that challenge you. These waves can be easy and simple to overcome... if you're strong enough. But what if you aren't? What if you're not a strong swimmer and you slowly find yourself drifting further and further away from the shore. What happens then? Well, I'll tell you. You become weak. The water becomes more violent and you're slowly, ever so slowly slipping deeper into its arms. You don't feel it because you deny it. You won't admit that you're drowning. You won't admit that you need help. You won't admit that you're suffering.




Depression is a real thing guys, as much as everyone tries to deny it. Some people have it worse than others, but that doesn't make depression any better. If you feel like someone is suffering, talk to them and show them you're there. The smallest sign of comfort changes everything.

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[Nap]

Some times you'll wonder why you're alone. You'll ask yourself why you were abandoned and within a length of time, you'll eventually give yourself a reason. This reason will mostly likely be negative and will range from 'I'm worthless' to 'I was a mistake'. Call yourself a worthless being. Call yourself a mistake... but what's one man's mistake is another man's treasure. Chris