This is my world on life and it's forms.
I will post things that will make no sense and I don't care if it sounds like crap. You can like it or hate it, it doesn't bother me.
- Created By Alinera S Dain
I AM
Dear Reader,
The storey I have written is based on someone’s real life so I have left out names and places for the privacy of the person.
I dedicate this storey to everyone who has felt the fear and pain and has found courage to over come their pain. I would also like to say that even though you have got over one problem more will arise and we can only face them with strength and knowledge of what is right and wrong.
I hope that this storey has shown you that we have to look after ourselves as well as others around us.
Please enjoy this storey and remember that even though there maybe darkness the sun will always rise.
Your’s truthfully
Alinera Salina Dain
Past Vs Future
The sun sneaks through the dirty window, trying to find me. It slides across the floor like spilt wine, searching for life within the room. I stand in the dark corner where the sun had never touched. It filled the room as much as it could, in anguish it disappeared. Blocked by the clouds, I knew there was going to be a big storm. There always was.
I walked towards the door of the moulding room I staid in since…it’s still hard to talk about even after it happened…I close my eyes at the thought and look back at the window. It’s almost black out side, grey black clouds blanketed out the sun. I felt cold on the inside and knew that it would never go away.
I walked down the broken wooden stairs to the filthy street outside. I didn’t have to stay in this part of the city, but it suited how I was. Suited who I was.
I walked across the empty street and put my hands in the pockets of my hooded jumper. The wind blew against me and shower of water began to fall and I walked on contemplating the memory…the memory of my creator…
The older brother yelled to the younger girl to get up and she tried to ignore him. Who could tell her what to do? Her brother had no say over her. Even after what he had done. The girl struggled with herself and made herself get out of bed. She put on her school uniform and went to school walking , trying to figure out what she would do to change her life. Her bag was full of books. Not school books but writing books and fiction novels. She had been writing stories since before she could remember. The girl was only in grade nine and her whole life was ruled with pain and torment. Her only escape was the fantasy in writing stories and poetry. Well now she had her escape, today she would tell some one what she had been through, what had caused her to be how she was. She went to school and looked at the school Chaplin. She told him she would like to talk to him about some issues and he told her to come back at a lunch break because he had appointments with others. The girl nodded but knew she would lose her nerve.
How could she talk to anyone with the risk of her family breaking up? It was only her mother, older brother, younger brother and her at home. How would her mother cope without her?
Thoughts ran through her head, clashing with other thoughts. She needed to talk to someone.
How long could she keep bottling her feelings up for? Her little brother was the only love to her, he adored her and looked up at her with the most clear blue eyes. He waited for her after school. Could she protect him from her problems - the families problems, if she told someone? The girl staid in the library both lunch times. Writing stories and escaping reality. Her heart racing, but not as fast as her mind. She couldn’t tell the Chaplin, she just couldn’t. Her hand moved with swift speed across the page, feeling guilty about sharing her secrets with someone else. She had lost her nerve and her pain attacked her heart, turning it cold. Tears tried to surface but she clamped them down before they got to close. The girl wrote a fantasy storey trying to lose herself in the fantasy.
I feel lonely in this world, sometimes I feel that I was meant to reflect something, but I feel more like a shadow then a reflection. Everything is grey and somehow that comforts me. The sun is to harsh for me, it doesn’t feel right for it to be out. The rain covers me and I feel real. The cold water rushing down on me, on my skin. I look up at the grey clouds. I know why it’s raining, I know why the rain is pouring down at a slow, cold, depressing pace…I guess I never could let it go and it affects me still…I can’t let it go. There was nothing else I could do. I tried everything and I still can’t let go…
She was going to tell the Chaplin. Today she could, she felt it in her bones. She stepped into the grounds and went to find him. As she walked to the room her heart raced, she was going to talk to him. Confess her problems to him. Her palms became sweaty, she was going to open the door and finally free herself of the pain she had been carrying her whole life.
She reached for the door, seeing her reflection in the glass door she faulted.
“Can you really do this?” the reflection asked. Mocking her.
“I can,” the girl answered gripping the door handle.
“have you thought about what can happen?” the reflection asked teasingly.
“Yes but-” behind the reflection the girl saw the Chaplin walking toward the door looking at her through the glass…they looked at each other through the glass that separated them. The girl dropped her hand and her heart and quickly walked away and turned around the corner of the building when the Chaplin opened the door. He called her name and she quickly walked away. Her hands were shaking and her breath was tight in her chest. Fear had encased her. How could she talk with out falling to the entrapments of telling all the secrets? Even as she thought, her life was changing and her memory was working to store all the painful memories in her full time memory.
Her child hood detaching it’s self from her but repeatedly replaying like a separate entity, hauntingly playing like an echo of a past life.
She went home to where the chaos awaited her. Feeding her pain slowly pushing the cork off her bottled up emotions.
Her mothers pills were sitting on the table as she came inside the house. They were small and white. The girl passed them but they were already committed to her memory.
She went straight to her room and began to write. Her only true escape of her life.
Her mother called and she sprang from her fantasy.
“What?” she called back. Her mother told her to clean the kitchen and cook dinner and also to run her little brother a bath. The girl pushed her annoyance down. The cork slowly began to slip out.
Her elder brother threw rubbish in her room so he didn’t’t have to take it out. Dirty containers, rotten food and blood from the meat packets leaked onto her carpet. Anger consumed her but she forcedly pushed it away and the cork rose again. Her anger began to slowly leak out of her overfull emotional bottle.
Her mother grabbed her by the arm. “Clean your -” a lot of swear words and bad names “- bedroom and I told you to clean the kitchen!!”
The girl pushed her emotions down into the overfull bottle and the cork exploded off.
“I HATE YOU!” the girl yelled. “You make me do EVERYTHING! You treat me like shit and you say that I look like YOU but nothing could make me that UGLY!!!”
The girls anger flowed out like lava. Her mother hit her pulling her hair. The girl turned and stormed into her room. Not realising that after the anger there was going to be pain that she had stored at the very bottom of the bottle. Pain and guilt that she had stored for a long…long…time.
The pain over whelmed her and she began to cry. The tears streamed down her face like a river. She held her chest as she felt the pain that she had tried to hide from her self. Through the streams of tears she could clearly see the innocent white pills of her mothers. And her mothers voice came back to her from a past memory, “A hundred milligrams of morphine in one tablet…”
The white pills called to her looking innocent, calling with promises of sweet release of her problems. They were like a siren in the middle of a war (which they were).
Suddenly the girl was in the kitchen. The tablets in front of her.
“They will help you,” a voice inside her coaxed her and she reached for them slowly. “You don’t want to stay here forever do you?” the voice guided. “Just take them and you will be safe.”
The girl hesitantly reached out and then she heard her brothers footsteps and her hand snatched them up and she ran to her room. He called her a name as she passed. She pushed her bed against the door to keep them out and sat on it. She popped the tablets out of the packets. There were two packets and nine in a packet. She knew how morphine would affect a person’s body. And she knew it would turn her body off if she had to many. She put one in her mouth and swallowed it with out water. Then she put another in and another and swallowed them until they were all gone. Her cork was back on her bottle and her body was calm.
Her mother called her out and made her watch a movie with her.
“I think you should apologise,” her mother said.
The girl ignored her, her vision already swimming and her body dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said.
The girl stood up. “I’m tired she almost walked into the wall her balance was off. She felt so dizzy. She went to her bedroom and closed the door and laid down.
She couldn’t keep her eyes open. After the over flow of emotion and the cork safely back inside she didn’t want to die. She closed her eyes and darkness enveloped her.
The storm raged against the world around me trying to tear it apart. There are others like me. We are all different yet the same. We were created by the same being. We talk to each other sometimes/most times. I guess I still can’t move on so I don’t associate with them as much.
The girl woke in the morning and she felt sick, but that’s when she knew her mother lied and she had to get out before she went insane. She had to tell, she had to talk to some one. Tell some one her secrets, her families secrets. She went to school with determination and went straight to the Chaplin.
“I need to talk to you…”
I guess it’s funny how you can get over one obstacle and another battles to get you down. Our creator created me and the others with out realising what she had done. She dissociated and gave her self Multiple Personality disorder. She wanted to escape feelings and emotion and crated us to deal with it so she didn’t have to. Now she has to deal with us.
The rain has stopped for now and I go back to my dark apartment hoping to hide from the warmth of the sun that was sure to come out after the storm…
Ok
I have tried a lot of things with my stories and poetry.
I have put my lead character into the world of anime as she is looking for the souls of her friends.
I think it's not too bad.
I have been told that I'm not aloud to right fantasy stories any more. I don't care though.
So any way my character has to go to all the different anime places to find her friends souls. I may add it onto theotaku.
Has any one got video clips of anime with songs over top? like final fantasy with I'll be right here waiting?
Or anything like that?
If you do can you send it to me at
...
I haven't been on theotaku for a long time.
I have been trying different experiments on my self...
Not with with a lab or any thing just things to test my strength.
As hard it is for me to admit this I will do it anyway...I have realised I am not that strong.
I have been through a...few things in my life and thought because I can hide things inside me I am strong. It takes more strength to say it then to hide it. I thought if I hid things from my self I would be safe within my self. How wrong I was.
I had tried to stop writting stories and with every night that passed I would ache for a pen and book. I guess It was hard for me to let go of some thing that had become a part of me. Every time I tried to push it away the more I would want to do it. It's just like my past memories. The more I tried to fight it the more I remembered until my past became a physicle pain to me. I would try to hide in the confines of my room but was always forced out. I began to fall apart and thought I was putting myself back together.
My friends (if that's what you could call them) never understood me. I guess that was my fault to. I never understood myself. All the excuses I threw about me ment nothing but emptyness. The friendship I offered to people was empty and only one way. I would help them. Don't get me wrong, I was always there for them and if I couldn't be there in person I was there on the phone for them. They only had to dial...
Again that was a fault I had. I was there for them when they needed me, only when they needed me. I never called out. I never called when I needed help. They weren't there for me because I wouldn't let them. I didn't want anyones help. I didn't want their help because it would show me for what I really feel and need. And I being naieve told myself I didn't need what they offered. I pushed them away and the calls began to lessen untill eventually they stopped.
The tears they shed for their problems went silently away and they got on with their lives with out me.
I realised that by pushing them away from me I had made them feel like I didn't like them. I had pushed my self out of their lives.
I wanted to prove that I could what I said and I tried thinking that I was succeeding. I was only making myself worse. I write stories and poetry. I wrote since before I could remember and I still write it. I tried to trick my self into thinking I could stop.
With out writting I felt empty and I longed to write thinking I was winning I really failed.
I failed in it and I guess by failing it has showed me what else I failed in.
When I was younger I failed. I failed to stop...him
When I got older I knew and I failed again I could have stopped them and I didn't.
I failed to get away. I was afraid of change. I will always regret not getting away sooner.
I failed to stop the three of them and I thought if I could hide that from myself that I would be fine.
Though they hurt me and my own family didn't care, didn't believe me. Even though they kept hurting me for years after, the hitting and touching, I don't think they could have hurt me as much as I hurt myself after it. The things I used to try and escape the emotional pain they had heaved onto me.
I cut my wrist and over doesed and ended up in hospital for only two of the times I have Over Doesed. I wrote to escape and to try to escape from writing was stupid and only took me back to where I started.
Where all the pain began and what I didn't do to stop it. It plays on my mind like a constant movie. Haunting me and my failers.
Thoughts
What gives people the idea to voice all oppinions and feelings?
Is it the desperation to let every one know that they know and feel?
Is the loss of ones voice so frightening it's important that we fight against (force ourselves)to discarm the quietness and speak?
Are we only trying to fool ourselves into thinking we can get rid of the silence and despair by speaking?
Does our nature to experience newness and revolution in all it's vastness, cause us to speak so we have more ideas?
If this is true is our thoughts wrong? Should we not speak? In not speaking can we keep the silence and not disrupt nature? Could we prevent revolution?
There is nothing to answer these questions with. In all our learning and knowledge we can not answer a simple question with a simple answer and be satisfied with the out come. We search for facts then facts for our facts so we have enough to support our ideas.
The questions we can't find answers for, are they then meant to be answered by a bigger being?
What proof is there of a bigger being? We have no facts and all information can be questioned but not proven right and not proven wrong.
How can we deal with so many controversial questions with out proper answers to satisfy our needs?
Chess boards
Chess boards are designed for games. Black and white, two opponents. It is the one place where friends are enimise and enimise are friends. It is a game that lets you kill your opponent with out harming them.
This is simple enough in a game but real life? This has no realation to life.
We make a wrong move in life and it takes apart of us away. We make a wrong move in chess and it takes apart our pieces. Our lives are bassed around the same principles as Chess. What about religion? does that mean we are just pawns to a great and powerful god who is playing against the evil creation? How can we be so sure that we aren't just another animal meant for obvervation?
Can we really justify why we are alive and can do what we do? Are we just another piece to a game played by two opposing forces? Our lives are miniscule to the questions that have no answers.
End
