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A collection

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Joined: 09 Oct 2004
Posts: 365
Location: New Zealand

PostPosted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 4:53 pm    Post subject: A collection Reply with quote

I just found on Bebo there's a place for people to publish stories, or excerpts from stories, so I'm putting stuff on there. For anybody who is interested, the URL is http://mydarkmind.bebo.com

I'll post a couple of the stories here, the two that I wrote just after I set up my author account. They're a start, as I try to locate some of my older works, which I posted on the old forum.
Ian Fulguirinas(dragonkillernz)
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Joined: 09 Oct 2004
Posts: 365
Location: New Zealand

PostPosted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 4:54 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

" I'm sorry, I know this may hurt some people.
I don't mean to, but I think it is better this way, and it will hurt everybody less in the end. "


Oh god, I can't read on. It's too painful. How could she do this? What did I do? I loved her.

My mind's reeling back, back to when I met her. It was only a couple of months ago, but it feels like a lifetime. She stood out amongst the crowd, I could see from a distance she needed love, she needed someone to guard her, to adore her. And I knew straight away I was that someone.

I talked to her, and almost straight away, she rewarded my efforts with a smile. From then on, I tried as hard as I could to coax that beautiful, sad smile from her lips at any opportunity I could, just a glimpse added another drop of love to my heart, which was already filled to the brim.

Every moment we spent together, I treasured. Not because I ever imagined it would end up this way. Because every time she looked up at me through those deep, soulful eyes; every whiff of the alluring scent of her soft hair; the very sound of her voice...these things were incomparable to anything I'd ever experienced, each and every time. Some people say that you don't know how much you love someone until they die, but I knew exactly how much I loved her. Completely.

A thought runs through my mind; at least that is a small mercy. I treasured my time with her, and now at least, I will never forget for a second, what we had, who she was, the way she made me feel. I did not take her for granted.

And yet, she chose to do this. To end her own life. All that time we spent together, all the love I gave her, all the support. I stayed with her through her darkest moments and I thought I was the lighthouse for the ship of her mind. But it seems it crashed into the rocks anyway. I gave her everything and now she has left me with nothing but memories.

How could she do this? I loved her more than any person loved any other person, I cared for her, I guarded her, I listened to her and I never, for a second, wanted it to be any other way. But I guess it was not enough.

I knew I should never have been with her. I made her feel better to feel better about myself. I was selfish, I kept her around because she made me feel good. All that sadness, all the pain, I should've seen it was because I held her, instead of letting her go free. And she stayed because she was such a loving soul, she would rather hurt herself than hurt me, until she had enough and in the end, hurt us both.

I should read on, as much as it hurts. I need to know why.


Well, that's my first story I'm posting on Bebo. In case you are incredibly stupid, it's the thoughts of a person who finds their girlfriend having comitted suicide and begins to read the note.

As for inspiration, I was thinking about a conversation I had with the brother of a chef at my old work, his girlfriend had apparently comitted suicide reasonably soon after they got together. Although that gave me a foundation to build upon, that's as far as the relevance to him and his girlfriend and her suicide go.

It was quite easy for me to write the emotions for this, I like to observe people and imagine what they are feeling, and when my brother committed suicide last year, it was easy to see how people felt, especially when they first found out.

In case you're wondering, it is meant to be rather contradictory, with the protagonist jumping from confusion, to melancholy reminiscing, to anger, to guilt. It may seem rather confusing for the reader, but then again, dealing with the death of anybody is confusing and in no way a straight forward process.

And yes, I deliberately left the story open. The note continues but I decided that to add it would spoil the story. It is not important, and any scenario I could think of didn't seem to leave it open enough to me (I think short stories should leave you with thoughts and questions. It's not a novel, there's no need for an ending).
Ian Fulguirinas(dragonkillernz)
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 4:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Johnny woke up and woke up. He had no idea where he was, what time it was. In fact, he wasn't even certain who he was.

He looked around. His guitars, several empty bottles, some clothes (presumably his), a credit card beside a vase on the table. He guessed he was in a hotel, as there were fresh flowers in the vase, and the bed was comfortable, with nice sheets.

Suddenly, memories of what he assumed was last night rushed through his head. He tried to grab onto one, to get a clear idea of what happened but in their haste, all he could hold on to were brief glimpses, mere figures in the mists. He was becoming more and more certain he performed last night.

Hunger dictacting the precious resources of his mind, he abandoned the hopeless exercise and decided to get something to get up. However, as he sat up, pain ricocheted through his skull. Biting his lip to ward off the agony in his head, he managed to lurch to his feet, swaying back and forth slowly.

He noticed a dark stain on his pillow, but his vision was blurry and getting worse as his head began to feel as if it were about to explode. He made his way to the kitchen, retrieved a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water. As it ran down his throat, he wondered how he had known where the glasses were in the kitchen. He didn't even know there was a kitchen until he had found himself in it.

The drink having cleared his head a little bit, he caught himself briefly reflected on the window. The act revealed two things. It was day time outside, and he had blood smeared on his face. As he returned to his bed, he noticed the dark stain again, and recognised it for what it was. It was the blood defiling his face with it's presence. He headed to the bathroom to clean himself and to ponder what had happened.

As he wiped his face clean, he noticed the blood was looking fresher. He removed the cloth and found his nose was bleeding. His mind raced to the credit card on the table, then to last night. His band had been booed by the crowd after performing their new song, which he had written. After the performance, he headed straight to his hotel room, sat alone and snorted loads of cocaine. He had needed to escape. He couldn't believe the fans. He spent weeks on the road, performing for them, lacking sleep, spending hours upon hours in a cramped bus for their entertainment. He tried to share his feelings, his thoughts for once and he got booed for his efforts.

Well f**k them! He didn't need them. He didn't see them travelling the world. He didn't see them making millions. People didn't beg the fans for autographs, girls didn't save and offer themselves for the fans. He got all of that though. He felt himself getting angrier and angrier. What would they know anyway? They were stupid as f**k. It was a good song.

His head was beginning to hurt again. He ran to his clothes, rummaged through them desperately and found a bag. And it was not quite empty yet.

Johnny poured it's contents onto the table, and used the card to line it up. He needed a hit, he needed it now. His head was fracturing and he couldn't cope much longer. Using a dollar bill he'd grabbed from his pockets, he ingested the lot.

He could feel it working it's way from inside his nose, warming his face. After a few minutes, his head felt clearer, his heart was racing, he was feeling great.

His heart was soon pounding painfully. He couldn't control it, or his breathing. He was gulping, taking huge mouthfuls of air but it never seemed like enough. He felt like he was drowning, he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The incredible speed of his heart was causing his head to feel as if it were being crushed with an immense force. He was sure he would die.


This one doesn't really have a message. I just thought I'd see if I could write something completely different from myself, and you can't much more opposite than a drug-addicted rock star Razz


I cleaned the language in this one, I noticed it had some profanity Razz
Ian Fulguirinas(dragonkillernz)
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