Austin's Short Stories [New Story at the bottom!]

A Tropical Hell.

I am on an island that has no sound; it cuts off the world around me as well, as I cannot hear the ocean’s roar and the screaming birds that once kept me company. The air - is warm, just like the water, as well as the smell of sea salt illuminates what only scent there is. I have attempted to scream out for help, only to find out that I cannot even make a sound. I do not even know if I am truly making a noise, or if I cannot hear them. This place feels like there are people, as if I was in a village or something, but this small island has no hospitality. I cannot even make a small form of shelter to make myself safe. And as far as dreaming goes – It does not happen. If I were to hope of something, such as help, a rescue plane would fly close enough to the water to see me, but when I try to find a face in there, the plane is empty, void of human life. Now and then I would find people in that plane, but their eyes are hollow, and look straight passed me. Sometimes the sand turns blood red, and seems as if it is flowing like water, and sometimes it turns into cement, and almost appears like it were a road of some sort. I am stuck in a hell that I was thrown into; I sometimes see the faces of my family in the reflection of the ocean, almost like I was starring through a glass window to a house that I cannot knock on the door or window of, and cannot even break through to scream for help that I need. This hell, has become my home, I am no longer sure whether I can actually get help from those hollow eyes.

A True World.

Despair, anger, Sorrow, and Self hatred – These are the things that haunt me. I sit here trying to convince myself that there are people that love me. But it is not true. I am in this world alone, it is filled with life. Yet it has none, devoid of anything that can feel like love and warmth. People so quick to see your blood spilled upon the floor just because they wanted some sort of item that you might have had. I’ve had so many dreams as many people have seen, more real than the last. But this one has by far seemed to have opened my eyes to the world, for what it is. I am sitting in a room, dark, no windows, and cold, barren of life and any form of energy. This room has a sense of creeping darkness, as if it were alive, Filling me with such pain that I cannot help but cry from agony, mentally and physically. This room soon starts dropping into an abyss of never ending hatred – taking me away from any person that could save me. And into a world I plunge stained with blood and tears, and pain. When I am awake, or at least hope I am. People say that I am special, I have a gift, but that is not true. Each and one of these dreams sends me into a farther state of pain in which cannot be healed even if time, something we are slaves to, something not tangible, can heal. But in this world, we elect a figure head that cannot do anything, as he just sits there like a statue, only good to look at, and seems stable as well as solid and set in place. But this statue is slowly crumbling. We kill for some sort of material that we do not truly need. Every single dream I have, only makes me think of what I have done, and what I have not done. And when I think of that, I can only say I have done more of nothing than anything.

Haunted Dreams

This Dream, oh as haunting as it is – I wish to find the meaning of it, but I cannot even think of it. Horror or a message from a past event or even from the future, It starts off with me waking up in a cold sweat, panting, I am in need of some fresh air. I step out onto my front porch, the bone chilling air, howling like vicious wolves passed my ears. Although I am barely awake, the night’s air seems oh so weird; I can hear crying of a little girl. I follow this noise of hopelessness and fear, sorrow and pain, until I can see a girl a yard or two away from me in the street. I, like I was raised, looked across both sides of the street, and it was clear. I start to walk up to this little girl when, I hear a car honking. I glimpse quickly to my right to see a car speeding quickly towards us. I run to grab the girl – but as I do so, I cannot truly grab a hold of her. She slips through my hand but alas my fate was sealed. I feel a deep pain throughout my body. I fly backwards and all I can see is the image of this girl. She haunts my dreams, leading me to my death. When I am awake I feel her presence, when I am asleep, I can see her image.

Our Forgotten Saviours.

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock. The sounds drive me insane, I am stuck in this room yet again. This white padded cell; they never believed that this would happen to the world. The day that it finally happened, the world started to fall apart. This cold, dark, desolate, room – they think I am all alone in this room. But I have myself, my thoughts, my emotions. Although this room is not very large in their eyes, but it’s big enough for me to run, jump, and hide. These cell lights flicker off and on; I only have this buzzing noise to help me know that this world is still alive. The world fell apart Government by Government, city by city, house by house; and family by family this world died. This world was set ablaze, by Fire, fear, anger, and corruption. First our government couldn’t handle a group of people, we alwas rely on our government to protect us, we become weakened, but not me, not me, I was prepared! I rebeled, I preached of the day this would come, I help us signs letting us the know the end was near! Alast we stood no chance, our world collapsed, and we all perished, we never listened to those who we saw pathetic and weak, and feeble minded. We only sought out those people to shun them, and scruitinize them. But sadly, they would have been our saviours. The ones that we tried to control, I myself kept in this padded “Prison” was only saved from what was really out there. The world.

The Great Collapse.

It has been a few years since the government fell and we were thrown into a state of pandemonium. One would think that the government could uphold and would save us. Well, we all did, but I guess we thought wrong. It started when our President was shot, I am sure one’s thinking right now that we would just get another one after that; and we did get a new one, but that one was assassinated too. One after another, our presidenst were killed, until finally our government didn’t know what to do. We were starving, there were fires in the streets and we scattered like rats looking for food and shelter that we could find. Two years after our government fell a man approached us, offering us peace, food, and shelter for everyone and our kids. Like fools, everyone around me was quick to follow this man; and in doing so they were saying basically that they would follow him to hell and back again, little did we know - that literally almost happened.

The Dreamer.

Feet against the ledge, the cold brisk air of the night rushing passed my ears; and the cars honking, people bustling about, no worry about what fate lie ahead of them. We all sometimes have illusions of Grandeur every now and then, but mine had to be more than that they seemed so real. These “dreams” in which I felt everything – fear, anger, and sorrow, as well as pain. I have this feeling that although they say everything is alright, that nothing really is. One day I will be alone without one’s company to keep me sane. All I will have is the ticking of a clock to let me know that this world has gone, yet I remain a prisoner to this life. I close my eyes and let myself fall, the air feels colder, time slows down; and I can hear nothing but my heart beating like a drum getting louder as I fall faster. I feel as though I am like a lead balloon. I open my eyes, I see people starring me down, mouths agape in horror. Always, right before I hit the ground, only a few inches away from my demise – I wake up, sweating, yet freezing. Every dream I have is almost like a vision, or at least they feel so real, I am going insane trying to keep track of what is real life, or just a dream. But I walk out my bedroom, creeping across the floor, for it seems like the house is alive, breathing in sequence as I do. I quickly put a robe on, still in my pajamas; I walk out the front door. I see what looks like a lost child, but it has to be at least five in the morning. I run to assist the child, the air cold like in my dream, the air howling like a pack of hungry wolves stalking its prey. There is an eerie silence; all I can hear is my footsteps. And as I get closer to the child they get louder, and louder. I hear the sound of a horn honking, and I feel a deep pain in my right side, and I see lights, but then I wake up. Alas, I am back in my padded white cell of comfort, confined in the thoughts of my mind.

Testing! (Unfinished)

Stuff packed up, things ready to go and destination is unsure. The adrenaline pumping, I have to get this one right or my chance to get out of here will be ruined, and I highly doubt that I will be able to get another chance again. The house is quiet, no one but me is awake. I creep across the cold wooden floors and make my way to the old metal framed door. It opens with a creaking noise. I am glad I grabbed a jacket; the midnight air is bodily numbing cold. I am sick of this house and the people which say they are in charge of me, when in fact, they are not. I quickly run across the street and on to a dirt road and away from the house that looks like an insane asylum that is haunted with angered spirits. I am not sure where I want to go, but all I know is that I want to get away from this place. I can hear alarms going off and people yelling at each other. The engines of cars revving, damn, they are going to try and get me with the cars this time. I quickly dive into a ditch on the side of the dirt road as they went shooting passed me. When I finally got away I was able to find a spot with some warmth to sleep. But I did not sleep long - the memories of all their experiments came haunting, all the screaming and yelling. The pain they put us through just to find out if their cruel tests would work.

Sweet Cyanide

Each night has grown colder since the day you left my life. I wake in the morning, expecting to see you lying next to me - but instead I just see your pillows. I no longer see your bright blue eyes that remind me of a lake in the summer, and your blonde hair with streaks of black. I no longer get to know what the feeling of your soft skin feels like, and I can no longer see your vibrant smile that makes all the wrongs of the day dissapear. Every day I sit here, drinking my sweet Cyanide, as the poison seeps into my system I almost feel Nirvana, no more pain or sorrow. My words are no longer audible, and vision is blurred, I can not stand nor walk, only crawl and stagger my way across this empty house. Pictures of you remain on the wall, your clothes in the closet, and everything the way it was the day you left. As I slowly poison myself, my family comes around to me on my death bed and ask me why, and I tell them, "My Sweet Cyanide is the only thing which can bring the illusion of her back into my life, no pain nor sorrow exist, and I love her so. When I am gone, I shall meet up with the spirits and rest with all in good end." As my body lay cold in a grave underground, I lay in my final resting spot, next to my Sweet Cyanide and dear love of my life. As roses grow wild between us. I finally get to sleep forever with my Sweet Cyanide, and all because that Sweet Cyanide poisoned me so. I, sleep for good with my dear sweet Cyanide. No more tears are shed, and my Poison has brought me to my love.

So Much Trust.

I sit here in my darkened room, no sunlight - I just sit here and I think of all the things that happened in a days time. Alas I find myself in a hole that gets deeper and deeper. It is almost like an early grave that I find creeping up on me everytime I sleep. I thought I could trust someone, but right when I did, they ripped everything up from beneath my feet. I felt stranded and betrayed. So I sit here, with my blood boiling, anger rising. Sorrow growing like the weeds in a field that seem to never die. The only thing I can see in this room are colours from my imagination. And as a care comes by illuminating the shadows on my wall which seem to dance across it, making shapes and teasing me to get them. When I close my eyes I can see the mistake i did by trusting someone. I could have sworn that a few days before they did what they did, they were my friend, but I guess - I was wrong. To me it seemd almost like I handed them the knife, it being the oppertunity, and let them stab me in the back. I was so ignorant to it, and let it slide. Soon i found that they were also working with another person. And they would do anything for that person, when and whenever that person wanted something to be done. They worked like a mindless zombie, this person had such great potential, and energy that it made me happy to just know this person. But I guess I was wrong, this silloutte of a person I call myself now has died. This person has successfully helped in the aid of the death of my soul, heart, and compassion. I almost feel like I have a wound - and no matter what tending I do to it, it never heals. I never feel this feeling of what some call "Joy" anymore. I put so much trust into this person, only to have them kill me. So much trust, so much trust, I poured it out onto them over the years. They took it like it was a present. And then they crushed it like a bug. So much trust into which I had took so much time to carefully get the ability to someone. And like that it was gone quickly, almost like our lives will be.
So much trust.