Dark Dreams, Chapter 3: Critical Examination by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 3: Critical Examination
Beth, where the heck are you?
I watch relieved faces stream out of the entrance to Gloucester Hall and into the lingering chill of the post-morning spring, all of them happy to have finally vanquished their final exams, for better or for worse. The issue of passing or not is clearly far from their minds, and they simply wish to enjoy this moment of freedom. One of these faces should be Beth, but I can’t pinpoint her in the shifting mass of excited bodies.
Then, an eager braceleted hand shoots up from the middle of the gaggle, and I follow it back down, peering over the teeming dark browns and sandy blonds, leading to a bright-eyed
Dark Dreams, Chapter 2: No Place Like Home by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 2: No Place Like Home
A long, pained groan escapes from my lips as I rise back to consciousness, the blankets sprawled on my bed twisted and bunched together haphazardly, only a small portion actually covering my body. My head throbs, and my body feels as though I had just fell down a mountain. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that I didn’t get any rest at all last night.
I rub the scant sleep from my eyes in vain and squint at the sunlight that dares to invade my modest, untidy room. The position of the windows allows the sun to shine directly onto my slumbering face every morning, and each morning I awake, glaring at the sun as it glares back
Keep your heart still,
And hold on to your will.
Your fate is not carved into stone.
You harvest the fruits
Of your labor’s pursuits
From the grains of the seeds you have sown.
Cowards and heroes are made, not born.
Your path is a canvas upon which you paint.
Rise up and claim admiration or scorn.
You choose your own place between sinner and saint.
The soul is an entity without defined form,
With affinity neither for polish or taint.
Derive no relief
From the crutch of belief;
Shoulder your burden with pride.
Your faults are your own.
Make your shortcomings known.
You cannot blame God as your guide.
The choices of leaders are garnish
Dark Dreams, Chapter 1: The Dark Woods by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 1: The Dark Woods
I have a theory. People only use ten percent of their brains on a daily basis, right? However, when you’re sleeping, that extra ninety percent can be unlocked, and we are able to reach our full potential. That accounts for our ability to construct detailed environments, ideas, people, and stories, all within the blink of an eye, forming our dreams. The only time which our minds are at their best is when we enter the deepest stages of dreaming, during REM, or Rapid Eye Movement sleep, where the eyes twitch rapidly and the dreamer experiences their mind’s most intense creations.
Now, what if this REM sleep could be controlled? Yo
Each one of us divided, united as one.
Our hearts and our minds are our own and each others’.
Our brothers in arms with their guns and devotions ignited
Serve notions of Utopian potions
To fix the frail failings of ailing nations,
Too broken to run.
Each man must give himself to All, and All shall give back.
Abolish our greed, and All can succeed.
No need to feed the destitute
While equal rights stand resolute
To guard our institutes like knights.
No son of ours shall mourn their nights
Pining for life’s necessities,
For every shining sun that sheds new morning light
Is shared within our eyes,
And sings the same reprise.
St
The drums.
One, two, three four.
The drums pulse like the heartbeat of the universe, echoing through the soul, pushing our otherwise empty corporeal forms into the waking world: sounding in our veins, in our ears, in our minds. The drums are inescapable, like the hungry tide and the sighing wind. The drums are infused in every fiber of every object and within the soul of every living being. The drums keep time and pace, inching forward as the days rush by and the seconds drag on, holding us until the next beat marks our way forward in the world, wherever forward may take us.
One, two, three, four.
T
Hold on
To the elusive spark of childhood
Which lights up your brilliant eyes
And chances upon the sights which others have sworn have long since fled
To escape the wretched monotony of everyday life.
Are these vibrant colors still alive?
Or are they just cadavers emulating the wishful thinking of your inner wonder?
Hold on
To the fleeting shadows of childhood
That stalk your every move like the eyes of a painting
On the wall of a hallway that feels each step you take upon its floor.
The playful specters hide in your TV
And kick it periodically at random
Keeping you awake through the chilling silence of the night.
Hold on
To th
Pedestrians prowl the sidewalks with their hungry strides,
Eyes transfixed on the cracked lines ahead of them,
With fiercely uninterested looks.
I long to reach out and smile warmly at them,
But instead, we pass each other,
Leering our sideways glances
Like ex-lovers from a relationship long since settled.
Yet again we've turned up our noses
At one of life's many unexpected visitors to our doorstep,
Denying our hospitality on a count of common courtesy.
Generosity is an offense punishable by death in some countries,
And it is good practice for kind deeds to be dusted for fingerprints beforehand.
It's too unsafe to risk playing mar
I'm an organized guy,
But my mind feels so cluttered,
And it melts like hot butter.
So I hastily mutter,
To the passers-by,
"I'm sorry"
I hold my friends dear,
But I fear I'm too close,
For I hate them the most.
So, right now, let's toast,
To the health of their ghosts,
That aren't here,
"Guys, I'm sorry"
Relive where we're from,
Where innocence breathes,
And our hearts are at ease,
And our wants are our needs.
We refused to believe,
This would come.
"And I'm sorry"
I took this too far.
I've been wasting these days,
On a pointless charade.
Now I'm drifting away,
But all I can say,
As I'm Crossing the Bar:
Crows peruse the upturned leaves
That crunch like crumpled plastic bags
On the fringes of the trees,
Tumbling down the weathered path.
The worthless trash Blitzkrieged so fast,
This nameless wood can't hope to last.
Fowl dissect the feeble roots -
Rotting plants refuse to die -
Trampling down the hatchling shoots
June has raised so tenderly.
Hapless crows burn Nature's prose;
She's scared, abused. Now nothing grows.
Search among the dead in vain.
Pilfer buds without remorse.
Harvest Nature's future gains.
Sever life straight from the source.
Birds of prey make futures grey.
They come, they take, they fly away.
Blackened burg
Dark Dreams, Chapter 3: Critical Examination by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 3: Critical Examination
Beth, where the heck are you?
I watch relieved faces stream out of the entrance to Gloucester Hall and into the lingering chill of the post-morning spring, all of them happy to have finally vanquished their final exams, for better or for worse. The issue of passing or not is clearly far from their minds, and they simply wish to enjoy this moment of freedom. One of these faces should be Beth, but I can’t pinpoint her in the shifting mass of excited bodies.
Then, an eager braceleted hand shoots up from the middle of the gaggle, and I follow it back down, peering over the teeming dark browns and sandy blonds, leading to a bright-eyed
Dark Dreams, Chapter 2: No Place Like Home by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 2: No Place Like Home
A long, pained groan escapes from my lips as I rise back to consciousness, the blankets sprawled on my bed twisted and bunched together haphazardly, only a small portion actually covering my body. My head throbs, and my body feels as though I had just fell down a mountain. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that I didn’t get any rest at all last night.
I rub the scant sleep from my eyes in vain and squint at the sunlight that dares to invade my modest, untidy room. The position of the windows allows the sun to shine directly onto my slumbering face every morning, and each morning I awake, glaring at the sun as it glares back
Keep your heart still,
And hold on to your will.
Your fate is not carved into stone.
You harvest the fruits
Of your labor’s pursuits
From the grains of the seeds you have sown.
Cowards and heroes are made, not born.
Your path is a canvas upon which you paint.
Rise up and claim admiration or scorn.
You choose your own place between sinner and saint.
The soul is an entity without defined form,
With affinity neither for polish or taint.
Derive no relief
From the crutch of belief;
Shoulder your burden with pride.
Your faults are your own.
Make your shortcomings known.
You cannot blame God as your guide.
The choices of leaders are garnish
Dark Dreams, Chapter 1: The Dark Woods by SuperStranger, literature
Literature
Dark Dreams, Chapter 1: The Dark Woods
I have a theory. People only use ten percent of their brains on a daily basis, right? However, when you’re sleeping, that extra ninety percent can be unlocked, and we are able to reach our full potential. That accounts for our ability to construct detailed environments, ideas, people, and stories, all within the blink of an eye, forming our dreams. The only time which our minds are at their best is when we enter the deepest stages of dreaming, during REM, or Rapid Eye Movement sleep, where the eyes twitch rapidly and the dreamer experiences their mind’s most intense creations.
Now, what if this REM sleep could be controlled? Yo
Each one of us divided, united as one.
Our hearts and our minds are our own and each others’.
Our brothers in arms with their guns and devotions ignited
Serve notions of Utopian potions
To fix the frail failings of ailing nations,
Too broken to run.
Each man must give himself to All, and All shall give back.
Abolish our greed, and All can succeed.
No need to feed the destitute
While equal rights stand resolute
To guard our institutes like knights.
No son of ours shall mourn their nights
Pining for life’s necessities,
For every shining sun that sheds new morning light
Is shared within our eyes,
And sings the same reprise.
St
The drums.
One, two, three four.
The drums pulse like the heartbeat of the universe, echoing through the soul, pushing our otherwise empty corporeal forms into the waking world: sounding in our veins, in our ears, in our minds. The drums are inescapable, like the hungry tide and the sighing wind. The drums are infused in every fiber of every object and within the soul of every living being. The drums keep time and pace, inching forward as the days rush by and the seconds drag on, holding us until the next beat marks our way forward in the world, wherever forward may take us.
One, two, three, four.
T
Hold on
To the elusive spark of childhood
Which lights up your brilliant eyes
And chances upon the sights which others have sworn have long since fled
To escape the wretched monotony of everyday life.
Are these vibrant colors still alive?
Or are they just cadavers emulating the wishful thinking of your inner wonder?
Hold on
To the fleeting shadows of childhood
That stalk your every move like the eyes of a painting
On the wall of a hallway that feels each step you take upon its floor.
The playful specters hide in your TV
And kick it periodically at random
Keeping you awake through the chilling silence of the night.
Hold on
To th
Pedestrians prowl the sidewalks with their hungry strides,
Eyes transfixed on the cracked lines ahead of them,
With fiercely uninterested looks.
I long to reach out and smile warmly at them,
But instead, we pass each other,
Leering our sideways glances
Like ex-lovers from a relationship long since settled.
Yet again we've turned up our noses
At one of life's many unexpected visitors to our doorstep,
Denying our hospitality on a count of common courtesy.
Generosity is an offense punishable by death in some countries,
And it is good practice for kind deeds to be dusted for fingerprints beforehand.
It's too unsafe to risk playing mar
I'm an organized guy,
But my mind feels so cluttered,
And it melts like hot butter.
So I hastily mutter,
To the passers-by,
"I'm sorry"
I hold my friends dear,
But I fear I'm too close,
For I hate them the most.
So, right now, let's toast,
To the health of their ghosts,
That aren't here,
"Guys, I'm sorry"
Relive where we're from,
Where innocence breathes,
And our hearts are at ease,
And our wants are our needs.
We refused to believe,
This would come.
"And I'm sorry"
I took this too far.
I've been wasting these days,
On a pointless charade.
Now I'm drifting away,
But all I can say,
As I'm Crossing the Bar:
Crows peruse the upturned leaves
That crunch like crumpled plastic bags
On the fringes of the trees,
Tumbling down the weathered path.
The worthless trash Blitzkrieged so fast,
This nameless wood can't hope to last.
Fowl dissect the feeble roots -
Rotting plants refuse to die -
Trampling down the hatchling shoots
June has raised so tenderly.
Hapless crows burn Nature's prose;
She's scared, abused. Now nothing grows.
Search among the dead in vain.
Pilfer buds without remorse.
Harvest Nature's future gains.
Sever life straight from the source.
Birds of prey make futures grey.
They come, they take, they fly away.
Blackened burg
I've got a story called "Dark Dreams" that one or two people may already know about, but to those who don't, that is in fact a thing that exists. I've been adding slowly to it over the last year or so, but now I'm just going to submit it to Deviant Art after all this time so that people can actually look at it. I'm going to release to existing chapters in intervals of a few days so that people aren't spammed with everything at once, because I personally find that kind of annoying. So, if you have any inclination to go ahead and check that out, by all means, do so. It's still a work in progress and I don't have an extremely concrete idea of wh
Other than the fact that I have to actually find the time to WRITE them in the first place (You know, 'cause I kinda don't actually have a computer, I just steal James'), the thing about journals is that you're supposed to write what you're thinking about/doing at the moment. Now, if there are any especially observant smart cookies out there, they may have noticed that I did not get a journal done last week.
I was having an off week, and I was genuinely afraid of what would come out of my mouth if I had said something in a journal back then. While living around James all the time, it's hard for stuff NOT to come up, and we talk about pret
This time, I'm going to use the excuse "I was playing Paper Mario" this time for not writing my journal on Wednesday. You probably don't even care if it's punctual every week, but you know what? I DO. So I'm going to nag myself because I need to stick to something for once. Go me ^_^
Classes are back, which means that the new semester has started, and that means that I am going to DIE from SKOOL WURKZ now. My class lineup right now is filled with courses that are all lined up to punch me in the face. I do have a Free period to recuperate from my injuries, and World Issues is going to be a somewhat slack class, but right now, my course lis
Welcome to Story-Corner! As a member you are able to submit work to: -1st Chapters -Prologues -Concept Art -Short Stories -Scripts -Current Contests
If you have more work, for example a multi-chaptered story, you are able to have your own personal folder should you wish. Just read our rules to find out more. We're happy to have you! ps Don't forget to like our facebook page www.facebook.com/dastorycorner