Coming Up Again

So yeah, this is a thing now. But also as you noticed, I’m not talking in bold anymore, since that used to me my distinguishing feature between me, and the short story or piece of work that I posted. I would be the so called Omnipotent god who had his voice larger than the rest, or something like that. Or maybe not really, but yeah, things coming up… AGAIN, because yeah I kind of just went silent for a few weeks due to school related work and you know how it is, work piles up.  And, I think that was also one of the few times where I disposed some information about myself, I think I do in a very subtle and archaic way, just the way I like my stories. But as it is with these things, all my intros are scattered among all my short stories and you don’t really see much of me if you’re just tuning in. There really isn’t any personal aspect of me other than within the short stories, but even then that’s very distant. That’s kind of my thing lately, I think I’ve been able to draw this weird dissonance between reader and character giving my stories surrealism, but that’s a tangent.

So what’s coming up again, and why am I talking in plain text? Mainly because I’ve probably going to take a few more weeks off from posting, and instead do these kind of blog posts. So, no short stories for a bit, but I do have a bunch that I have ready to edit and post, and short stories that are pretty fresh off the press and one’s that I’m pretty happy about. So there’s that. For those not knowing, I also have a side blog:

https://schoolofwords.wordpress.com/

Where I basically post microfiction, one word prompts where I take the meanings of words and write short short stories on. That was my way of trying to post more, but even that got the better of me, so when I get back after this break I’ll bring that up to bi-tridaily posts since it still is really fun for me to manage that since its quick, gets the ideas flowing, and hell I can manage those much more than full-length short stories, which take me way longer. There’s quite a collection there, so it would be much appreciated to check that out, or again, share to people who might be interested. I’ve touched on a lot of facets lately, so yeah I got things for people who like short stories, and quick reads from my side blog.

That brings another point, site management. I’ve been meaning to buff up the blog’s layout so that its more friendly for new explorers, mainly a better way to compile short stories so that it’s not by date, but with some kind of other categorization. I’ll figure that out and see if I can make a more streamlined design. Not that I dislike my current layout, it’s just I feel I can make it a bit more friendlier so that people won’t be scrambling. And also it helps since I just want an easy way for people to go to where they want.

So what’s up with blog posts? Well, to fill in the void and to actually be more vocal and I guess just because I can, I’ll fill in these break weeks, and subsequent weeks with blogs posts where I just talk about things. Who knows what I’ll have in store, or if I even have interesting things to talk about on a weekly basis. But yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, or I might just rant on things, either way it’s my way of filling in these dead spots.

Thanks for sticking around and reading till the end, and it would be much appreciated if you know anyone who might like a short story or two, to point their eyes this way, I’m always open for new readers and possibly new people to have a comment or two on my humble pieces of work. Or, if not, then maybe check out the short stories that are lingering about on here, because, there really is a lot, trust me, I know:

https://briandwriting.wordpress.com/short-story/

But yeah, I’m signing out for now, and I guess, see you next week.

-Brian

 

 

 

 

 

Summer’s End

Hello once again and this time an actual recent piece, not a back log. This one was written at the cusp of summer’s end, as you might guess from the title. It’s a piece that came about as a kind of angry piece of the ending seasons, though itself is not one filled with anger. There are undertones of this acceptance that when one season ends, that the next one will be virtually different. It’s this idea of movement, that time moves on whether you like it or not, that life moves on past summer’s end. A cyclical piece considering all the characters will live on, and this will all repeat on the next end. 

The world is crumbling today, the world and everything about it is going to end on this day. Today marks the day where buildings fall, people die, and birds are shot down. Today marks the day of mass hysteria, of apocalypse, and of the plague across our fields. Today marks the day of final rest, the day where we will all realize how futile our lives have been up until this day. Today marks summer’s end.

“When you say it like that, you make me worry that the world might actually end.”

“That’s not an uncommon worry. It’s quite the truth actually. A truth that not many can come to muster down their throats.”

“It’s a truth that you made?”

“It’s a truth that I made.” She smiled.

“Then it must be true then, after all, you made it.” It was a devious smile, a smile that showed our playful natures. I enjoyed the rapport we had, the way we spoke of things so freely and with so much jest. There was never a moment where any of my antics would cause great distress. She only knew levity. That much wasn’t so bad. Levity proved to be a medicine for anathema.

“But it can only be true because you believe it to be true. Nothing in this world is ever true because of chance. It’s the people that places their beliefs and their trust in facts that make it true.”

“So what you’re saying is that the sun is only the sun because we say it’s the sun. Because we believe that a circle is a circle and that it can produce powers to make the hydrogen bomb look like a toy. That it provides heat to us by invisible rays and that an invisible layer over our heads is what absorbs most of it. That UV rays cause cancer.” I laughed at that, and so did she.

“No, well, those things are the truth because of scientific reasoning. The scientific method was created to test out the truths that we have created, and even then most of those truths are just lies that are twisted to be true. If we wanted, the sun could have been called the moon, the rays could have been called waves, and the moon suddenly controls waves.”

“Most science is overzealous lies. That’s why we never hear definitive answers. That’s why science only works 99.9% to the tee. That last point of a percentage is lost to dark matter.”

“Well, it won’t matter by the end of the day anyway. The world is ending, as I say. The world will end on this day. We’ll see buildings crumble, people–”

“Die. People will die, and we’ll die, right?” She looked at me again, with the same smile she always had when we talked about pointless things. She smiled from eye to eye, from one corner of her mouth to the other, with her cheeks flushed peach, and her heterochromia filled eyes hidden away. When she opened them again, I saw a forest in one, and an arid desert in another. She didn’t like it when I stared, so I looked away aptly, back out of the living room window where I got an entire view of the world. I waited for that world to crumble, I’ve been waiting for it ever since I created this impression of the world. Ever since I created this place where I could live in, this place where I could call a home, I’ve been waiting for the world to crumble.

“You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?” She asked. I shook my head.

“I’ve waited just long enough for it to happen. Can’t you see? Everything I’ve ever wanted will come now.”

“Do you want the world to end?” I looked back out of the window, and peered into the essence of humanity. What people were designed to do was survive. From birth, toddlers are given the basic functions to eat, breathe, swallow, regulate blood, and call for help. Preceding those early days, much people take for granted the functions given to them. Many people don’t think about eating, breathing, swallowing, their blood flow, or the social system set in place to regulate crimes. In fact, people are so taken for granted, that they take too much of what they can handle, and leave a fraction of the population missing many of these basic necessities. In essence, they have been stripped of their humanity. In which case, they are no longer humans, though the majority is too blindsided to admit that. The human race split itself in two when they learned the word greed and selfishness. People tend to differ between skin color, which is a highly idiotic juncture as the chemicals and genetic information made to create color of skin does nothing but make one appear different. But, it isn’t all that idiotic, as that way of splitting people hides the fact that they split between the needy and the not. The fact that with nearly seven billion on the planet and not even all seven billion can be accounted for with having safe access to basic necessities is what had driven this race to complete extinction. Or, will in fact do it by the end of this day.

“It’s not my place whether I want the world to end. The world will end soon enough whether I want it to or not. But it will end today. Summer’s end.”

“And we can’t do anything about it?”

“Maybe we can, maybe we can’t. I wouldn’t know. And I don’t care to know. Do you want the world to end?” She thought about it, she scrunched up her eyebrows, and placed one finger on her mouth in a manner in which no one does. She then looked at me with her dual colored eyes and smiled, “Let’s see that for ourselves.” She then snapped her fingers.

I always told her that her hair stood out no matter what season it was. She had dyed it light blue, but her hair was very thin and long, so it stuck out behind her like blue yarn coming out of a bundle. I always laughed when I thought about it like that. Even though she hated it when I laughed at her, she still smiled the same smile and walked on proudly. She loved her blue hair. She also wore a red bow on top of her head to make herself stand out even more. No one dyed their hair blue like that, and no one wore a red bow on their head like that either. No one had a forest in their eyes, and no one had a desert either. The day was scorching above us, leaving our every step left in sweat and pants. But, she didn’t mind either. I didn’t mind either.

“So what’re we looking for anyway?” I asked.

“Something for me to hate, or something for me to love. It’ll be a game.”

“A game?”

“Whoever has more things they love in this world than hates, wins.” I decided to play along, and so on our scorching walk across the city I began making mental notes of everything around me. I began putting things in one category, putting things in another category, and re thinking my placements. For example, when I saw a lady talking on the phone and yelling way too loudly, I said to myself, hate. When the dog that she was leashing around began barking at everyone walking near it, hate. When the lady bumped into the trash can because she was too busy yelling and spilt some of the overflowing trash on the floor but didn’t pick it up, hate. When the man who walked beside her saw this happen but walked on without worry, hate. When he would inevitably pick up his phone, scoff at it and not pick up, love. When his friend says hello to him as he walks towards the intersection and the kid of his friend is too scared to say hello, love. But, I would never be without hating things. I would never find something I love without having two more things I hate. I would never come to love the birds above making rounds to the people below. I would never come to love the outrageous tricks that people use to cut down on store prices only to make marginal profits of their own. I would never come to love the people who think it’s alright to leave stray children on the streets. I would never come to love the people who physically harm others for personal gain. I would never come to love public homicide. Or self-flagellation. Or unjust arrest. This world is filled with things that I hate. It seems ardent for me to even say that I love anything in this world. This day is going to end and I won’t have more loves than hate. Summer’s end.

“So? How many do you have?” She asked.

“Too much for me to count. Definitely not more loves. How about you?”

“I win.”

“Oh yeah? What were the loves?”

“There were only two things in this world that I look at. You, and me.” I laughed. I laughed and I smiled, so did she.

“That isn’t fair,” I said, “You never told me that.”

“It’s totally fair. This world only ever needs to be a world that you make. Everything in this world is yours alone, it’s what you make of it. You and me. That’s my world.” I couldn’t help but be amazed. She never ceases to amaze me, to surprise me, to make things seem new to me. She never ceases to make me laugh, to make me think, to inspire me. She is the only person in this world, the only anomaly, the only entity, that I can say with great certainty, that I love.

“You found things you love. But what about something you hate?” I asked.

“I don’t like hating things. But if I had to say one thing I hate, I’d say, the end of the day. Summer’s end.”  She snapped her fingers.

“So? Do you want the world to end?” I asked.

“The world’s fine as is. There will always be things wrong with it. There will always be things that you hate, that I love, that you love, that I hate. But the world is filled with so much more good if you’re just open enough about it.”

“And even if I am, will those things justify the world to continue? Will the world be enough even then?”

“The world will never be enough for you. It’ll never be enough for everyone living in it. But you have to make do with what you have. This is the only world we have. It’s the only world we know. It’s the only home we have left. The only thing we can do is make the most out of it.”

“But even so, the world will end today. The world will end, the buildings will crumble, the people will–”

“Die. The people will die. The birds will be shot out of the sky, and the fields will be razed with disease. Summer’s–”

“End.” I turned away from her to look at the clock. There was a single minute left till the end of the day. We sat in silence looking out of the living room window for a minute, and once the clock struck twelve, we opened our eyes into a new world. A world devoid of the previous life that it once inhabited. A world of new customs, of new hates and of new loves. A world that is different from the last, but still retaining some essence of the last. A world after the summer’s end.

 

 

 

 

 

Coming up

Well I think I’m finally happy with the backlog situation, and the only things remaining are a few pilot chapters and such that honestly I feel fine just leaving it be proof of concepts. All the short stories that are in effect from my backlog are all flushed out and that’s really all I wanted since I have a new batch of short stories and a really big project in the works so things coming up are going to be pretty exciting, or at least it will be for me. 

Radius Of A Sphere

Hello once again to another backlog, which I think at this time is looking pretty thin, which is a very good thing and will allow me to be more accurate in terms of what I’m writing since I really do think that I’m making pieces now that are a lot better than the things I do before. Such is the way of development. But either way, this one was supposed to go out with another similar piece that featured a cube. A little bit of a misleading title since this piece doesn’t concern math, but very much deals around with the idea of a sphere. The main themes revolve around that, and although there is a much larger world in the background, the focus is the idea of a sphere. Here you go, “Radius Of A Sphere”.

A sphere represents vitality. The shape of the earth is a sphere. For all of its worth, it’s still spherical, and that’s what allows it to hold life. It’s systems are contained in a cycle because it’s a sphere. One thing never ends, because one things leads up to another. The ending is the beginning, and nothing breaks away from this cycle. It’s a self sustaining cycle, only tampered by from the likes of people like me. That’s what they call capitalism.

In a closed system, everything is tightly packed together. Nothing gets out and nothing gets in. If you have a perfect system, than this closed system becomes hyper efficient. It’s like watching a waterwheel. Everything comes in and at the same time everything goes out. When you watch a waterwheel, it moves on its own. It’s a closed system, with water coming in and water coming out. Leave it to its own volition and it’ll do everything for you. It’s a sphere.

I walked to the old worn down watermill and looked at the old wheel. It had been years since this thing was running. The river below was still flowing but despite that, the wheel was stuck in place. I went inside of the building that accompanied the watermill. There were cobwebs all over the walls, and only a small window of sunlight was allowed in. It smelled of old wine and rotten wood, but it was a nice smell. It was a homely smell. There was dust on all of the wooden tables and chairs, and a large closet possibly brimming with old antiques. I went over to what the waterwheel was powering and looked at the old grains still remaining. I dared to put one in my mouth to guess the age of the mill, but dared against it.

I left the building and went back to the waterwheel. The river wasn’t as deep as one would think, and so I rolled up my pant legs and stepped inside. I slowly trudged my way to the waterwheel and then ducked my head into the river with a large gulp of air. I opened my eyes in the water and noticed that the waterwheel was tangled by a rope that anchored itself on the riverbed. I reached my hand down and tugged at the rope. It seemed to be tied to something buried beneath the riverbed. I emerged my head from the riverbed and then walked up the river. I let my pants and shirt dry in the sun for a few minutes then headed back into the watermill. I walked over to the dusty closet, and drew my finger across the door frame making a satisfying line appear. I then connected that line with another, making a cross. I drew my hands over to the door handles and then tugged. It gave after a few more tugs, leaving a quaintly sized dust cloud looming over my head. I held my breath, and then as the dust subsided, my suspicions had been confirmed. I grabbed a spade from the far reaching hook and cleaned it on the hem of my shirt. The iron handle was barely intact, but the iron spade was more than enough. I took the spade and then submerged back into the water.

I dipped the spade into the soil where the rope had attached itself to the waterwheel and begun digging it out. Once the dirt had been displaced, I noticed a wooden chest buried and grabbed it. I emerged from the water again, and untied the rope, freeing the waterwheel and giving way to its movement again. Just like that, the system had been recreated, restarted. Such is the nature of a sphere.

I sat on the grass in front of the watermill and inspected the box. It was well preserved, but did not have any engravings. It was in perfect condition. I placed the spade and wedged it on the opening of the chest and pried it open. I was immediately blasted with the scent of old brandy. It was a pungent smell that threatened to put me into a lull, but I ignored it and placed the jar of brandy onto the grass beside me. There was a note accompanying the jar, along with a sack filled with some kind of heavy object, and a dagger casing. I took the note and folded it into my pocket. I shook the sack before untying the opening, listening to the clinking of coins. The coins were quite clean despite all of its years, but were of a relatively old make, and for good reason. They smelled of old iron and copper, and the image painted upon it was quite exquisite. There was a symbol of wheat upon the iron coins, and gold upon the copper coins. I surmised that I could make a hefty sum if I were to exchange them. Though, finding someone to make value of such a thing would be quite hard. Nevertheless, I attached the sack of coins to my belt and then unsheathed the dagger. It was a fine steel with a sharp point. There were engravings on the handle, to the owner of the watermill. Perhaps to defend from bandits, I thought. Though, not many would target a humble watermill.

I opened the jar on the brandy, and gave it another whiff. It was quite strong, and so I raised it to my lips and lowered some slowly down my throat. It stung for a second, but soon slid down my lips like a cool waterfall. I didn’t drink too much, but put the jar back into the box, and tied it to my belt as well. I made sure that it hung towards my side, but didn’t swing. Once I had finished collecting the spoils, I went back into the watermill and returned the spade to its spot.

I gave one final look to the watermill before heading my way. It was like looking at the creation of the world. Vines were creeping up towards the sides, and the base was slowly turning into a mossy green. Before long, it would become habit to birds and critters from the woods, or even a nest for a Great Tree. The waterwheel would then be a strange obtrusion and also be swallowed by the vines and weeds that grew at its base. Any semblance towards a man-made structure would be lost and this entire establishment would revert back into a sphere. It would be part of the system again, swallowed up by nature’s wrath and forgotten to the next generation. The ending of this generation spells the next. Whether humans will be around or not doesn’t matter to the system. It’ll still operate, and the likes of the next species that dares to meddle with it, will find itself in the same predicament. We’ve been cursed a sphere, and we’ve been cursed the knowledge of unknowing. At least until the day I’ve become a part of the system, I’ll continue to traverse.

I smiled one last time at the watermill, listened to the river passing the waterwheel, and took a large breath of the air around the establishment. It smelled of rotten wood, old steel, and decaying flesh.