Posts Tagged ‘Death’


 

psychosisMagic Book Writing Project

3:57 Psychosis

3:57! Are you not coming? Come on, jump in! Or we will be going! This is the only 3:57 Train!

Wake up! I woke up! Look around! I looked around! What is the time? 3:57. Get up! I got up! Someone died! Who? You don’t know? No! Then why did you wake up! I don’t know; I just did.

“I am bored and dissatisfied with everything”

Yes, I remember she said that, but I was not there. I did not even know her!

“I am a complete failure as a person I am guilty”

Yes, she said that, too! Oh God!

“I am being punished I would like to kill myself”

Oh no!

“I used to be able to cry but now I am beyond tears

“Yes, but what do you want me to do? She is not here!

“I have lost interest in other people I can’t make decisions”

I wish I was there.

“I can’t eat”

God!

“I can’t sleep”

“I can’t think”

“I cannot overcome my loneliness, my fear, my disgust”

“I am fat”

“I cannot write”

“I cannot love”

“My brother is dying, my lover is dying, I am killing them both”

“I am charging towards my death”

“I am terrified of medication”

“I cannot make love”

“I cannot fuck”

“I cannot be alone”

“I cannot be with others”

“My hips are too big”

Stop it! Stop it! Do not repeat! That was a psychosis! It was a fucking psychosis! Do not repeat it! She could have lived!

Why? Are you scared? No! Then what? Nothing! I knew I was not supposed to go see that scene! I knew! Why, what happened? That’s I don’t know! I have been hearing that train since then! What train! 3:57 Train.

You have just read the first half of the next week’s project as a part of “Magic Book Writing Project”.I dedicated this story to a great author who I had no chance to meet but whose spirit I felt through her work . Please complete it with a sensitive and tender heart.

 


Love Must Survive to Keep us Alive

“I cannot do that my sweet darling,” said she lying on the left side of the bed still naked.

“Why?” asked a voice, no one heard but her.

“Because…because…I don’t think I have a right to that to you!” replied she.

“Then do it for me if you cannot do it to me!” said the little voice.

“I cannot!” whispered she.

“Then don’t say that you have no right to do that to me, say that I have no right to do that to you! Don’t lie!” exclaimed the little sperm.

“I do not lie! What the fuck do you think you will be doing here when you come?” asked she, holding the wet condom in the air.

“What the fuck are you doing there without me?” asked the little sperm.

sperm

“Who the hell are you talking to?” asked he, as he walked into the bedroom half naked.

“Nobody!” replied she quietly.

“Yes you were…you were talking to someone!” exclaimed he with a paranoid face.

She looked at him, read his thoughts and found no way of explaining herself to him. In fact she was tired of doing that. She was tired of narrowing her mind for the sake of their love. Maybe it was the time for her to accept the fact that, they had never intellectually matched. Maybe it was the time for her to be true to herself. How long am I going to narrow down my imagination for him, she asked herself in her silent and deep stare.

“Are you…are you really?” asked he painfully.

“Yes!” said she and sat up on the bed completely naked.

“I don’t want to know about him! Just dress up and go!” exclaimed he.

“You might regret!” replied she and laughed.

“No!I won’t!” said he and put his black shirt on.

“Here!!” exclaimed she and threw the condom filled with his sperms at him.

“What are you doing?” shouted he.

“That is who I was talking to!”replied she.

He looked at her with confusion. “My sperms!” asked he with riddled eyes.

“No, your rebellious sperm!” replied she and stood up.

“You were talking to my sperms?” asked he. No he did not believe: “That is a good try but since when sperms are able to talk?” asked he and laughed unhappily. He put his jeans on, sprayed some perfume and walked out of the room.

His little light brown puppy followed him, murmuring something in her own language.

“You cannot run away from me, I will be in every condom you will ever see and touch!” said the little sperm.

“What the fuuuuuuccck!” she screamed standing in the middle of the bedroom of her boyfriend Jack.

Jack rushed into the room with short of breath.

“What was that for fuck’s sake?” asked he and stared at her beautiful body. He was no longer himself again. He walked toward her, he began touching her face with his right hand while the left stroked her soft and sexy back.

“What was so good about him?” whispered he, hiding revenge and anger in his voice. He killed all her enthusiasm, desire, love she had for him, for their relationship, for life with that tone. And he was still blind to her sensitive nature through which she could detect and sense tiny little differences in him and in everything around her. It was even more painful for her to tell him about all that; she expected him to be sensitive enough to see real her. She questioned sincerity of his love many times but she was not right.

Please visit  Magic Book Writing Project to read the rest of the story that was completed by a very enthusiastic and incredibly creative participant and co-author of the Magic Book Writing Project.

The Magic Book Writing Project is open to everyone, you are welcome to join now to sharpen your creativity collectively.

The first half of the fifth story will be published later today. Are you ready to complete it by the next week?


“He finally found the answer. Years of agony, hatred, violence, endless fights, fears, fears and fears were now very clear in his mind. Yes, it was dark and that was the exact reason why the answer shone again and again like a thunderstorm. He found it hard to breathe. It was too painful to see the answer. How could he bear that now? He was now old and tired.

It all began when he saw two men with gun while taking his mother to the little medical center of the village on a horseback. Did they see him, he didn’t know. He slowed down, changed his way and began to ride through the little forest. He began to ride fast again. He saw them. They were waiting for him in the end of the forest. Were they going to shoot him? They could be members of the PKK. He was not sure; they could be state’s men, too. No one knew who was who any longer in the village.

broken coffin 3

“Let me go! I am taking my mother to the doctor, she is very ill.” he shouted and begged for mercy.

“Don’t bother!” they replied.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because the doctor is dead!” they shouted back.

“Was that true? Were they from PKK?” he asked himself, he was not sure. Maybe it was the state again. Didn’t they kill his brother assuming that he was a terrorist?

“Who are you?” he had to ask.

“No question little man!” they replied and rode their horses towards him.

“Let your mother die peacefully!” they advised him.

“How funny to hear you talking about peace!” he said.

Bomb!

They immediately began shooting. And he turned around, began riding back home, riding very fast.

They were never going to accept that.

“You think you are a hero huh?” they shouted.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he shouted back.

“You will see that soon little man!” they replied and continued shooting.

They rode and shot!  He lost his mother in the end of the muddy forest road. She fell off the hoarse, she got shot! His horse was not!  Not yet! He looked back but could not stop! He rode, they rode, he rode and they rode. No he was not going to ride home!

His father found his corpse by the lake close to their home hours later.”

My first short story collection “Broken Coffin” is now available on http://www.amazon.com.

Here is the direck link to the book: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01C2MKIEQ?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660

Enjoy the creepy little book “Broken Coffin”.

All comments and reviews are welcomed both here and on amazon.

 

http://amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=life+death%2CB01C2MKIEQ

 

 


Dark room, pink curtains, the sun seems to have promised herself to blossom every living being. It paints the walls into pink through the little gaps between every thread of the curtain. The ceiling is in my eyes, my eyes are on the ceiling and it is not yet pink somehow. Pain in my shoulder, goes to my groin, stays there, increases, leaves its half there and moves all the way from my thighs, legs and toes. It introduces itself to all my bones, muscles, veins, arteries and it makes sure that they all know it very well, it rules, it dictates every piece that exists in my consciousness.

There is a knock on the door. Should I bother? Should I? Still knocking, getting inpatient. It must be important. I should get out of bed, but my pain, in all my veins. Oh God! It is all vain! I am coming! I am coming! Let’s have a look, Hell! That can’t be true!Didn’t she die last March? What? That must be a nightmare, no daymare! Or, or is this how one’s end begins? No I am not opening the door! I should not!

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Arthur: Hey I know you are there, open the door!

Melanie:  Where am I?

Arthur: Behind the door!

Melanie:Where are you?

Arthur: Behind the door!

Melanie:Why can’t I see you, or touch you?

Arthur: Because you have not opened the door!Just open the bloody door!

Melanie: Door? Open? And I open the door.

Arthur: What the hell have you been doing behind the door?

Melanie: I was, I was a bit confused and I was, I was in pain…

Arthur: Yes, you should be!

Melanie: I should be?

Arthur: And you will have more pain if you keep doing that…

Melanie: Doing what?

Arthur: Whatever you have been doing since March…

Melanie: Hang on! Didn’t you die in March? How comes you are here, asking me this and that?

Arthur: That is what you know. Anyway, you must pay your debt!

Melanie: Debt of what?

Arthur: Of your silence!

Melanie: About what?

Arthur: About my death.

Melanie: What was I supposed to do?

Arthur: Investigate, ask, find…

Melanie: Find what?

Arthur: My murderers.

Melanie: Your murderers?

Arthur: Yes, my bloody murderers!

Melanie: Did you not die of cancer?

Arthur: Yes, that’s how everything started, but how did I come to that point?

Melanie: How?

Arthur: Don’t play me dull, you know how, didn’t you write it down? All you don’t know is what you really know and how you don’t know what you know.

Melanie: No, no I admit I am a bit dumb, I stopped writing things down.

Arthur: See, I knew that you knew.

Melanie: Knew what?

Arthur: Why did you stop writing things down?

Melanie: Nothing was worth.

Arthur: True you can’t write about nothing, but surely you can’t see the nothing, because it is nothing. So what did you see but said nothing, wrote nothing about it?

Melanie: Did you come all the way from your grave to find this out?

Arthur: That’s not the answer. What did you see but said nothing and wrote nothing about it?

Melanie: Can you take me to my bed before I travel to your land?

Arthur: True. Peace only resides in my land, never forget that!

Melanie: Well said, but I don’t want that just yet. Please take me to my bed, I can no longer bear.

Arthur: Does it get better when you are in bed?

Melanie: No, not really, pain is still there in my guts, groins, bones almost everywhere.

Arthur: When did it start?

Melanie: Soon after your death.

Arthur: My death, let’s go back and investigate. What did you see, witness or even experience but said nothing and wrote nothing about it?

Melanie: Lots of deaths.

Arthur: Where?

Melanie: In the big and little squares, almost everywhere. First I saw it in Slone Square where an author made fun of death that occurred in the war million times even more, and  I saw the death of audiences who applauded his lines with no breath, and I saw the death of our humanity and I saw, I think I saw the killer also.

Arthur: Why did you say nothing, or write nothing?

Melanie: I was almost breathless by the blindness of public.

Arthur: You said they died.

Melanie: They were blind as if they were not alive.

Arthur: What did you see next?

Melanie: I saw group of men in Shepherd’s Bush, who claimed to be author and director but reminded me of George W Bush. Somehow they sounded like they were troubled with their manhood and had the courage to write about women.But they made themselves like little Gods in women’s world where women were unable to think about nothing but penis. The poor actresses had to suck plastic penises and hysterically cried.That was death of their art, as they failed to see anything but their penises which obviously have puzzled them maybe even overwhelmed them and not allowed them to see anything  else in such a tumultous time of the history. But it was a good effort to spread the fog in some heads which were almost dead. And their hands, their hands applauded and applauded.

Arthur: Why did you not say all those things?

Melanie: Because as soon as I tell the truth about anything, I get labelled as feminist and I hate it.

Arthur: Without a name, you can’t exist.

Melanie: Women have no real name.

Arthur: Don’t you think they exist?

Melanie: Their existence is reduced to only one and same the purpose.

Arthur: But they can increase it as long as they still exist and resist. So what are the other deaths you witnessed?

Melanie: I saw the death of morality in man and woman for the sake of non-violence relationship. I saw the death of respect for human mind and human life. I saw this on the youngest stage of Peterman who sat a suit with no man in it and forced the audiences wear it. But that suit was the suit of a sinner who immoralised a very happy family life.They killed and laughed, they killed and laughed, and people, too, laughed and applauded.The Theatre of Cruelty had its last moment on the stage, they laughed and applauded.

Arthur: Why did you keep quiet?

Melanie: My mum always told me to keep quiet when I have nothing nice to say. And those people who laughed were happy, I didn’t want to spoil their happiness even though it wasn’t real.

Arthur: Happiness is the weakest moment of human beings, it is their darkest blindness.They can accept the unacceptable at those moments.You are responsible to show people what you see and hear and let them see and hear.

Melanie: Yes, yes I know that and I will never forget.But it is not just that, I saw another author and director in the best part of Licester Square.They were showing the best ways of making noise quietly and very statically rather than liberating people with their art. Oh , I can feel it in all my veins.

Arthur: Pain?

Melanie: Yes, it is terrible. But not as much as the smile of a man who stood by a dead man’s head with no respect and laughed.

Arthur: Did you also lose that?

Melanie: Apparently yes. But Hirst did that in his driest thirst. He had no message about death apart from some shock waves he insensitively tried to send to the viewers’ heads. If he really cared, he would have also added the dead bodies of WWI to Vietnam War, from Afghanistan War to Iraq War, from Libya to…He would have added dead  bodies of children who were abondaned and died of starvation in various part of this globe…

Dead souls of every shopping mall , of every hole of every high road, of every highly materialised piece of art which has no better idea than making a diamond skull, while it undermines and attacks every skull that are currently alive. I am, I am , I am no longer a-l-…

Image

Hirst’s Diamond Skull.

Arthur: That’s my death.

Melanie: No it is my death, I am , I am d-e-a…

Arthur: They will materialise our dead bodies and sell them to others….They will monetize our…

Melanie:They will monetise our dead heads, legs and our va…Oh I don’t even want to imagine…

Arthur:Hirst is very good at that, I am sure they will hire him…

Melanie: Let’s go to your grave!I no longer want to stay…

Arthur: No,let’s go to Hirst’s place and see what he is licking at the moment.Flesh or a dead bum…

Melanie:Let’s go…