The unwelcome guest

Just throwing around a little idea...

I fear I may be dying. It's not irrational, I am by no means crazy, not proven to be anyway, I am just aware enough of my body to know when things are are getting ready to shut down.

It all began when I received a surprise guest in the shape of a headache who arrived several months ago. I entertained him despite the fact he was afflicted with a dullness so inexcusable when coupled with his inability to know when to leave. Now he lives on the upstairs sofa and refuses to leave without my giving him a key to get back in. He's never gone long enough, or at least he never gives me exact details of his next excursion long enough in advance, for me to arrange someone to come and change the locks.

I think his presence was felt strongly in my body. My taste buds seem to be slowly killing themselves due to the constant, unrelenting stream of nothingness and pain, though I'm not sure as to whether they are intentionally lagging - the mere thought or prolonged exposure when release is available - or if they are trying to warn the rest of my body that they might ne next...

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Mental Pressures

WORK IN PROGRESS, WILL BE COMPLETED LATER.

I am writing this having recently finished Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar" as I find her insanity gripping, inspiring, and something I can relate to frighteningly well.

I am too afraid to look at my watch which sits on my bedside table as I fear what it may tell me. I only fell asleep at about half past one in the morning and since then it feels like an eternity has passed over my tiny little bedroom, time somehow rushing past overnight so that it is now a week since I first settled myself in these uncomfortable sheets.
I am rather disappointed when I choose that I need to relieve myself some ten minutes later that it is only a quarter to ten of the following morning. It find myself becoming annoyed due to the fact that my mind can convince me so apparently that one thing is true, when in fact reality is nothing further from the place I left when I sped off on the train of thought which stopped at the fantastical world my imagination, and longing for drama and excitement, invented.
After about twenty minutes of staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to distinguish any difference, however small, which may have manifested over night giving some kind of justification that the fictional beliefs I had when I woke this morning had some kind of truth to them, I go downstairs to find an empty house. This is not unexpected. Both of my parents would have left for work some two hours previously, my elder brother is presumably still at university studying for his exams, and it is neither Monday nor Wednesday - the days on which our cleaner came for a couple of hours in the morning.
The kitchen is warm when I walk in, but I am saddened by the cold grey sky which glares at me through the window. I think of drawing the curtains, but I am without the mentality of wanting to drag the seldom-used orange cloth in front of the dull vision and disrupting the many odds and ends which balance precariously on the wooden sill. I go to the old wooden cupboards which hide the boxes of cereal and at the sight of either cornflakes or shreddies, immediately close them, I have neither the craving nor the ability to stomach either brand at the moment, or indeed for the foreseeable future.
Deciding that I am not terrible hungry anyway, I ascend the stairs again, taking them slowly so as to give myself the time to decide what it is I will do when I reach the top. By the time I have arrived on the landing, I realize that instead of giving myself a course of action I have simply been humming the tune of some Rihanna song whose name I cannot quite remember. Presented now with the doors to my bedroom and the bathroom, I opt to return to the latter, after retrieving my towel from the radiator in the former, in preparation for a shower. I strip down, slinging my clothes carelessly towards the door which I have left open, and step into the shower, pressing the button to begin the stream of water. Immediately I am shocked with a blast of icy droplets cascading over my naked body and I cry out in pain at the unwelcome surprise. Smacking the showerhead away I hop out of the glass cubicle almost toppling into the sink behind me. I allow the water to run for a minute before tentatively stepping back into the shower and testing the stream with my left foot, before pulling the showerhead back towards me, satisfied with its new found warmth.
I stand for a few minutes, allowing the water to rid me of the shivers which were resultant from the previous coldness, before I feel words rising in my throat. Before I am able to stop myself, I am belting out the lyrics to the se Rihanna song I was previously humming which I am now able to identify as "We Found Love". When I reach the end of the second verse, I begin the song again, repeating this a further six timed before I am satisfactorily clean and I press to button to turn the shower off.
I quickly towel myself dry and step out onto the worn rug on top of the tiled floor of the bathroom, my feet covering the top of a dirty looking lighthouse, taking full advantage of being in am empty house and casually tossing the towel up onto my right shoulder, exting the condensation filled room into the hall, my naked body fully exposed. I stroll casually into my bedroom, enjoying the free feeling of wearing nothing at all, and search with quick result for some deodorant, spraying myself so heavily I almost choke from the excessive fumes.
I go to open my underwear drawer with the hopes of finding my lucky striped boxer shorts, but come up disappointed. Slightly chilly, but non-disheartened, I decide to select a red t-shirt to wear, pulling it over my damp head and continuing the search for my fortuitous underwear.
I move downstairs, catching a glimpse of my person in the mirror at the bottom or the stairs and am stricken with laughter at my resemblance to Winnie the Pooh in my wearing nothing but a red t-shirt. Noticing the hall window however, I am presented with the thought that anybody might look in and see me in all my glory, so quickly move my hands to protect my manhood and move hurriedly towards the pile of clean washing on the hall table.

Leaving

     I stand where I always do at 3:35 on a Tuesday afternoon, my stomach a flutter as people emerge from their classrooms overlooking the playground - I say playground, though no real playing ever goes on unless you include the way she teases me - waiting for her to come appear from the hut tucked away in the corner so neatly it would be an easy building to miss. But I do not miss it. I shall never miss it, it very image being ingrained into my memory for me to replay every time I stand there watching it every Tuesday, my hands in my pockets, my legs crossing and uncrossing in nervous anticipation.
     My nerves at once seem ridiculous the moment I pay them any thought, though my attention very rarely focuses on my fidgetyness. My thoughts are for now with the girl who will momentarily appear from that little corner.

Raincloud

After two nights out of his own bed, the young boy could be forgiven for falling asleep almost instantly, the very thing could be considered the appropriate act to follow his bedside light's extinguishment, and yet he lies, eyes wide and alert. He tried hard in the evening, and succeeded but for the consumption one Cadburys Hero, to steer himself from doing anything which would later prevent his eyelids from shutting when he was supposed to shut them.

The rain pounds the window outside, a sound he listens to closely as the rhythm might send him into a state of drowsiness too deep to recover from until 6:23am, the time of his alarm for school. He sighs once, twice, thrice, until his breathing becomes easy and measured, the sense of awareness becoming more remote as he gradually, and eventually descends into a dream which he will never remember...

(Sorry, got bored and sleepy, the boy is me and I am trying to find what he is finding. Goodnight!)

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Morning Glory

For a brief, blissful moment as I lie in bed, I truly believe the mattress to be my own. I squeeze my eyelids in an attempt to bring sleep back to my body, but the light which burns through them is just too loud to be ignored. Begrudgingly I allow the muscles on my face to relax and the room comes into sight through a blurry crack and it doesn't take long to realize that the chipped red paint n the wall which is inches from my face is far from the sky blue wallpaper of my own room.

Out of Juice

For once in my life the unthinkable has occurred: the battery in my iPod has been reduced to zero, and I am trapped on this sweltering excuse for a bus being forced to listen to the idle chitchat of local Ned population. I suppose it is my own fault for not sticking the bloody thing on charge, but all this "manually manage music" thing to prevent my computer crashing every single time I plug it in is really messing with my of system of leaving it for ten hours for it to sync itself automatically.

The sickly smell of freshly caught fish fills my nostrils as I try to block out the stories told by the people it disgusts me to call my peers, cringing as I hear about various gropings and the passing around of STI's between their friends. I sigh, thinking how I could have been saved from these horrifying images which now plague my gentle mind, if only I were from somewhere else, unable to understand their thick Methil accents.

I am only able to survive the last stretch of the journey alongside these people who believe that the firth of forth is a site or volcanos and insist upon mutilating some of my favourite songs with their whiny voices, with the knowledge that the most beautiful girl I know will be awaiting me as I get off.

Five more minutes until freedom.

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I've lost my compass, can I borrow that map?

There are a multitude of things in the world which make me happy, and I often dwell upon them in the hope that I can hold on to the elation they fill me with, but inevitably I fan never hold on to them for very long. I have tried to enjoy the beach and the vastness of the ocean as it blends into the horizon, but on any summers day I can only draw happiness for so long before doubts creep into the corners of my mind

In a world filled so infinitely with people how can I ever hope to achieve anything of significance? Surely it is impossible to make an impact on something so wide and I should just focus on my immediate future and surroundings. Alas, I cannot see it this way. I over think to the point where I lose my way, as I have suddenly done now.

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A Place to Hide

(A short story by me, age 14 - ignore spelling/grammar errors!)

   My name is Abel, and I am twelve years old, living in Kraków, Poland. My life used to be normal and simplistic, but as of late, life has become somewhat frightening. It all began about two weeks ago when my family were forced to leave our home by the German soldiers, who had control over our country, and put in cramped housing in a small part of the capital, living with thousands of other people. We barely have space to live.

   On the first day of our arrival into our new ‘home’ we were made to go through a sorting desk to see where we would live. We stood in a queue for several hours, waiting until we would reach the desk where our fate would be decided.