My Dream, My Nightmare

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Walking down the path of an infinite life
With honest words, one marches with delight
For the grace has saved us
In this road we continue to fight for
Fight for the life lived until we die

A thousand words said, none are heard
Thinking about being free like a bird
True freedom we seek is within our grasp
Blindness is what only sets us back

The moment we let the river flow
Is where all things will come to close
The life you’ve loved from the day it began
All will return from the ash in the ground

Why haven’t you realized yet
This is but a dream,
A dream worth living?
A dream worth dying for?
A dream you’ve been made a fool of

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Randon Creepy Shorts # 17

When I was a kid, i loved swimming, so much in fact that I sometimes wake up in the morning in my pajamas, run outside and jump into the shallow part of the harbor. My aunt knew this wasn’t very good, so she told me this story to scare me, it went like this…

My aunt grew up in the outskirts of Yakushima. Her family lived in a small house near the harbor, and one of her earliest memories was of a particularly hot summer when, seeking respite from the heat, she and her sister discovered a seldom-used section of boardwalk near an abandoned warehouse. Every night for several weeks, the two girls would make their way down to the docks and sit together on the edge of the pier as the sun went down. My aunt vividly, and for a time fondly, recalled the feel of the seaweed between her toes as she and her sister dangled their feet into the murky water.

It wasn’t until years later that she returned to the pier and found that the warehouse had been demolished. Curious, she made an inquiry with the Department of Planning and Development. Apparently, the warehouse had been owned for a time by the Mob, who was using it as a base of operations for a local prostitution racket. It had only been uncovered when an associate began ‘disposing’ of rival hookers by fitting them with concrete shoes and dumping them into the harbor. Investigating officers had recovered nearly two dozen bodies from the waters of a secluded pier nearby.

How had the bodies been discovered? A passing fisherman spotted some of the victims’ hair floating near the surface of the water, like seaweed.

A Week After Torment

Hey there friends,

Its been like, i don’t know, two weeks? since I last posted. If any of you were waiting (which i think none would since who reads my “cr*p” anyway) sorry for the wait. I was sick (apparently my Temporomandibular Joint is misaligned which caused difficulty in talking, eating, yawning, and has also caused me migraines. Its been a week after the Quarterly Exams and being a highschool student, I haven’t mastered the art of Time Management.

Speaking of time management, i know a lot of you guys have it a handful as well. An at times like these, you just have to let go. Not let go as in just let it all go and not give two f*cks about your problems or whatever is weighing you down. Let go as in relax yourself for a minute. Think about life, think about what you have done until now. Then ask yourself, “Am I happy?” If your answer is yes, well then that means you are a masochist and that you like abusing yourself.

That was a joke. (yeah bad right?)

If you answered yes, then continue your path for it makes you happy, but if you answered no, then you have to change something, because something is wrong. Don’t change what you are doing, but change how you see it is done. Look for a new perspective. Look for a new angle, that might make you happy, because in this life, we cannot choose what we are given. We can only accept it. Therefore it is up to us to see things in a better and brighter way than they are given to us.

Spare me for my preachings, peace out.

Random Creepy Shorts # 16

When you and your family go on a short trip to some place you never knew existed, does it creep you out? This one is a story about an unknown town with a mysterious air to it. It goes like this…

In the town of Bisden, nobody leaves their home after dark. As soon as the sun begins to set — shutters are drawn shut, candles are snuffed out, and doors are locked tight. Before the moon is fully risen, the entire town appears deserted, and silence reigns supreme.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Freja, sounding very small and afraid in the dark.
“Shut. Up.” Her older brother, Freud, hissed through clenched teeth as he eyed the black windows of the house nearest to them. They were probably locked. Nobody in their right mind would leave their windows unlocked at night. Not in Bisden, anyway.
“I told you we shouldn’t play in the forest,” continued Freja. “I said we should go back sooner.”
“And I said to shut up,” Freud went on. “Whining about the past doesn’t change the present.” Freud looked at his sister, shivering in the dark. “It doesn’t change the situation we’re in.”

Before Freja could respond, the faint sound of a child’s laughter floated across the wind. Goosebumps erupted along Freud’s neck and arms. Something about the sound seemed…wrong.

“Maybe there’s other–“, Freud clasped his hand over Freja’s mouth. Pulling her in close, he shrank back into the shadows of the alley. Again, the unearthly sound drifted across the air. Freja tensed in Freud’s arms as she realized the magnitude of their situation. A child’s voice, oddly distorted, broke the silence of the night like a fist through glass.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

The Thing lumbered across the mouth of the alley — just a few feet from Freud and Freja’s hiding place. It was roughly the size of a child, yet shuffled with its arms hanging grotesquely close to the ground — making its disproportionate body appear markedly apelike. It was completely nude, and had skin so shockingly white that it reflected the glow from the moon. The Thing turned its shimmering bald head toward the alley as it crossed. Its face was perfectly smooth, and entirely devoid of feature — save for an impossibly wide smile with thin lips the colour of blood. The crimson slash of its mouth appeared to stretch from ear to ear. Freud felt warmth spread down his thigh as his bladder let go.

Freja whimpered.

The Thing froze mid-stride, its body becoming as rigid as stone. Slowly, it turned its torso until it was facing the alleyway. It took a tentative step forward. Freja sucked in a sharp breath through her nose as she began to hyperventilate. Freud clamped his hand over her mouth, but he was too late. Impossibly fast, The Thing twisted its head toward their hiding place, producing a sickening crackle from its neck.

“Found you!”

In the town of Bisden, nobody leaves their house after dark. Every day, young ones are sternly told to be home by dusk. They are told of the evil that haunts the streets at night. They are told to always remain silent, because if they hear you…

The Children of the Moon will tear you limb from limb.

My Dream, My Nightmare

Walking down the path of an infinite life
With honest words, one marches with delight
For the grace has saved us
In this road we continue to fight for
Fight for the life lived until we die

A thousand words said none heard
Thinking about being free like a bird
True freedom we seek is within our grasp
Blindness is what sets us back

The moment we let the river flow
Is where all will come to close
The life you’ve loved from the day it began
All will return from the ash in the sand

Why haven’t you realized yet
This is but a dream,
A dream worth living?
A dream worth dying for?
A dream you’ve been made a fool of

P.S.
Hi guys, I’m currently  trying to improve my sense of poetry. As you can see, my poetry is probably below mediocre. (tbh, I think it’s bad) So I’m open for suggestions if you have any to improve my poetry. Just don’t be too harsh, many thanks 🙂

Random Creepy Shorts # 15

I heard this story from a friend, who head it from a friend which was told by her cousin… I think. I’m not really sure, anyway, this is one of those sad stories that are creepy in a way. Anyway, it goes like this…

The year my mother and father were wedded, my father bought his wife a very beautiful Baccarat chandelier. It weighed one ton and hung down two entire flights of stairs. Because it was so large my father searched high and low for a home that could accommodate it. He chose a very old palatial home in the Welsh countryside. The mansion was six stories tall and in the middle of the home was a tall, spiraled atrium with a glass ceiling. The stairs wrapped around the walls of the spire, encircling the great chandelier at the top.

As far back as I can remember I would spend my days lying underneath the cascading crystals far above and watching the twinkling prisms catch the sunlight and cast vibrant, breathing rainbows across the walls. My mother would smile at me and giggle to my father behind her hands. I was a romantic, she said, a dreamer. Father would smile knowingly but never bother to glance my way. He only had eyes for my mother, at least until my brother George came along.

But I wasn’t a dreamer, no, I fought sleep with every breath. I much preferred to spend my evenings dancing in the star fields that twinkled in the spire on clear nights. If moonlight shone into the great atrium, it was transformed by the Baccarat into a million shimmering, glittering tiny stars. The chandelier was always gently, gently swaying even without a draft in the house and it would make the crisp, vibrant Celestials dance upon the wall to a song I could almost hear. And I would dance among them.

One day I awoke from an afternoon nap to the sharp sound of a protesting metal groan. I arrived at the bannister just in time to see the Baccarat’s metal supports snap in two. The chandelier fell half a story until it was brought to a violent and abrupt halt by its last remaining support — a thick, nylon rope. George was playing with a train set far below and I screamed at him. He looked up at me for just a moment and then he was obscured from my view as the nylon snapped and the chandelier went crashing down five stories to the first floor where my mother had thrown herself protectively over George.

My father would only shed his tears for them behind closed doors. A week after their deaths, Father had the Baccarat repaired and re-hung. It had been my mother’s and he loved her deeply. Perhaps he liked to look at it and think of her. But I like to think he re-hung it for me because he knew how much I loved it.

But the chandelier wasn’t the same. The gentle cadence it had loyally kept was now replaced by a stillness as absolute as death. The rainbows were dull, almost colorless, and the dancing stars that had once glittered upon the walls at night were absent and the spiraled atrium remained as dark as the heart of an onyx.

I still spend my days and nights lying on the floor looking up at the chandelier and hoping its magic will return to me. Some days I can almost see the vibrant colors and speckled starlight. Most days I see nothing at all.

But nothing at all is better than the nightmare that peeks through the veil sometimes, cruel and uninvited. Sometimes I can feel the cold and the hunger and the pain in my chest. Sometimes the dark nights and dull days make sense. Sometimes I can see the chandelier for what it really is. Because sometimes I remember that it wasn’t the Baccarat that my father hung at the top of the atrium that day

it was himself.

Random Creepy Shorts # 14

Have you ever been left inside the car by your parents in the middle of the road in a place you’re not familiar? Well this story will make you paranoid being left in the car alone. It goes like this…

One night, a father and his daughter were driving down a deserted country road. They were returning home after spending the entire day visiting the girl’s mother in hospital. Listening to the sound of the rain drumming on the car roof, the girl began to doze off.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The father struggled with the steering wheel but the car skidded off the wet road and slammed into a stone wall.

After checking that his daughter was uninjured, the man got out of the car to survey the damage. Both of the front tires had large punctures and the right fender was crumpled against the wall. The rest of the car had survived unscathed.

“We must have driven over something on the road,” he explained to his daughter. “Whatever it was, it blew out both of the tires.”

“You can fix it, right?” asked his daughter, somewhat shaken by the accident.

“No,” replied her father, shaking his head. “I’ve only got one spare in the boot. I’ll have to walk back into town and find somebody to tow the car,” he said. “It isn’t that far from here. You wait in the car while I’m gone.”

“OK,” she said, reluctantly. “But please don’t take too long.”

The man could see in his daughter’s eyes that she was frightened.

“Sit tight,” replied her father as he slammed the car door. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

His daughter watched him in the rear-view mirror as he trudged off down the road in the pouring rain and disappeared into the night.

More than an hour passed and her father still had not returned. The girl began to wonder what was taking him so long. She was very worried because he should have been back by now.

Just then, she glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw a figure in the distance, walking towards the car. At first, she thought it was her father, but when she turned around to take a closer look, she realized that it was a strange man. He was dressed in overalls and had a big bushy beard. He was carrying something large in his left hand, swinging it back and forth.

Something about him made her very nervous. As he approached, she stared out the back window and squinted her eyes. In the dim light, she could just make out what he was clutching in his right hand. It was a big, sharp butcher’s knife.

Thinking quickly, the terrified girl locked both doors in the front of the car, then jumped into the back seat and locked the rear doors. When she looked up again, she saw that the strange man had stopped in his tracks and seemed to be staring directly at her.

Suddenly, the man raised his arm and the girl let out a blood-curdling scream. In his left hand, he was clutching her father’s severed head.

She just kept screaming and screaming. She couldn’t stop herself. Her heart was pounding and she struggled to breathe. The grotesque expression on her father’s face was horrifying to behold. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were rolled back in his head.

When the man reached the car, he shoved his face right up against the window and glowered at her with his crazed, bloodshot eyes. His hair was wild and matted with dirt. His face was covered in deep scars.

For a moment, he just stood there, in the driving rain, grinning at her like a madman. Then, he reached into his pocket, took something out and slowly lifted his left hand.

He was holding her father’s car keys.