My time was running out. I knew it. I was 62, tired, on the verge of being unemployed, and not willing to rebuild myself in another company for the tenth time. I was sick of starting at the bottom, working my way up to a higher salary, and having to wait countless years for a decent vacation accruel. If I could even find another job in this depressed economy.

My name is Aurora Middleton. Economically, I've been all over the place. I've had many ups and downs. My life really was a roller coaster.

I'm 19. I'm male, black, about five foot six, and a hundred forty pounds. I'm dying in the stereotypical fashion of a ghetto loser. In fact, my life was so stereotypical; it's hard to believe I'm not Hollywood.

Man, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I just finished the Castaneda series, and I've been working on Magical Passes for several months. It wasn't doing me much good. I had better luck with other mystical teachings, but there were some things that crossed over in the lessons. Turn off the internal dialogue, quiet the mind, and all that.

I was erased. My memories and knowledge were obliterated. Mostly. My dreams and abilities stifled, but I remembered enough. Your work was flawed. Incomplete. You grew careless in your surety.

*Private*
*Omitted*
- EDIT TO VIEW -

Uncertain
10/10/08

The Willow

"He just fell hard while riding his bike, that's all," Karen, 26 years old, explains to the doctor. She's holding her eight-year-old son, Daniel, by his hand tightly. His left arm has a hairline fracture, and is in a sling. Daniel remains quiet as his mother talks about him always falling, always dropping things, always getting into school fights.

The seige had been a success, yet at the same time; a complete failure. There was no one left alive in the castle. Yet I was the only soldier left still walking. It was a disaster, for my liege was dead. The battle turned out for nought.

As I walked up the stairs of my luxurious underground mansion, I laughed. I knew I wouldn't see it again next week, or maybe even to-morrow.

Over a hundred degrees. Man, I had the day off. I didn't need this shit. I also didn't have to deal with it.

Oh man. I gotta go to the bathroom again. Gods, I hate getting out from under these nice warm covers into a house with no heat on. Maybe I should turn the heat on, but it feels so good when I get back here again. . .everso slowly while sipping on a bottle of ice cold ginger beer. . .when stark naked. Anyway, why waste the satin sheets on pajamas, or whatever?

I'm on a writing spree!

For once something not as depressing? No?

Right now face the wrath of global warming.

Agen, feedback would be fantabulous. Electrifying even. Okay I should stop.

(idea and style adapted after reading several articles in the time magazine =])

(Idea and credit of the fourth paragraph go directly to an article I read on the time magazine)

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Yaya, new installment from Max's new writings! This one is a bit messed up. But I like messed up shit. Deranged even. Sadistic. Depressing. Fucked up. I need new ideas =)

(I know I just posted another story yesterday... but you know I'm kind of in the mood for pumping out short stories)

Tell me what ya guys think~ ^^

Enjoy!

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Cereal Killer
02/12/07

Everyone else seems to be posting short stories, and truth be told, I'm not up to writing a full journal entry right now. So, here's a little fluffy something I wrote this summer. Concrit is fantastic, people!

Fuck Everything Up
“You always have to fuck everything up, don’t you?”