This didn't fit anywhere else; writers

[-mex-]

Not trying to be a dick, but the grammar and phrasing is akward at points.

[MoMoMix]

I like creative writing. : )

But I'm not very good at it. : (

This was a portion of my last work after about a year away from writing, comments would be appreciated:

*Broken Dreams*
~ Ethereal Prison; The Black Evenings ~

Inescapable...
---
~ Tainted Ideology; Baptism Of Hatred ~
---

"Had you asked me of the place I reside, of the city known throughout the world as Monolith, I can summarize the constancy and way of existence through simple class. Regardless, everyone eventually realizes their place; it is people like myself that ensure the continuity and welfare of this ergonopolis. This is a world where control is the ultimate influence and dictates the very way of life, a place tethered not toward ideals and faith, but to wealth and fear. The coin is the only God recognized in the eyes of the aristocratic, a religion unparalleled in both simplicity and efficiency. Tyranny is our bible, containing infinite revelations and procedures, a practical dogma outside the comprehension of the vermin populating the streets below. Together it secures both our foundation and position, all the while continuing to secretly regulate the passive urchins below. Don't believe me...? The wealthiest reside in luxury the unfortunate couldn't even depict, a lavish collection of convention and aesthetics. We rule above the city amongst the clouds themselves. In the city of Monolith, the rich are Gods themselves." - Iza Marunda.

Fear

She smiled at the monologue, a literal creed she recited day after day, unheard and lost within the confines of the clouds. Without a doubt it was preferable, the weak and meaningless aren't deserving of ascension, nor the secrets of attaining such a lifestyle. That smile eventually became a less innocent smirk, in reflection she realized that if possession is such a euphoria, that restricting the same opportunity is a rapture without equal. Her eyes, somehow devoid of color or emotion, scanned the reaches of Monolith and seemed satisfied in her findings. Caught within the domain of sapphire stood gargantuan complexes, buildings so unnatural it seemed as if they were stairways to heaven. Below was a much less pleasing sight, the outlines of eroded streets and dilapidated buildings an eye sore. Between those that perish and those, that rule stood the horizon, beaming a crimson line where earth and sky collided, separating the two despite such close proximity. It was the same belief here, an artificial horizon deciding the eventual lifestyle of each individual. Gently she placed a single finger against the cold window pane, tracing the only boundary in existence, the only contract everyone was obligated to sign.

"This world is mine..."

A small laugh was stifled underneath Iza's breath, a somewhat awkward motion considering her serious visage. Monolith would remain in this delicate balance forever, undisturbed and immovable. It wasn't an assumption, but to her a certainty. Yet, at the moment her resolve and conviction were tested, her focus suddenly returning to reality. Behind her a phone was ringing, the incremental sound responsible for her exile from that perfection. Walking over a little flushed with arms crossed, she slammed a fist against the phone, managing to hit the lit button as well as several others. "And what exactly do you want!?" A few seconds passed without answer, the hesitation only annoying her further as she leaned against the table. "Ms. Marunda, we have a problem on the ground floor! You should take a look immedia-" Without warning the conversation terminated itself, increasing her curiosity and at the same time feeding a steadily growing fear. A serious of explosions detonated in triumphant glory, the building's own structure starting to crumble and fade away. Looking downward at a place long abandoned, she was horrified to notice the growing riots, the streets spilling with objections and overwhelmed tolerance. "What the hell? They never dared to trespass these grounds before.."

The worst revelation popped into her mind, something threatening to reduce her dreams to rubble and this balance into confusion. The untouchable and insignificant managed to look beyond the fear that had controlled them for so long, her own methods of protection and insurance slowly failing under the spirit of the rebellious. Flames began to engulf buildings and walkways alike, crisscrossing in a haphazard pattern and slowly increasing in severity, growing and expanding like a viral infection. Rushing back toward her office space, she began sifting through the drawers of the table, mindlessly tossing everything aside before finally removing a small handgun. Loading her firearm, her other hand occasionally returned to the phone, trying desperately line after line to find someone else. A faint light revealed itself to her satisfaction, a simple click and the loudspeaker reanimated back to life. "Hello!?" She yelled at whoever the receiver was, out of spite and a growing aggression. Static, then a soft voice returned the greeting in a somewhat mocking fashion. Raising an eyebrow at this, she clenched her fist unconsciously, beyond putting up with mannerism. "I need security up here! NOW!"

"Of course...

---

Right away you heartless waste of flesh!"

"Had you asked me of the place I reside, of the city known throughout the world as Monolith, I could only describe it as a failed promise toward everyone unlucky enough to not acquire mass wealth. Yet, despite these obstacles in life, I'd rather reside in the depths of Monolith in comparison to the foolish and spoiled that believe they command the very workings of us. Its simply what you have, not what you don't. Up there, everything remains in a perpetual fairy tale, the elite turning a blind eye toward the future and stability of their economic juggernauts. We have no use for the trivial materialism they search for with such passion, as they will never possess what we inherently have, no matter the amount they would willingly trade for. Away from the rigorous monotony of living in constant pomp and distrust, no price would ever allow the "blessed" freedom and happiness. About their wealth? We have no use for the spoils of war. The most treasured and cherished is displayed and shared each day, through family, through friends, and most importantly in opposition." - Vargus Tirron.

Justice

Entertaining by his response, Vargus threw aside the phone, colliding with the wall and showering the fallen guards. Laughing a little, he took a second to appreciate the chaos, the flames a warm sentiment that brought the best memories to the present. It was this passion that drove the people to survival and the eventual insurrection, the devotion innate to the undeserving that would be key in overthrowing the corrupted monopolies. Waving over, several other rebels following, winding through the assortment of pyres and destroyed remnants. Running up the small stairway he kicked against the door, the glass starting to shatter as pieces flew past him in brilliant reflections. His eyes widened a little, guards storming down the stairway, a greater challenge then the fodder forced to maintain civility on the ground level. Planting a hand against the ground, he reached toward his belt with the other, wrapping his fingers around a grenade, tossing the pin and whipping in through the hole. Hiding behind the wall, a loud explosion followed, drowning out the screams and shrieks of the incinerated. Wiping the sweat off with a portion of the white bandana he wore around his neck, he took full advantage of the fleeting calm. Scanning around before continuing his crusade, he was slightly appalled at the destruction they were doing. "I suppose this place truly is hell.." Turning away, he entered the building, not willing to remain on that idea for the moment.

In the absence of authority, it was the duty of civilians to correct the injustices of the world. For so long the masses remained in stasis, unwilling to contest the humanity of their treatment in fear of the reactions of the aristocratic. A few rebels followed his motions, entering through the flamed portal and immediately scanning around the floor, checking the perimeter for anymore opposition. Too impulsive and caught in the moment, Vargus didn't bother to ensure his well-being, continuing his adrenaline powered charge. Ascending the stairs upwards, he caught the muffled words from his comrades, most likely inquiry or another mindless insult. Reaching the top platform, he quickly opened the door, scanning the corridors and attempting to overcome the frustration of not knowing the layout. Below he heard an eruption of gunfire, a storm of unequaled destruction, as there were no intervals of silence or ceasefire. A small cringe followed, moments passing before he completely accepted moving forward. "Sorry guys..."

Was this true justice? Abandoning your comrades, causing as much destruction as your own persecutors? Surely, destruction was necessary to rebuilding, but the radical and inexcusable acts of their campaign began taking their toll on his morality. He was sure however, he hadn't lost his morality, hadn't become another assimilation into the soulless class that worshiped nothing but the coin. Rounding a corner, he reached toward a pocket on his faded emerald jeans, the quality as flawed as it’s wearer, but nothing of his concern. A bullet echoed throughout the level of the complex, for a second his mind believed his allies perished, an unfair punishment he assisted in. A sudden wetness interrupted his personal rant, eyes widening as blood started to cascade down his arm. A yell followed, whether out of pain or aggression it couldn't be distinguished, as he raised his own weapon. A first shot raged forward, nailing the guard in the shoulder for a mocking retaliation, a second shot following and removing the helmet shielding the guard. Without hesitation, he pressed the barrel of the gun against the guard's eye, finger on the trigger. "This is justice.."

[-mex-]

Well, I wrote a short story today.

FictionPress.Com : You

[enigma117]

Gah. Working on a co-authorship with a few friends right now. Not going too smoothly. Pseudoanthologies are more difficult to write than they first appear. Damn good thing Baen Books is a slushpile, or we'd have no hope at all.

[OniRose]

Yeah, it's my major.
I'm a kinda novelist (meaning I can't find an agent for my manuscript.... damn).

[-mex-]

About the VA tech shooting

I walk through the hallways, gun in hand. The grip of the gun is warm from my shaking hands. I am filled with hatred for life, hatred for those around me. I know no other feelings. The entirety of my life has been a hell, and the only option I have is to take away the lives of others, those who have caused me so much suffering.
I used to sit in class behind everyone else, silent, uncaring. No one paid attention to me. Now no one will forget me.
I encounter a closed door. My anger flares, the internal flames of rage burning my flesh. In a heated move, I try the handle. It is barred. I slam my body into the door, and it gives a few inches of space. I try to get the gun into the room, but it is slammed in my face. I am now furious, the anger bubbles deep inside me. I let loose a few rounds. Silence. I drop the now empty clip, and reload my pistol.
I move on.

It has been mere minutes since I heard the first gunshots in my classroom. As a whole, our class believed it to be noises of construction. It became so clear, so lucid, once the gunshots came nearer and nearer by the minute, by the second, that it was not construction, but someone with a gun. My first instincts screamed out in my brain to do something. I ran to a desk, and barred the door with the help of a few others. My mind is racing, the footsteps are nearer. We put our weight against the desk, low to the ground in case we are in danger of being shot. The doorknob jiggles. I can hear my heart beating faster than it’s ever beaten before. Someone slams into the door, and we slam back. Gunshots ring out. I fear for my life, and the lives of the others around me. The shots stop. A metallic clank of a clip reverberates through my ears, and then, footsteps. He is gone.

How many have I killed yet? I lost count at fifteen. I roam the halls, searching for fresh meat to slaughter. My hand no longer shakes; my heart maintains a steady pace. I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflective mirror. Is this what I wanted to be as a child, growing up? A murderer? The thoughts pass through my mind, and I expel them with a great force. I know that this is what I must do.

I hide behind a desk in my classroom. I’m crying fearfully, praying for my life through choked sobs. The gunshots have been constantly hailing around the surrounding area. Suddenly, they draw nearer. I cry out in fear, and cover my mouth to shield the noise that is bound to be heard. The door handle clicks as someone attempts to open it. I shut my eyes, hoping that whoever it is goes away. I am not fortunate. A single shots rings clearly in my ears, but I keep my eyes shut. The next thing I know, the door opens, and I’m surrounded in a hail of gunfire. I watch as my friends fall around me, eyes lifeless, blood pouring from their fallen bodies. I can not restrain my tears as my best friend cries out, and falls. I hope the person who is killing everyone is satisfied, but he is not. He searches the room wordlessly, and finds me behind my desk. He is a younger male Asian. There are flecks of blood on his tinted, reflective sunglasses. He does not smile, he does not frown. He is emotionless. I try to run, but he kicks me. I fall back to the ground, and I attempt to get up. He pins me with his foot as he drops the empty clip, and reloads it. I have never seen this person before in my first year at VA Tech. I am a Freshman. He does not know me, what have I done to him?
He is finished reloading the gun. He grabs me by my long blond hair, forcing me to stand. I beg for my life, crying. My vision is distorted by the salty tears running from my eyes. He tells me to shut up, but I cannot. I beg once again. I stop crying as soon as the bullet leaves the gun. It lands in my stomach. I gasp, look down at the hole in my shirt. Blood streams from the wound. I fall to my knees. He puts the gun to my forehead, and releases the final bullet that ends my life. All is black. All is silent. I feel no more.