Insecurity

I don't show many people my stories anymore. I'll be honest, I'm afraid. I have a multitude of stories just sitting in fragments in my computer. I can't bring myself to put them up.

"It's not good enough!"
"It's not finished!"
"It's a stupid story!"
"The language is so crap!"

So if you're reading this, I know. I know its not amazing. But I need to write something. I need to get some thoughts out. Some ideas. I promised whoever still reads this corpse of a blog that I'd have stories. And so they shall have stories.

Inanis

Freak.
Loser.
Monster.
I used to hear those words more often than anything. Thanks, mom. Love you too.

I used to be called Breasal, before being given those lovely nicknames by mother dearest. She is quite fond of "waste of space" now though.

I live in a world full of superhuman beings, metahumans as they are called. Evolution has chosen them to be the next level in the human gene pool. Most of them turn into heroes straight out of a comic strip. Headed by the Lordship Five, our age has flourished.

Well, most of our age. Metahumans that discover their powers are sent to the Academy to be trained, they are to become the next Guardians, the "vanguards of tomorrow, the heralds of our future" as those stupid news stands called them. Me? I'm a freak.

When I was about fifteen, things went downhill for me. I got bullied a lot, I never really fit in with anyone. I had a knack for things like writing, so I used to sit alone in the library and write stories rather than, say, play football or something. But the jocks never were the kind to pass up the opportunity to toss me in a trash can or dumpster or somewhere equally disgusting.

I had no one to rely on, I was pretty much on my own and this was the time I saw what depression felt like. Not that "Oh my god I failed a test, I'm so depressed." No, shut the fuck up. That's upset. You are upset. You do not feel depressed. You do not feel anything when you're depressed. When I wasn't being picked on by someone or rather, I was alone writing things like "Someone save me from this place" on my notebook hoping someone would read it. And someone did. Too bad it was the jocks that emptied out my backpack into a puddle, effectively destroying my precious stories and most of my belongings. That day changed my life.

I sat in a corner of my room, tears streaming down my face as I fought to salvage what I could from my notebook. Most of my stories were nothing but ink splatters on the page now though.

Now you may think I'm overreacting, but bear in mind I had no friends. I ate lunch alone in a secluded stairwell that no one ever used. The lighting was absolute shit, it was stuffy and there was dead. It felt like a tomb. Fitting, isn't it? You'll get that in a bit. Anyways, I had no one. I went weeks without saying a word to another human being. People actually thought I was a mute or something. All I had were my stories. I explored vast worlds, went on adventures, did amazing things, met amazing people. It was a world where I mattered. But now it was gone. The one thing that kept me sane.

I was numb, I couldn't cry any more tears after a while. I just sat there, all feeling faded. My world had lost all colour.

"You deserve this, you loser."
"Go home and cry you goddamn pussy."
"Do us all a favour and kill yourself."

For a world filled with superheroes, it was a pretty shitty existence. The numbness was too much. I couldn't take it. So I cut. I cut till I had shredded my entire arm up. Each time the blade cut into my skin, pain seared through my arm. It was glorious. I felt things. For that brief moment, I could feel. The blood was enthralling, the first drops of colour in my grey scale world were scarlet red. Each cut was a reminder that I deserved this. I had to stop only because I ran out of space. Not bad for a first session, I thought.

I began carrying blades to school, rather than write stories I would relieve myself of the numbness, lift the cloud of grey and bring life back to my veins for a bit. Long sleeves and some bandages do wonders, no one suspected a thing.

But, strange things happened. In the beginning they stayed a while and scarred. Over time, they healed faster and faster. No need to worry about running out of space, I used to think. But the scars remained.They always stayed. I began doing more so I could feel again, the cuts just weren't enough anymore. Heating up the blades cauterized the open wound, and it hurt like hell. But in a matter of hours, they were scars.

Great, I managed to fuck up self harming too. Was I...? No, it couldn't be. Look at me, I'm a teenager going nowhere in life. People like me don't become metahumans. You expect me to save people? I can't save myself, how on earth am I to be a hero?!

This is a story in progress, I don't think this origin story is amazing so suggestions are welcome. But as you can predict, it's the beginning to the long awaited story about my depressed superhero. I have more planned for him when he is already established. I was more or less venting here, so it may not even make much sense. 

I know exactly how I want my funeral to go. I want everyone to dress in bright colours. No black. It's gonna be a celebration. Like the biggest and best birthday party I've ever had. I want laughter, tears of joy, I want to bring family and friends together in my name. I want to be remembered with the fondest of memories, a tale that leaves a smile on all faces. I want a montage of my life.

I want to see my baby pictures.
My first day at kindergarten.
My graduation from kindergarten.
My young years in primary school.
My teenage years, doing crazy things.
I want pictures and videos of my graduation.
Me working at the store, doing what I do best.
I want to see me at university.
Meeting someone I would spend the rest of my life with.
I want a lot of pictures with my family, both now and in future when I have one of my own.
I want to be remembered as a good person, someone that touched lives, I want to be missed because I offered something that made an impact in their lives.

I also want everyone to bring something linked to fond memories of me.
It could be a necklace.
It could be Green Lantern comics.
An Xbox controller.
A guitar.
A pen and paper, or a book.
It could be that stupid black, grey and gold loom band I always wear.
Or my rings.
Anything that someone goes "I remember when he used to..."

It brings me to tears imagining people coming together, just to celebrate my life just this once. Not cuz I'm a self centred prick (although I am), but because I love the thought of a celebration with all the people I love and that love me being in one place. It's like the biggest, best birthday I will ever have. And that is why I want no black, no tears or crying. I want food, lots of my favourite dishes. I want my stories all over the place for everyone to read. I want to leave voice messages just for everyone to hear my voice if it means people will smile. I don't tell the people that I love how much I love them nearly enough, but the few times I have, I hope they remember it and see my sincerity through my sarcastic exterior.

I want to be there, floating through their midsts, hearing them talk and laugh, play music and just celebrate my life.

I have an idea of what I want to see them celebrate, I just gotta live that life first. And the rest should follow.

Music

Hey all, lots have happened since I was last on. I'm once again single as many have come to find out, so all you single ladies watch out! *nervous chuckle* Ok admittedly I'm no George Clooney, and I am really unsure of what I want in a relationship anyway, so I plan on letting this one play out however it may. Any charming single ladies that may be reading this blog and think they can handle this geeky stud, leave a comment or something ;) Alright serious talk.

Anyone that knows me in real life knows I can be a bit of a metalhead. Admittedly, I have a thing for the raw emotion metal brings out in me. It's primal, free from restraints, the melody hits my ears and I feel free. From everything. The sadness, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, the loneliness. All of it. For the brief time that the song plays, I am free. I am in another world. I guess that's why I took up the guitar ages ago, even my friends said I was a different person with my guitar in hand.

I played this game called Brutal Legends (amazing game) that depicted music and instruments as a way to channel a sort of magic. I always wanted to write a story. I listened to the guitar duel posted above and watched an epic battle take place. Guitar riffs summoned strikes of lightning, the beats of drums shook the ground, bass lines created pounding sonic booms. Music to me was always about emotion. It told stories. It filled parts of me that were missing. I saw a story unfold in my mind where it was literal. Those tender love songs created tender love scenes. Flowers, floating lights, serene night air, all that. And the stuff such as the video above? They became battles. Each song and genre had it's own effect. Like in magic, but incantations became songs. Elements became the instruments. Schools of magic (restoration and healing, destruction, alteration) became genres. It took more than a wave of a wand or a staff to control magic in this world. It took dedication, learning the tunes, creating your own, feeling the music shape itself to your intent. I always imagined magic flowed kinda like that. Music to me was expression and being able to create your own was, to me, the most beautiful gift in the universe simply because you wrote songs and riffs and lyrics that suited you. They told your story. It was your intentions, your love, your hate, your hopes and dreams, your hurt and betrayal, your everything. I never knew how to bring across how it would look or sound to others. No one could ever see the amazing story in my mind's eye. The beautiful melody melding with the musician's imagination and with a spark of magic, turning something ordinary into something beautiful. No, nothing short of a mind reader will ever see this. And it is beautiful. I could never write this story because words alone could never do such a story justice.

A New Chapter

Ok perhaps I lied. This blog has been there for me for a long time and I do enjoy jotting the occasional post down and I very much miss it. So I am reopening the blog!

I started working a while back, so I'm very busy, don't go expecting lots of posts! But this storyteller... He can't let his blog go. I have so many stories that need to be told. So many zipping around in my head. Entire universes and worlds. And who else would I write for?

I want to leave this for all of you. My favourite scene from Doctor Who, one of my favourite shows. It has inspired an entire story arc for a hero I am creating. Yeah I know, I have so many. But in due time.

Clara sometimes asks me if I dream.
Of course I dream, I tell her. Everybody dreams.
"But what do you dream about?" She'll ask.
The same thing everybody dreams about, I tell her.
I dream about where I'm going. She always laughs at that.
"But you're not going anywhere, you're just wandering about!"
That's not true. Not any more.
I have a new destination.
My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone's.
It's taken me so many years, so many lifetimes.
But at last I know where I'm going, where I've always been going.

Home. The long way round.

And it is good to be home.


The Fragmented Storyteller

Final Post

Well, here I am again. The Fragmented Storyteller, but no stories to tell.
Well, not entirely true. I have many to tell. But this blog, I just feel it's served it's purpose and I don't need it as much anymore, for my stories or to vent.

So, the last chapter of this blog comes. It was probably a long time coming. I'm soon to begin a new chapter of my life as a soldier, and what happens then I leave in the hands of fate.

Things are changing, I have changed, friends are moving on and getting lost in the fog of life, going to places I cannot follow and replacing me with new friends. It is simply the way life works. I hold no bitterness to friends who are moving on. I wish them the best. If people stay in your life, they make the same effort to keep you in theirs as you make to keep them in yours.

So now the girls are heading to work or university while the guys are preparing to serve their time as soldiers. As much as I hate change, it happens.

It's time I grew up. Time I got to working properly to pay bills and became an adult. I am dreading it, I am dreading all of this. Losing friends, even though they say "We'll stay in touch, you have my number and I have yours. we have Facebook and all." but nothing ever comes of it because they move on to greener pastures, with new friends and a new school or workplace, despite me treasuring them. But that is how life works.

And with  that, I bid all my dear readers, adieu. The Fragmented Storyteller has spun his last tale. They were never completed anyways, maybe someday I will finish them.





And to my one dear reader, the one that got me started on my blog and read my stories even though they were not her cup of tea and shared hers with me despite being so personal, thank you. But, every story has a last chapter and this is it for this blog.

Goodbye.

The Fragmented Storyteller

Running in the Rain

It's been a while eh?

The other day, I got a call from an old friend who went to the States for his education. He came back for National Service and bought a bike, he sold me his old bike. He wanted to go for a ride and I said damn straight.

It was a great ride, and on the way back it began to rain. I was almost home, about two bus stops down when it began to rain. I stopped for a while and thought "I don't wanna get my expensive bike wet."

Then it hit me, what the hell am I doing? We have all become so materialistic. You can't push your buddy into the water anymore, for fear of his iPhone or Samsung Galaxy or Blackberry getting wet. Not to mention the iPods, and all the other expensive electronic hooha everyone carries, and I am no exception. So I wanted to break free of this. To run in the rain like I used to and I loved it so much. I miss it so so much.

So I kept my stuff in a waterproof bag, got off my bike and stepped out into the pouring rain.

It was the most liberating thing I've done in ages.

I felt happy. I felt free. I felt young. That simple thing, walking out into the rain, was so freeing that I just walked home in the rain, the long way. My entire mind suddenly opened up. Inspiration flowed for my stories, my emotional burdens went away, and I was happy for absolutely no reason. And to me, that is the best kind of happiness. I want to make it a point to take a walk in the rain sometimes, just to feel free again.

So when was the last time you walked in the rain?

A video that moved me - To This Day

This video was shown to me by one of my best friends, it is one powerful video. I could relate cuz I was there at some point.

To anyone who needed to hear it: THEY WERE WRONG. You are beautiful. You have the potential to be amazing, to change lives. You matter. You are important.

I am a massive fan of Doctor Who, and this quote probably saved my life.

"Nine hundred years of time and space, I've never met anyone who wasn't important."

It took me a long time to realise how true that was. And to this day, I tell myself this in the mirror every day before school.

Bullying ruins lives, you may not see how bad it gets. But is fun at the expense of others is worth making a child fear for their life, fear coming to school, affecting their studies and making their grades plunge and making them feel stupid?

Is it worth making a girl feel ugly and unloved? That because she isn't skin and bones or doesn't have a thigh gap, that she is fat? Is it worth making her starve herself for your sick idea of perfection? That she fears food?

Is it worth making the lonely quiet kid cut himself? Or burn himself? Or hit himself? To punish himself for a failing you have put on him? So every day he wears long sleeve shirts and jeans so no one can see that he hurts himself to make the pain inside go away. Pain you bullies have caused.

Is it worth making the troubled kid suicidal? Taunting her to "Go ahead, kill yourself." and saying "No one will miss you, we'll be better off.". And one day her best friend cleans her locker out,  crying as she glares at you saying "You did this to her."

"You ruined a family. A mother and father grieve as they bury their child. A brother or sister go into depression as the see their older sister's lifeless body in that coffin. How does it feel to be the reason someone is dead in this world?"

Bullying does so much more than you think. So stop. Leave the weird, quiet kid alone. Live your own life, stop making someone else's a living hell cuz yours isn't satisfactory or fulfilling.

And to kids who are bullied, speak up. It's easier said than done, but please. TELL someone. You have the potential for so much, don't let something like bullies keep you from it.

Remember, they were wrong.

You aren't fat.
You aren't stupid.
You aren't a failure.
You aren't a loser.
You aren't useless.

You matter.
You are important.
You are unique.
You are worth it.
You are you. The only you that will ever exist.
You have potential to change lives in some way.
You have a future worth sticking around for.
You deserve to live no less than anyone else.

Remember, it's ok not to be perfect. They were wrong.

If you can't see anything beautiful about yourself,
Get a better mirror.
Look a little closer.
Stare a little longer.
Because there's something inside you that made you keep trying even when everyone told you to quit.