Who Do You Think You Are?

I'm sick of all of this crap. People think I'm suicidal because I write these stories, because I hate my current situations, and because I listen to "emo music". Who the fuck are you to judge me?! The ideas that flow through my head are inspired by things that are going on in real life, whether you make the connections or not. If you actually read my work instead of looking for some "hidden meaning" that might show that I'm depressed or suicidal, then you might actually like what you read. So fuck you guys, I'm brought down daily by people who call themselves my friends, I don't need to come home and get a phone call asking me if I've tried killing myself lately, from a family member too. You're all Drones. Do you even come up with these ideas yourselves, or is my defective parental unit giving you false information? If I tried killing myself, you'd all already know, because I'd leave a note on this blog! Oh wait, you don't actually read the works, you just skim them. So, for all of you that have encouraged my writing, thank you. To the one who told me that it's just a phase I'm going through, that I'm not actually going to succeed at this, GO FUCK YOURSELF. See, big capital letters mean that you would have noticed it because your skimming the post. So, to my aunts, uncles, mother, sister, grandfathers, grandmothers, "friends", and cousins, thank you for your encouragement. I'm done for the day. Go away. Don't come back unless your actually going to offer some CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, which would require you to read my work. So, thank you for your time, goodbye drones.

-THE VIRUS

The Forest

Suicide flashes through his mind again. Watching his life fall apart before his eyes. Hearing the mocking laughter of his so-called friends. Seven months planning. He prepared for this moment, but he couldn't take it. A year of working up the courage to try, took only 5 minutes to destroy. He runs, tears in his eyes. But he has no where to run to. Even the voice of reason in his head laughs at him now. Reminding him how he could never have succeeded anyway. Telling him he'd never be good enough to think about trying again. Eyes closed and sprinting through the forest, he slams headfirst into a tree. Throwing his bag to the ground and letting out a scream of hatred for himself, he sits with his back resting on the trunk of the tree. Tired, embarrassed, and emotionally bleeding, he wishes only for release from this damning world. He reaches into his bag and his hand comes out holding a wicked looking dagger. Not knowing or caring how it got there, he closes his eyes and prepares for the end. He pulls the dagger towards his chest, waiting for the piercing pain of death to claim him. But it never comes. Then he feels the hands pulling his wrists back. Even with his eyes closed he knew who it was. He could feel the guilt in those hands. The pain of knowing that she drove him to this. She separates the blade from his hands as he opens his eyes. Looking at him, she realizes that this is the first time she has truly looked at him. Seen past the pathetic exterior that hides the being within. She reaches for the dagger, looking him in the eyes. He knows what she's thinking, what she wants. He reaches into his bag once more and comes out with a blade identical to the first. Positioning the blades over each others hearts, they share a kiss. Their first, their last. Then they die. Their souls joining the many who have fallen victim to the magic of this cursed forest. It can grant you the love of your life, but only in the afterlife.

No, this story is not about anyone. Everybody that has read it has either said that they know who it's about, or they want to know. That's all for now Drones, later.
-The Virus

Aslin: The Survivor

It has been three years since the Darkbringer killed the last pure human. Three years and already he seeks me out. He knows that I'm still alive. That I'm the one killing his Elites. No other creature would try. The forest has long since become my home. But he is expanding his reach even farther into my sanctuary. Infecting the waters and plant life. I wonder if he even knows the extent of my transformations since I escaped. My right arm has been replaced by a scythe-like appendage beginning at my elbow. It has been stained by the blood of his warriors, which only furthered my changes. My wings grew out, so much so that I can wrap them around myself as a vampire would a cape. I never fly anymore though, for risk of exposing myself to his aerial patrols. I simply wait for him to send me more Elites, more blood. With the blood comes change, and with change comes power. Soon I will be strong enough to storm his Empire's gates. Then I shall have my revenge. When I am the last one of his creations alive. The last victim robbed of my humanity and reduced to drinking the blood of my kin. Then I shall have my revenge. When I am the last surviving proof of the Darkbringer's reign of darkness, this war will be over, and I can finally die.