Sage JoWii
Smash Champion
First off, this is my first time in this room since joining SWF so if this isn't how things are done, close this thread and someone take the time to let me know how I go about posting in here. Also, I've noticed there's a lot of poetry, but I'm not really good at that sort of stuff (or at least not good enough to show anyone confidently yet). So instead, I'll just post SOMETHING and hope I can get some feedback on it.
There’s suicide, and then there’s JoWiicide.
There once was a boy, who lived in his own mind. Comfortable was he, so much so he never ventured out. Hours he would spend decorating his home, days he would waste furnishing the mind he resides in. Thoughts, memories, ideas; if he could think it, it was there. So long had he spent in his mind that his ’true’ body eventually withered, atrophied.
One day, the boy, who now is a man, realized that he had a life that he no longer needed. Constantly jumping between this world and the other had become cumbersome, tiresome and tedious. What point was a dual existence if one was neglected completely in favor of another? And so, the man decided that he’d take one last visit to the other ‘side’ and rid himself of his troubles.
Out of his mind, the man took a moment to see what he was leaving behind. Sure, there was a family, friends, some purpose, a few goals, and a life, but none of this held any weight. It had been ages since this ‘life’ was lived, it was a hollow shell of a former him. And so, struggling to force his body to move, the man set his ‘death’ in motion. With a blade to his wrist he wondered, ‘will this hurt?’, but ultimately the pain could not deter him.
A slow motion, repeated twice, and the blood flowed. Tired, so very tired, was the man, and with a glance down, he smiled. The blood, was not blood, was instead color. Like spilled paint the blood flowed from his wrist; the same consistentcy, the same color - the colors washed from a painting. A mix of reds, blues, yellows, different hues, different shades; the color flowed.
A smile, a sigh, and he left the world behind.
————————————————————————————
You receive a postcard in the mail. On the front is a picture of a man, in front of a house, mid-wave, smiling. On the back, a message, no return address, no postage. ‘I’m happy, I love you, don’t miss me, I’ll always be here. What I once thought was my mind, might very well be another place; I think it’s in your heart, it could be the thought of me you had when you realized I was gone.”
There’s suicide, and then there’s JoWiicide.
There once was a boy, who lived in his own mind. Comfortable was he, so much so he never ventured out. Hours he would spend decorating his home, days he would waste furnishing the mind he resides in. Thoughts, memories, ideas; if he could think it, it was there. So long had he spent in his mind that his ’true’ body eventually withered, atrophied.
One day, the boy, who now is a man, realized that he had a life that he no longer needed. Constantly jumping between this world and the other had become cumbersome, tiresome and tedious. What point was a dual existence if one was neglected completely in favor of another? And so, the man decided that he’d take one last visit to the other ‘side’ and rid himself of his troubles.
Out of his mind, the man took a moment to see what he was leaving behind. Sure, there was a family, friends, some purpose, a few goals, and a life, but none of this held any weight. It had been ages since this ‘life’ was lived, it was a hollow shell of a former him. And so, struggling to force his body to move, the man set his ‘death’ in motion. With a blade to his wrist he wondered, ‘will this hurt?’, but ultimately the pain could not deter him.
A slow motion, repeated twice, and the blood flowed. Tired, so very tired, was the man, and with a glance down, he smiled. The blood, was not blood, was instead color. Like spilled paint the blood flowed from his wrist; the same consistentcy, the same color - the colors washed from a painting. A mix of reds, blues, yellows, different hues, different shades; the color flowed.
A smile, a sigh, and he left the world behind.
————————————————————————————
You receive a postcard in the mail. On the front is a picture of a man, in front of a house, mid-wave, smiling. On the back, a message, no return address, no postage. ‘I’m happy, I love you, don’t miss me, I’ll always be here. What I once thought was my mind, might very well be another place; I think it’s in your heart, it could be the thought of me you had when you realized I was gone.”