A friendly warning to all who read this. This piece of fiction while my own work will see...
Dark flow.
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Log 1
Curious Whimsy
(Verified Poet) (Verified Insane)
- Location
- Georgia
A friendly warning to all who read this. This piece of fiction while my own work will see influences both major and minor from other people's works, as is so typical with just about any author you care to mention. On a further and possibly more irritating note for accomplished authors who might look at this, I am not actually typing this. I am using my phone and it's voice recognition system. Because to be quite frank, every time I attempt to type something it dies before it reaches the end of the first page. Grammar, punctuation, and formatting will be non-existent until somebody takes it upon themselves to beta the story. I will come back and see what i can do later, but considering i have failed six English classes in a row I do not feel it is the most effective idea. As a final warning this will probably start positively anemic. I don't normally write, but i'm trying to get into the habit. Attempting to have a daily post, or two. Without further ado let's get into the story.
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Log start May 1st 2017 11:28 p.m.
[Recording begins]
There's something very meditative about driving at night. The hustle and bustle of the evening Rush is finished. The burning of the sun is replaced by the cool embrace of the moon. Bright colors faded into calm grays and blues. Things are still, quiet. Like the world itself has gone to sleep. The purr of the engine your constant companion, the lights ahead your only friend.
It is interesting driving in a place with hills. Ahead of you, in dips in the road and the ditches alongside, it seems almost like the shadow flows like water in the face of your headlights. Like some great presence always keeping pace. Loping along side, darting in and out like a dog on a walk with its keeper. The woods become a great black wall. The curb is a breaker for a river of oil, the likes of which could make a man rich for a thousand years.
Delivering food to those who cannot be bothered to dig through the fridge for a midnight snack can be a thankless job. Tips are the unicorn of the food delivery world. When they happen they are something to be treasured, but nobody will ever believe you. If you ever hear a man proclaim that he was thanked, truly thanked, for a delivery... he is a bold-faced liar. I can say this, because I am a delivery person. Hello there, I suppose I should properly introduce myself.
I am Caislav White. I am a moderately tall Caucasian male, overweight without being obese, with close-cropped dark hair and the beard that is a fiery Ginger. Said beard, the broadness of my shoulders, and the deepness of my voice are probably the only ways you can identify me as male. Well aside from the obvious of course. The rest of me is doughy and very nearly curvy. Hazards of being a wannabe taxi driver I suppose. Aspiring author, artist, and musician I have always wanted to create, and to be a part of, stories. The likelihood of that actually happening is low.
I do not live in some age of the Gods, no great turning of History. These days great stories are made in offices and behind computers. There are no dragons to slay, no great demon to defeat. The only way to mark the world through combat is through the slaying of our fellow man. And to do so but makes one not a hero, but a villain to be derided and pitied. This is not an age of great men of martial talent, but an age of the mind. And much to my chagrin, my mind is just barely above a particularly stupid baboon. Or perhaps a very bright squirrel. I am well aware of this of course. It's why I don't deal with people. And so it is just me and the night. Just the way I like it. It's time for my last delivery of the night. I'll add another log later.
[End log]
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Poor Caislav, he has noooo idea. So, Bit of a disappointment, I can't just add the tags willy-nilly. So I'll give a heads up here. This is going to get a titch dark. Body horror (though not for me), and Von Neumann tentacles with a fascination with hats and earlobes are waiting in the wings. Cuddle at own risk.
We await the dark with open arms,
It reaches just the same,
And when our bodies fall dry and breathless,
We'll do it all again.
><><><><_________________
Log start May 1st 2017 11:28 p.m.
[Recording begins]
There's something very meditative about driving at night. The hustle and bustle of the evening Rush is finished. The burning of the sun is replaced by the cool embrace of the moon. Bright colors faded into calm grays and blues. Things are still, quiet. Like the world itself has gone to sleep. The purr of the engine your constant companion, the lights ahead your only friend.
It is interesting driving in a place with hills. Ahead of you, in dips in the road and the ditches alongside, it seems almost like the shadow flows like water in the face of your headlights. Like some great presence always keeping pace. Loping along side, darting in and out like a dog on a walk with its keeper. The woods become a great black wall. The curb is a breaker for a river of oil, the likes of which could make a man rich for a thousand years.
Delivering food to those who cannot be bothered to dig through the fridge for a midnight snack can be a thankless job. Tips are the unicorn of the food delivery world. When they happen they are something to be treasured, but nobody will ever believe you. If you ever hear a man proclaim that he was thanked, truly thanked, for a delivery... he is a bold-faced liar. I can say this, because I am a delivery person. Hello there, I suppose I should properly introduce myself.
I am Caislav White. I am a moderately tall Caucasian male, overweight without being obese, with close-cropped dark hair and the beard that is a fiery Ginger. Said beard, the broadness of my shoulders, and the deepness of my voice are probably the only ways you can identify me as male. Well aside from the obvious of course. The rest of me is doughy and very nearly curvy. Hazards of being a wannabe taxi driver I suppose. Aspiring author, artist, and musician I have always wanted to create, and to be a part of, stories. The likelihood of that actually happening is low.
I do not live in some age of the Gods, no great turning of History. These days great stories are made in offices and behind computers. There are no dragons to slay, no great demon to defeat. The only way to mark the world through combat is through the slaying of our fellow man. And to do so but makes one not a hero, but a villain to be derided and pitied. This is not an age of great men of martial talent, but an age of the mind. And much to my chagrin, my mind is just barely above a particularly stupid baboon. Or perhaps a very bright squirrel. I am well aware of this of course. It's why I don't deal with people. And so it is just me and the night. Just the way I like it. It's time for my last delivery of the night. I'll add another log later.
[End log]
><><><____________
Poor Caislav, he has noooo idea. So, Bit of a disappointment, I can't just add the tags willy-nilly. So I'll give a heads up here. This is going to get a titch dark. Body horror (though not for me), and Von Neumann tentacles with a fascination with hats and earlobes are waiting in the wings. Cuddle at own risk.
We await the dark with open arms,
It reaches just the same,
And when our bodies fall dry and breathless,
We'll do it all again.
Last edited:
Log 2
Curious Whimsy
(Verified Poet) (Verified Insane)
- Location
- Georgia
So I'm still in a writing mood, did some messing about with my first post cause i'm on my computer. Actually typing this one out, don't expect miracles.
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Log start: May 2nd, 2017 9:18 a.m.
[Recording Begins]
No, Ma. ...Yes, Ma. ...Okay, Ma. ...Yes. ...Yes. ...No. ...What do you think?! ...For Heaven's sake Mother! It's just the city, we go there all the time. ...What do you mean, you saw something? ...Pfft, you almost had me there. I love you, see you when i get home, buh-bye! *Click* Hm? When did you start recording? Ugh, infernal machine. Whatever, i guess we're doing this now. I'm heading down to Mid-town for a writing workshop. Nothing special really, I go to these things all the time. Do they help? I sure hope so, because it's the closest i'll ever willingly going to get to a classroom, aside from my grandmother doing her best to get me to try college again. One time having my inadequacies ground into my face was enough, thank you. Not like i won't have them brought up all the time at home anyway. After all, i could be better *insert hands on face gasping here.*
My parents try, don't get me wrong. I love them, as far as i'm concerned they did a bang-up job. After all, they made a semi-functional human out of what i can only call the shittiest parts on the planet. They spawned my brother after all. I love him too, but he's like the poster child for special needs. Autistic and epileptic, we spent 15 years watching Blue's Clues. Add in the seizures and all the medical bills that have resulted from trying to fix them, and my family has spent almost the entirety of this branches existence scraping our collective butts across the top of the poverty line. We can usually stay above it, but sooner or later...
Anyway, I'm in the car, listening to this awesome musician i found. Rush Garcia, look 'em up. I'm doing my best to not think about my problems. Jeez there sure are a lot of police cars out and about today. Wonder if they're quota deadline is today? Meh, I'm going the speed limit, no reason to worry. The Hell?! Is that a friggin tank?! The heck is going on in Atlanta today?
... Oh! The Army is showing off. That would explain it. Right! Moving on! *Bang* JEEZUPS!... The heck was that?! ...Oh I was passing under the subway construction. Some dick must have dropped their hammer. Great. I bet there's a huge dent in the roof now as well, that'll be a joy to explain. Feh. I'm getting to this stupid workshop if it kills me. Which it won't. Just gotta keep driving. Jeez, traffic sure is getting worse. Wonder what's going on. An accident I bet. Why can't people just pay attention to the world around them? Yes, yes, i know pot and kettle, but I mean really?! How hard is it to go in a straight line without running into something. Bah, Whatever.
...What the actual heck happened to the bridge? Why was this not on the news? What the actual hell is going on today? Is the whole world conspiring to keep me from Decatur?! I mean, Seriously! What else could go wro-WHAT THE SH-*Skreeeeeeee!*
[End log]
><><><_____________
Hehehe, Caislav really should have known better. He's supposed to be genre savy after all. The meat starts here folks. Sorry that i'm not the most patient, but this is what you get.
The world reaches out,
she surely tastes her doom.
They'll take everything she has and more,
those horrible children of her womb.
><><><><__________________________
Log start: May 2nd, 2017 9:18 a.m.
[Recording Begins]
No, Ma. ...Yes, Ma. ...Okay, Ma. ...Yes. ...Yes. ...No. ...What do you think?! ...For Heaven's sake Mother! It's just the city, we go there all the time. ...What do you mean, you saw something? ...Pfft, you almost had me there. I love you, see you when i get home, buh-bye! *Click* Hm? When did you start recording? Ugh, infernal machine. Whatever, i guess we're doing this now. I'm heading down to Mid-town for a writing workshop. Nothing special really, I go to these things all the time. Do they help? I sure hope so, because it's the closest i'll ever willingly going to get to a classroom, aside from my grandmother doing her best to get me to try college again. One time having my inadequacies ground into my face was enough, thank you. Not like i won't have them brought up all the time at home anyway. After all, i could be better *insert hands on face gasping here.*
My parents try, don't get me wrong. I love them, as far as i'm concerned they did a bang-up job. After all, they made a semi-functional human out of what i can only call the shittiest parts on the planet. They spawned my brother after all. I love him too, but he's like the poster child for special needs. Autistic and epileptic, we spent 15 years watching Blue's Clues. Add in the seizures and all the medical bills that have resulted from trying to fix them, and my family has spent almost the entirety of this branches existence scraping our collective butts across the top of the poverty line. We can usually stay above it, but sooner or later...
Anyway, I'm in the car, listening to this awesome musician i found. Rush Garcia, look 'em up. I'm doing my best to not think about my problems. Jeez there sure are a lot of police cars out and about today. Wonder if they're quota deadline is today? Meh, I'm going the speed limit, no reason to worry. The Hell?! Is that a friggin tank?! The heck is going on in Atlanta today?
... Oh! The Army is showing off. That would explain it. Right! Moving on! *Bang* JEEZUPS!... The heck was that?! ...Oh I was passing under the subway construction. Some dick must have dropped their hammer. Great. I bet there's a huge dent in the roof now as well, that'll be a joy to explain. Feh. I'm getting to this stupid workshop if it kills me. Which it won't. Just gotta keep driving. Jeez, traffic sure is getting worse. Wonder what's going on. An accident I bet. Why can't people just pay attention to the world around them? Yes, yes, i know pot and kettle, but I mean really?! How hard is it to go in a straight line without running into something. Bah, Whatever.
...What the actual heck happened to the bridge? Why was this not on the news? What the actual hell is going on today? Is the whole world conspiring to keep me from Decatur?! I mean, Seriously! What else could go wro-WHAT THE SH-*Skreeeeeeee!*
[End log]
><><><_____________
Hehehe, Caislav really should have known better. He's supposed to be genre savy after all. The meat starts here folks. Sorry that i'm not the most patient, but this is what you get.
The world reaches out,
she surely tastes her doom.
They'll take everything she has and more,
those horrible children of her womb.