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Your Creative Writing > Mei's writing ~ Fantasy & Drama with eccentric, twisted heroes

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message 1: by [deleted user] (new)

I'm going to be posting my writing here real soon! :)

message 2: by Avocado (new)

Avocado | 35 comments Yay! :)

message 3: by [deleted user] (new)


Their violent cacophony of the world is their tortured cries, their futile attempt at clutching onto their sanity.
Their violent cacophony doesn’t have the beginning, doesn’t have an end. It’s triggered by words you relate with, words you find peace listening to even though they are nothing but peaceful.
Their violent cacophony is yesterday, today and tomorrow. It’s the beginning and the end. It’s the love and the hate, the peace and the war, the past and the future.
Their violent cacophony is themselves.

“It’s the fame, it’s the drugs, it’s the social circle that you’re not part of. It’s the fear; it’s everybody else, it can’t be me.”

message 4: by [deleted user] (last edited Mar 25, 2012 11:11AM) (new)



She once dared to trust and love. She had her heart broken by the vile truth.

She once dared to believe the world was a pack of perfection. Reality crashed her pretty princess castle.

She once was naïve. And then she really lived.


The bow ran over the strings of the violin easily; music emanated from the thing, packed with emotion. The lullaby called to sorrow, wrath and death.

It was beautifully haunting. The musician, twenty-one but with the heart of a warrior who’s been through numerous wars, seen a thousand lives, was pouring her soul into the music.

It was the only thing she felt really passionate about; a gift given to her by God, which she’s grateful for. It was her one and only escape from the world around her. As soon at the violin was safely tucked beneath her chin, the callused tips of her fingers running over the smooth strings of the instrument, she was transported into a different world; a world where only she existed.

It was the only place where she didn’t feel chased, haunted.

She was lucky they even allowed her to play it. The mental facility was strict about its rules, but they allowed the patients to do things they like; whether it was music, painting or simply writing one’s diary –It was another gift the girl basked in.

Her name was Ruby; she was depressed, with suicidal tendencies and a deep care for art. She heard voices in her head. She had no friends, didn’t want any. She had a fire inside of her heart that she kept at bay and unleashed only when she was alone with her violin. She tried hard to control the voices in her head every day, but with no use.

In other words, Ruby was insane.

She was insane in the way only artists were; she lived for years on drugs, dark music playing in the background as she moved her paintbrush onto a blank canvas, cigarette placed snugly between her dry lips.

Her eyes only half-closed as she made music in the mental facility, she could still see the faint scars marring her wrist; she knew there were matching ones on the other wrist. She felt a strange kind of longing toward the razor she used to hide in her backpack, the feel of it piercing her skin, drawing blood. It made her feel in control.

But that was all lost; all she had was her precious violin.

It struck her as weird that her parents, who are barely around, always travelling for business, even cared enough to send her to a mental facility because of her suicidal tendencies; they didn’t even visit.

The facility was one of those expensive ones, where all the crazed stars and rich people went to; Ruby hated it. Everyone always had their noses up in the air; sometimes, they even forgot they were in a mental hospital.

Ruby had tried to talk to some of the people her age, but they all looked at her with their piercing eyes with a look of resentment, making her feel seriously uncomfortable under their scrutiny; so she turned away from them and enjoyed the company of herself.

She knew, from previous experience, that friends were for nothing.

message 5: by [deleted user] (new)


One year ago

“Another knife’s in my hands, a stain that never comes off the sheets.”

—I never told you what I do for living

She was constantly torn between killing herself and killing everyone around her.

She always ended up attempting the first; it was much easier than the latter.

She sat in an empty bench in Central Park, five o’clock in the morning, staring into nothing. The sun was rising behind her, a slow-mo of red, yellow and orange flames, illuminating the dark sky.

The stars were beginning to disappear to the daylight.

Ruby blew out the puff of the smoke she had in her mouth, then pulled the cigarette back to her mouth to take another drag, exhaled –then did it again, and again, until all that was left of the cigarette was the brown end.

She threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the toe of her combat boots. The cold morning breeze swirled around her bare calves as she stood, but she felt no cold. She was already cold on the inside, so the outside made no difference.

She smoothed down the wrinkles on her black dress, stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and began walking towards her apartment.

She reached it quickly; it was only a few blocks away. A small apartment with a pretty view, and wasn’t too expensive. Ruby’s parents had wanted another apartment, big and with a view onto the whole city, but she refused. The Central Park view was just perfect.

She turned the stereo on; My Chemical Romance’s “Mama” started playing.

Ruby smiled; the irony was not lost on her. She had told her mother just the night before that they were all going to hell, after a heated fight they had. Her mother had told her that the way Ruby lived was a shame, a disgrace, to their family, their blood.

Ruby felt nothing.

She felt like painting. So she stood, still fully dressed in her usual attire, and took out a blank canvas out of the hallway closet. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the scene she had in mind.

A soldier; it was the first picture that popped-up behind her closed lids. A soldier, with a torn off arm and a blank expression on his face as he looked at her, unaware of everything happening behind him. The battlefield was live with action; two armies of soldiers fighting, pointing their fusils at everyone, shooting blindly as they forgot who was on their side. Dead, limp bodies laid on the ground dressed in soldier clothes, being stepped on. No one respected them, no one cared for them.

She opened her eyes, a wicked, determined smile on her face. And her paintbrush touched the canvas.

She stopped only hours and hours later; it was probably evening. She confirmed that guess by looking at the clock on the wall opposite to her. It was 13:58.

She was exhausted. Her arm refused to move anymore, worn out by the up-and-down movement it had been doing for the past hours. After inspecting the result of her painting, she felt satisfied as she walked her beat body to the couch and laid on it face down.

Sleep came quickly. When she awoke, it was night.

The voices were back. The white, smug faces that haunted her for so long were back.

With a startled cry, she shied away from the face right in front of her, falling to the ground. She crawled backwards until she hit the wall, crying.

They were all speaking at the same time, creating a violent cacophony that made her ears buzz. She clamped her hands onto her ears, but it was no use; it was inside her head.

Her body wrecked into frantic sobs; she felt as if there were a thousand tiny pins were being shoved violently into her skin. She wanted to scream, ask for help from someone, anyone, but she couldn’t; spider webs inside her throat made it impossible to open her mouth.

Her mouth was dry, her palms sweating, and her breathing was coming out in short, ragged breaths. She knew what was coming next.

The screams pierced the air, high-pitched voices crying in agony as the white, translucent faces contorted into something darker, eviler. Something demonic that promised pain and eternal agony. The screaming people were their victims, their preys, their prisoners; Ruby knew that.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was all gone.

The faces were gone, leaving her in the empty apartment; sweating and breathing hard as if she’d just ran a marathon. Ruby felt void, her soul shredded to smaller pieces that it was before.

As the days went by, the pieces became smaller and smaller. One day, she would disappear.

message 6: by [deleted user] (new)


Present Day

“With no purpose and no drive, ‘cause in the end, we’re all a lie.”


She swallowed the pills, gulped the water and went back to her room. She ignored the nurses asking her if she needed anything. She looked at the tedious, white-tiled floor.

The certain amount of happiness and relief she used to feel the first few days in this hospital that she wasn’t going to see or hear the faces, thanks to the pills, had reduced to nothing but a short-lived joy.

Then, she’d walk back to her room, surrounded by white walls everywhere, and stared at the one opposed to her until exhaustion gained its best out of her.

It was a routine she had gotten used to, yet she abhorred it deeply. It meant that she was wasting her life in that room, while she could be something better, greater.

Yes, maybe if she left she would go back to the drug addiction and attempts at suicide, but wasn’t it her choice? Didn’t she deserve to choose where she wanted to be, what she wanted to do?

Apparently, the answer was no. No, she had to be a compliant, good daughter and accept her parents’ choice as a genuine concern for her, not a way to get rid of her. She had to trust their choices, because they knew better.

She was living, yet she was not alive. She was nothing but an empty shell of dreams and hopes, things she could have and wanted to do. She was nothing but another soul in this place, lost and looking for the home she’ll never find. She was just another one of those haunted faces that roam the hallways of the hospital, talking to themselves, playing chess, waiting for the daily dose of drugs they could get.

Ruby thought the place wasn’t even supposed to be called a mental hospital. A hospital is the place where people are helped, healed, saved. The only thing this place did was offer food, warm showers and contained the insane.

Ruby glanced over at the old lady staring at the wall in front of her, eyes widening every second as if she was being told a gruesome story. Ruby stopped; the woman’s hand lifted to her mouth to cover her gasp, and she took a couple of steps back from the wall. The old lady turned and stared at Ruby with eyes wide with fear.

She gripped Ruby’s arms, her hands strangely strong, nails digging into Ruby’s flesh as the woman cried out “Run! Run! They’re coming, run!”

Then she was gone. She let go of Ruby and ran away, her thin structure allowing her to do so easily judging by her old age. Ruby stared behind her.

One day, I’ll become her. The thought gave Ruby Goosebumps, and she shivered involuntarily. She certainly didn’t want to stay at this place until she became that old.

With a shake of her head and a dismissive smile, she turned and headed to her room, predicting the next day to be just as its previous.

How wrong she was…

message 7: by [deleted user] (last edited Mar 25, 2012 11:13AM) (new)



Coming soon...

message 8: by Anna (new)

Anna (SylviaGrant) | 148 comments I am not quite sure what to make of all these stories.

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