Circumstances (script format)
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- Votes 18
- Parts 16
Circumstances~
Darkness...
My fall...
Helplessness...
Lost...
Pain...
Loneliness...
Kill me... Sufferings....
Emotionless.....
Hopelessness...
Does anyone understand me?
Can anyone understand me?
Should anyone understand me?
Can there be hope for me?
Will there be hope for me?
Should there be hope for me?
The suffering that cause me pain...
The people that leave me helpless...
The world that drive me insane...
The universe that push me into darkness...
is like blackhole that... take away all I have...
This place...
~Nothing but a living hell that I am in...
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I'm about to tell you a story about a girl. A normal girl. A girl that had no cares in the world, until her trust for it was stripped away. When you read her story, you'll find yourself trusting her, loving her, rooting for her. But you see, not everyone gets to trust the world. Not everyone has a happy ending. --- Halfway through the kiss however, his attitude changed; instead of being a loving embrace, it became a fierce trap. His grip on her waist tightened, trapped her where she was instead of simply holding her where he wanted her. The hand in her hair grabbed a section of it, enforcing his demand for her not to go anywhere. Before she knew what was happening, he left go of her hair, and pushed her to the ground. She gasped, suddenly able to breathe. He stood up and walked over to her. He placed a soft hand on her cheek, just like he used to when he was telling her how special she was to him. None of the emotion was there this time however, all she could feel radiating from his was rage. "You shouldn't have run off, babe," he said bitterly. "I was about to show you how much I loved you. Instead, I now have to show you what happens when you anger me." --- The men regarded her, before she was shoved to the ground and one produced a whip. There, laying broken on the floor, as the other girls watched, she was whipped. Slowly, she felt her skin breaking in time with her heart and her will.Complete
when you need me most
When you need me most, that's when I walk away. I've spent years with him-giving, pretending, sacrificing-but I've never really felt the way I thought I would. And still, I've never fully walked away. Each day feels heavier than the last, a quiet ache gnawing at me, reminding me that the person I'm losing isn't him... it's myself. People see us together and think it's enough. They see the smiles, the routines, the quiet mornings, the coffee he always makes, and they assume our love is perfect. They do not know the nights I lie awake, questioning if staying is worth the cost, or if leaving will destroy everything I've built inside myself. They do not know the small, invisible ways I've been disappearing-slowly, quietly, while he keeps holding on, unaware of how fragile I feel. It isn't that I don't care for him. He's kind, patient, and loving in ways that make me ache. But sometimes love isn't enough when it takes more than you can give-and when the person you're with doesn't meet you where you need them most. Between guilt, obligation, and the pull of familiarity, I've lost sight of myself, and I can't tell if I'm holding on to him... or just holding myself back. And now, when life throws new challenges his way, I have to face a question I've avoided for far too long: do I continue to sacrifice myself for a love that demands everything and gives only uncertainty? Or do I finally choose me-even if it means letting go?
Gods Favourite Loser
Sometimes I wish I knew what it felt like to be someone else, anyone other than me, really. It's not that I dislike who I am(I do sometimes), or even that I'm lost. It's more like... I'm curious. Curious about the weight of other people's thoughts. The texture of their fears. The shape of their joy. None of us walk the same path, even if the streets overlap. None of us carry the same sky, even when we stand under the same stars. I often wonder, can eyes that have seen different corners of the world ever truly see the same world? Two people, standing side by side, might witness the same event. But they won't feel the same chill in the air. They won't flinch at the same memories. They won't hear the silence in the same way. So maybe we don't live in one world at all. Maybe we live in billions. Each one stitched together by memory, perception, pain, and hope. But maybe we can get close. Maybe, with enough honesty and enough patience, we can build bridges. Quiet little bridges made of words and glances and shared stillness. Maybe we can stretch ourselves across the gap. And maybe, just maybe, if you're willing to meet me there... I can show you what it's like to be me. So come. Walk a little with me. Let me try to emulate this strange maze of thoughts, this ever-shifting fog I call a mind. Let me turn myself inside out for you, just for a moment. The name's Blank. And I welcome you to the world through my eyes, my imaginary audience, watchful, patient, and perhaps just as lost as I am. Together, we might not find all the answers. But maybe, if we're lucky, we'll find the right questions.
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
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I know what I am. I know what I have to do. I remember the pain. I remember their faces, some blank, some twisted in fear and anguish. I remember the stench, the taste, the sight; all my senses can still tell me what that day was like. I remember seeing the flash and then looking up to see a hilt flying at my head. I remember the blackness and the sense of security it brought me. I thought I was dead for a long time. I remember all of my past; I just can't remember who I am. So I made a new identity. One that would and could never be forgotten. I have many names, many appearances, and I have much blood on my hands. I have been thrown into a pit of darkness. Many like me have decided to wallow in their misery, to stay in their pit and never find a way out. But I, I made my decision when I heard the blood curling scream of the dead crying out for a warrior to avenge them. For a warrior to rise and forge a path of blood using the Sword of Souls. One small cut from this blade and your soul will forever be bound to it and its master. I am the Blind Soul Master, Shadow, Death. I am Mist and I have come to avenge the Dead. __________________________________________________________ The cover was done by SeaTheWords Link: http://www.wattpad.com/user/SeaTheWords Thanks for reading :)Complete![When reality splits [completed]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/38451289-256-k198992.jpg)
When reality splits [completed]
All I want is to be alone. I wish that no one existed. My name is Zeina. I don't talk much. Not at all actually. Well not really. I sign or write things down in my notebook. I can speak. But I really only speak to those I trust. Today I'm gonna die. Don't feel bad for me, I am choosing my fate after all. Im tired of living. It's exhausting really living up to your own expectations and the expectations of others. I'm sick of shaving every inch of my limbs, plucking my eye brows, doing my hair, getting dress. Honestly I'm sick of people. My hair is long and dark brown with blonde in it. I have bangs that hang over my face and ever so slightly across my eyes. I don't have friends. My family sucks. So if you're reading this I have a question for you. Are you an outcast too. Everyday I come home from school, take sleeping pills, and go to sleep. Now I just want to sleep. Infinitely. (A/N I'm currently editing this!)Complete
I'm about to tell you a story about a girl. A normal girl. A girl that had no cares in the world, until her trust for it was stripped away. When you read her story, you'll find yourself trusting her, loving her, rooting for her. But you see, not everyone gets to trust the world. Not everyone has a happy ending. --- Halfway through the kiss however, his attitude changed; instead of being a loving embrace, it became a fierce trap. His grip on her waist tightened, trapped her where she was instead of simply holding her where he wanted her. The hand in her hair grabbed a section of it, enforcing his demand for her not to go anywhere. Before she knew what was happening, he left go of her hair, and pushed her to the ground. She gasped, suddenly able to breathe. He stood up and walked over to her. He placed a soft hand on her cheek, just like he used to when he was telling her how special she was to him. None of the emotion was there this time however, all she could feel radiating from his was rage. "You shouldn't have run off, babe," he said bitterly. "I was about to show you how much I loved you. Instead, I now have to show you what happens when you anger me." --- The men regarded her, before she was shoved to the ground and one produced a whip. There, laying broken on the floor, as the other girls watched, she was whipped. Slowly, she felt her skin breaking in time with her heart and her will.
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