Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25624120-20141105144115

I posted this last night and it was deleted fairly quickly due to not meeting quality standards. I'm not 100% sure which standards I breached (I'm assuming cliche for some reason :/) so I was wondering if anyone wanted to help me out there and provide any other feedback they feel necessary. Feel free to be as harsh as you like, the whole point of me doing this is to improve my writing anyway :p.

Here it is:

Every single one of you knows you’re going to die one day. That’s a fact. That being said, none of you reading this were thinking about that before now, and I assume it isn’t something that really takes up a lot of your energy. Of course that’s because death is fucking terrifying and if all we did all day was worry about it we’d go mad. There’s that philosophical question that crops up all the time, you know the one: If you could find out exactly when you are going to die ahead of time, would you want to? Think about it for a second. Then ask yourself if you’d like to have a reminder of that deadline ticking away in front of you at every waking second, counting down the hours until you pack your bags and stroll off to the ether, so to speak. I bet you’d go fucking mental, I know for a fact I would.

You see I have actually died before. It was a good three years back, mid-winter; I won’t go into specific detail but suffice to say I was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree by a power socket in my home and I definitely didn’t see that one coming. I was revived of course! Don’t think I’m writing this from beyond the grave or anything, I know you probably hear a lot of that bullshit on here day in day out. I’m just sitting here at my computer, I’m not going to be jumping out at you any time soon. You would probably think I’d be grateful to that paramedic that bought me back to life and to an extent I suppose I am; it’s not his fault what happened afterwards. I suppose I’m dancing around the point here and I apologise for that. I’m just trying to distract myself at the moment and I’m pretty fucking stressed out, hence the poor language I guess. It’s probably best I explain just exactly what the hell is going on here chronologically or else it’s not really going to make any sense. Also, don’t worry guys, I’m not going to be telling you anything about your own mortality! Jesus fucking Christ I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.

So I didn’t really notice anything abnormal about myself when I first came round properly (which took a fair fucking while I’m told) because I was cooped up in my own little private room whilst I recovered. I’m not going to lie, it was actually a pretty decent time for me. I had been mostly solitary for a fair while leading up to the accident but after coming back from my brush with death I found my room was never empty of friends and family etc. so I was pretty damn happy just to be alive at that point (I was only 22 at the time after all). It was only when I was discharged when shit took a real dark turn. That was when I first came face to face with death.

At first I figured it was nothing, I live near one of those comic con things and figured it was some guy in an especially creepy costume or some shit until it started following me. Now, we’ve all seen artist depictions of death or the ‘grim reaper’ and ghosts and the like but have you ever wondered what the source is? Or why those depictions are so similar across cultures that had no communication with each other? Well I think I’ve figured it out. At this stage of course it was far enough away that I couldn’t get a good look at it. The first weird thing was that it managed to stay an exact distance from me at all times. When I walked towards it it would move back, matching my pace. I discovered that whatever it was wasn’t solid, as it would go through barriers and walls to keep that distance the same. But when I look at it, even now, it fills me with such a deep instinctual dread it’s all I can do not to turn and sprint from it. Of course at first I thought it was just me being a bit mental, you know PTSD from the accident or something. I don’t think that anymore.

You see, as time went by it gradually started to get closer to me, and I mean really fucking gradually, like less than a metre a day so I didn’t notice for a fair while and tried my best to ignore it. I’d like to say at this point that I’m really fucking amazed at the level of denial the human mind can achieve because, after a while, I just fucking went about my normal day going back and forth from work and not even thinking about the literal fucking monster that followed me around wherever I went. I just didn’t ever look at it when I was outside and I couldn’t see it when I was indoors at all. There were of course times when I’d forget myself and accidently glance at it, feeling that exact same all-consuming dread that I felt the first time I saw it, but for the most part I just went about my day. I did this for nearly eighteen whole months. Those were the easy days.

Then I heard the whispering.

The fucking thing had been talking to me the whole time and at first I couldn’t hear it, it was too far away. That was when I first really realised it was closing in on me. It still whispers now, but it doesn’t need to, it just says the same thing over and over and over and fucking over again but I can’t understand the words. It’s angry at me though, I can tell. Angry that I was brought back to life and it isn’t going to let that happen again. When it catches me I am going to be punished, I can tell by the way it looks at me. I’m going to suffer for a long time when it touches me. It wants me to suffer, that’s its purpose. There’s so much that I just know about it, but I can’t explain why. I guess it’s just instinct. This creature definitely isn’t something that is meant to be seen but when I do see it it’s indescribably the most petrifying thing I can imagine. Those eyes, empty white orbs in sunken sockets with skin so pale and thin stretched over its face. Its mouth is simply a black hole constantly open, ready to consume, yet repeating those words. I can hear its breath, it chills me to the bone. But all it does is float there, it’s legless, with the torn hem of its black robe floating just above the ground. It has hands though, white bony hands that reach for me even now. I can’t ignore the fear any longer, not since the whispering began, I should have stayed dead. I don’t have long left now; I just wish there was someone to talk to. I haven’t seen anyone in months. I locked myself away. No one else can see it. I’ve barely been eating. I’ve barely been sleeping. I keep trying to move away from it even though it’s never worked so far. I’ve run as fast as I can for as long as possible and turned around to see that fucking thing just getting closer. Slowly getting closer every day.

It’s in the room with me now, has been for the past few days but now it’s so close. I must not turn away from this screen. I don’t want the last thing I see to be that horrible, horrible face. I can see its hand in the corner of my eye now, I couldn’t when I first sat here. I just wanted to write this and get this out there. If you see the creature…just make sure to prepare yourself for the death you should have never tried to escape in the first place. The death that you don’t see coming. As for the rest of you… when your time comes; don’t come back.

cheers guys! -Robzy 