want to participate?
login or register

The story so far:

"Once was happy" -> "once was happy chpter2"

once was happy chpter3  by HuntsFamousWolf
I relized i could spent my whole life here, with the more important thing in my life on the backburner,working my way up and down and eventually nowhere. I worked, and tryed, and cared.But all in the hope to fufill someone else. I was loving, the unlovable,trying in vain to fix, what is broken.I am sitting in my prision,phone's are ringing,papers are flying.people are screaming,men are digging their graves and sharpening their blades, perparing for the battle.they are hired and dieing, before they make it anywhere.My body is here,but my mind flying from here escaping, as net's perpared to contain.I come to relization i am here.My co-workers jumping out of the 32nd floor to see if they still feel,or hurt. I walk out of this place,feeling shell shocked and deaf,mindless. The guilt of 30 dead men on my conscience,yet no blood been spilled.I am a world beyond them,a planet on which is mellancholy chants the air,everyone's alone accepting we all alone.The ghosts line the streets, and they are begging, for the words they need to hear.In there beds, the dead are singing a tune,while the whole world sings along.It is a song to the living and the dying,and the dead,which all in one the same.SHe is gone and will not be replaced.They fired me today,and i am happy.the feeling in this time were a river flowing high and low, I have burnt all the bridge,Built every wall, into the world to explore. The vestibule is open, all wide open, through all them, the end is space. There all is visible, yet to immense to comprehend In a world of fiction, good truimths over evil, all is well. But here the villians winning, they have been since we have been. Id rather be insane, then live in this cruel paradox, decided Id feel right,Me and people have construed this void painting of me.the vacant streets of life,and sensless laughing.Every once in a while i forget why this citys exist's.I go farther away everyday,wondering absoultly in no direction,though the sun would begin drop to the hill.My Thought's and presence could plague economys,the flow of money halts,the food is limited.The towns go empty,children do not play,There is no work and no participation but only wishing and hoping.We all lay bye the River, no matter what comes to mind, limply rolls of our tongue.everything is considered literature,The town is now changed, books litter the streets, the words that seemed to many true fiction now fill the air.I will stared at the heart of the sun,only to blinded and stand afresh.We danced the night away,drink with the assortment of blue,yellow,green pills blessings to world for it is our mother.Us feeding on the breasts, never hungy but always needing.Ive decided the purpose of my life is to be a writer,poet,drunk,drug attic.I will write a book about it.It is a unexscapable dream, the planets all aline.A land of kings where dreaming on dead streets,I am weaing dead peoples cloths,thinking dead thoughts, and I will go on about it until my blood runs sour & I need replenishing. I will suck the venom from the living and feel the times he has felt, because there is nothing left inside me, nothing I have ever done or said that has never been done or said.

Thinking back to when I was 16, Unloved and typical. Seems this is where it took place, the trasformation of High school.It never seems far enough away,In a short dance of rembrence,I was holding you. School was like every school.More teachers lost there minds,then the acid freaks. Still should have worked there,you can learn alot more from a crazy person,then a  sane  .Everyone in the whole damn place was high on something . From  mushrooms ,ectasy ,cocaine ,prescriptions,payote ,herion, weed,caffine,Oxy.Modern to aletering states yellow, green,blue oras,Uppers,righters,lefters,downers, happy ,sad,angry,tired,awake,spinny,High,Higher, laughy,crying. There was only a few good teachers in the place.Mr.Zulky,It was art,He was a hippie.But there was no need to say that.He liked me more then any of them. He was a nice man,some said a relitive of jesus,But i never believed it. He would say "hello,my name is Mr.zulky, Today will be like every day it is art,it an expression of the self,yourself".To Mrs.Gribsy, the only math teacher who ever made sense.Hope the foam paded roam suites you well,I guess the number's got to her after a while.Notice myself doing it sometimes.To Mr.kelly the vietnam vet,he would have sudden flash backs of gernades going off, motor incoming, machine guns, Assortments of mines, men screaming, blood flying,body parts,napalm,agent orange,  dead friends, dead strangers, opium,hookers. It must had quite a terrifying experience.He'd wake up saying thing about tom,"did you give the droop cordinates", "Did you radio headquaters". We would tell him the war was over, and tom was okay,he met a short girl,blond hair,blue eyes,a perfect nazi women.He would be laughing, euphoric, Screaming bloody murder,wishing he was back home. Jolt eratically,spine quiver like a fish out of water,It was as if you were watching a play,he was acting out the sceen's,you felt there. I felt sorry for him he seemed more like a office person.To Mr.RuDD, you were a king in a land of fools, I do not rember what you taught me,though as they say "oh well".

 I was a c d student, so that meant i was not okay,average.I never combed or brushed my hair, I never cared for this would be a forgotten past,and a unwanted one. It was as if they built  a cliff out of a layer's of lie's,then they pushed you off,they said "goodbye,good luck". They had said i was special,I should be in special classes,they had promoted me from the average student,to the smartest kid in the class room. Here there mind were a horse,i was the machine.My mother has found she liked pain killers,so did I, had also found  I liked pink floyd.I would blare headphones,flying to the cosmos and universe,I dreaming a dream of a end,When i woke up i was dissapoiting.

 

Seemed as some people walked throught these doors tre lifes were changed forever, tell some people would never make it,for it a war. More virginity's lost,hearts broken,preps greasers,hicks,junkies,hippies,thiefs,murder rapists. On weekends we would wander around,with the car packed full of beer.A 5 thousand pound death machine,with fires under the dash,beer dousing,cigrettes ligthen then thrown out. At 75 it felt as infinte,the motor screamed thbearings grind,feel the bolts loosening as it rattles,shakes. It is 4 door,purple,station wagon. The steering was as crooked and misplaced as we were.  certinaly no one is gong to like you for who you are. the feelng of these hallways were the edge of a razor blade.Suprised not more people died. They had told me I was diffrent,my mind was no like there's.They could operate but it was expensive.

 

rank & voting
3.8/5 (3 votes)
Be heard! Login or Register to vote
continue story
Select a story path to continue reading


  'once was happy chpter3' statistics: (click to read)
Date created: April 12, 2008
Date published: April 12, 2008
Comments: total 3
Tags:
Word Count: 1397
Times Read: 87
Story Length: 4
Children Rank: 3.6/5.0 (2 votes)
Descendant Rank: 0.0/5.0 (4 votes)