A forest of emotions, trees with many leaves rustling in the wind of antagonistic forces. I was alone there, as I had been alone in life so many times before. I dreamed of being in the ocean, the tide high and fast, pulling at me while I clung fast to a wet rock trying as hard as I could to hold onto it. I would always dream that I extended my hand, wrinkled and white from the water, and people would watch but never take my hand, as if they wanted me to drown, as if it was a show. These dreams never bother me anymore for I am vaguely aware that most of them are a sort of reality. Inside the forest of my mind where the leaves shake and rustle, my body shakes with a kind of pathetic desperation. I long to scream; Lift my head that sags on my shoulders and scream. But what good would that do? Just like in the dream, they'd stand and watch with ugly little smirks on their faces.
The lines that form around their cheeks when they smile inspired in me new dreams and new anger. I could imagine the lines running up and down their faces, through their bodies, and them coming apart. But no blood, no bodily fluids; They were solid. They were indomitable. They were just them and when they tore apart all that tore apart was the costume they put on. Inside of them were barren fields of lost souls, of hatred, of selfishness and of ignorance. Yet at times I longed to be them, to not feel, to cut down the trees of my forest and be just another blank stare among a sea of robots. For that was all they were. Robots, trained to be just like everyone else. And poor me, poor pathetic me, that I could not sink so low as to stand in line, to paint myself in the same way they did them.
Barren fields, forests, seas. I wondered where God was in the landscape. Questioning since birth, since torment, since agony, where was this God that was spoken of? He did not appear to me, and He did not show in the landscape. He was ethereal, see-through, a part of them that I longed to be a part of me. The rivers and streams of my heart, like my blood that trickles through me, did not aid comfort to my life. More often than not I wished to dam them, to stop their flow and to lie, head on the forest floor, and wither away. But for some reason I never could find the courage to stop the flow. Attempts had ended the same way, with my fear, and so they still moved through me. At times I see only darkness, much the way those that believe in God and the bible picture the world when it was not yet created: vast darkness. And sometimes that darkness rests inside of me, my face expressionless, and I stare at a wall, gray like the world, and cry. Tears like the rain from gray clouds of the word down my cheeks like hillsides, rivers and streams, rocks and oceans, my mind ceases not the images inside of me. Yet sometimes light fills me, sunshine on a cool autumn morning that glows off a lake that ripples lightly with the wind.
Most of the time I have both, like the moon shining off the inky black lake at night. Faint light, faint darkness, both however, complete the picture, complete the landscape. A hummingbird buzzes by me, briefly pausing in its curiosity to observe me. The bird turns its head to the side and fixes its beady eyes on me, it circles around my head and takes off. I smile, perhaps I am like the bird, curious but free. Or perhaps I am like a rabbit in a trap, screaming, shrieking, in pain, my legs caught and the steel teeth pressing deeper in me as I struggle to get free. Perhaps I am nothing, perhaps I am everything, for everything is nothing just as nothing is everything. The world turns, the sun rises and falls, the moon takes the sun's place at night. And every day that passes I live, the rivers flow, the sun shines itself upon my skin and the moon illuminates the hope inside of my eyes. As I live I grow, and as I grow I change, becoming all I loved and all I hated, but becoming whole.
Full Version: Forest Of Emotions (short story)
Very cool!
QUOTE(mDarkPoet @ Jun 24 2007, 12:58 AM) 
A forest of emotions, trees with many leaves rustling in the wind of antagonistic forces. I was alone there, as I had been alone in life so many times before. I dreamed of being in the ocean, the tide high and fast, pulling at me while I clung fast to a wet rock trying as hard as I could to hold onto it. I would always dream that I extended my hand, wrinkled and white from the water, and people would watch but never take my hand, as if they wanted me to drown, as if it was a show. These dreams never bother me anymore for I am vaguely aware that most of them are a sort of reality. Inside the forest of my mind where the leaves shake and rustle, my body shakes with a kind of pathetic desperation. I long to scream; Lift my head that sags on my shoulders and scream. But what good would that do? Just like in the dream, they'd stand and watch with ugly little smirks on their faces.
The lines that form around their cheeks when they smile inspired in me new dreams and new anger. I could imagine the lines running up and down their faces, through their bodies, and them coming apart. But no blood, no bodily fluids; They were solid. They were indomitable. They were just them and when they tore apart all that tore apart was the costume they put on. Inside of them were barren fields of lost souls, of hatred, of selfishness and of ignorance. Yet at times I longed to be them, to not feel, to cut down the trees of my forest and be just another blank stare among a sea of robots. For that was all they were. Robots, trained to be just like everyone else. And poor me, poor pathetic me, that I could not sink so low as to stand in line, to paint myself in the same way they did them.
Barren fields, forests, seas. I wondered where God was in the landscape. Questioning since birth, since torment, since agony, where was this God that was spoken of? He did not appear to me, and He did not show in the landscape. He was ethereal, see-through, a part of them that I longed to be a part of me. The rivers and streams of my heart, like my blood that trickles through me, did not aid comfort to my life. More often than not I wished to dam them, to stop their flow and to lie, head on the forest floor, and wither away. But for some reason I never could find the courage to stop the flow. Attempts had ended the same way, with my fear, and so they still moved through me. At times I see only darkness, much the way those that believe in God and the bible picture the world when it was not yet created: vast darkness. And sometimes that darkness rests inside of me, my face expressionless, and I stare at a wall, gray like the world, and cry. Tears like the rain from gray clouds of the word down my cheeks like hillsides, rivers and streams, rocks and oceans, my mind ceases not the images inside of me. Yet sometimes light fills me, sunshine on a cool autumn morning that glows off a lake that ripples lightly with the wind.
Most of the time I have both, like the moon shining off the inky black lake at night. Faint light, faint darkness, both however, complete the picture, complete the landscape. A hummingbird buzzes by me, briefly pausing in its curiosity to observe me. The bird turns its head to the side and fixes its beady eyes on me, it circles around my head and takes off. I smile, perhaps I am like the bird, curious but free. Or perhaps I am like a rabbit in a trap, screaming, shrieking, in pain, my legs caught and the steel teeth pressing deeper in me as I struggle to get free. Perhaps I am nothing, perhaps I am everything, for everything is nothing just as nothing is everything. The world turns, the sun rises and falls, the moon takes the sun's place at night. And every day that passes I live, the rivers flow, the sun shines itself upon my skin and the moon illuminates the hope inside of my eyes. As I live I grow, and as I grow I change, becoming all I loved and all I hated, but becoming whole.
The lines that form around their cheeks when they smile inspired in me new dreams and new anger. I could imagine the lines running up and down their faces, through their bodies, and them coming apart. But no blood, no bodily fluids; They were solid. They were indomitable. They were just them and when they tore apart all that tore apart was the costume they put on. Inside of them were barren fields of lost souls, of hatred, of selfishness and of ignorance. Yet at times I longed to be them, to not feel, to cut down the trees of my forest and be just another blank stare among a sea of robots. For that was all they were. Robots, trained to be just like everyone else. And poor me, poor pathetic me, that I could not sink so low as to stand in line, to paint myself in the same way they did them.
Barren fields, forests, seas. I wondered where God was in the landscape. Questioning since birth, since torment, since agony, where was this God that was spoken of? He did not appear to me, and He did not show in the landscape. He was ethereal, see-through, a part of them that I longed to be a part of me. The rivers and streams of my heart, like my blood that trickles through me, did not aid comfort to my life. More often than not I wished to dam them, to stop their flow and to lie, head on the forest floor, and wither away. But for some reason I never could find the courage to stop the flow. Attempts had ended the same way, with my fear, and so they still moved through me. At times I see only darkness, much the way those that believe in God and the bible picture the world when it was not yet created: vast darkness. And sometimes that darkness rests inside of me, my face expressionless, and I stare at a wall, gray like the world, and cry. Tears like the rain from gray clouds of the word down my cheeks like hillsides, rivers and streams, rocks and oceans, my mind ceases not the images inside of me. Yet sometimes light fills me, sunshine on a cool autumn morning that glows off a lake that ripples lightly with the wind.
Most of the time I have both, like the moon shining off the inky black lake at night. Faint light, faint darkness, both however, complete the picture, complete the landscape. A hummingbird buzzes by me, briefly pausing in its curiosity to observe me. The bird turns its head to the side and fixes its beady eyes on me, it circles around my head and takes off. I smile, perhaps I am like the bird, curious but free. Or perhaps I am like a rabbit in a trap, screaming, shrieking, in pain, my legs caught and the steel teeth pressing deeper in me as I struggle to get free. Perhaps I am nothing, perhaps I am everything, for everything is nothing just as nothing is everything. The world turns, the sun rises and falls, the moon takes the sun's place at night. And every day that passes I live, the rivers flow, the sun shines itself upon my skin and the moon illuminates the hope inside of my eyes. As I live I grow, and as I grow I change, becoming all I loved and all I hated, but becoming whole.
That was totally awsome. If I may say, If this story is an actual dream then from what I see I beleive there is so much more to the story that your telling. Theres another story behind the one you see in your sleep.
It was something that just popped into my head and that I wrote on the spur of the moment, like all of my writing
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