Sometimes you have to look back before looking forward
I wonder if anyone still looks in on this journal and says, here lies the remains of what used to be a great writer. Then again, I wonder if people come here, look around, smile and say, good riddance, another lost soul has been found. Then again, I wonder if people miss me from this place, or think back and wonder.
There were some good times in this old archives. Everything seemed dreary and dull. Almost everything I did seemed pointless. But what about today?
Today I wonder this livejournal, I envision myself walking down a twisted forest. The trees are black as though burnt, and crumble when touched. I'm not alone in my walk. Old Raks is beside me on my left, and the Psycho Duck is on my right. Psycho Duck turns to me and asks, Did we really live here? I don't remember. It seemed like a life time ago. He picks up a poem I wrote, a loose verbal diarrhea I wrote when feeling down. He shakes his head and says, "Don't look too closely Eric, you might not like what you find."
I have to look anyway, as my other characters join me, looking for something more salvageable. Remnants of the past and the person I once was is littered across the floor. The forest has now become an archieve, The Dark Archives as even then I called it. Korkorna wipes the dust off a book. "We're in here." He mutters in the tone he usually did. He pulled back the cover. "You're first erotica." It's hard to believe out of this dark abyss that something I love even today was spawned. But then again most of them were. All who stand around me were. Jonas, his red eyes looking over the shoulder of Korkorna. Korkorna, born from hours of playing Neverwinter Nights. Zentesh, my attempt at creating something truly original. Raks, who snorts and spits. And of course, the one and only Psycho Duck, who stands at the door with a key in his hands. "Grab what you can. We're locking up as soon as Eric stops writing."
I do grab what I can, and what I want to take with me. Surt's Forge's original manuscript, a couple of poems, nothing to much or fancy. Jonas looks at his work, before tossing it into the fire and walking to the door.
Raks and the rest are already there. They turn and say, Eric you have to say it.
I bid this journal farewell. So once again, I say goodbye.
Peace and blessings
Eric
The door turns and the lock seals...
There were some good times in this old archives. Everything seemed dreary and dull. Almost everything I did seemed pointless. But what about today?
Today I wonder this livejournal, I envision myself walking down a twisted forest. The trees are black as though burnt, and crumble when touched. I'm not alone in my walk. Old Raks is beside me on my left, and the Psycho Duck is on my right. Psycho Duck turns to me and asks, Did we really live here? I don't remember. It seemed like a life time ago. He picks up a poem I wrote, a loose verbal diarrhea I wrote when feeling down. He shakes his head and says, "Don't look too closely Eric, you might not like what you find."
I have to look anyway, as my other characters join me, looking for something more salvageable. Remnants of the past and the person I once was is littered across the floor. The forest has now become an archieve, The Dark Archives as even then I called it. Korkorna wipes the dust off a book. "We're in here." He mutters in the tone he usually did. He pulled back the cover. "You're first erotica." It's hard to believe out of this dark abyss that something I love even today was spawned. But then again most of them were. All who stand around me were. Jonas, his red eyes looking over the shoulder of Korkorna. Korkorna, born from hours of playing Neverwinter Nights. Zentesh, my attempt at creating something truly original. Raks, who snorts and spits. And of course, the one and only Psycho Duck, who stands at the door with a key in his hands. "Grab what you can. We're locking up as soon as Eric stops writing."
I do grab what I can, and what I want to take with me. Surt's Forge's original manuscript, a couple of poems, nothing to much or fancy. Jonas looks at his work, before tossing it into the fire and walking to the door.
Raks and the rest are already there. They turn and say, Eric you have to say it.
I bid this journal farewell. So once again, I say goodbye.
Peace and blessings
Eric
The door turns and the lock seals...