See My [Creative] Spark Saturday (3) - Dreamer's Disease

See My [Creative] Spark Saturday is a new feature every week here at The Undercover Book Lover. It's a feature when I post an original written piece; either a short story or a poem and you guys can comment and give me constructive feedback on them =) You get a glimpse of my [no matter how minuscule] creative spark!

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Today's Spark is a short story called:

Dreamer's Disease
Inspired by Lauren Oliver's Delirium

I am trapped. In a place of which only knows hunger and poverty. Trapped in a world with a black, empty, bottomless void that leaks darkness and hate.

Trapped.

The bloodied, grime-infested creatures; kids, just like me. But not. They hang limply against the blood-stained, gray brick wall; like immovable mounted trophies, except for the fact that they are sixteen year-old teenagers, just like me.

Sick.

The animal trophies would be better to look at than these rag dolls.

Sick.

Despicable.

Disgu--

“Hey you! What are you doing over there?!” I am suddenly pulled away from my disturbing, but nonetheless very real and very present thoughts.

“You stop dreaming why don’t you? You know it’s against the rules!”

I simply nod, absent and tired.

“You best do what he says. We all know what’s coming and it’s useless to fight...unless your as pigheaded as me. Ha! All they do in that room is torture you, then they bleed all of your thoughts out of you,” the boy next to me whispers, motioning to the big wooden door towering over us; even from ten feet away. His sweaty, dirty brown hair covers part of his deep, chocolate eyes; mysterious and mischievous.

I am not surprised of this. I’ve heard of the many things they do here in the Society; especially rumors of the Illusia Process. At the age of sixteen, everyone must go through it.

Everyone.

Here in the Society, they do not allow thoughts, dreams, and aspirations to flourish. The Society turns us into mindless robots, bleeding us of our very own thoughts. The Illusia Process is a cure. Or so They think.

“When is it your turn?” I whisper in reply, afraid that the guards will suspect us of escape.

“Soon, aft—“

The boy is grabbed, a guard pulling his filth-ridden shirt, tearing it to reveal a multitude of scars. The boy fights and resists, “I will not go! No! No! No! Ahhhhhhh!” His screams of resistance are futile as the doors close behind him and the guard.

His screams echo. And echo. And echo.

Suddenly, the screams stop.

The door is slowly moved open. In he walks, quiet with his head bent down, facing the floor. He sits beside me in his place and I notice the fresh cuts and raw bruises he now bears; deep and painful.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He doesn’t reply, but looks up for just one moment, the mischievous glint in his eyes is gone.

“Are you okay?” I ask once more.

He doesn’t reply. This time, his eyes stay down and apathetic; empty.

I then realize that this is what will happen to me when I go through those dreaded doors.

I will be stripped of my soul.

The guard approaches my fetal-positioned form. “Are you going to fight?” He asks, ready for resistance.

I hold my head up high, “Yes, I will,”

I have Illusia.

I have the dreamer’s disease...And I do not want to be cured.

Author's Note: Constructive Criticism is welcomed =)

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See My [Creative] Spark Saturday (2) - Spark

See My [Creative] Spark Saturday is a new feature every week here at The Undercover Book Lover. It's a feature when I post an original written piece; either a short story or a poem and you guys can comment and give me constructive feedback on them =) You get a glimpse of my [no matter how minuscule] creative spark!

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Today's Spark is a poem called:

Spark

It is an escape,

Life immortalized in stanzas.

Everyday expressed,

Through the interplay,

Of words.

It’s a heartbeat,

A lifeline.

Drawn with words,

The bright, gleaming sun,

And the clear, natural rain,

Tarnished by the misery of the world.

Painted with delicate strokes of imagination,

A reminiscent love.

But harshly sketched,

Death and hate,

With the deep scars of experience.

Sometimes,

That creative spark is lost.

Nowhere to be found,

From the highest peak of intellect,

To the darkest depths of ignorance,

Nowhere to be found.

Thoughts, ideas, and creativity,

Leak into the dark, ominous void of nothingness.

Spark.

Free from the clutches of lies,

It is freedom.

Free from the grime and filth,

It is all left behind in reality.

Loose from the bounds tied to insecurity,

It is the powerful essence that mingles,

With raw emotion.

Liberated from the harsh realities,

And unraveled from deceptive illusions,

It is the expression of the soul.

The unrestrained inspiration that sings to many hearts.

And the epidemic that cures so many souls.

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See My [Creative] Spark Saturday (1) - The Beautiful Broken

See My [Creative] Spark Saturday is a new feature every week here at The Undercover Book Lover. It's a feature wherein I post an original written piece; either a short story or a poem and you guys can comment and give me constructive feedback on them =) You get a glimpse of my [no matter how minuscule] creative spark!

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Today's Spark is a short story called:

The Beautiful Broken

The hospital’s empty white walls that surround the uncomfortable white bed do not contrast his features. His pale, paper-thin skin is colorless against my own. I trace his left hand tentatively, finding comfort in the simple gold band that is encircled around his ring finger.

Looking at his face, examining his features, I feel my heart drop. His usually mischievous hazel eyes are closed, showing off the long black lashes that teeter on the tip of his eyelids and his ever-present smile is gone from his now pale lips.

I hold his face cautiously, as if he will break under my touch.

“Hey.” He slowly opens his eyes, looking up at my face.

“Hey,” I whisper in reply, kissing his forehead.

He takes my hand and intertwines my fingers into his. Palm to palm; secure and at home. He lifts his other hand and holds my face, caressing my lips. “I love you,” he says simply.

A tear rolls down my cheek; his finger catches it. “Don’t cry, I’m alright.”

“Liar,” I reply, without heat.

“Do you remember at our wedding? You looked so beautiful. When saw you walk towards me, it just felt right.” He lets go of my hand and twists out the gold band wrapped around his finger.

“What are you do—“

He goes on as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “That was the best day of my life; the start of our own forever. And because it’s my last…Syrena, I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” I whisper, my voice trembling and tears running freely down my face.

“Promise me you’ll move on. And when you do, leave this ring somewhere for somebody else to find. I want somebody to find this kind of love one day; one like ours.”

He gently presses the ring into my palm and closes it. He brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses it.

A surge of unrestrained love and sadness overcomes me all at once as I hold onto his face and kiss his lips. My heart feels like it’s about to explode with the raw, powerful emotions raging within the surface.

“I will,” I say, my voice shaking. “I love you, Cade”

“I love you too,” He closes his eyes for the last time.

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I feel the wind as I look out onto the orange and pink-hued horizon atop the iridescent blue sea. The bottle with the ring inside is securely in my hand. I pull my hand back and pitch the bottle into the sea with everything I have in me. I know someone will find it. It’s the kind of love that’s hard to catch; the kind that doesn’t just come. It’s the kind that you have to find.

Love is painful and as it is beautiful. Love is everything at once. There’s no other way to describe it.

The love I have with Cade is broken, but it’s also beautiful.

Author's Note: I'm having some problems with the dialogue...I suck at it...haha =) Any advice?

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