Mourn has and will, be writing again, spect more :)

Angel continues

"Faster! can we.. we need to.. we must go faster!" Dual black canes swept this way and that in a lazy routine, clearing a colourless space of torrents, streams and seas. In their absense new water would rush down from the storm only to be pushed to one side. "Hey Lady, this is Sereneity Plaza in noon rushour. I'm doin' the best I can", a tanned driver responded, looking back at the emotional young woman in his rear seat. He turned around analyzing the picture in front of him, searching for openings, possible routes, and ways to get through this impossible traffic.

The slight mist created by the cascading precipitation made this hired transport think of the path already travelled. When he was a kid he had wanted to be a race driver. Whizzing around turns with tremendous speed, delicately shifting gears to navigate hairpins, battling with other great drivers for pole position. The champagne on the podium, the beautiful girls, the fame and fortune... When he was older he realised racing was for the select few. He'd wanted to become a chauffeur, a driver for the select few. For those with fame and fortune: beautiful singers and actresses, the private wheels for wealthy buisnessmen. He had become a taxi driver in this bustling city, he was everyones speedy wheels getting C from A to B.

This driver blinked. Reality flooded his mind instantly washing his memories of dreams. Gazing through his windscreen past the lazy routine of two black lines he caught the eye of a strict, red, round, circular light. A thought rose in his mind, less of a thought more of an image. An image of a daughter, a daughter following a father yet a father strolling slowly away, widening the gap between them. The daughter froze, so did he. Her eyes were blue,so were his, she began to cry.. beautiful sad tears; helpless.

The eyes of the red light flickered and shut tight. The driver smiled whilst revving his engine, he uttered something to himself, a twinkle in his eye. A new light began to shine, and flicker like the first, this one the colour of sun; a deep vivid amber. He was a little boy again, all he needed was one thing.. Answering his prayer some omnipotent being revealed a final signal: A green light shining bright

Dark. Dark the absense of light, black the absense of bright. Nothing there, nothing but sound, nothing but feeling, no light like eyes shut tight, it buzz's and purrs, but produces nothing. Fans spin clockwise , psu, cpu, board, card all work in unison but one in their ranks isnt alive as it seems?

Oil, coal and natrual gas are all harnessed, these fossils burn, this heats the water, creating steam, spinning a turbine which turns an axle generating electricity.
This power travels underground to your location, then up from there through a kitchen wall, and into the plug socket. The pins in the plug receive this energy and transmit it to the home straight; the power cord right into my psu.

My computer turns on, (right my mind thinks isnt the power supply unit the.)
Fans and lights on the motherboard spin and twirl (not that then.)
My beautiful grapics card connected only to my motherboard works fine its fans spinning - i even try an alternate grapics card i have, the monitor cord is plugged securely, ive tested mine and a second central processing unit - no effect.

"No signal received" on the monitor. I call tech support aka Monkeh aka an older sibling they talk me through protocols, possible problems, switches to flick, jumpers to change. I become their eyes and hands... no effect.
They finally conclude, they finally reveal the villian in this murder mystery, i'm dumbfounded, logic is lost on me: the power runs through the psu, turning on the motherboard, the cpu is running fine, the card's fan is running fine and yet...
They show me, they tell me its the board we have tried everything, - everything short of mouth to mouth, we have carried out. Your new body "should arrive friday..saturday.." it was saturday night.. i put the phone down, slipped into bed and drifted into slumber. Staring into a yellow wall with two big cracks in it (several smaller ones) several dark shadows made by dark hands, a slight chasm to the north (or would that be west..since i was lieing down)and a pleasently warm yellow pipe which became steadily hotter as my eye rested on it in the early hours...

That horrible feeling creeps up your spine, in an instant..
That split second where a screen, your screen , the picture on that screen stops moving; and waves goodbye.
Sometimes greeting you again with a dark screen and a pale greyish white font, which lifts up your spirit saying "only a restart everythings going to be fine" but then crushes you with some error or other , or ever worse your machine dies on you.... and doesent come back.

If your struck with the former your mind offers the logic: "If you could start up and allow me to use you why o' why, with no disease, virus, or infection why did you fall ill?"

If its the latter which was the case for a mourning soul one moon short gone, or one early mourning to be precise. You turn on, turn off, restart, check the bios and cultures of the board, you do everything within your power to find a fix or at least the cause of death (yet you cant yet acknowledge the inevitable.)You earth yourself, you unscrew the case, you try this transplant and that but its hopeless, your helpless.
Death him-(or her)self rises up from Hades and steals away your pride and joy, slicing away tender bonds a gamer shares with his computer.

At the point of impact, the grim realisation of reality, two things are known to happen: fierce, tremendous (but short-lived) rage ocurs, almost murderous intent then just like with chocolate to energy, a gaping wound ripps apart your soul, mind, a broken person slumps into his and sulks himself to sleep

Great freinds, Great enemies


People born in the Year of the Dragon are healthy, energetic, excitable, short-tempered, and stubborn. They are also honest, sensitive, brave, and they inspire confidence and trust. Dragon people are the most eccentric of any in the eastern zodiac. They neither borrow money nor make flowery speeches, but they tend to be soft-hearted which sometimes gives others an advantage over them. They are compatible with Rats, Snakes, Monkeys, and Roosters.

Mourn'l be  messed up tommorow but here he is writing of much sorrow,
so here it comes to a silent crowd im waiting im waiting for a reply just one
just one person to step out from the sheep and clap their hands, or step out
and piss on my work i dont care just acknowledgment that i dont get in life
i might just get here maybe, please.....

continued
In a world of darkness, a world of pain, a plain of exclusion. A depressed soul sank into an ebony ocean. Persuing this sad spirit was a phantom of anger, a red fiery ghost crushing down apon this fallen angel. Their existences met and a flicker of hope, a spark of life was born between them.
This tiny, insignificant jolt of energy grew into a sphere of pure light and died.
Another was born it surged, grew and faltered, Another and another were born until light flowed amoungst the angel and the phantom connecting them, making them one. In that moment, in a diffrent world entirely, an old man's grey-blue eyes opened briefly.

Mourn miss's community today, so many people, so many things leading me astray, so here it is another part of  story of angels drawn apart because even evil was once good.. even the devil once  in the skies
now in the ground deep dark down forget my pathetic poetry here's what youve come to see my writing, my dreams and memories

Continued
Beep ……..……….. Beep …… “His breathing is awful slow, doctor, and we’ve already pumped him full of morphine.” A petrified mother was crying into a pensive father’s shoulder outside the accident and emergency ward of a familiar hospital. “Ok, let’s give him ten volts!” A whirring sound was emitted from the ward and then an electric pulse was sent through the boy that lay already cold, death already hugging him, the reaper already at his doorstep. “No change, sir.” “It’ll be dangerous but give him another ten volts.” The whirring sound escaped the room again and another electric pulse was sent through the boy. Beep … beep … beep … beep “Breathing steady.” “You did it, sir!” “No, Caplain, we did it.” A doctor in a white coat, followed by his junior, walked out of the room towards the parents of the boy. “It’s ok, Michael’s condition is stabilizing.” “Oh, thank you doctor!” Croaked a distressed mother. Michael’s father added “Yes, thank you, doctor, for saving the lad! If there’s anything you ever need…” “No, that’s quite alright, it’s my job.” “Well, you did a damn good one!” “Well, that’s the thing...” Michael’s mother, who had calmed down, wiped away her tears but was on guard once more. “What is it, doctor; he hasn’t got a problem, has he?” “No-no-no, Michael will be fine…” “So what is it, doctor?” “Well it’s usually true what they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but in this case, if Michael ever gets into a serious fight or pushes himself too hard it could…” “It could what, doctor?” “…It could be fatal for him, and there is nothing we can do…”
Michael’s consciousness was ebbing away. He had been listening in on the conversation that had been taking place but there was still a sharp pain in his neck and he’d pushed himself too far, Michael blacked out again.

Michael had been pretending to be asleep for almost an hour. His mum had gone downstairs again. It was now or never. He silently crept across the room like an unseen ninja and put on the clothes he’d carefully laid out. He’d been planning this midnight visit to the cemetery for ages. Tonight was the perfect night. His dad was away on business again and he knew his mother was going to go out with some friends that night. She’d tucked him into bed. He’d put on an act of “snoring” ever so slightly. Michael crossed the room, slung his bag on his shoulder and silently slid his window half open; he eased himself onto the sloped roof and out into the cold night air. Tiptoeing across the roof he climbed down a ladder he’d set up hours before, he waded through the piles of leaves in the garden and he jumped clean over the garden gate.

The reason he was going to the cemetery was because he wanted to be in the coolest gang in school. But to get into this “cool” gang he had to pass a test. One of the members of the gang had placed a golden chain in the centre - the scariest part of the graveyard. Michael, of course, had to retrieve that chain and bring it to school the next day. As Michael approached the giant, rusting, gothic gate, a cackle of thunder rumbled out of the darkened sky followed by a cerulean thread of light. “Just like in the movies” Michael thought as a downpour of sparkling raindrops filtered through the trees above him.

Michael found the enormous gates to the land of the dead wide open as if they were welcoming him in, getting an inadequate taste of what they would claim in the future. Michael advanced cautiously on the seemingly endless path to the centre of the dead-land. He listened to the rustle of leaves, the howl of the wind, and the whispers of dead folk six feet under. But now ahead of him, he saw it. A glint of brilliance laid ahead, the chain.
He broke into a run. He was so near to his goal nothing could get in his way. He didn’t care for the deadwood trees that lingered amongst the graves emitting a foul stench, he didn’t care for the countless graves he was passing, and he didn’t even care for the colossal savage blocking his way. Michael realised too late, and before he knew what was happening the behemoth had launched its oversized fists at him. They made contact with a gravestone just above Michael’s head. Luckily for him, he had tripped over a gruesome formation of fungi moments before. Michael leapt up with a new urgency. His clothes ripped cuts and bruises covering his body, fear in his eyes, he left his bag behind and sprinted with all his strength. Accelerating footsteps followed him. Punches with deathly power rained down on him. He dodged them, but only just. The monster threw its weight at him. He dived to the side, right into some foliage.
Michael caught his breath for a few moments. The beast was searching the gravestones for him, trying to seek him out, but to no avail. God’s tears and Michael’s own streamed down his face. He quickly made the sign of the cross and whispered the Lord’s Prayer to himself “Our father who art in… give us our daily bread…and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from…” The fiend turned round. Its empty eyes, pools of darkness, staring straight into Michael’s, it held its gaze “…evil…amen”

It had seen him and now it was coming straight for him. Michael leapt up and headed back towards the entrance to this dead-land. The monster followed suite. Michael was almost at the gate… only a few more metres, he thought to himself. Michael launched himself at the gates. He made it through. The monster that followed wouldn’t fit. Triumphantly Michael rose punching the air. His body aching, he turned his head. The monstrosity had vanished. All that was left was a trail of blood. Looking down, he noticed it was his own and he was losing it fast! Michael’s vision was clouding over. He dropped to a heap on the dusty ground. He crawled along painfully. Michael saw twin beacons of light somewhere in front of him. He croaked out something even he couldn’t understand. He tried to shout but he couldn’t. The light was getting nearer and more intense. He tried shouting again but mucus just shot out of his mouth. “Help me!” he thought, “someone help me please!”, “HELP ME!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. This time his ears heard it but did anyone else’s?
Michael’s vision was more blurred then ever, he could hear loud footsteps somewhere but he didn’t know where or whose they were. His mind was full of questions that needed answers, questions that would have to wait because Michael’s consciousness was ebbing away into the looming darkness.

It was still dark in the hospital. The old man - Michael - had been drifting in and out of consciousness for days, he was tired, tired of running, from hiding, from being followed by a demon, attacked constantly, tired of life - when would it end? It had started when he was a kid in a graveyard getting a stupid chain for some stupid gang. Then he was found lying in the middle of the road by his own father returning from a business trip. The monstrosity had followed Michael through life.
He’d tried fighting it when he was younger but it had been no use. It was too strong for him even then, what could he possibly do to it now he was just a tired old man. Men in white coats hovered above him, nurses in uniforms hurried past; some tending to his wounds, some changing sheets, some giving kind words. But they all seemed so irrelevant, for he knew what he was going to do that night: when all was quiet, he was going to end it; he was finally going to rest…

Moonlight filtered through an open window. It was a cool spring evening. The rustling of leaves, the gentle shake of the trees, the cool air that whistled through the window calming Michael leaving him to his thoughts. The life support machine next to him was buzzing slightly beeping every few seconds. Slow footsteps rang out of the hallway faster then normal, their sound the sound of inevitability. Michael grabbed dozens of wires and tubes feeding into his every crevice, all his life Michael had been trying to swim in a sea of troubles, of dangers, of pitfalls. Michael had run out of hope. Tugging on the wires, Michael felt life slipping away from him. The monstrous demon smashed the room door in two just as Michael went under. Gasping for breath, he sank into the depths of a sea of souls

Mourn Ex is new here, new to blogs, new to blogging but not new to writing, not new to dreaming, to reading, to being.
Mourn will remain Mourn for this morn may' for longer may for shorter, Mourn exists in another life known by all in name, in presence, not not known by none in identity, in memories, seen most days existing but not acknowledged in any significant form, ignored, laughed at, bullied... Mourn has mourned Mourn has fought Mourn has lost, rejection,ignorance,abuse. Mourn has thought of dieing, spent way too much younger years crying, now Mourn just sulks inside, shedding invisible tears that they dont see. i wish they would just please acknoweldege me, just a little just shows loves not free

Maybe this is too long for my first prose but i like it, thats why i chose

                                                          Angel
A peaceful-looking man with a white suit, white tie and white shoes sat in a hospital
Maternity ward, reading his newspaper. The man’s eyes were the purest blue and his hair a natural blond. His face was calm and patient but he looked as though he was waiting for something.
Although his eyes were fixated on the paper most of the time, now and again their focus flickered and with a mind of their own they would dart about in all directions as if probing for information. All this man’s irises spotted were doctors and nurses, patients and carers, security guards, secretaries and paramedics. They were buzzing around like busy bees making calls, taking calls, typing, writing, waiting, lounging, drinking and talking. But their words - their words were all drowned out by footsteps that only the peaceful man seemed to acknowledge.
Booming, thudding, crunching footsteps that were getting steadily closer with every passing second. The footsteps grew louder and louder until they became so thunderous they were the only thing he heard. The man’s cobalt blue eyes snapped back into focus. He calmly put his paper aside; rising slowly and silently he straightened creases that had formed in his pure suit.
The man stood facing the accident and emergency department where the deafening din was emanating from. He produced a golden pocket watch from his suit checking the time as if he was waiting for a bus. The man put the watch away just as the maelstrom of sound had reached its climax. The pure and peaceful man’s bus had arrived…

The A&E ward’s double doors smashed off their hinges with unparalleled ease leaving the deformed hinges hanging from their frames. A horrendous monster stood in the opening, a vile monstrosity: bone, sinew and muscle all hulking out from its twisted flesh. Its eyes were a solid black, its jaw sporting razor-sharp bloodthirsty excuses for teeth. Its strength was equal to a hundred hunting hyenas; its speed was ridiculous and its intelligence unprecedented.
The fiend was advancing towards the old man. The man’s concentration faltered. A new feeling crept up his spine: fear. The man swung around, a new directive passing through his great mind: Run! He had taken barely a dozen steps when his futile attempt was crushed. The monster’s fearsome fist made contact with the old man’s back. The man flew through the air crashing through a new set of double doors labelled “morgue”.

“What do we have here, doctor?” “Well, just a few fractured ribs - he had a punctured liver but we patched him up as best we could.” “’Twas a messy job; miracle he survived actually.” Two figures in white lab coats hovered above the man. Vision blurred, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. “Better let this one sleep.” There was a click and it all went black.

“Here, Lee, pass the ball, c’mon!” “Maloney, get in defence!” “But, sir…” “Get in defence!” “Nice pass, Lee!” “It’s a GOAL!” A whistle blew and a teenager with natural blond hair and cobalt blue eyes piped up “Yes, we won!” “Shuddup, Michael, it’s only ‘coz you had Lee on your team.” “Ok, class, that was a good game; obviously the blue team could’ve passed more but good game - now take a shower and, Michael, you collect the cones, and turn the light off on your way out!” “’K sir.” All the others went up to the changing rooms, while Michael sprinted around the gym collecting cones. He headed to the door and made his way up to the changing rooms. “There’s the cones, sir.” “Did you turn off the lights on your way out?” “Ahh, man! Forgot! - I’ll do it now.” Michael turned and ran back to the gym. He flicked the switch and the huge lights and their incessant humming shut down. He was nearly back to the gym doors when he heard a horribly familiar sound: footsteps.
They grew louder and louder until Michael’s eardrums popped and all he heard was a vague ringing. “Ah crap!” he thought, “not here not now not at school.” Too late the beast ripped through the gym wall as if it was polystyrene.
Michael started running but in his mind he already knew you couldn’t escape this malevolent brute, this devilish fiend that had haunted him since he had been a child. Michael ran flat out but already the savage colossus had him by the neck; squeezing, crushing, crunching force was applied. Michael blacked out.

to be continued at another time ive just realised my words.. they rhyme