Finals are coming up and I'm a little anxious, to tell you the truth. And, not to mention, I feel like everything is about to change. The whole week is going to be weird, I just know it.

At the moment, I should be working on what I have to get done by the time the semester's over and on studying too, but, I feel like jotting down a few words to loosen the mind. I really don't want to do anything, it's a three day weekend! But, I have to or else ._.

So here's something for/from the pseudo universe of The Wingless.

Word of caution: Some existentialist-type stuff ahead. o_o Or just psycho-stuff idk.


"Do you believe yourself to be real?"

"Do you think for other people?"

"Do you do things for the sake of yourself?"


The questions they asked me were mere buzzes in the back of my head. I haven't been able to hear ever since I woke up. Even that, I'm not sure of. Maybe, I've been awake the whole time but just haven't realized.


"Am I real? Or am I a fake?"

"It's cold. It's thick. I can't move my hands."

"I see red."


Did I do something wrong? Even though... I'm not sure what wrong is. But I know, that on their faces are the faces of anger and dislike. I don't want to look at them. They make me think of bad things. Negative things... Of the times, the time, when I figured out -

That everybody hates me.


"What is worth? What is a name?"

"My name means nothing. But somehow they found me."

"There's a hundred other people with this name."


But within closed eye, I am able to see, my fabrications of their faces, just like I do with everybody else. People, as you know, wear masks. So I see masks, nothing but masks, and they float around like phantoms. The masks frown at my unwillingness to speak.


"Do you remember the feeling? The smell of smoke..."

"The feeling of deciding another's fate..."

"How it slaked your desire to feel important?"


This voice was empowering. It gave me direction.


"But once isn't enough."

"You cannot be satisfied with one."

"You must take another and another, until your hands overflow with the fates of others -"


It gave me confidence, gave me meaning and truth - that's what I told myself - but inside, I knew, that what I was doing was wrong in the society we live in today. Yet, even then, I asked myself, why should I listen? Why should I follow their rules?

I am nervous. My hands are shaking uncontrollably.

"-and till then will you feel better."

I shake my head. I can hear them shout and scream hateful things at me.

"That is... Until you get the feeling again."

I open my eyes. A heavy hand slammed the desk before me. Upon impact, my eyes were drawn to theirs, thick folds accenting the bridge of the nose, narrowing the eyes. They looked upon me with the eyes of judgment.

"How could you deny what you've already testified?" he asked me, impatient, "And what countless witnesses have already said? Just tell us why. Why did you do it?"

I covered my face to hide those eyes. I knew this would happen, that others would look at me like I didn't belong. Like I truly did something wrong when it was just something I wanted to do. What I felt I had to do. My feelings had to be put into place somehow. I just didn't think that it would end up like this.

Earlier... I said that people had masks. I am not an exception. This particular mask moved according to the tone of the voice and what they said. To me, the mask smiled:

"You can't escape it."

"It's a need, your personal drug. And it cannot go unsatisfied."

"You want to kill. You -"


"-must kill. For the sake of myself I must."

The child before me was not in the right state of mind. Their hands shook, their eyes wild and wide... I pitied this child and what they went through to end up in such a state.

"I...wanted to kill...in order...to feel...real."

"I felt real. I want to be real. I want to exist."

"I wanted to do something that mattered."

I looked at my companion and saw my reaction mirrored in their eyes. Shock and awe. I turned back to the child, shivering in their seat. It was all too fluid to be fake, too smooth to be a ruse.

They looked especially troubled.

"I don't want this," they said quietly, "I don't. I don't want to kill...anymore."


...The pseudo-universe, in my eyes, is crazy. A lot of weird things happen, a lot of deaths, a lot of events having to do with morals and etc. etc. And I'll say that they derive from my experiences and my thoughts...and apparently my art too, as it's being affected by this delightfully f-ed up thinking of mine (as somebody commented personally a few days ago). So I'm going along with it, as you could probably tell.

I've also discovered the wonderful world of 1st person, and how easier it flows on the keyboard. it just so happens that when I write in 3rd person, my head hurts after a while because, with the way it is, my mind has been unable to "sit still" as of late (which is troubling). o_o Some last thoughts...

I think writing a happy ending will be the toughest thing I will ever do (it will happen, just expect the world to end by that time). :)