JackXantho

He was alone. The darkness surrounding him inched closer. Where had she gone? His best friend throughout his short seventeen years of life. She was there when he was asleep. But now she was gone. The encroaching darkness made its goal to swallow him whole and he was shaking. His heart beat quickened and his palms sweaty. He couldn't feel any presence around and it made him ache to know he'd been abandoned. His head pounded with increasing pain. Where were his meds? He had no more. He ran out in this medium of sorts between godhood and mortality. He inched up close to the wall, the rough texture of the limestone scratching his skin as he star

This strange void I inhabited, what was it? I can't feel anything except the white particles hitting my face. When I had entered, I was just like every other human. But now, I had a coal stained black skin. My once green eyes were now purple and glowed. My limbs and torso had likewise stretched in a similar change. I felt nothing when it happened, it just did. I was now at least three feet taller than I used to be. I had nearly no mass left in my arms and legs. I was what was identified as a lowclass farlander. I didn't have the hard earned horns of the upper classes, nor the red blood of the middle castes. I have black sludge in my veins a

I prefer the web. It's probably safer. The people are the best. They can't be beaten. They like what I like. Old TV. Video games. Anime. They don't call me things in a hateful manner. They don't call me bad. Or a dork. Or even a nerd. They don't hate my interests. They infact make me feel welcome. I love the web. It is true. I hate the world. It is mean. It is not kind. It is not the web. The people in the real world call me names. Bad. Nerd. No life. Anti-social. They call my tv shows. Stupid. Childish. Unintelligent. They call my video games. Mind numbing. Uncreative. Bad. They call my web friends. Liars. Not real. Just a passing by

In a sky, far away, there rests a floating, iron castle. It is filled with many floors and rooms, contains its own atmosphere, and has different climates. The residents are always happy: there is never a shortage of food, nor is there anyone in want of more. The first floor, where everyone starts their lives in the castle, is the easiest to pass. It contains little to no danger and all the supplies necessary to make it up five levels of the castle. Sometimes there is the rare person who dies on the first level. Is this you? This is your world, written from your imagination. Those other dead players are ones who feared and shunned their imag

I had set to work long ago, my magics far from complete in their study! My logical mind strove to sufficiently study these arcane and dark arts. Beneath it all, it wasn't seen coming, that horrible infection that came with my delving. At first it was undetectable, random bouts of insanity: Threatening our local witch. Chasing the miracle worker through land and sea. It was all in good fun, I was still normal! Then I painted it, upon the ground. The Dark Nexus. A malign and evil gateway into the realm of the damned and tortured. It was beautiful, blood red, and infectious. I fed it the still living equestrian denizens of our land, their deat

A young man sits in his room. It just so happens that today was his last day in school, for the rest of the year. Now he had time to focus, focus on the one thing more important to him than his own life. He headed out his door and down the stairs. Pictures of him, his family, and his important one lined the walls. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his doorbell rung. "Right on time." He said as he opened the heavy door. He opened the door, outside the cold air bit his pale skin harshly, easily pervading the safety of his woolen coat. On his doorstep, there were two packages, both addressed to him. Taking these packages, he closed the d

When one has broken the remnants of their mind into three beings. What happens? They argue, they fight, they bicker, they complain. Those fragments gain names. Ones that they chose themselves. These names vary from fragment to fragment, but they share a theme. They all originate within you. Broken dreams that made themselves loud. Holding onto that originator is crucial.