Before you actually see the story, permit me to say that this is yet another of the old stories I have under my cap. Of course, unpublished. Mine, original.
This one is ludicrous, insensate gibberish, absurd. And so now you are prepared to read it. Enjoy (maybe).
You are on your own……..heretofore…….
A full moon brightened the night skies of our Earth. Crickets could be heard chirping. A figure ran through the brush, and breaking twigs, sliding at times upon the grass in haste. Desperation was in the air, marked by bodily perspiration, sweat. Fear and the sense of one being on a mission.
He had finally escaped from the mental institution, finally, yes. But he did not feel safe. His thoughts? Yes, of course…..
They ran like this; “They need to be told…..”
“The world needs to know….”
“This is madness, total madness.”
“Everything, yes, absolutely all we have been led to believe about mankind, life, existence is all a big farce.” “A lie, all, a lie.”
He was tattered and torn, worn even, bleeding. But he would not rest, not pause, and so he kept running, moving through the night air, underbrush and insect life.
But incredibly, now he felt the weirdest sensation. But should he not at this moment, topping it all, all he had just found out, not feel this now incomprehensible sense wracking, reality defying, chaotic maddening sensation. But no, what was this, happening to him now……..oh, oh……no, no…..
Everything about him, surrounding him, the night sky, the moon, the ground, earth, even he himself was being crunched up, scrunched up, yet he felt no pain, no pain………..
Meanwhile in the true reality, the real existence, a piece of matter, shall we call it “paper”, with writing upon it was completely scrunched up and tossed into a, shall we call it a “waste basket”. All this scene would be incomprehensible and given logic, sensate logic defying, to some. Unimaginable but nevertheless, so it took place.
Yes Quaritalquzx was the one who had scrunched up the story he was working on, a work of fiction relative to an imaginary planet he called “Earth”. On his corner of the galaxy, heralded as a very popular series, a work of fiction. But oh, this time, he felt he had gone too far afield with his work of fiction.
“I suppose I’m getting tired of the series.” He told himself. And so he began to rescue his creation, the fictional planet “Earth”, and resumed the creative process (writing) with a different and more productive goal, in a vein which would still be acceptable to his readers providing the weekly stipend for supporting him and his family upon the planet Trplxzzzyana.
What will we be doing next??????????
I can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or on Face Book as Miguel Angel Oquendo (Huachuca City, Az)