Isolation

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
I am quite new to writing so forgive me if you find anything odd about it, but that's why I put it here, to get criticism. I'm not looking to earn money, I just wanted to share a few of my thoughts and see if anyone can relate. If something is not clear in the story or there are conflicting ideas, please feel free to share your opinion, I'll take it as constructive criticism.
My concept was to write a story in which the focus is not on happenings, but rather the impression and the sensation caused by them. I wanted the flow of the writing to resemble the feeling of the main character, so as we progress in the story he (or she) progressively has darker thoughts and gets farther away from his/her own physical body.
This is only the first version of the novel and I will definitely update it if I get some kind of feedback about it.
Thanks for reading this introductory, I hope you're looking forward to read the writing.

Submitted: October 11, 2018

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Submitted: October 11, 2018

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Isolation. It has not worked out for me. Being locked inside the glass made the outside world seem less cruel, but my egg had to crack sometime. The insides spilled out onto the ground and life has stomped on me. I should have grown my wings and soared into the sun. But I fell back to the ground. The nest seems so far from here, I feel like I won't ever be able to reach it again. A hand slowly starts to lift me up but soon it drops me. I hit the ground with such a force that the soil beneath me breaks into pieces. I stumble down the hillside into a hole. My whole body is aching. Now even my hopes of getting up there are gone. My only choice to get out is to hope that somebody finds me. But even then, who would care about such a miserable creature? Another wounded creature might stumble into me. One whose pain I can understand and who can understand my struggle. But everyone acts as if they had no wounds. As if it would be something to be ashamed of. Maybe they are right. I shall hide and confront them only if I can hide my scars. I will cover them up and show the intact side of me. I will bury my past and burn everything that has a connection with it. I will make a new life from scratch. I will be greater than everyone I have met. That is not the right way to live my life. Maybe I should forget my scars. I will put salt in my wounds. I will stand my own whimper. There will be no one to comfort me. I shall be strong. The cleansing will make me a new person. One like whom no one has ever seen yet. I will start a new age. One in which I will not feel pain anymore. The new destination is immortality. I won't get anywhere with that either. I have to find a way to get up without damaging myself even more. I can't get up. The only way is down. Down into the ground. The soil beneath me is getting moist by now. The dirt blends with my blood. Emptiness possesses me. What am I? Am I the stain engulfing the ground? Or is the dirt creeping into me? I know what I should do. I shall stay here until the whole world can smell the slight scent of my rot. The red dirt will stain the hands even more than before. But now they will not be able to wash them. The red waters will creep inside them. Not only their skin but their insides will also be soaked in my blood. I will live inside them. I will rule the world. No one can do anything about it. 

I wake up to my own heartbeat. I feel weak. At least my lungs are still working. I notice I can't see as clear as before. The mist in front of me is getting denser with every hour. Is it only my perception? I won't be able to find it out by myself. In the distance glowing spheres start to float towards me. I can't run away. I try to drag my body as far as I can from them, but soon I stumble into the wall of my hole. The spheres get closer and closer. My heart stops as they slowly float into my chest. I can feel them burning up my insides. Then I feel cold. I look around without moving any of my muscles. I can feel my whole surrounding. I stare at the legs. My wounds are aching but they are slowly mending with every beat of the heart. I look at the chest. I see the lung inside out. It is exposed to the breeze caused by my breath. I look up to the shoulders. Their once majestic appearance has now started to crumble. My skin is completely dry. Only a few drops of blood hold me together. I slowly lift my head and stare in front of me. I can feel the breath of the creature ahead. It weakens with every inhale. It is gradually harder to fill the inside-out lungs with air. At once, the breathing stops. One last gasp. The last exhale blows the whole scenery into the distance. I am washed away by the storm, waiting for the lightning to strike into me but it does not come. Instead, I become what I always felt I was. A dream.


© Copyright 2018 Viktor Takács. All rights reserved.

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