Two souls and a broken mirror

Hey....small community. Looks like every time i check for something new, nothing changes too much. lol. Anyways, here's another story. This one is kinda long, but i did do some error checking. Enjoy or not, i really don't care much.
Woops, longer than i thought. I'll try to section it off. Try to finish this one off. lol! Good luck....-sigh- no ones gonna read it.

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The damn smell of blood always wakes me up. It's that dream again. I wonder if I was dreaming at all, or if I was just living an old memory. If only I could remember...remember something. Damn, I am talking like an old dog, again. That damn dream is going to kill me one day.

I wake up out of bed. I feel an old pain in my body, but I try to forget it. What did I dream? Can the wake and the dream be one? Damn, I lost it again. Dream is like a whisper in the winds, you only change what it was, once you think more about it. At least coffee will help me. Then the dream hits me again, though I am in the wake. The silence of the dream only kills what's left of my soul. I need help. The dream goes on and on, never ending. Then, like all dreams, it ends, and I find myself in a pool of sweat and fear. Shit, I hate that dream, that dream of blood.

I tried to get help. I always tried. Those bastard doctors just say I have a problem somewhere. I don't have a freaking problem in my wake; I have a freaking problem in my dream. I don't have a freaking memory of what happen to me a few years back. What the hell am I trying to hide? Never ask them for help, unless you're crazy. They just treat you like trash, like you're below them. They never talk to you with understanding, or on equal level. Sometimes I dream that they were walking blind over a pit of fire, smiling their smile and never seeing the world below them.

The coffee helps, a little. Should I take the medicine? It suppose to help me, at least that's what those doctors says. What do they know? They just say this and that and take my money without ever helping me at all. They say the medicine is supposes to keep me happy. They don't even know what happiness is. They're so blind to the world around them that they can make judgment about the world, and call it truth. Shit, those bastard doctors are really ticking me off. If only that dream would end.

I don't work anymore. I can't. Every time I try, the dream hits me again and I just drop dead. I don't care much about it though. I got enough money to keep me going. House is paid, car is paid and food is in surplus. What more can you ask for? I got enough money to keep me going, and enough to help me cure myself of this dream. That's the system for you. When you learn the rules, you can lose.

I started to use “black magic� a while back. I heard long ago, that there was a spell you can cast that will end your nightmares. I had been trying to search for it since I learned to use black magic. The King Jew in the Bible knew about black magic. He knew about things no other human knew. But his spells doesn't help me at all. There was a Mad Arab who once wrote a black book. It supposes to be filled with different spells. They don't help me either. I got to find something to help me. Another cup of coffee will do for now.

I tried hard to keep my life in order. I can't remember much of it anymore though. That freaking dream keeps on coming back, and keeps on taking away my memories. I don't care much for friends anymore. They just say shit like, “You look bad� and “You need sleep.� They never help me at all. Shit! I know I look bad and I try to get sleep. Why don't you tell me that I'm alive or that I should breathe? Shit. What do people only say the obvious?

I finish my second cup of coffee. That should keep me awake until I could set up something. I have dream catchers all over my house. They never do anything. They're supposes to catch bad dreams, but they do shit. I should really throw them away. They were made by some factory, so there not even real dream catchers. But I like their designs. Even if they do shit, they still look nice.

I gather up some things and set up the stage for my spell. A broken mirror, a candle within a candle within a candle, a feather that grew from a dead bird and my piss is all I need for this one. I set them up in their usage. Before I could finish, the dream hits me again. All around me I see darkness. I hear a faint voice in the darkness, though I don't know who it is. I look down, and I see a dead body there; its features blurred. Blood drips down my face and then I hear something I always hear in this dream. A voice calls out, and laughs over and over. It's laugher goes right though my body, ending at my soul. I look at my right hand and see it holding something. My left hand holds onto the corpse. Shit, I hate this dream. It feels so real. Then before I go mad, the dream ends once more. I hate that freaking dream. I really need help.

I perform the spell. I burn the feather dripped in my piss in the candle. The candle burns like a surreal light, blazing with the light of the la-jins. The flame takes the cell of the features and makes a dark smoke. I watch it all on the broken mirror. I chant something and go into a trance. I feel nothing. Shit. This never does anything. Freaking people can't write down the right spell. Fuck them! I leave the place as it is. I don't care. No one comes by anymore. I have shit all over the place. I just can't clean up my failures. I liked to see my other spells that have failed. They all sit there, covered with dust and empty of anything real. Shit, I need help.

I thought about killing myself. I thought about it long and hard. I could just take a pill or blow my brains out. Hanging would take too long and it'll be painful. Bleeding to death would be too bloody. Taking a pill would be painless. Blowing my brains out would be quick. But I always stop before I do. The pill would be like a fake will, for the moment of peace only hides the chaos behind the wall. The bullet would really fuck me up good, but would it blow away my memories? I can't live any life without my memories, even if I can't remember much anything anymore. Yeah. I'm a coward. I tried though. I read somewhere that some guy went to hell and wrote a book about it long ago. He said that the suicide people become trees in some place of agony. Harpies make their nest on their tree body. The people just stand their, as trees, in agony and wait till judgment day. Then their body will hang on the branch and their body will burn, or something like that. Shit, I don't want to be a tree. I hate my dream of blood. It'll kill me one day.

I sit on my bed, if you can call it a bed. I haven't had a nice sleep in the longest time. My bed smells of sweat and body order. I can't clean it. I can't even leave my house for long. I don't care though. Loneliness is supposes to mess with you. It does shit to me; being around others who call me crazy fucks with me. I could take my shit. I can't deal with others. I hate people. They're so freaking ignorant. They'll laugh at me and call me crazy until they have some shit like me. Then they'll cry to their God and I'll laugh my ass off. Ever see a doctor who went crazy? I have. Shit, it's funny when the person who thought you were crazy went crazy. He started to hear voices and have this crazy ass dream like me. He's dead now, shot himself five times. He must have had a hell of a lot of fun with five shoots. If I had the guts, I would take just one. Shit, I need help.

The days go by so fast. I can't even remember what day today is. I could care less. The days are more beautiful as my memories fade from me. These shit days really make me happy. I know what you're thinking. Who could I be happy with my shit life? I should ask you, how can you be happy with your shit life? I have had good days, and now I'm in a shit slum. At least I can hold unto something true to my heart, unlike most people. Tonight, I made a decision. Tonight, my dream will end.

The night comes by with the loud crack of my grandfather clock. The night are always better when you remember that it's the end. If you accept what has happened, you'll feel better. Don't lie to yourself. If you're in hell, you're in hell. Don't say that you're in heaven or some shit like that. By accepting that you'll in hell, you won't have to worry much about it anymore. I'm in hell right now. I don't lie about it. I knew I was in hell since day one. That's why I finally thought about a way out. I'll find a way out of my dream, my dream of blood.

There is place unlike anything else. Some say it doesn't exist, while others say it's just shit. Fuck those people who say it's shit. They don't know shit. I let them live their own freaking life of shit, and I laugh when they scream out their last cries of ignorance. But, those that knows of this place really know something of life. It has many names. It doesn't matter much though. It's the place where your spirit can find the soul. It's so simple to reach, though most never reach it. Just reach deep inside yourself, and then, reach deeper. At the end, you'll find the place. The soul and the spirit are not one, and never are in life. Even in death, they aren't one.

I reach deeper and deeper. At last, I reach the place. It only takes me the time of a dying cloud. I see a sad figure there. It has no true form, yet it stands there. I walk to it and find that this is the figure in my dream. I reach for it, but it stops me. It looks at me with eyes that have no eyes. We stand there, the figure and me, for a long while. Then it speaks to me. It says, “Shit, I hate that dream, that dream of blood.� It pulls out something and then before I know anything, I feel something warm flowing on my head. I see that damn blood again, and I drop dead.

I woke where I last was. I got up and checked my head. Nothing. No blood. I walked around my dark house. I walk pass the mirror I used earlier and saw that the spell had worked. On the other side of the mirror I saw my other soul. Funny, when you see how shit looking your soul is, you'll wonder why you're alive at all. I picked up the mirror and throw it upon the floor. It breaks into different pieces.

I no longer have that dream, though I wish sometimes I did. I'm a sinner. Not of God and not of man. I am a sinner of my soul. I may be the first to admit to it, though I may never come to realize why I was a sinner in the first place. Freedom has it cost. I will set myself free. I sold half my soul and now I take the chance to gain it back. The cold instrument of death beside me will assure me of it.

Is suicide a bad thing? Once again, it'll be from your point of view. I'm a coward, but what I plan to do next, takes more courage than any shit hole that puts a guns to his head and pulls the trigger. You can't run away from you're suffering. Admit to your suffering and you'll see how much better its going to be. I'm not running away, I'm finally accepting my suffering. When you have sold half your soul, you must be brave enough to gain it back, even if it means going to hell to get it back. I always said that that dream was going to kill me one day. Who would have thought that I was right?

Wow...


What was that?

It was ...great. Probably some of the best reading I've had in quite a while. It's a beautiful horror story, on top of other things. The mood is just perfect, and the story is told pretty well. I didn't really understand the "place unlike anything else" - it's kind of confusing, especially since you go from just him thinking to his actual actions very quickly and its kind of hard to pick out. But his thoughts flow excellently, and the story is told well.

Overall - great job. This one is close to perfection. I have only one word to say about it: wow.

And so comes the LW to make people hate him...

Ok, good overall, but I gotta say you should try to change the mood a little bit. It would make the story more ominous, whihc is good in a horror story. I also felt that the beginning was a little confusing with all the dreams and coffe and black magics and stuff that normally doesn't go otgether too well. Also, the fact that it ends as the main character talking to the reader is good, but perhaps you should put some of that at the beginning and use only one format in the story. This is still pretty confusing. And perhaps you should explaina few points less and a few others more.

Overall rating of the Literary Whore:

87/100

imo opinion - lack of elaboration but good use of slang keeps the story sounding emotional and fluent.

79/100

I didn't like the use of the word shit too much for me :P But story is excelent I loved it. (don't get me wrong I use shit everyday but it poked my eyes so to speak).

Freakin beautiful. I love that it's confusing and I love how repetetive it is. This is the work of a genius. It flows nicely and I like how you take so many themes and stuff and merge them into one. Brilliant. 9/10