here's a compilation of unfinished, short projects i had that i found on my computer

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violent blues (last edited 06.28.17)

unoriginal.

brice slams his hand on the alarm clock perched on his nightstand. he takes a sip of the half-filled glass of water that's sitting dangerously close to the edge; it's a better "pick-me-up" than coffee in his humble opinion. he decides that he'll wear his blue flannel that compliments his eye color, along with his favorite black jeans. every wednesday he wears some kind of blue shirt, just to keep things organized and tidy.

the shirt doesn't take long to button, and this time he puts it on correctly. it has a snuggly fit on his shoulders, though saggy around his torso. he gazes into the mirror and smiles at his reflection. he's perfect—conceited as it may be sounding.

~

alluring (last edited 07.31.17)

Life is like a swing; it constantly manipulates itself in moments of launching upwards and spiraling downwards.

When you're launching upwards, it feels like you're at the peak of existence. Your senses heighten and you're more aware of what's going on around you. It's better than a buzz of coffee at two in the morning, or any happy pill. It's a genuine type of joy, not artificial.

When gravity begins to pull you back down in the direction you came, it causes a tightening feeling in your chest. You want to stay in that euphoric stage, otherwise known as that pleasing emotion that causes you to feel weightless. Unfortunately, you can't. Nothing lasts forever. You can't relive those happy moments no matter how hard you try. They're genuine, not artificial.

However, unlike a swing, you can't go back and fourth between ecstasy and despondency every ten seconds. That's not how life works.

Ecstasy and despondency can range from just a few minutes to over a year. Everyday could seem like a blissful dream that you wouldn't want to wake up from, or a putrid nightmare that you'd want to escape from.

It's just how life works.

You can't hop away or stop life, either. Unlike a swing, it'll keep going until you inevitably die of old age, an illness, or some accident. Hell, maybe even by your own hand. In the end, you'll be six feet underground with a gravestone signaling your previous existence to future generations who will, most likely, not care.

In summary, it's inevitable.

And no, I'm not the pessimistic type (well, maybe I am, but that's aside from the point I'm trying to convey). I'm stating facts that most deem "relatable," but don't want to admit.

Contemplating too much about things beyond the present is something I find myself dabbling into nowadays. It's always at the back of my mind, and sometimes it's expressed on a canvas. I tend to take the euphoric moments of life for granted and only live in the despondent ones.

You know when your teachers teach you about the circle of life? The lifespan of some dumb animal you probably don't care about? Human existence has those stages (birth, life, and inevitable death), but of course you can't tell that to a bunch of seven year olds sitting in a classroom. You sugarcoat death, that's just how it works.

My point is that life is a non-tangible object to treasure and discuss with others. That statement has been my rule for the past twenty two years of my life. I'm not the socialist myself, but at least I try to be. Unlike those hermits on Tumblr who whine about life, I'm trying to live mine.

And, as you may expect, I'm failing miserably.

Working a nine to five job at a petite café, followed by a seven to nine thirty job at Forever 21, is not exactly how I wanted to live my "treasurable" life. Top that with a debt from art school and I'm pretty convinced that the chains from my swing of life have broken.

I try to make the best out of what I have, at least.

"Brice," a female voice beckons, "you're zoning out more than usual."

I blink, "Oh, sorry Bonks. What did you say?"

She rolls her eyes, "Ah, forget it."

She's wearing amaranth colored eyeshadow, which blends into a periwinkle shade. She also has a perfect winged eyeliner that has a sparkly white line at the tips. Her lips are thin and cherry colored, while her cheeks are lightly tickled pink. Her makeup is oddly impressive today.

"Are you going on a date after your shift?" I unintentionally blurt out after noticing her features.

"What? I can't look nice without having the intention of impressing some girl?" Bonkers huffs out, rolling her eyes once more.

I frown, "I mean, it was just a question."

Bonkers, as I like to call her, is my co-worker, as well as my best friend. We have similar lives: we both love to create our own artwork, we both are in crippling debt due to art school, and we're both raging homosexuals. Amazing, right?

"You need to stop being this sad sack," she abruptly says, poking at my shoulder. "You're acting more distant than usual."

I don't bother to reply. She sighs, "I'm gonna go to the break room."

With that, she strolls off to the "Employees Only" door and disappears. I lean against the counter while staring lasers into the glass door. Everyday at the café is slow; we rarely get any customers on weekdays. We get the occasional Starbucks lover walking in here, anticipating a knock-off Starbucks, but that's pretty much it.

~

Impossible! (last edited 09.01.17, not really a long time ago but i don't plan on doing anything with it)

"The king is dead! The king is dead!"

Sirens rang across the country as the young brunet fled down the spiral stairs and into the meeting hall. A satchel swung loosely around his shoulder and a sword was gripped tightly in his clammy hands. He sniffled, rubbing his eyes while adjusting his grip on the sword.

"Young Prince," one of the servants cooed while bending down. He took the sword out of the boy's hands. "Please, follow the rest of the High Court into the carriage."

"I refuse!" Seto shouts, stomping his foot. "D-Dad died because of t-those rebels and I want to fight!"

"Young Prince," a maid frowned, picking up the boy. "You're simply too young for war. Please, we all want you to be safe. Come along, I'll bring you to Sir Tyler."

The boy was too busy throwing a tantrum to hear the gunfire happening outside the castle walls; the suffering his people were enduring. From there, the collapse of the country was inevitable, it was only a matter of time before they'd have the child's head. Being shoved into his uncle's arms, he doesn't know where they would be heading, but he hopes that it would be into the battlefield.

***

Years pass and the war lingers on, barely. Members of the High Court have been assassinated, luckily not the prince himself, but there were some close calls. Seventeen and the call for revenge has never fled from his mind ever since the day of the king's fall those twelve years ago. No longer was he a young boy, but a king-to-be himself. Delicate as a rose and as nimble as a feather, he scurried down the steps adorned in a silk purple cloak—his father's color. A gray tunic hung loosely from his shoulders and his pants were ripped from adventuring in the forest days prior.

"Ty!" Seto hollers out, ushering towards his uncle. "I'm heading out!"

"Are you sure?" Ty's lack of concern for the boy was easily evident; he's fully aware he, despite the short stature, can protect himself. Nothing stops him from getting a confirmation from the king-to-be.

"Of course!" Seto reassures, smiling as he heads towards the exit doors. "I'll be back before the sun settles below the horizon!"

From there, he leaves, not bothering to look back. There's no one stopping him as he scales the high, brick fence that stood tall to protect the castle. He jumps down, careful to sprain anything, and heads back into the nearby forest. It's desolate, as usual, and he senses the tree's subtle movements. Peaceful, the forest was his scapegoat.