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Written doodles?: Free From Life and Trapped In Death
So I made an entry a few weeks ago outlining this new concept of a journal series I plan to call “Written Doodles.” Due to my laptop suffering a sudden crash, I lost that entry. crying I really liked that entry, though, so here I am to recreate it. It’s... It’s quite different than normal entries.
First off, I’d like to elaborate on what my ideas of these Written Doodles are.
I get these... bursts of creativity sometimes. rolleyes I find it a waste to do nothing with this self-creating fuel of inspiration, so I write. I’m not a great author. Haha, heaven’s no, but I enjoy it. cat_3nodding Freestyle writing, that is.
You know, sometimes, I just seat myself in front of a laptop and type to my heart’s content. emotion_bigheart Funny thing is my heart is unable to be completely and utterly happy, so when I write, I write in heaps. Time is my main limit.
Anyhow, back to what Written Doodles are. After writing something, anything at all, I usually either discard it or store it someplace where it’ll never see the light of day. It dawned on me that writing for absolutely no purpose is as much of a waste as not writing at all, so greetings, dear reader. I’m here today to write. emotion_yatta
Breaking the title into its root words, Written Doodles is pretty self-explanatory. What are doodles? Well, to me, doodles are creations made from the soul subconsciously expressing itself. Aha, that’s a pretty pathetic description, isn’t it? When I doodle, I’m mindlessly drawing along the margins of my notes. However, there comes days when I look at what I’m drawing and make an effort to decorate the page. That effort kind of contradicts my definition of a doodle, eh? A subconscious effort? emotion_eyebrow Pfft.
Where am I going with this? .-.
*ahem*
Geez, hold on. Apparently I’m unable to think freely with music playing.
*goes to turn off music*
I was listening to music, btw.
Alright, so what are we talking about? Oh, right! Written Doodles.
For me, drawn doodles serve little purpose aside from occupying my brain to keep me awake. emotion_zzz When I doodle, I just let my ideas spill on the paper. I don’t care to wipe the spill, or erase the sketch. Why? Because, more often than not, I look back on my doodles from previous years and reflect on them. They may have started off as some insignificant scribbles, but over time, they accumulate meaning and that meaning pokes at my curiosity. What was I thinking at the time I drew this? I wonder. Why did I decide to draw this? Was there a reason why this has this and that has that?
And much like drawn doodles, my Written Doodles are pieces of writing that initially are useless. Much like drawn doodles, over time, they gain depth and I get curious. Much like drawn doodles, I like to look back and read what I wrote.
I present to you a new journal series; Written Doodles. emotion_kirakira They’re like drawn doodles except in words.
I don’t know if I can make the title choice any clearer. I feel like I’ve spent too much time already explaining why the title is what it is. Oh well. *throws arms in air*
In my head, each Written Doodle entry will consist of two main parts; the doodle itself and my reflection on it. Of course, I’m assuming each Written Doodle will have some form of introduction. I like all my entries to have an intro of some sort. Oh, and, like most entries, Written Doodles will end the same way; with a lyrics excerpt from a random song I like. So... yupperdupples. Enjoy, won’t you? emotion_c8
I wrote this particular piece near the end of last year. That is, December twenty-something, 2013. On the same day I wrote it, I came up with the idea of having Written Doodles in my gaia journal. I wrote and completed a Written Doodles entry. I clicked the preview option, as I almost always do prior to submitting an entry nowadays, and my laptop crashed. Devastated, I left recreating the journal entry to, well, now, practically a month after the incident. Enough about this, though! Let’s move along to this:
“Alright,” she breathed nervously to herself as she shoved open the rusted iron gates of his home. After inhaling a huge helping of cool air, she yelled into the seemingly empty abyss before her. “I’m ready!” Her voice echoed, bouncing and crashing against invisible walls. “You can eat me now.”
There was silence. She waited and waited until, eventually, she saw. Trying her best not to show any signs of fear, she allowed the gradually approaching darkness to engulf her once and for all. It pained her a great deal the moment the black field made contact with her skin, but she bore through it. She wanted to scream, to release the tension she built up in her body; the agony, the anxiety, everything. She bottled it all up and peacefully let death’s shadow take her.
“I’m free,” she mouthed before fading away completely.
This is about suicide, in case you were wondering. Just to clarify, I’m not suicidal and I haven’t a clue what goes on in the mind of those who seek the end. But... what if...?
The girl in the story is not me, and I was careful enough to write it in third person. I closed my eyes and envisioned this, well, this girl who wanted to die and did die. That’s not all there is to it, though. In fact, I’m not so sure she really wanted to die. Let’s pretend this piece of writing did not come from within me because after I declared the piece finished and reread it, it did not sound like me. When previously analyzing the story, I pulled out a lot more than I had expected. emotion_jawdrop
“Alright,” the character breathed. She didn’t outright announce it for the whole universe to hear. She breathed it. Had there been a second character, he/she probably would not have heard it. She quietly hushed a phrase, perhaps to reassure herself. Thinking deeply now, she was nervous, yes? She was much occupied with the idea of killing herself, but when actually carrying out the task, she was... nervous. sweatdrop
This nervousness was meant to hint towards her hesitation. She was doubting her deathly desires, second guessing herself. There she was, in front of death’s humble abode, questioning whether or not she was willing to enter. She most definitely thought this through and she was not about to die on a whim, but... was she certain? Was she absolutely, positively sure?
No, she wasn’t. neutral
Ah, Lucia, is there a deeper meaning behind “the rusted iron gates of his home?” When writing this piece, I typed “rusted iron gates” simply because I deemed it kind of cool. It was to offer a setting and a mood. gaia_nitemareleft emotion_zombie gaia_nitemareright Iron gates are grand, aren’t they? Well, I thought so. There, you have a little girl, no older than you, dear reader, standing before these massive iron gates. The bars probably stretch far above her head and they probably radiate some sort of coldness.
And we mustn’t forget the rust. Does iron oxidize? I believe it does. Most iron gates are painted, a coating that protects them from the air. Of course, with time, paint peels and the iron in such gates are exposed to the harsh breath around them. They rust with age. It’s safe to assume these rusted iron gates have aged quite a bit.
But of course. As far as my knowledge reaches, death has been around for a while. Immortality is not a figure in this tale.
She inhaled a huge helping of cool air, this character did. Hm... Let’s see what meaning I can pull out of this.
Well, the air is cool. That adds to the mood quite a bit. Lucia loves cool weather. cat_4laugh
This girl, the one in the story, inhaled a bunch of cool air, yes? She was nervous. Who wouldn’t be when preparing to die? This intake of crisp winter was among her last breaths. When I’m not ready to go forth into something, I, too, take deep breaths. It calms me, as I’m sure it calms the girl in the story.
Then she yells.
It echoes.
What does she yell, dear reader? “I’m ready!” Oh, yes, the exclamation mark. She’s quite enthused for someone who is confronting death on the doorstep, don’t you agree? A sudden burst of confidence, perhaps? I don’t believe so. With all that air she took in earlier, her shout of preparation acts as the exhale. After all, she is about to leave her world. Best do what she can before she can’t do anything at all, eh?
But, hm. Do notice that it echoes.
And remember, she isn’t ready to die.
Maybe that one “I’m ready!” wasn’t enough to urge her to the end, but the echoes surely did. Imagine, really imagine, a chorus of “I’m ready” cheering you on. You can do it, dear reader! You can do it, dear character in the story! emotion_awesome
And then the girl proceeded to say, “You can eat me now.” yum_cupcake In the world that this story takes place, death is seen as an omniscient, dark being who consumes. Yes, yes, death consumes. yum_onigiri
There was silence after she offered herself as a meal for death. Honestly, the silence is just there to add suspense. emotion_0A0 It’s to give the reader some time to ponder the reality that exists for this girl.
She waited and waited until, eventually, she saw. But what did she see, you may be asking? Well, to put bluntly, she saw the Reaper. As depicted in the story, the girl witnesses death as a dense, black wall of shadow and despair. As it approaches her and touches her and pains her and frees her, the story ends.
Ah, but let’s think again. She waited, yes? She waited and waited. The amount of time that passed is undefined. It could’ve been hours, mere minutes, a few seconds. Perhaps no time passed at all. When you’re as desperate as the girl in the story, every jiffy that passes could feel like an eternity. How long did she wait? Who knows?
And what did she wait for? For death to come pick her up? For the darkness to swallow her up whole?
Maybe, maybe not. I side with the latter speculation.
See, when I originally wrote it, yes, death did come as some sort of seeping fog that devoured whatever it touched. Reading it again, though, this didn’t seem to be the case.
She said she was ready. Her echoes encouraged her. If death consumes, why would death wait?
What I’m thinking is that death didn’t wait before killing the girl. In fact, death was always there, waiting for the girl... to come to him.
She waited and waited. Perhaps the earlier echoes were still bouncing around her. She was nervous and afraid and filled with uncertainty. How much time passed as she waited? As much time as it took her to gain the courage to die.
It’s suicide, ladies and gents. She killed herself. She willed it. She wasn’t ready at the start, but her misery dawned on her, and she walked into death’s open arms.
The moment the darkness reached her—Or rather, the moment she reached the darkness, she was in pain. Death is no harmless entity. In the story, through the pain, she wanted to scream, but she didn’t. There was no point in screaming.
In several legends, the Grim Reaper kills whomever he touches. If the same murderer exists in my story, the very moment the girl feels death, she is dead.
Perhaps she wanted to scream.
Perhaps she was hurting. emotion_bandaid
But, the dead are silent. Her voice escaped with her life and she was left an empty corpse. She was free, as she stated, and yet I’m sure she was trapped as well.
Death resembles much of a cage, don’t you think? Given that the cage can fulfill its purpose of containing the inmates, death does not allow any to escape, either.
Free from life, trapped in death. That about sums up my Written Doodle.
On a related topic, I didn’t write this to promote suicide. Yes, I suppose I am against the act of killing oneself, but the sole idea of it bemuses me. Whenever something doesn’t make sense to me, I make sense of it on my own. If you’re reading this and you’re considering suicide, I’d recommend getting help because, seriously, it’s not worth it.
If life really sucks for you, visit the comfort spot. Look it up if you don’t know of it already. I used to be a regular visitor there and I can honestly say it helps a lot. If you’re frightened of such public places, I’m always here for you, whoever you are. wink I know I can help, but I can’t do anything if I’m not informed of the issue. If I can’t help, I’ll be sad with you! emo Share your sorrow and it halves (;share your happiness and it doubles).
Best of luck with life, dear reader! Future Written Doodles probably won’t be as... depressing? I didn’t find this Written Doodle too glum, but death is a sensitive topic. Oh, also, the occurrences of Written Doodles will be utterly random. I can’t schedule when I get a burst of inspiration, you know?
And that concludes this entry. Have a go at guessing (and commenting below) the artist and title of the song which these lyrics came from:
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
Thanks for reading this entry! I’ve got quite a bit of journal writing to catch up on, don’t I? I’ll get on that later. For now though, have a wonderful, good night and adoringly sweet dreams. I apologize for the agonizingly lengthy entry. Stick around for the next entry and maybe it’ll be shorter? yum_puddi
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