Reading The Work of Younger Me

January always feels like a time of reflection, a time to sit down and think of life and procrastinate as the novelty of a new year fades away. In a moment of essay-avoidance, I dug out some old pieces of writing that younger-me produced.

It’s mainly rubbish, but it meant something back then. Each word made me proud. Releasing your writing into the world is a terrifying thing. It makes you vulnerable. Exposed. Open to criticism and ridicule and, with luck, praise. But here goes…

The works of baby me

Lost in an unforgiving trace
Falling slightly into swollowing darkness
My spirits lifted, but soul forgotten
Theres nothing more to scare me less
Lost in a neverending game
The winner’s death forced from victory
And the losers from the heartly shame
Theres nothing more to keep me going
Then, as if a mirracle is cast upon me
I feel my weight lifted to the heavens
No God, for me to plead saviour
As this delusion sends me to hell
Where hatred rules my head,
Spreads through my viens
Injected like a deathly drug,
Im gone; Forever.

There are so many spelling mistakes in this poem but I decided to leave the text exactly how it was. Little 14-year old me was so pretentious. I’m not sure much of this even makes sense – unforgiving trace? Theres nothing more to scare me less? However, I kinda like it. It’s so far from the kind of writing I do now. Poetry has long been absent from my reportoire.

She opened the window, just a crack
And looked upon the graveyard black
The moon watching her through the trees
Her eyes swell and whiten as they see
It’s just an empty ground

Another cracker here. Read it fast, I think it works better like that. I remember writing this and thinking it was amazing, but when I rediscovered it and sent it to my partner, he told me the ending was anticlimactic. He is right, from a third party point of view. But I remember what it really meant to me – that the souls were gone. The bodies are still there but no one is really there anymore. It was a sad thought, not a boring one. Oh well.

This next one is the beginning (an excerpt) of a vampire story I was writing. I’m still proud of it.

Grace hated the dark when she was little – petrified of the monsters that lurked there. But now, she couldn’t be afraid. Not in this world. She’d gotten used to hiding underground in dark containers when the sun had gone down. She couldn’t watch TV, or listen to music, or even breathe loudly – the smallest noise would attract just enough attention, and they didn’t have televisions anymore, no one was left to run the channels. The only thing they could do was sleep, but who could sleep when the vampires were roaming around outside looking for some fresh human blood? Most of the humans left, like Grace’s tribe, had been clever enough, or maybe fortunate enough, to find hiding places beneath the soil at night, where the vampires can’t get them. But there were always a few people out there alone, with no hope of surviving. Sometimes the prey would be close by and the container would echo the screams, sometimes even close enough that they could hear the blood dripping onto the cold floor above.

It used to make them cry. It used to make them scared. Now, it just makes them count. Another down, a couple more nearby and they’ll have to move again. The vampires would start looking for a group, a tribe, from where the people had come from. They may be alone, they may be with another tribe, but the vampires would look everywhere. Someone else’s stupid mistake of walking out in the moonlight will put them all at risk. Tonight was the third person. Luckily, Amber and Luke are already asleep, Grace thought, they should never have to listen to this. None of us should.

She looked over to the tribe’s leader, Amazon, and knew immediately that they would be moving. Grace had gotten quite good at looking for a new place to hide, and always felt a slight bit of comfort when they found it, like it was a fresh start. Each time was a different city, but they all started to look the same. Every week or so they would be off traipsing through the streets while the sun shone on their faces looking and searching for a safe area for them all to stay the night. The sun had become a God to them; it kept them alive, gave them time, gave them hope that there is life out of the darkness.

This story is called Vampire’s Reign and I started writing it when I was in secondary school. It took place in a post-apocalyptic future where vampires were dominant and the only escape was the sun. I adored this so much when I wrote it, but I didn’t get far, maybe a few thousand words or so. Maybe I’ll pick it up again. It was the first story I sat down to seriously write and it will always be where my love of writing truly began.

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