Don’t be frightened of my appearance. I know at first glance, the melting of my features is grotesque, and you fight every urge to flee, but please stay and listen to me. What you observe is one of many. For, you see, I can manipulate myself and create the most ravishing of man or woman. I can shift into the wondering wolf or precious feline and tell tales of wonderous adventure. So much so that you will believe you are there as heroes in the webs, I weave with words. Will that please you? If not, I can emerge a figure of bizarre shapes with monstrous appendages, and you will realize every torment I present to you as truth. How did I become such a being? Woe the years, dreaming and fantasizing of being the world’s next most fantastic author. How I longed for it. Hours upon hours of placing words onto paper for no one to read. Endless nights were spent speaking into empty ears. They mocked me. They all pretended they cared about my superior craft. They saw me wither away into that dark corner, and all they had to do was listen. Listen to my stories. They took everything from me. My dreams were crushed into tiny pieces of worthlessness and regret. However, all that has changed now that I have you, my reader. Heed my warning; my words have power. The transformation into the worlds I created for you is painless but, unfortunately, permanent. Every single detail will become your reality. Please do not be afraid. Oh dear, my apologies: I nearly forgot to tell you my name in all this excitement. You may call me The Narrator.
About the Creator
Anthony Diaz
Writer of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Horror, and sometimes Poetry.
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More stories from Anthony Diaz and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A Minute Lost
I don’t remember the date. I do recall that it was the summer, whether or not it was June, July, or August; it doesn’t really matter. The year was 2003. It was hot. It was South Texas hot. It was San Antonio with no wind hot. For those reading this and wondering, well, how sweltering could it possibly get in San Antonio, Texas? A quick Google search placed the average temperatures of well over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, sometimes hitting triple digits, along with a hundred percent humidity. It's quite commonplace in South Texas. The takeaway from this beginning is that it wasn’t the best backdrop for what I was asked to do that day. I won’t get too much into the macro explanation or the overall arching motivation as to why I was asked to do this one thing, but I was invited to run an undisclosed distance with a group of others as a way to observe the state of my physical prowess at that current time to gauge whether or not I needed to improve or if I met a certain standard set by an organization. Now, at the time, I considered myself a decently athletic individual. A simple run around the block shouldn’t have been too difficult, so I blew it off. I chalked it up to a jog I didn’t need to prep for. I used to do these all the time. I did this all the time because I enjoyed running. If you talk to avid runners, some might mention a phenomenon known as the “runners high.” It is a place of euphoria that some runners experience when placed in a strenuous physical state for long periods of time. Nothing no longer mattered when I would slowly climb into the runner's high. It was just me, my breathing, my music, and my empty thoughts. It was myself versus distance. The lactic acid burn and occasional muscle pump were addicting.
By Anthony Diaz2 years ago in Fiction
On Aging well.
When you learn something new, your memory center lights up like a Christmas tree...stimulating it, creating a loop of new information. That stimulation is like a workout for the hippocampus. (The elongated ridges on the floor of each lateral ventricle of the brain, thought to be the centre of emotion, memory, and the autonomic nervous system).
By Novel Allen3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I dig the concept!