Sleepwalking my way through life: Wanting


It was past one in the morning at the time of writing, so it’d be nice if you excused this temporary lack of sanity due to my inability to sleep.

I slowly slid my hand to my thigh, removing the invisible gun from its holster. I held it limply by my side, my finger carefully curling around the trigger and my eyes darting around the shadows in the trees. There had been one too many strange sounds coming from the forest at the side of the path, and I was still a wanted man out here. It was better to be safe than sorry, I thought as I pulled the hammer back with my thumb, keeping the gun nonchalantly at my side, trying my best not to bring attention to it.

I slowly slid the sword out of its sheath, creating a pure ring as it scraped against the edges. I held it in front of me as I traversed carefully along the path, my eyes darting around the shadows and the trees, daring something to come out. I was making my way further and further into enemy territory, I had seen creatures I never thought possible and it didn’t hurt to be a little on guard. The trees beside me made a threatening rustle and I gripped the hilt of the sword with both my hands, ready to face anything that would come out of the shrubs.

I slowly slid my hand into the shoulder of my jacket, withdrawing it quickly as I winced at the pain it caused. The bullet had gone deep, throwing me off my balance and sending me into the hard dirt, but I had scrambled away, narrowly avoiding the other shots. I stumbled down the forest path, constantly looking behind me with burning lungs and terrified eyes. I could feel the blood run down my arm, flowing in little rivers to the tips of my fingers where they would drip off and land on the cold stone. I ran deeper into the dark forest, anywhere was better than back there.

I get urges sometimes, as if a separate entity inside me is trying to push its way out and do something else. Spoiled by too many films and video games; it craves adventure, danger and a challenge above all else. It wants to prove its worth in the field; it wants to survive against all odds.

It’s times like those that I wish I did more story writing. I used to write escapades of huge peril with plenty of action and adventure that would satisfy the little warrior in me. I’d live through my imagination and fill those urges with made up characters and situations, testing my ability to the limits.

Now, all I have is the gut wrenching urges. I miss sitting in front of a sheet of paper and letting my poised pen write down the thoughts and ideas running through my head; I miss developing a character to have an interesting new twist; I miss reading over my story in final perfection. I don’t think I want to be a wannabe writer anymore.

I think it’s time to do something about that.
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At 10:43 am, Anonymous Elisabeth Ice Cream said...

Do I sense a brakethru here? So you going the way a true Writer should, deleting the "wannabe"?

I find it easier to describe myself as something after I found out what I wanted to be.

You are not an Wannabe Writer, Joe. You'r The Real Thing. Write like a madman, be proud.

At 5:46 pm, Anonymous Kiwiqueen said...

Go for it!!

At 4:05 pm, Anonymous Angelique said...

You're writing this well over here -- not to mention at PAST ONE! in the morning -- and you think you're still a wannabe??

I find that hard to swallow (;

At 2:08 am, Anonymous x said...

so agree with them (:

At 12:44 pm, Anonymous Joe said...

You guys are all too nice to me.



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