Hello there!

Welcome to the official website of TheMrFrick! For entertainment, I have multiple blog posts, links to various entertainment sources and access to my Discord server.

Horrors from Life Itself

Horrors from Life Itself

I am hanging onto this cliff edge with all my might. The rocks all around are falling off, keeping me at a constant pace of trying to get back onto the top of cliff. Up top there is a man waiting for me. He is pacing back and forth, getting more frustrated with each loop that he must repeat. He is life, and I am me. Finally, I grasp onto the cliff edge with one hand and slowly am reaching my other hand up to grasp it as well. The man stomped towards me leaving deep indentations of his footprints on the unstable cliff. He towers over me; his eyes are wide and his appearance is that of a man one might see in a psychiatric asylum. He places his foot on my hand that grasps the cliff, slowly increasing his pressure until the pain is so great that my bones snap from under him and the grasp from that hand is lost. Life is triumphant against me. My body forever falling to the bottom until I crash into the ground. My body laying there in the crater that it made by itself from the crash. My bones are broken all around and yet I am still living; broken living. Everyone else crowds around me; people of disproportions, inhumane characteristics and even the kindest of people too. I am not the only one there; not the only one broken. “I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.” (- Carven) .

The room lights up. I am in a classroom taking notes on the Imperialism of American History. Where was I? How did I get here? All these questions rushing by my head made it hard to concentrate on the importance of Theodore Roosevelt’s presidential triumphs. My notesheet was nearly blank. It contained of my usual header: my name, the date, the class, and the period. I leaned over looking at my friend’s notesheet; It was almost completely filled on the front side! How long was I out? Hadn’t the teacher seen me in a state other than note taking? It was not the time for questions, I had to quickly make up the notes that I had missed!

After class I was walking down the hallway when my friend came up to me. “What was with you in class today,” he asked.

“Nothing! Why what was I doing?” I replied.

“Well, at the beginning of class you seemed fine. You answered the teacher when he asked you a question, but you gave a rather vague response. Then during the note taking portion of class, you did what you normally do and wrote the header onto your paper. After so you just sat there. Your head was looking at the notes as though you were absorbing the information through your mind, but you had a blank expression. You cracked your one hand’s knuckles really loud a little before you started taking notes, too loud that the teacher stopped in the middle of his lesson and stared at you with concern. While he was doing that, you looked around at me and then out the window, then up the ceiling.”

These occurrences are being shown throughout the reality of my life. Did anyone else see? The face of the man; it was stuck on my mind. I couldn’t make out any features of him. Was he real? Was he human? The questions just kept coming.

Lunch rolled around. On my way there I was stopped in the hallway by my guidance counselor. “Kyle, come with me. I want to talk to you in my office.” I followed her to her office. The room was quite small, and the walls weren’t that thick so we could hear the band classes practicing. It is rather quite annoying to me.

“Doesn’t that sound of the band classes practicing bother you?” I asked.

“Not at all! I very much enjoy the music. It soothes away the hardships of my day and sometimes leaves me in a state of pure numbness.” she replied.

Numbness. It caught my mind. A state of which it feels as though the body is being attacked by millions of tiny spears. What a feeling that I would adore but not here. Not now.

“Kyle! Hey, Kyle!”

“Sorry, something popped up in my mind.” I replied.

“Well anyway, do you know where you are going to college?” she asked.

That face, the face of the man. It came again. The sun on his other side, hiding his face but just enough life made out the faintest details of his face. His eyes were shown shut, his ears were hidden in his matted hair. The mouth wasn’t sown though. It did have the marks of once being sown but it ripped it off by force. Who are you? The face horrified me. He yelled, “I am Life”. Then disappeared.  

“Sorry, but I must go”, I had insisted as I picked up my backpack.

I reached for the door handle, “Don’t forget to come back soon to talk about college and other life plans! Otherwise I will have to hunt you down.” He had appeared again, on the other side of the door. I could see him through the window. I couldn’t let the guidance counselar know that I have been seeing things. I didn’t want to be labeled.

I walked briskfully out of the guidance center and towards my locker. I tried to keep my mind clear from all thoughts. I just wanted to go through the rest of my day, and then lay down on my bed and fall asleep. I envied those who were sleeping now.

When I had reached my locker my hands were trembling. It was difficult to turn the dial on the lock to the appropriate numbers to unlock it. The monitor sitting down the hallway had been staring at me since I first came into view. I know that I am terribly late to class. Please don’t ask if I have a pass. I don’t have one.

“Sonny, you okay?” She asked with a questionable voice.

“Fine. Just fine.” I replied trying not to make eye contact and quiet enough to not disturb the classes going on around us. She seemed to take acceptance to my answer; she let me walk by without any further questions.

I wasn’t hungry anymore. My appetite had left listening to that god-awful music that our “famous” band and chorus were creating. Instead of walking to the cafeteria, I went to the library. I felt the need to sit and take note of everything that went on today.

The library wasn’t too filled with students. It was seventh period anyway, they should be in their classes. The air was better than the rest of the school or maybe my body was just willing to accept more of it. I walked past most of the people in the library and went to a small cubicle on the far side to stay away from the commotion.

I had pulled out my notebook. It was a beaten old book that had papers falling out of it. I used it for a majority of things. It was originally used for a class that I dropped early on because I needed a free period. This notebook now kept my writings in it. These writings consisted of a sort of things but usually kept my thoughts in them. I opened it and began to write:

That face, it wasn’t like a normal face with a nose, ears, eyes or mouth. It looked like the scarecrow from the batman comics but with a mix of slenderman. He follows me. I don’t know where he will appear next but..

I had drifted asleep without finishing my writing.

The disproportionates surrounded me. My hole had to been at least six feet under. Only if they would throw dirt over it, then I would be done. I can escape this pain, this broken body and be free. Instead they reached down. I felt hands and broken bones grab my broken body. The pain was unbearable; I wanted it to go away.

I saw a new light. This light was more powerful than any I have seen before. It burned my skin for a moment, but my body had gotten used to it almost immediately. I looked around. The people who had helped my out of the hole had disappeared. Where had they gone? I looked for the hole; it was gone too.

A searing pain had rushed through my body. I yelped for help, but nothing. I had gone unconscious.

The night had been bestowed upon me. I awoke with a sudden jerk. I was alone. I noticed that my broken body wasn’t broken anymore. Looking up, I could see the cliff still remained. I started to climb it.

I am hanging onto this cliff edge with all my might…

Internet Writings #6

Internet Writings #6

Benefits of the Emotionless

Benefits of the Emotionless