Furstration

Today I write a chapter of a new story, I only saved it as a draft cause I am not satisfied with it. I find from designing the structure of the plot to actually writing it there is still quite a far distance. That means I have imaged a good picture of it but not enough detailed plots to support my imagination. In the final analysis I have not the same experience of the characters in this story, that is why I can't create the necessary detailed things for my story. But I am very anxious to give birth to a new work and own affluent experience! Although it means I have to bear more pain feeling than normal people.I still want to have them. Currently I have great pressure for my unsafe situation, so I have not enough passion for writing a new story.

I got a headache after I finished this chapter, it is 2:00 in the morning. Because of the headache I can't fall asleep. These days I am so strange that I always feel asleep at 4:00 in the morning and wake up in the afternoon. I know it is a terrible situation, but for no one can wake me up in the morning, I have to sustain my condition for a period of time. Also because I wake up so late, I have no chance to go outside, always stay in the room. It really brings me much lonely feeling. But how can I change all of these?

So much things to worry about, and I have no idea how to save myself. Maybe I am just short-tempered, what I'd like to do is not suitable for my identity, and missing sleep can't be solved very quickly. When I feel uncomfortable it will be better after I wrote my feeling down. After all getting those things out of my chest will bring me a little bit console.

Product of Vanity

Lose mind

The dry eyes look dim,
with no tears to make offering for sadness,
even not able to reflect the sunshine passes through leaf gap;

did not aware of anything for being in lost,
the faint smile outside the anxious thoughts of the season,
so indulge in illusory fantasies,
looking to the ideal boundary of perfection,
in undercurrent of irreversible time,
grope sweet and distinct memories,
if we can let the free wind blowing our consciousness,
then will be able to eliminate the fatigue,
more peacefully get to sleep than anyone else;

to the oath which need not a commitment,
still embrace a vision of looking forward,
passionate eyes,
now what will you reflect into the dream?

The clouds of beautiful sunset is floating endlessly,
it whispers to me,
who gradually begin to fall,
"come to the sea of the colorful glaze",
at another end of sweet fragrance sky I find you,
in the beautiful and dazzling confusion,
the chase is suffocating me,
I do not know whether it is a sweet trap,
How long should I keep on doing this?
although becoming exhausted,
still can't catch the sight of the end of world,
if being trapped in this captivating,
the sky of the night will cover all lives,
spread as spilled ink,
looming over everything into the death.

The idea is sane in the chilly morning,
the sadness plume up as raising smoke to the heart,
does it implicate,
the life you bring to me will eventually fade?

Future prediction

Bet on a single throw and retreat before the impossible, which behavior is more close to noble?

Be surrounded by so much resistance, that even oneself begin to suspect, is it a kind of depletion of time to keep on doing something out of one's capacity.

Besieged on all sides, however still struggle in abyss of misery with no boundaries, trying to beat fate. Gradually become powerless, not only because of tiring, but also for the hurt. If the enemies stab and wound me, I will be stimulated by this action and then fight back. But what about someone are always comrade-in-arms, stop their support and turn the weapon towards you? The hurt is more deep than what the enemy grants me, for it happens when I am absolutely with no alert or expectation, and at the same time I can never accept it emotionally.

Retreat before the impossible, I think my mind has not matured to the extend of giving up doing anything. Any giving up will only brings me serious frustration, that in the future whenever I meet any difficulties, I will doubt my capacity and repeatedly fail. Maybe it is the tragedy of idealists, who always image of the best situation oneself can achieve, nevertheless, in the normal life it is full of things change unpredictably, and the idealists are very easily hurt for things not happening in their original plan. If it is the realist then he can adapt everything peacefully.

It is so difficult to image the condition after I give up. Now I am imaging that, before it happens, I have still gambling for my future and fighting hardly. When I fail, I will block myself in a private room and go on a hunger strike. But the survival instinct will never allow me to do so for a long time. Simultaneously with the coercion of people closest to me, I will find it no point to resist alone those tragedies, neither anyone will come and rescue me. The idea of alley begin to get the run upon, and I am still weak enough not to give up my life.

In order to obtain the power of living, I will try to do something I am really interested in. Because previously I have made a choice to sacrifice my hobbies and run the high risk. However the happy life is also contemporary, for what I am interested in can hardly bring me any income, I am out in a tight spot again.

Therefore I have to learn something starting from scratch. I have wasted so much time on things before, so I am unavoidable to become irritable when I am carrying on my study. My study will naturally not adequately good, but also not terrible enough. Without the passion of life, I become a powerless people, abandon the romantic thought and always worried about tiniest things, receiving the low but stable wages, babbling on and on about the adventure happened in my youth after I become older as a common lady.

I am not sure the things happen after that, for I may still keep on living like this, or, I will sooner or later completely change my job into an ideal one. It's the idealist's another imagination. The change will due to a rare opportunity, so that my fate can really be changed. If it doesn't happen, I may finish my whole life with disappointment.

Expecting all possibilities which could happen in the future, I will try to struggle not to give up the life now. If I finally can not achieve it, I will try to avoid living as those predictions. Also I don't hope to live too long to bear the mental suffering attack me from time to time.

essay

Every time the anxiety attacks me, the despair will filled in my mind, and I prefer lying in bed than sitting, for I am afraid that sitting will also exhaust my energy. Tensing the curtain, turning on the light on my desk, and I am bundled by the quilt. This will make me feel better. However, the headache is still winding my nerves, and there are waves of pain. Can not think of anything I interested in and be motivate to do, even sleep.

Extremely ashamed, I have to take out the medicine box, swallow one pill, and then back to bed.The pill which is even smaller than my fingernail, will bring me relaxation and the mind of muddle along. 10 minutes after I taking it, the idea is generated,"Another day of living is waiting for me, just survive."

Too many things to worry about. Some are the immediate crisis, others are long-term troubles. None of them are easy to deal with. The only way for me to defend them is having a pill every day. I always image someone to help me, but those who want to help me most are even more nervous than me. Because of love, their nerves become exceedingly sensitive, caring about every movement of mine, and their emotion always shift following my uncertain mood. Therefore, I won't tell them my deepest anxiousness.

Maybe I am also too sensitive, I often pretend to be inadvertently and observe other's attitude, and then I can learn most of what that person is thinking about. Sometimes it is useful, I can handle this situation with ease. However sometimes I feel really tired, for even I know that person's attitude to me, I still can't understand what is the reason he or she would be like that. Is it his or her natural character to everyone, or because of my mistake still unknown to me? If we have no conflict of interest, that is not too important, but if we have, I had to consider it all the time

High ideals are no doubt the motivation of one's power, but in the real life it is full of variable things. Therefore I know what surrounded me and what I am experiencing today may all disappear tomorrow, become a kind of history, a shadowy dream. Not able to look up into the most blue sky, breath the most fresh air and make friend with the most polite people, all of them will disappear in my life. I will have no opportunity, even no reason, to come back, even have an appeal of the old house I have once lived in, I can only come back within the dream; all those furnitures, neighbors and landscapes, lovely birds and beautiful flowers...... In the future, no matter where I go and have a trip, and no matter how beautiful the landscape that place owns, I will always cast down my eyes and be sorrow for a while.

Until now, I have realized that, although undoubtedly I am nice, it doesn't mean I am able to assess all the nice things in this world. On the contrary something which has never been thought of as nice often come into my life. Maybe it is the real test of fate, only in heaven can I always meet whatever I'd like to.

I will go back to another world. A world where people will not deliberately cover up the defect part of their character, there are unclad interest within people's relationships. No matter how difficult to bear the sight of frightfulness, I have to confess that it it the real life.

I always try to avoid meeting the dim part of world, now that I am not able to do so, I have to try to protect myself and maintain the justice myself. Remain the ideal world in my mind for ever.

Slave of common customs

I have the worst habit of duplicity.

Not only being like this, but I have deeply sinked into it as well.

Repeatedly swearing that I don't care about the secular vision, when I was proud of myself after accomplished some objective. I treat it the greatest character a person should own, because in many first-class literature works almost all the main hero are able to respect all people and are full of the spirit of rebellion. Therefore I once have thought of myself in a righteous way that I am that kind as well. But I actually not that kind, on the contrary, I am the slave of the common customs.

That fear is within my unconsciousness, for I am not a brave person after all. Completely ignoring the bias of customs and doing something looked as "falling" in their views really need the brave extend out of what I can attend. Am I owning the courageous to abandon my studies, taking the risks of bearing poverty and discrimination, to pursue for the life of artist? Am I brave enough to become drunk in order to obtain the inspiration of creation? Am I universally love all kinds of people and experience the same life as the poor? I naturally despise the hypocritical noble people, but I am not necessarily respect the poor people. I am somewhat like a funny ancient person, who loves large dragon, but when the real dragon was in front of him, he just escape as fast as he can. When the real proof has coming, I don't even resist and surrender directly.

I am the slave of common customs, and very faithfully. In front of me is the rapid and unfathomable river, and I have to walk though it independently with no resorting. In order to win the appreciate vision of society, although I didn't think in that way due to my denying of my vanity thought, I am actually involved with the great dangerous.

In order to satisfy my vainglory which is innate to me, and to please the public, I choose to carry a ring of light on my head as an angel, irreversibly walked into the river. The water level continuously cover my body, until now it has strangled my throat, and the most important thing is that I don't know how deep the water will be in the future.

Acting without considering about self capacity is foolish in one perspective, and in another perspective I treat running risk of great failure. I clearly know if I fail to do so I will be hurt seriously, and unable to get up after a fall. I am also not unrestrained enough to give up, not because I am very strong, on the contrary insisting on doing something is precisely because of the fragile, afraid of self-denial and can not bear that all the things I do are just waste of time. Moreover, if I abandon doing this, I myself will fear the pressure coming from all area.

So now I am still in the rapid river, being caught in a delimma. Knowing nothing about condition in another band, I blindly follow the way paved for me by secular. On one hand I dislike the secular sense of worth, but on another hand I can't escape from it, for I also have vainglory, and it can only be satisfied in the area of society, only being surrounded by those flattering people. It is obvious that I have not enough talent of doing those current things, I still try to do them.

Due to those, I have given up many things, generally becoming boring as those people, and more and more similar with them. My inspiration is running off from my thought. Now I feel very choppy even for writing such a normal essay. Creative passion is very fragile, I can only complete a work under a fully relaxed condition. If I can really ignore the pressure of society, walk though them without even having a look at them, and create my own work, then I will not be far away from a great artist.

Carrying the great trust of secular, I walked towards the front totteringly betraying my own will.

Immortal Body (IV)--A breathtaking story told by mlmlxaxa

I spare no efforts running towards the door of the museum. Outside the museum there is a a row of new fence made by woods. The door is closed down. It's strange because at normal time I've heard that the museum is always open and no fence should be there. I jump across the bound, rush to the door and try to open it. Although I successfully seize the handle of the entrance door and pull it, I find the noticeboard hanging on the door: "the museum is being rebuilt, it will open again in January." At this moment I don't think too much and believe it only a normal rebuilt and rush into the dim hall.

In the hall I feel a kind of ominous atmosphere at once. I try to find someone for help and hide in shadow. However, I see there are a few repair experts working in front of many "productions". On their labour suits I astonish to discover the dazzling symbols of ruling party--2 red axes like a cross. Therefore they should be my enemy, I can never rely on them. Instead, I ward off the symbol on my clothes and run pass them.

"Hey, you shouldn't be here now, get out of here!" One of them shouted loudly.

"Yes, I am trying to find the exit door, do you know where is it?" I answer and turn my head back. I am shocked by what the man is trying to settle down, which is a waxwork image. It's the image of Mr. Peterson, who is one of the most important leader of great revolution. Before this there's never a waxwork settled here, and this time it is settled by his enemies! What does it mean?! The museum has already been occupied by our enemies, and all the staffs and exhibits will be changed. I see the expression of the wax image, it is painfully twisted, like being murdered just now. Wait! So the situation should be--Mr. Peterson was captured by the government and was executed, and then those crucial people made him into a wax image and put it here to show off their forces! How incredible it is!

"You can get out from where you get in.Please be quick, we have to go on our work." The man said to me.

Suddenly a bright idea occurs in my mind, "I am sorry, but there's 2 men trying to catch me, and they will be here very soon. They are delegated by my enemy, so if you don't tell them I am here and tell me the exit way, I will give you 40 dollars." It is expensive to give him the money, and I am not really willing to.

" Ok, it's a good trade."He says, and takes money from me unceremoniously. He told me the routine: go straight ahead, turn left, and go until the 3rd door, go though it. and then turn left again, and then always go straight, then I can find the exit gate.

I run like a rabbit immediately, and after a few seconds I hear the heavy footsteps of men in black. I can image how the expert deal with them and fight for me some time to escape. Therefore I keep on running.

On my way getting out, I see many scene which is dreadful to my mind. The hue of this hall is blackish green and dark. The curtain color is blackish green, with the pale yellow light on, serving as a foil to the mail topic. Many original artworks have been extincted by those staffs, and many of them have been substituted by photos of butchering revolutionaries. What's more, some tortured revolutionaries' bodies have been disposal by antiseptics and been exhibited here. Everywhere pervaded the bloody smell. Those experts are completely indifferent about this. They make the hall a scene of massacre of revolution, and anyone who rebel the rule set by dominator will be rigorously punished.

I'd like to escape from the human hell as soon as possible. I hear the sound of the men in black again. I know they have told the expert my status and threat him to tell them my track. However, I have already arrived at the exit door and rush out like a flying train. Still the bullets flying pass me with grating moan.

The only place I can go to is my working place. I feel sorry for my workmates because although they are able to resist these 2 men in black, they have to move again for more danger later. But if I keep on running with no destination, one of their bullet will kill me sooner or later, so I have to run back to where I live.

When I reach the door of my working department, I find the battle has already begun, all the windows have been broken and all residents except our workmates have evacuated from the apartment. I run onto the floor and found a few of the police standing at the door, with guns on hand towards my workmates.

When they find me here they turn their guns to me and shoot me. I scream and fall to the ground, seriously wounded, and painful very much. My blood pull out as stream. Some of my work mates fight back immediately, every one of them has a gun on hand. After the first tragic happened before, at this time Catherin distribute all of our workmates weapons for fighting with killers. When they are confronting each other, I appeared at the back of enemies, and distracted their attentions. So they shoot immediately to enemies, our enemies fall on the ground as me. They run towards us and try to rescue me. I cry and shed bitter tears, can't even say a word. And then Ms. Catherin begins to drop her tears with me. We are surprised about this for our proud queen.

We can no longer stay in this dangerous place, so we run down the stairs as soon as possible. No matter Anderson, or Robert, or Catherin, all of us have been injured. Many of us have got shot by our enemies, hence everyone stagger slowly and moan, but none of us complain others, our lives have already combined together.

When we walked to the gate of our apartment, a new batch of polices are in line. All of them carry guns. We know today is our last day, so we irreversibly take our gun and shoot to those polices. The battle is an intense one, at one hand there is the group of equipped trained police, on another hand is a group of revolutionaries who take death calmly, so we match each other in strength.

It is the battle which don't pay attention to any tactical. Neither police nor us are finding any concealments. Not only because we are painters, even haven't touched guns in our whole lives, so we can't realize the strategies in the gun battle, but for the police despise us, they disdain for any hiding place. The result is, both side shoot face to face, and soldiers fall by a number of grants. Neither side lose one more soldier, nor one less. It is moving and tragic, though being shoot for a number of times, we are still trying to stand, instead of falling to the ground.

Finally, I am too seriously wounded and will die shortly, I know it. Before that I still try to open my eyes and watch the last duel. Every one of us except Anderson has lied on the ground, most of them swallow the last breath. So the same of these police, only one of their captain stand still, and seriously wounded.

The captain fired 2 shots, one has been dodged by Anderson, and another one shoot to the left thorax of Anderson, that's a vicious shot, that Anderson begins to fall. When he is falling to the ground, he exhausts his boy strength to open fire, and also shoot to the thorax of the captain. Then both of them fall to the ground slowly. When Anderson dies, he gets on one knee, and the gun in his right hand is off to the ground, with composure expression. Then I ease myself, feeling my soul is floating slowly into the sky, into the dazzling sunshine......

By the time I wake up is 9 o'clock at night in a cottage. I see the figure of a mouse on the beam, walking around. Then I surprisingly find, Emma, Robert. Anderson, Utan and Lesley have waked up, they are sitting in the petate, and all of them staring at me. I am too exciting anembrace with them one by one, we sit together, crying like children. If there're some people crying together with you, your life is absolutely perfect.

We are rescued by an old female witch, Blinda, one of Catherin's friend, also the member of revolution. At that day she and a few girls carried barrow and rushed to us after hearing the battle. Some polices came later only think of them the staffs of cremation, and released them. They never know about the immortal body. But Blinda knows, so she gathered all of us together, and read her magic book. Unfortunately Ms. Catherin hasn't the immortal body, and in 20 of us only 6 people has got the immortal bodies. So we revive.

We are going to go to the capital city by train. We thank Blinda very much and don't want to implicate her. So we decide to leave, all of us. The revolution will not reach the end, if only we have the immortal bodies, we can always light the fire for revolution. The book has been transfered to Anderson, who is the new leader of us. Last time we haven't won the battle, and we know we can't kill all the police, so this time we have to plan for better strategies. We are no longer painters, we are the real revolutionaries now.

In the running train we all keep silent, memorizing our bizarre experience and what we need to do after starting our new trip.

(The end)