I'm reading a book I had written when I was 16 years old, and jesus christ. Never cringed this hard

Could I post it in pdf? It has 63 pages

when I was cringe little brat in the early 2000's I wrote a bunch of short stories for school that where basically self-insert power fantasies.

Just post the ones that make you cringe the most.

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Here I post the introduction

Autoretrato o la rebelión absurda

Prefacio: ¿Por qué? ¿Para qué?

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué habría de hacer lo que usted va a leer ahora? ¿Por qué llevar al lector de un lado para otro sin parar? ¿Por qué empezar increíbles chistes para nunca acabarlos? ¿Por qué Llevarle a cafés y bares de nombres pretenciosos y anuncios grandiosos para comer menús del McDonald en cuchitriles baratos?

Aunque no lo parezca, todo este aparente juego de espejos no es en vano. Es de hecho, muy necesario. No para lucirme o fastidiar al lector a propósito, como podría parecer.
Uno de los méritos de un escritor es su habilidad en la manipulación del lenguaje y en su forma de transmitir los mensajes.
Este es mi autorretrato, la perspectiva que tengo de mí.

Por eso, esta obra no será simplemente un texto que intente una descripción de mi mismo (siempre incompleta, pues una persona siempre está en constante desarrollo). Sino que será una excusa para crear un desarrollo artístico que vaya parejo con la descripción de mí como persona, de mi concepción del mundo y de otros temas de fondo más trascendente.
Por eso, esta obra hace uso de variados recursos narrativos, desde el pesimismo más absoluto hasta el humor más absurdo. Desde la defensa total de lo racional, hasta el abandono en el sinsentido. Desde el infierno más profundo y misterioso, hasta la arcadia más maravillosa jamás imaginada.

Esta obra está montada a base de contradicciones y filosofías cuestionables. Pero claro, es que así onions yo.

Cringe being delivered

Sobre el sentido del ser humano

Tú y yo en este mundo irracional. Pero al fin y al cabo… ¿Quién onions yo? ¿O tú? Eso poco importa, amigo, porque la respuesta nos es concedida tanto del cielo como del infierno: el ser humano es un ser corrupto, un ser condenado al vacío, una masa de terrores, instintos y bajezas echas carne que tan solo aspira a balbucear la palabra ‘eternidad’ frente al avance inexorable de las huestes de la muerte.
La putrefacción engalanada con brillantes armaduras negras, que cubren nada, porque el tiempo no tiene cuerpo.

Todos han mordido el polvo y nosotros no seremos menos. El demente es el más cuerdo de los humanos, ¿Qué importa el progreso, el conocimiento y el amor si estamos condenados a morir? Este es el sentido trágico de la vida. El mismo que solo Rorchach y Miguel de Unamuno se atrevieron a mirar a la cara.
Mantenemos el disco de vinilo girando en la eternidad, un burdo esfuerzo por intentar dar sentido a lo irracional.

Al final, la vida es como un charco, solo cuando lo miramos durante siglos, creemos que tiene una forma, cuando tan solo es un charco, un vacío de tierra cubierto por una materia tan débil como la humanidad frente a la muerte.
El ser humano que ha descubierto esto está condenado, no solo a la muerte, sino al horror y a la locura. Al aterrorizarse cuando mira al abismo sin fin, hacia el vacío. Una vez que un hombre ha visto eso, jamás puede hacer como si no existiera, no puede volver la espalda.

Porque el abismo siempre devuelve la mirada.

(1/2)
KubricKKK: Stanley Kubrick en el Ku Klux Klan

Para hacer un manifiesto hace falta uno, dos y tres. Sumergirse en el lago helado del bosque luminoso; porque si no, corres un riesgo: el quedarte helado en tu tibieza instintiva. Te quedas congelado por el apagón generalizado de tu mente.

Por eso hace falta valentía, el mundo de hoy carece de valentía; cortar el pastel, gritar porque sí, un golpe sobre la mesa, licuar el cerebro, arrancar el corazón, mutilar el alma, en el fondo da igual.

Casi todo el mundo que oye la palabra DADA por primera vez, piensa que tiene un significado establecido. Estos (señoras y señores) son los seres humanos que viven en el fondo de la piel del conejo del prestidigitador. Aquellos que se conforman con la comodidad y la ignorancia de nuestros simios antepasados. Aquellos que jamás se atreverán a escalar las cimas del conocimiento, con el objetivo de hallar la verdad.
Bueno, tal vez no sean tan repugnantes, tal vez ya saben que en la cima de la verdad, el bien y la belleza, no hay más que una colina desolada y solitaria, así para toda la eternidad.
La cruda realidad que casi todo el mundo desconoce es que el lenguaje es una enfermedad, un castigo divino (la octava plaga que jamás anunció), un cáncer con el que estamos condenados a arrastrar toda nuestra vida. La putrefacta cucaracha que recorre nuestro cerebro nuestros días, nuestra vida. Creemos que las palabras tienen un sentido desde el mismo origen de todo cuanto conocemos: desde los dinosaurios, desde la tierra, desde el universo, desde Dios trino, desde los áliens, desde Stanley Kubrick y Jimmy Hendrix. Y desde el eterno e inmortal Beethoven.

(2/2)

Las palabras no son nada, el silencio es mil veces más hermoso que unas pedantes palabras. Este es un manifiesto de mí mismo y de las palabras; un manifiesto arrugado, manchado y apestoso a tabaco.
-¡Dios ha muerto!- Exclama Nietzsche.
(Años más tarde)
-Nietzsche a muerto- exclama Dios en el firmamento.

Para Tristan Tzara, Marcel Duchamp, Jesucristo e incluso William Burroughs, DADA significa NADA. Para mí, DADA significa TODO.
TODO es DADA, todo cuanto sabemos, hacemos y queremos es DADA. Para mí, DADA es TODO o NADA.

Self-portrait or absurd rebellion

Preface: Why? For what?

Why? Why should I do what you are going to read now? Why take the reader from one place to another without stopping? Why start incredible jokes to never finish them? Why take you to cafes and bars with pretentious names and great ads to eat McDonald's menus in cheap cubbyholes?

Although it may not seem like it, all this apparent mirror game is not in vain. It is, in fact, very necessary. Not to show off or annoy the reader on purpose, as it might seem.
One of the merits of a writer is his ability to manipulate language and how to convey messages.
This is my self-portrait, the perspective I have of myself.

Therefore, this work will not simply be a text that attempts a description of myself (always incomplete, since a person is always in constant development). But it will be an excuse to create an artistic development that goes hand in hand with the description of me as a person, of my conception of the world and other issues of more transcendent background.
For this reason, this work makes use of varied narrative resources, from the most absolute pessimism to the most absurd humor. From the total defense of the rational, to the abandonment in the nonsense. From the deepest and most mysterious hell, to the most wonderful arcadia ever imagined.

This work is based on contradictions and questionable philosophies. But of course, that's how I am.

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On the meaning of the human being

You and me in this irrational world. But after all ... Who onions me? Or you? That does not matter, friend, because the answer is given to us both from heaven and from hell: the human being is a corrupt being, a being condemned to emptiness, a mass of terrors, instincts and meannesses that only aspire to babble the flesh. word 'eternity' in front of the inexorable advance of the hosts of death.
The putrefaction adorned with bright black armor, covering nothing, because time has no body.

All have bitten the dust and we will not be less. The insane is the most sane of humans, what does progress, knowledge and love matter if we are condemned to die? This is the tragic sense of life. The same that only Rorchach and Miguel de Unamuno dared to look in the face.
We keep the vinyl record spinning in eternity, a crude effort to try to make sense of the irrational.

In the end, life is like a puddle, only when we look at it for centuries, we think it has a shape, when it is just a puddle, a void of earth covered by a matter as weak as humanity in the face of death.
The human being who has discovered this is condemned, not only to death, but to horror and madness. When he is terrified when he looks at the endless abyss, towards emptiness. Once a man has seen that, he can never do as if he did not exist, can not turn his back.

Because the abyss always returns the look.

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The better and logest one are at the last. There is one I really liked that is a scene in the Arcadia, a pastoral paradise with the greek gods

KubricKKK: Stanley Kubrick in the Ku Klux Klan

To make a manifesto you need one, two and three. Immerse yourself in the frozen lake of the luminous forest; because if not, you run a risk: staying frozen in your instinctive warmth. You remain frozen by the generalized blackout of your mind.

That's why courage is needed, today's world lacks courage; cut the cake, scream, a blow on the table, liquefy the brain, tear out the heart, mutilate the soul, basically it does not matter.

Almost everyone who hears the word GIVES for the first time thinks it has an established meaning. These (ladies and gentlemen) are the human beings who live in the depths of the rabbit skin of the conjuror. Those who are satisfied with the comfort and ignorance of our ancestor apes. Those who will never dare to climb the peaks of knowledge, with the aim of finding the truth.
Well, maybe they are not so disgusting, maybe they already know that at the peak of truth, good and beauty, there is only a desolate and lonely hill, this way for all eternity.
The harsh reality that almost everyone is unaware of is that language is an illness, a divine punishment (the eighth plague that he never announced), a cancer with which we are condemned to drag our whole lives. The rotten cockroach that runs through our brain our days, our life. We believe that words have a meaning from the very origin of everything we know: from the dinosaurs, from the earth, from the universe, from the triune God, from the Aliens, from Stanley Kubrick and Jimmy Hendrix. And from the eternal and immortal Beethoven.

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Words are nothing, silence is a thousand times more beautiful than some pedantic words. This is a manifesto of myself and of the words; a wrinkled, stained and smelly manifesto of tobacco.
-God is dead! - Nietzsche exclaims.
(Years later)
-Nietzsche to death- exclaims God in the firmament.

For Tristan Tzara, Marcel Duchamp, Jesus Christ and even William Burroughs, DADA means NOTHING. For me, DADA means EVERYTHING.
EVERYTHING is GIVEN, everything we know, do and want is GIVEN. For me, DADA is EVERYTHING or NOTHING.

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Jesus christ how much did you write?

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also I invented like three characters that where parts of myself. There is myself as a person, myself as an author, a pornographic painter called Nicolas Bagleu and a german called Otto Kreimer

A lot but all is so damn inconnexed, all 63 pages. The best of all, under my perspective is a representation of the hell in 15 layers

Una pesadilla, un infierno o una realidad en quince capas

0
La entrada es totalmente involuntaria e inesperada, sientes que tu visión verborrea y se deforma: el tiempo se moldea como un chicle, tu visión empieza a deformarse. Durante unos segundos no puedes ver nada y sientes un ahogo, no puedes respirar. Recuperas la visión, estas en el fondo de un lago de sangre. Nadas en el espeso líquido rojo hasta la superficie, pero está muy lejos y sientes como lentamente pierdes las fuerzas.

Alcanzas la superficie y sales del lago, vomitas los litros de sangre tragados, pues no puedes evitar tragarla. Entonces te das cuenta de que el suelo está forrado de piel humana, todo el terreno llano que alcanzas a ver es así. El cielo es negro y no hay ningún sonido. Tras andar un rato, empiezas a oír chillidos, gritos de ‘murciélagos’, primero aislados, lejanos y suaves, pero se acercan cada vez más y cada vez más alto. Estos seres te rodean en un torbellino de chillidos, membranas y ruidos aleteantes. Así, pasas a la siguiente capa.

1
En este estrato, el mundo es totalmente idéntico para lo que nosotros vemos como ‘la realidad’. Parece que retomas tu vida normal, parece que todo ha terminado, pero pronto te das cuenta de que nada es real, todo por un pavoroso detalle: en la realidad irreal en la que estas no existe la esperanza. La gente no tiene esperanza y aunque tú la tengas, esta no tiene ningún valor, porque no existe, y así es como tu optimismo se esfuma, así es como la redención se diluye.

2
Una vez que pases el suficiente tiempo en la primera capa, esta evolucionara a la siguiente. En esta, la ‘realidad’ irreal se desdibuja, para que puedas contemplar todo el mal, el horror, el odio y la desesperación de las personas. Los demonios que han estado atormentándote a lo largo de tu vida, adquieren una nueva presencia, los puedes sentir e incluso ver, estos te siguen a todos lados torturándote. Ahora para ti, nunca hay descanso ni salida.
3
Después de haber sido hostigado todo el tiempo, en este estrato crees haber encontrado la salida. No es más que un espacio totalmente desolado, una especie de desierto para toda la eternidad, no hay nadie ni nada, solo tú. Da igual cuanto andes o corras, no iras a ninguna parte. Al estar tu solo empiezas a descubrir el lado más oscuro de ti y de tu vida, empiezas a asustarte y odiarte de ti mismo por tus pensamientos más infames y tus más bajos instintos. Todo hasta tal punto en que deseas morir. Cuando hayas pasado el tiempo necesario en esta capa, empezaras a volverte loco, sentirás como te observan aunque no haya nada, correrás de un lado para otro buscando algo que no sea la yerma tierra, desearas con todas tus fuerzas asesinarte a ti mismo. Tu cuerpo tal y como lo conoces empezara a deformarse para adoptar aspectos repugnantes.

4
En este estrato tu racionalidad y capacidad de comprensión es eliminada de raíz quirúrgicamente. Tú, como individuo concreto, dejas de existir, de forma incomprensible para ti mismo en el tiempo y en el espacio, tu concepto de la realidad terminará desapareciendo.
5
Aquí acabas expulsado como alma atormentada, a un lago de agua negra, un tenebroso mar sin luz. Puedes notar diversas presencias a tu alrededor, algunas microscópicas y otras monstruosas, solo que no tienes ninguna idea de que pueden ser. No hay ningún ruido y no puedes producir ningún sonido por mucho que grites.
6
Este estrato está dedicado exclusivamente al placer de los entes. A simple vista parece una clínica, una en la que experimentan con tu cuerpo y con tu mente de forma aberrante, sin ningún otro propósito que el de divertirse. Oirás constantemente el chirrido de las maquinas. Cirugía sin anestesia para experimentar con los límites de tu cuerpo. Drogas para destruirte mentalmente. Vivisecciones para juguetear con tus órganos y mutilarlos. Experimentos genéticos. Etc. El constante baile del cuchillo. El olor a sangre, el tic-tac-tac-tac-tic del reloj, los susurros. Terminaras gritando que te maten de una maldita vez, pero ellos jamás te lo permiten, para ellos, no eres más que un juguete.
7
Una vez que han experimentado contigo, te dejaran tirado en un largo túnel hecho con huesos, calaveras y tripas de pescado. Apenas te podrás mover sin sentir dolor. Entonces, bandas de jóvenes vestidos con esmoquin y máscaras de conejos vendrán para darte brutales palizas, humillarte, violarte, y danzar sobre tu cuerpo hecho jirones. Tus fuerzas se alejan de ti, no podrás hacer nada.

8
Estas en una habitación a oscuras, sucia, terriblemente apestosa e infecta. Estas sobre una camilla, con una camisa de fuerza. Un yonki viene y te inyecta con una aguja, una droga fluorescente en el brazo. Por unos segundos te sientes en el cielo, puedes oír la misma dulce voz de Dios. Pero solo es un placer falsificado, pronto un insufrible pitido resuena en tu cabeza sin parar, la angustia y el mareo te muerden como una fiera salvaje. El tiempo se recorta y plastifica, puedes oír a las manecillas retumbando y girando sin parar, a toda velocidad recorriendo billones de años luz en nanosegundos.
9
Puedes oír a los grillos, estas en un campo de noche. Oyes el desgarrado y lastimoso quejido de una voz femenina, una voz que grita el porqué de su sufrimiento, de su existencia, del sentido de este infierno. Te levantas y la buscas por doquier, ella te oye moverte, te suplica que la salves y te busca también. Pero no podéis sentiros ni veros, aun cuando os hayáis cruzado varias veces, pues no sois más que sombras, sombras desesperadas que vagan en busca del amor. En una eterna búsqueda sin final.

10
Puedes volver a oír los chillidos de los ‘murciélagos’. Sientes que caes, primero en la oscuridad. Miles de billones de luces empiezan a aparecer, un torrente de imágenes te rodea: todas las personas a las que quisiste, todos tus momentos hermosos, todos esos recuerdos, son quemados para siempre en la incandescente luz de las luces de este abismo, todos tus recuerdos han desaparecido para siempre.
11
Una vez cruzado el abismo espacial. Apareces en una jungla, oyes los lejanos retumbos de tambores de salvajes dioses selváticos. El ritmo es cada vez más rápido, van hacia ti, mientras danzan sus macabros bailes, corres con todas las fuerzas que tienes, estos son cada vez más rápidos, hasta que se lanzan todos encima de ti y al tocarte, todo se convierte en humo.
12
Apareces en una hermosa playa, puedes oír los graznidos de las gaviotas y una radio transmite una hermosa melodía. Ves a lo lejos una catedral gótica. Caminas hacia ella, queriendo buscar el perdón y el amor de Dios. Sin embargo, cuando llegas, está destruida. La escalas hasta la cúpula y entonces ves toda la divina creación. Los bosques, los animales, el mar, y el hermoso atardecer. Lloras, no puedes parar de llorar, porque sabes que estas condenado. Que esto no es más que otro estrato y que estarás condenada a vagar en el sufrimiento por toda la eternidad.

>There is myself as a person, myself as an author, a pornographic painter called Nicolas Bagleu and a german called Otto Kreimer
This sentence made me cringe too hard
fuuuug

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13
Estas en el espacio, vagas sin ningún destino por el universo, sin esperanzas ni deseos. Ves rojizos planetas estallando en mil pedazos, sistemas planetarios cubriéndose de un velo negro y desapareciendo, galaxias enteras palpitar hasta morir desangrándose en una lenta agonía. Puedes sentir como todo el universo se está muriendo. Tras millones de eones sin contacto, una extraña nave espacial te recoge, su interior es blando y carnoso. La nave está dirigida por una entidad maternal que te acoge con cariño, te amamanta y te canta una dulce nana. Pero la decadencia del universo la está afectando, ella sabe que va a desaparecer, pues forma parte del universo. Un agrio odio irracional empieza a manifestarse en ella. Empieza a gritarte, a humillarte y a electrocutarte.
14
La nave te abandona en el último planeta que queda en el ya moribundo universo. Pelos y extremidades humanas plantadas en el suelo se retuercen sin parar, horrendos saltimbanquis danzan sin ton ni son, hay chillidos y gritos por todos lados. Meteoritos y ondas de plasma empiezan a surcar el cielo, anunciando el fin del Universo. Los ‘murciélagos’, las entes sádicas, el polvo estelar, los sintetizadores, todo está girando, retorciéndose y gritando sin parar. Todo es insoportable, tu misma existencia también lo es. Misiles, Ondas de plasma y meteoritos empiezan a impactar en el planeta, se oyen campanadas a lo lejos. Todo se llena de una luz y un brillo inaguantables, empiezas a desacerte mientras aun puedes sentirlo, tu cuerpo y tu mente se deshacen, y con ello todo el universo.

15
Nada. No hay nada. Solo queda ‘algo’ de ti, que te permite hacerte consciente de que no hay nada, solo un eterno silencio y oscuridad, el cadáver del universo. Millones de eras y millones de eones más tarde, ves un debilísimo rayo de luz y oyes un sonido que te cruza como una flecha
¿Es esto una esperanza?
Finalmente te despiertas, han pasado ocho horas pero tú has sentido que has estado incontables billones y billones de milenios en esa pesadilla.
Pero…

¿Ha sido una pesadilla?
¿Ha sido el infierno?
¿Ha sido la realidad?

Yes, this book is a cringefest

A nightmare, a hell or a reality in fifteen layers

0
The entrance is totally involuntary and unexpected, you feel that your vision verborates and deforms: time is molded like chewing gum, your vision begins to deform. For a few seconds you can not see anything and you feel a choking, you can not breathe. You recover the vision, you are at the bottom of a lake of blood. You swim in the thick red liquid to the surface, but it is far away and you feel like you slowly lose your strength.

You reach the surface and salts of the lake, you vomit the swallowed liters of blood, because you can not avoid swallowing it. Then you realize that the ground is lined with human skin, all the flat ground you can see is like that. The sky is black and there is no sound. After a while, you start to hear shrieks, cries of 'bats', first isolated, distant and soft, but they are getting closer and closer and louder and louder. These beings surround you in a whirlwind of screams, membranes and flapping noises. So, you go to the next layer.

one
In this stratum, the world is totally identical for what we see as 'reality'. It seems that you resume your normal life, it seems that everything is over, but soon you realize that nothing is real, all for a dreadful detail: in the unreal reality in which these do not exist the hope. People have no hope and although you have it, it has no value, because it does not exist, and that is how your optimism vanishes, that is how redemption is diluted.

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two
Once you spend enough time in the first layer, it will evolve to the next. In this, the unreal 'reality' is blurred, so you can contemplate all the evil, horror, hatred and despair of people. The demons that have been tormenting you throughout your life, acquire a new presence, you can feel them and even see them, they follow you everywhere torturing you. Now for you, there is never rest or exit.
3
After being harassed all the time, in this stratum you think you have found the way out. It is nothing more than a totally desolate space, a kind of desert for all eternity, there is no one or nothing, only you. It does not matter how much you walk or run, you will not go anywhere. When you are alone you begin to discover the darkest side of you and your life, you start to scare and hate yourself for your most infamous thoughts and your basest instincts. All to the point where you want to die. When you have spent the necessary time in this layer, you will begin to drive you crazy, you will feel as if they watch you even though there is nothing, you will run from one place to another looking for something that is not the barren land, you will want to kill yourself with all your strength. Your body, as you know it, will begin to deform to adopt repugnant aspects.

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4
In this stratum, your rationality and comprehension capacity is surgically eliminated. You, as a concrete individual, cease to exist, incomprehensibly for yourself in time and space, your concept of reality will end up disappearing.
5
Here you ended up expelled as a tormented soul, to a lake of black water, a dark sea without light. You can notice various presences around you, some microscopic and others monstrous, just that you have no idea what they can be. There is no noise and you can not produce any sound no matter how much you scream.
6
This stratum is dedicated exclusively to the pleasure of the entities. At first glance it looks like a clinic, one in which you experiment with your body and your mind in an aberrant way, with no other purpose than to have fun. You will constantly hear the screeching of the machines. Surgery without anesthesia to experiment with the limits of your body. Drugs to destroy you mentally. Vivisections to toy with your organs and mutilate them. Genetic experiments Etc. The constant dance of the knife. The smell of blood, the tic-tac-tac-tac-tic of the clock, the whispers. You'll end up screaming that they'll kill you in a damn time, but they'll never let you, for them, you're just a toy.
7
Once they have experimented with you, they will leave you lying in a long tunnel made with bones, skulls and fish guts. You can barely move without feeling pain. Then, bands of young people dressed in tuxedos and rabbit masks will come to give you brutal beatings, humiliate you, rape you, and dance on your tattered body. Your forces are away from you, you can not do anything.

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8
You are in a dark room, dirty, terribly stinky and infected. You are on a stretcher, with a straitjacket. A junkie comes in and injects you with a needle, a fluorescent drug in his arm. For a few seconds you feel in heaven, you can hear the same sweet voice of God. But it's just a fake pleasure, soon an insufferable beep resounds in your head without stopping, the anguish and dizziness bite you like a wild beast. Time is cut and plasticized, you can hear the hands rumbling and spinning without stopping, at full speed traveling billions of light years in nanoseconds.
9
You can hear the crickets, you're in a field at night. You hear the torn and pitiful moan of a female voice, a voice that screams the reason for its suffering, its existence, the meaning of this hell. You get up and look for her everywhere, she hears you move, she begs you to save her and she looks for you too. But you can not feel or see yourself, even when you have crossed several times, because you are only shadows, desperate shadows that wander in search of love. In an eternal search without end.

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10
You can hear the squeals of the 'bats' again. You feel that you fall, first in the dark. Thousands of billions of lights begin to appear, a torrent of images surrounds you: all the people you wanted, all your beautiful moments, all those memories, are burned forever in the incandescent light of the lights of this abyss, all your Memories have disappeared forever.
eleven
Once crossed the space abyss. You appear in a jungle, hear the distant rumbles of the drums of wild jungle gods. The rhythm is faster and faster, they go to you, while they dance their macabre dances, you run with all the strength you have, they are getting faster, until they are all thrown over you and when you touch them, everything turns into smoke .
12
You appear on a beautiful beach, you can hear the croaking of the seagulls and a radio transmits a beautiful melody. You see a Gothic cathedral in the distance. You walk towards her, wanting to seek forgiveness and the love of God. However, when you arrive, it is destroyed. The scales to the dome and then you see all the divine creation. The forests, the animals, the sea, and the beautiful sunset. You cry, you can not stop crying, because you know you're damned. That this is just another stratum and that you will be doomed to wander in suffering for all eternity.

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13
You are in space, you are vague without any destiny for the universe, without hopes or desires. You see reddish planets exploding in a thousand pieces, planetary systems covering themselves with a black veil and disappearing, entire galaxies throb until they die bleeding in a slow agony. You can feel like the whole universe is dying. After millions of eons without contact, a strange spacecraft picks you up, its interior is soft and fleshy. The ship is directed by a maternal entity that welcomes you with affection, sucks you and sings a sweet lullaby to you. But the decadence of the universe is affecting it, she knows that it will disappear, because it is part of the universe. A sour irrational hatred begins to manifest itself in her. Start screaming at you, humiliating you and electrocuting you.
14
The ship abandons you on the last planet that remains in the already dying universe. Hairs and human extremities planted in the ground writhe without stopping, horrendous mountebanks dance without rhyme or reason, there are screams and screams everywhere. Meteorites and plasma waves begin to cross the sky, announcing the end of the Universe. The 'bats', the sadistic entities, the stardust, the synthesizers, everything is spinning, writhing and screaming without stopping. Everything is unbearable, your very existence is too. Missiles, plasma waves and meteorites begin to impact the planet, chimes are heard in the distance. Everything is filled with an unbearable light and shine, you begin to lose heart while you can still feel it, your body and mind are undone, and with it the whole universe.

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fifteen
Nothing. There is nothing. Only 'something' remains of you, which allows you to become aware that there is nothing, only an eternal silence and darkness, the corpse of the universe. Millions of eras and millions of eons later, you see a faint ray of light and hear a sound that crosses you like an arrow
Is this a hope?
Finally you wake up, eight hours have passed but you have felt that you have been countless billions and billions of millennia in that nightmare.
But…

Has it been a nightmare?
Has it been hell?
Has it been reality?
How old were you when you wrote these?

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I was 16 years old

Oh lord.

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Yep, very depressing (also I'm on my phone now)

. . . . . . it could be worst

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Also maybe I will wrote a prologue trying to explain what the fuck was this thing

I have been writting since I was a kid so at least, some parts of the book are well written

Well it's the thoughts that are cringy but since you were 16 at the time you pass.

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Yeah, before writting that I was projecting a fiction novel in which generations of robots would live in a distopical world

But I became bored or something, I still have the drafts and the manuscript

Same but I was writing a grad epic but too many ideas and I never have enough time to sit and write anything. I still have the idea fresh in my mind but I don't think I'll ever finish it. God, I'm always overly critical with everything thing I do. It's a real problem.

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Could you write some chapters at least?

I can try but it ends up being a cluster fuck and I end up scraping it. I got the strong beginning and a ending but the middle ciufenciuenciuneciefcnienciefnciuenciefc AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

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*a

Also what do you think of it?

It's alright, I've read worst 2bh. What do you think? The biggest critic is yourself, you know.

Also what do you think of what I posted

...

I think the first scenes are absolute crap. Some of the last scenes are worth of being independent short stories

Also all that dada thing has no real purpose, just being edgy as fuck and contradicting myself at the process

Could you post some examples pls?

You were a teenager

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We wrote a book as a class in secondary school, everyone did a chapter. It's even worse because
1. average age of the children who wrote it is 14
2. our class was dominated by leftist girls, who were "sooo progressive", so the story is unironically about 2 gays finding love
3. Cringy bed scenes, those girls described toov much.
I really ask myself what went wrong with this generation.

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Oh god that sounds even worse, do you still have it, could you post something?

I was 16 and then I realized reading is for fags.

Everyone got it as a physical book. It either went to the garbage at some point or I still have it around in the basement.

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It's sounds so bad that I want to read something

not true btw