Feli

HELLO and welcome to my therapeutic project!
 
I've made myself a little challenge, simply as an attempt to see if I can keep a schedule since that's something I've been rather poor at doing and need to polish a little. So, I decided to start writing a story. The idea is that I'll churn out a chapter a week, for as long as it might take until I feel that it's concluded.
 
If you hadn't already guessed from the title (which I'd planned to be even longer, but apparently there's a character limit on those things), this story is going to be largely nonsensical. I'm simply just going to "write myself out" and it's going to be one hell of a ride. As such, the possibility of plot holes and the like are rather high, and they're... well, not intentional, but I'm unlikely to do anything about them unless I'm feeling extra motivated for some reason. As I said, this is pretty much a project for my own sake. However, if you care to join me on the trip, hop right in! The first chapter's rough to start off with, but I'm gonna set a word count or something so I've got a unit of measure for writing for each session. It'll likely update Wednesdays.
 
#1
- "'Doctors hate her! Try this one weird trick to find out how this housewife learned to shoot laser beams out of her amputated elbow sockets!' Hot damn, this is eligible for a closer read..."

The hour was late. Or early, if that's how you prefer to count it. I was frozen at the edge of my computer chair, like so many other evenings, letting my fingers dance across the keyboard and staring at the dim blue screen similarly to how a dead rodent stares at that stale piece of cheese in the mousetrap that it just got ensnared in. My thirst for useless knowledge was insatiable as I kept scrolling through the dietist tips and Buzzfeed articles to keep myself up to date with the world. After all, it was my only escape. My escape from this world, this worthless world, this utterly worthless world, this utterly despicably worthless world, this utterly despicably horrendously worthless world. I was an emotional outcast, a distressed teenager, and nobody understood me and nobody ever would.

In short, a fairly regular lad at sixteen years old. You catch my drift.

My name is Feidlimid Clifford, though the few people that know me call me Fid. The name came from a randomizer on the internet, which you should already be well aware of if you know the author of this retarded tripe you're reading. I'm sixteen, I'm a failure at life, I'm a shut-in and I'm single. (Duh?) The rest of the details will likely follow as you continue to read. This is one story, I tell you. One story not soon forgotten. Anyway, let's move on and see if something interesting happens.

In between my YouTube sessions of React videos and jacksepticeye playing Happy Wheels for the umpteenth time, I threw hasty glances towards the jet black clock on the wall above me, dimly illuminated by the computer screen. Holy shit, it was practically morning already. Did I have something important to do this following day? Did I have any plans? Did I have an appointment for somewhere? Did anyone care?

I already knew the answer. I scratched my greasy black hair, relieving an itch, and returned to the computer screen. My mother should be coming with breakfast any time now. God knows why she still gave a crap. I didn't care for her. I didn't care for school. I didn't care for anything except my precious tower of machinery, connected to my glowing blue window to the outside world. My situation used to be different, before the accident. The horrible, tragic accident that changed my life and everything as I knew it. The accident that plays the biggest part in this story, but which I won't tell you anything about until later (and maybe not even then). Yes, that accident.

I threw another glance at the clock. I was sleepy, but the Internet refused to release me from its clutches, shaped from cat pictures and hilarious videos of people falling over. My mother was late, I thought. She's usually timely with the breakfast. Shit can happen, of course, I concluded, returning my focus to the computer screen to dull the roaring pain within me. She'll come around.

The hours passed.

I struggled to stay awake, massaging my thin arms and rubbing my eyes to stay focused on the on-screen tips on how to extend my girth with three inches. Where was my food? I wanted to eat and then go to sleep and lie unconscious like the worthless slob I was until seven in the evening when I wake up, eat the dinner that mom's left inside the door and resume my worthless life in front of my shining blue god. Oh yes, my god, teach me more about those gluten-free recipes.

But she never came.

Lorde. I love how strong her sense of individualism is. It amazes me how at 12 she knows exactly what she wants to do and worked patiently until she got her break when she's 16. Her hands are like a dinosaur's when she performs but it adds up to the appeal she has to me. I love how her music style rejects the usual glamour of pop music. It introduces a different kind of vibe matched with her very low voice that most people thinks is just decent. I think during recordings they emphasize on her voice more so people would listen more to what she's saying in the song and get the people to ponder on the meaning of it. She's one of the few artists in this time that I can say I really like. I know there are a lot of other artists like her in the industry, glad she's an additional and I hope there'll be more like her.

 

On a different topic, I love watching social experiments proving there's still goodness in people.... xD It's cheesy xD. But I love watching those kind of videos because it.. kind of... calms my violent side? 'Cause when I see people being so rude to others (ex. bragging their social status and whatnot), I start to stab them in my head xD. Those experiments are a help. It's weird but yeah.... Perhaps because I am searching for reasons on why I should not fully hate people.. or the world in general. 'Cause you know, when you're too much aware of everything around you (though you tend to be absent-minded sometimes) you get fed up because you can no longer determine what's/who's good and bad anymore; you step back to avoid being touched where in fact you're isolating yourself. And the more difficult it is to determine good from bad, it's more of a reason to charge forward and search for good ones.... Kind of like that.... Hehe. 

My dog. A tri-coloured smooth-coated Chihuahua named Fifi.

 

A spoiled princess and diva who never sits only on carpets and cushions but never on the floor 'cause it's too hard for her prissy little bum, she likes wearing clothes, lounging in the sun, and being rubbed behind the ears, under the chin and on the belly. If you throw a ball at her, she'd stare at the ball and look sardonically back at you, then trot away. She barks at dogs 10 times her own size, especially when I try to pet them.

 

She's a survivor of a series of physical ailments (a skin condition that has left her with a small bald patch on the back, a dislocated elbow, severe malnutrition caused by Megaesophagus, and a tumour on a toe that had to be surgically removed). 

 

In short, she's a 2.8kg little ball of sass and toughness.

 

I took these photos for work... whatcha  think?