How to be dead? is in wattpad!!!!

My published novel "How to be dead?" has been posted in wattpad.com.
Post comments, and suggestions for my improvement

Love,
LilMissCyree


Clink on the link: How to be Dead? in wattpad

Heading towards the stars

It was 4 years ago when I managed to stumble on the site called 'Wattpad'. I actually spend most of my time reading stories from that site.... Actually, I even managed to influence my older sister to read there.

A year after discovery, I started uploading my own works. And since I'm quite shy, I didn't bother advertising it in the social media, well in fact I'm really secretive about it. At first I was really hesitant, there was a point that I went on hiatus for 4 months because a part of me screams that I'm not really meant to become a writer. But in the end, I was like I don't care if others would send me flame messages or something as long as I'm doing what I love. When I opened my account after my hiatus, my jaw literally dropped. I didn't expect that within a time span of 4 months my story that wasn't even half-way done (I had just uploaded the first 9 chapters that time), was able to gather 8,000 plus reads, my followers (they used to be called fans) went from 0 - 50. AND THAT WAS WITHOUT JOINING BOOKCLUBS AND ADVERTISING. And instead of hate messages all I received were encouragements and praises.

I finished the story on July 2014, two years after after I first uploaded. And the journey isn't as easy as I thought it would be. The requirements from school, trainings, competitions, intermission numbers, family problems, WRITER's BLOCK, there was one time that I even forgot the plot of the story and almost every drama you can think off (Love life) got in the way. The Demon was Tamed wasn't the first story I wrote, but it was the first story that I let others ready. The feedback and support that I got from it gave me the strength to push wit my writing career.

After 2 years, The Demon was Tamed whose reads were less that a hundred, and LilMissCyree who just have 8 followers... now have no less than 3,000 reads on every main chapter, while I, LilMissCyree already have 500 and counting number of readers.

But along this journey, my dream wasn't just to finish my story. I also dreamed of becoming one of the Wattpad Ambassadors...

I applied to become one of the ambassadors, and honestly, because of school works I had even forgot about it. Until I checked my Gmail and saw the e-mail.

I'll be starting my probationary period soon... And I hope I make it through.


-LilMissCyree

How to?

He wrote a song...

            Not for the living,

                        But for the dead

He commemorated the memories

            He cherished them dearly...

                        That now its time to go,

                                 He doesn’t have an idea how to let go

Sweet Goodbye

She strolled down the empty street,

With a smile upon her perfect lips.

She was skipping giddily,

Humming slowly the tunes of misery.

She was smiling and waving,

She looked really happy.

But what’s that in her eyes?

What’s with her worried smile?

She wrapped her arms around her friends.

She pat their backs and uttered she’s alright.

She was a great pretender, no one noticed,

Her heart is breaking, her world is crumbling.

She digested every moment.

She burned their images in her mind.

With one last wave, she bid goodbye.

She traced the path of the journey to end life.

She held it against the light.

It glimmered under the moonlight.

With one last smile she used it,

She struck it against her skin.

Listen to my screams

I look up to the sky and then sighed.
I scratched the back of my head, I sadly cried.
I heard their voices, my heart just died.
I can no longer hold back, but I'll just lie.

I remember back when I was a child,
I flew with my wings, I soared so high.
But as time goes by, it all went dry...
My wings were clipped, my flight had died.

The innocent smiles and playful laughter,
They're a part of my past that I can no longer remember.
All I know are the vicious taunting,
All I can see are those devious hunting.

I'm lost, I sure have sunk,
I am beat, I'm so worn out.
I am screaming, but my throat had died,
I called for help, but no one replied.

Just Anne

              Bloodshot and lifeless eyes looked back at me as I stared at myself in the mirror inside my bathroom. A pained smile graced my lips as my hand touched the dark circles under my eyes that intensified the paleness of my skin.

            “You’re tired…,” a voice inside my head uttered weakly.

            I stared at myself longer, absorbing how all these years had changed me. A bitter laugh escaped my throat as realization dawned on me; I’m no longer who I was. This person staring back at me is just the empty vessel of who I used to be. She’s just the reflection of what I’ve become after life was taken away from me.

            “You’ve sunk too far, haven’t you?” the voice grumbled.

            My fingers instinctively stroke my reflection on the mirror, before a familiar urge coursed through my veins. I shook my head forcefully, trying to flush out the feeling. I no longer want to give in, I wanted it to stop. But no matter how hard I try I’ve already reached the point of no return. The more I became sober, the more the urge grew stronger and stronger. I dug my nails into my palms to control it; but I couldn’t stop it, not on my own.

            “But who are you going to call?!” it asked in pain. “You have no one left.”

            My hands were shaking and sweating uncontrollably, I have to think fast. Yes, that’s my only hope. I sprinted towards the stash of liquor I hid under my bed.

            “Stop!” it cried helplessly. “Please stop!”

I chose to ignore the pleas of the voice inside my head and pursued my desire. I grabbed a bottle and then, emptied its contents on my mouth. I drank hungrily straight from the bottle, sighing in satisfaction as my body relaxed.

            “I should’ve just died.”

            Fresh hot tears welled from my eyes. Now I recognize the voice. Now I know who’s keeping me from going insane. The voice inside my head is the ghost of my innocent self that was destroyed in the process. I am her, and she is me.

            “Please come back to who you are once.”

I want to, I really want to but I can no longer turn back. I’ve already fallen to depravity, and someone as tainted as I am is no longer suited to return to someone as pure as was.

“Stop thinking that!” she cried in hysterics.

The memories of that night flashed in my mind. My knees buckled and I tumbled on the ground dropping the bottle of liquor in the process. Like a child, I wrapped my arms around my legs and cradled them as I cried my heart out.

            “Make it stop. Please, make it stop,” she pleaded.

            I reached for the bottle and drank from it greedily, in attempt to zone out the images, but the remaining contents weren’t enough. I need more. I need more.

            “I need more...more…more…” she seconded.

            I forced myself to stand in order to grab another bottle of liquor. An anger-filled scream made its way from my throat. My supply had run out, my road to escape this prison had just been blocked.

            “I’m lost.” the two of us duet.

            I heard his voice echoing in my head: his taunts and threats, his malicious laughter and eerie actions. That moment, the voice inside my head and I became one.

            “Help me. I beg you please help me.” I begged.

            “You are a murderer!” his voice echoed.

            “No, I’m not.” I hastily defended.

            “You’re a killer!” he screamed at me, his dying form flashing in the eyes of my mind.

“No, I’m not.” I argued, with tears angrily pouring from their source.

            “No one will ever love you!”

            “Someone will.” My mind responded weakly

“No one will want a trash like you!” he screamed angrily, his voice reverberating through the walls of my inner mind.

“Someone will.” I cried.

“No one will save you!” he taunted even further.

“You’re lying!” I screamed angrily. “You are lying!”

I grabbed the closest thing to me (the empty bottles of liquor) and with a battle cry I furiously flung it across the room. The crashing sound resonated inside my room that it lingered long enough to overpower the taunts of my father. Bottles were hurled on the wall one after the other, till all there’s left were the broken pieces of glass scattered on the ground.

“Make it stop! Please end my sufferings,” I called out to no one in particular.

The shattered pieces of glass that glistens under the moonlight allured me and sent my mind into frenzy.

“This is it.” I uttered.

I clutched one of the larger pieces, not minding the sharp edges digging on my palm. My attention then was averted to my arm. Slowly, I dragged the glass against my skin. Straight, curve, random, I’m quite sure I no longer have a pattern. Warm, viscous liquid poured out from the cuts that I made, as the scent of iron filled my nostrils. I smiled manically.  

“This is really fun.”

I stripped my jeans exposing the subtle skin of my thighs and legs.  

“Stop me. Someone, please stop me!” the voice called out.

Without hesitation, I rammed the glass on my thighs viciously.  

“One… Two… Three…” I counted but I can’t keep up.

I drew images, using my body as the canvas. I laughed as loud as I can. I raised my hand that clasps the glass, and with one swift swing I embedded it on my wrist. I grinned.

“I’m free,” I uttered.

White blotches covered my vision as my head became lighter… and lighter… and lighter. The white blotches turned into black. Then, I felt like I was being sucked in an endless void. I waited and waited till my breath became ragged. I gasped one last time before everything went dark.

I was gone.

Now that I’m gone, let me tell you a secret. I am Anne, the daughter of the richest businessman in town. Everyone thought my life was easy, breezy, and perfect. I’m the only daughter of the richest business personality in town after all, but it was far from that. They were all wrong.

My mom died when I was 5, of course you would’ve known that. It was reported in the news. My mom died that night, but she’s not the only one who died, my dad as well. The father that I’ve come to know vanished. While the abusive side of my dad debuted. He started hitting me for no reason; he beat me black and blue. When I told my teacher what happened she even accused me of lying. Of course who would think that a business tycoon as great as my father would abuse his only daughter?

On the night of my 9^th birthday my father took my virginity. Right after that night, abusing me physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually became his hobby. It was the beginning of another form of torture inflicted on me.  I didn’t bother reporting or telling anyone again, no one would believe me anyway. In their eyes I’m nothing but an attention-seeking brat who’s only after her parents’ riches.

A year ago, my father was declared missing. Guess what, I snapped. I killed him. I maimed his body and then threw his body away. I cleared all the evidences; I threw all of them along with him. Do you want to know how I ended his life? It’s as simple as reciting the alphabet. I skinned him alive then gouged his eyeballs. I cut his tongue, and pulled out every nail in his fingers and toes. I castrated him using my own hands and then chopped his member off. I opened his torso without anesthesia, and dissected his organs part per part. I made him feel the 13 years of pain he inflicted on me. He deserved it.

In the end I learned that in this world it’s either kill or get killed, or is it? Don’t pity me. Don’t cry for me. Don’t shun me. I’m not a murder; I’m Anne, part Fortunate, part Anne. What can I say, I’m just little Anne Fortunate, the daughter of Mr. Fortunate.

This madness that consumes

If ever my English found this article... Hi ma'am! Told yah I'll lift my pieces from my blog...

It’s a madness no one can escape; it’s an illness no one can be cured of…. Yes, I’m infected; I know I can’t be cured. But why does my heart feel at ease knowing that it can lead me to death? My dear reader let me tell you about the disease I suffer, let me tell you about the illness called love.

Dessen (2004), stressed out in her book The Truth About Forever, that there is never a time or place for true love, that it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment. And she’s right. You don’t have a say on who you’ll be falling in love, you don’t have a say when your heart will be ripped apart. No one knows when, no one knows what, no one knows why, it just happens in an instant.

Loving someone is the moment that Heinlein (1991) described as the condition in which the happiness of the other person is essential to your own. Yes, I know right, and it is also the moment you hand him the power to put you up and break you down.

Love according to Oliver (2012) in the novel Delirium, Amor deliria nervosa (love) is the deadliest of all deadly things, and I can’t help but agree, it’s the most accurate description after all. It’s the deadliest because only the people you love has the power to break you apart. And as Clare (2011) had coined in her novel City of fallen Angels, I think even when you heal, you're never what you were before. You can put the pieces back together, but it’ll never be the same. And Stephen King (2001) was definitely right when he wrote ‘Hearts can break. Yes, hearts can break. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, but we don't.’ We definitely don’t.

I believe I’m already misleading you people but I’m not talking about love with someone of the opposite sex, but I’m talking about love for the people who’s with you since then till now: our family. I lost my father not more than five months ago, I was there beside him as he gasped his final breaths, and lived his final moments. Yes, I was beside him all throughout the end. I can elaborate how I witness blood coming out of his lips and how the wires and tubes snaked towards his body. And I tell you it’s the most painful thing ever, that I cried nonstop and wished for someone up there to just take my life instead of my father’s, but that’s not possible. I swear I was already on Phase Three or the critical phase of Amor Deliria Nervosa, as stated by Lauren Oliver, difficulty in breathing, pain in the chest, difficulty in swallowing; refusal to eat, complete breakdown and delusions. As Oliver (2012) stated it affects your mind so that you cannot think clearly, or make rational decisions about your own well-being. Well, believe it or not I already had a razor on my wrist that night.

            Call me idiotic, call me whatever you want but until now I’m still grieving, until now I’m still crying every 26^th of the month. This disease had really struck me hard and the silliest thing was I don’t want the cure. Maybe, we are better off without love but as Coelho (2006) said “love is a disease no one wants to get rid of. Those who catch it never try to get better, and those who suffer do not wish to be cured.” Why? Because as I, Fabros (2015) had pointed out in my novel How to be Dead? “Love is a fleeting moment that doesn’t need to be forgotten, love will always be kept inside a chest buried deep within my heart,” maybe within our hearts.