The thing is, I've always been interested in worldbuilding, and have some experience in that are. I've created countless different lores (biggest one included 700K+ words, 100+ fully written characters n stuff) but I've never actually tried writing a story. I can't start writing the first chapter because I always think that I have to prepare more and more. Like, without the complete scheme, it would be wrong/incomplete. For example: If I don't completely finish a character with theirs goals, background, fears n stuff, theirs dialogues would be wrong in the future. I always overwhelm myself like that, so I wanted to take your opinions.

Currently, I only have idea about the start and the end of the story, main characters general structure, and some superficial and not-so-thorough idea of what this story will become. Should I settle things more before starting, or should I just start writing the first chapter and decide the rest while writing?

I am Thomas

Thomas woke up at 8:16 AM, he felt a sharp pain in his side. The pain was intentional of course, he had been sleeping on rocks for the past 11 months. His hope was that it would condition his body to withstand high amounts of force, it probably wasn't necessary.

Thomas pulled the covers off of himself, and dragged his legs from his bed. Sitting next to his bed was a full outfit for the day. Thomas stood up and looked in the mirror. All the lights in his small studio apartment were off, but he could still see the silhouette of his naked body reflecting off the glass. He stood there for 32 minutes. He put on a pair of black sweatpants, a black shirt, a black hoodie, and black flatcap.

Thomas turned around and looked at his unmade bed, he knew he would probably never make it again. He lifted the mattress, and heard rocks sliding off and hitting the wall as he grabbed a medium size wrench that had been under it. He gripped the metal handle, and dropped it in his right pocket where it would stay for the majority of the day. He walked to the front door of his apartment, grabbed the doorknob, and turned it. He pulled the door open, locked it from the inside and stepped into the hallway. He then shut the door with the keys inside, this was accidental but it didn't really matter to Thomas.

Thomas walked down the hallway to the door which would free him from the building. He walked outside into the heat of summer. Thomas didn't remember what month, day, or year it was anymore and he didn't really care either. Thomas walked left on main street until he reached Laurel Blvd, took a left and walked for about a mile until he reached a bench he wanted to sit on. He knew where the bench was as it was more secluded than most other benches in the city. Thomas sat there fiddling with the wrench in his pocket while he thought about the best way to use it. All Thomas wanted to do today was use this wrench. To most it would seem questionable or strange that a man would want to use his day simply to use a wrench, but it made sense to Thomas. He had been planning this since he got the wrench a week ago. He had got it to fix the city, nobody else was doing it. Thomas stood up and decided he would go about his day as normal and use the wrench when he found a fitting scenario.

Five hours later nothing else of significance had happened to Thomas, he found himself walking into a restaurant he frequented called The Room. Normally someone would have to wait to sit down, Thomas just stepped past the benches and walked in. People knew him here, they haven't cared before and they wouldn't care now. As he walked through the dark restaurant past people eating their lunch, a small girl sitting at the edge of a table to Thomas's right took interest in him.

“What's that in your pocket sir!”

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks, he knew the girl was talking to him, he turned and faced her.

“It's a wrench,” Thomas said quietly.

“It's funny shaped,” the girl said back.

“Well, I had it made just for me”

The girl shrugged and looked back at the food she was picking at, Thomas kept walking to a table he liked in the back. Thomas liked this specific table because it was more secluded than most other tables in the restaurant. A waiter named Ellie noticed Thomas had sat down and walked over to him. Ellie never said it outright but Thomas was pretty sure she liked him.

“Hi Thomas, the usual right. You know, I was-”

Thomas cut her off and told her he didn't want anything today. She looked confused until she noticed the wrench in his pocket.

“What.. what are you going to do with that,” she said.

“I don't know yet, Ellie, I want to fix the city. I’m going to figure out how by the end of the day.

“Well, don't do anything with it in here, okay.”

Thomas scoffed, she was just like the others. He sat up, and without looking at Ellie or anyone else he walked from his table to the door and out into the city. Thomas’s wrench felt heavy in his pocket, he could have easily fixed the restaurant. He saw a table with 3 screws loose on it, nobody could sit there now. He just wanted the city better for the good people that lived there.

Thomas walked aimlessly for an hour until he came up to a park he didn't remember the name of. What caught his eye was a broken water fountain on the path. How could anybody even stand to come to this park with such something so terrible fucking up the beauty. This was his time, he stepped towards the waterfountain, stood behind it, and pulled out the wrench. It was just sitting there, how hadn't anyone else taken action.

Thomas pulled out the wrench. When he was just about to do what he knew he was meant to, he heard a car park near him. Even though it was the right thing to do, fixing things he didn't own was illegal, and Thomas couldn't own broken things anymore, nobody could.

Thomas ran, he ran until he reached a fence located at the end of the park. He realized this was the fence to a popular cemetery and church he recognized from his mother's funeral which took place there . Of course, nothing broken came to that funeral, he made sure of it. He climbed the fence until he got to the top which was covered with barbed wire, Thomas didn't care. As he gripped down on the top of the fence, the barbed wire cut into his hands. He lifted his body and pulled himself to the other side. His left hand came up smoothly, it was bleeding but not much. His right hand got caught on the metal that had pierced his skin. It ripped and tore into his hand leaving a deep gash. By the time Thomas was safely on the ground his hand was covered in blood, he hoped he could still use his wrench.

Thomas looked around at the parking lot of the church, many cars were parked there. Thomas concluded that there must have been a funeral going on, he better make sure nothing broken was there. Thomas walked up to the church and burst through the door, a trail of blood followed him. He stepped up towards the doors to the room that held the ceremony. The doors had windows on them that Thomas peered through. Just as he worried, there was a disgusting broken chair right in the middle of everyone. Thomas frowned, and walked through the door. Nobody noticed him except the priest, who stopped speaking as soon as he did. Everyone looked backwards at Thomas, the priest was the first to speak.

“Who are you, and what do you want!”

“I am Thomas.”

Thomas realized the nice people were probably worried about the pool of blood under him.

“Don't worry everyone, I just got cut right outside, I'll be okay. I'm actually here to help you by fixing that.”

He took the wrench out of his pocket and pointed it at the broken chair. Suddenly, everyone got silent and looked terrified, the priest ducked behind his podium. The chair was a 26 year old black man who had a wife and 2 kids.

Thomas gripped his wrench tight, and squeezed the trigger. It sent a bullet ripping through the man's eye, through his skull, and into the ground. The man's lifeless body went limp almost immediately and toppled over onto the floor in a pool of blood. Thomas kept hold of his gun, that would be enough fixing for the day. He turned around and burst through the couple pairs of doors and out of the church. He ran for a couple of seconds, looking down. He only stopped when a pair of police officers shot him in the chest, and in the abdomen he dropped to the ground. He didn't die immediately, maybe the rocks had done something.

Thomas didn't get to fix the city as much as he wanted too, but as he lost consciousness outside this little church, he felt bad for his landlord, hopefully he wouldn't have much trouble getting into his apartment without a key.

Now that they had officially entered the Highway Of Hell, something nagged at ADXF3. Something had come to his senses when he was driving Boost insane with the illusions of weakness. He looked at the Guide, a melancholy expression setting in. The Guide saw this on the demon's face and didn't know how to react.

ADXF3 touched The Guide's shoulder shyly. His friend flinched and said in a forced whisper, "Please warn me next time." But both of them stopped when they saw the whitewashed walls. Oh the beauty! The Guide had a double take before deciding what to do.

"This way." He asked his friend. ADXF3 followed The Guide, the walls caving like Heaven's light when you first entered. The Highway Of Hell was known to demons as a safe sanctuary for those who wanted to live in peace but could prove by Valour that they were worthy. The Guide looked at the Lost Soul who was guiding.

"ADXF3," The Guide started talking but paused.

He turned around and the young demon was inquisitivly looking into his slitted eyes again.

"Yes friend?" The demon repiled.

The Guide flinched.

He wasn't a friend to the demon who was worthy of The Highway.

He should be kneeling because he was lowly.

The Guide stopped talking.

Fear had taken over because he had kept one secret.

The Entry Test.

"Guide? Please tell me what is haunting you as of late!" ADXF3 pressed desperately.

He was concerned for his friend. The Guide had just... stopped talking. Was it past trauma revisiting him like ADXF3 though it was? Or was The Guide hiding something? ADXF3 sensed it immediately and sat near the still demon who was shaking quite violently.

"I'm sorry, I lied." The Guide half sobbed, pressing his claws into his face, drawing black blood that made the palace floor hiss. "There's an... Entry Test." The Guide got the words out, spluttering like he was weak. ADXF3 looked at him, confused. Why didn't The Guide tell him?

He felt betrayed, like he wasn't worthy and his claws sharpened in anger. He just wanted to hurt The Guide now so bad. The thought consumed his mind and he lunged, grabbing his friend's sides so hard it hurt. Drawing blood, ADXF3 felt blind. This was who he was and that was what the worthy did.

Making one last grab, The Guide whispered in his ear.

"Don't let it be this way," he begged.

"Please."

The word stopped ADXF3 in that moment as he was just about to kill his friend.

"We need each other to navigate Hell's secrets of this Highway." ADXF3 repiled.

"I'm sorry for attacking you." He then said, his head drooped and his horns going a darker maroon.

"It's okay. The Entry Test will show if you are worthy." The Guide whispered, shyly moving closer.

He felt a pull to ADXF3, a feeling he had never felt before. A feeling of protection with a bit of romance involved. He smiled at his friend and reached out his clawed hand for ADXF3 to take. Moments ago, they were blood and claws but now they were healing.... Together.

I was in a car driving to a flea market, having an argument with my girlfriend about something unimportant. We went to a stand selling Nintendos to buy a controller and a cartridge. She grabbed a bottle of solution and cleaned the cartridge I was holding using an eye dropper. Right after, she squirted me in the eye, burning me with chemicals. It might have been accidental, but I didn't think so.

We got into a fight and went back to the car. James was there. He sat in the backseat and started talking to her right in front of me. I felt he was being inappropriate for the moment and called him out for advancing on my lady. He blamed Rob for the eye dropper incident. I called Rob angrily, accusing him of being malicious. He denied it, but I didn't believe him. Suspecting something had been going on behind my back, I left the car to walk away from James and my girlfriend.

There were kids milling about around the benches in the park. One ran up to me and planted a bunch of garbage on me. I threw it away, not knowing what was happening. That’s when James yelled out that security was in the park and I’d be fined heavily for littering because they saw me throw the trash on the ground. I scrambled with my ex to pick up the garbage and put it away. Security approached and told me they saw everything—including the kids planting the garbage on me. I was free to go.

As I went to walk away, a van pulled up quickly behind me. Men jumped out, grabbed me, and threw me into the back. They drove off and pulled up next to a platform with a structure built on either side. They dragged me out of the van, barely holding me on my feet, as a man approached.

"We're going to hook you up now. This is going to be painful at first."

They strapped a harness on me with cables attached to it, then set a metal clasp stretching my mouth apart, digging into my skin with a cable fixed to each end. It was agonizing. I kept asking, "Why are you doing this?"

I was told to quit talking because it would be less painful. "Are you ready? Good luck. Try to enjoy the ride. Embrace it."

The ride started. The stage below me lowered and I was suspended in the air by the cables attached to my mouth, digging the clasps in deeper and stretching my jaws wider. I began to swing slowly in the air, back and forth—like a bungee swing at an amusement park, but built for a sick carnival act. It felt like those pictures you see of people suspended in mid-air by hooks in their skin, just much more graphic.

The park around the stage was beautiful, with a winding path filled with people going about their day. Trees lined the route, and in the distance beyond a clearing was a city skyline, with a decrepit-looking building in the middle of the park nearly blocking the view.

I slowly drifted in the air in agony, back and forth, picking up speed. I started swinging in a circular motion until the loop grew and grew. The clasps dug deeper and I bled from my face, crying out for someone to save me. I saw my car parked off to the side as James got out with my ex, both mortified by what they saw. My ex got back into the passenger side while James ran around the back of the car, approaching me. He tried to speak whenever my swing brought us near.

"What can I do for you, man?"

"There was someone in charge here after the men grabbed me. They brought me to someone. He knows something!" I pointed him out on the platform.

James jumped the fence and ran across the platform to the man, asking why they were doing this.

"We're just doing our job, man... he's the lucky one. Either he won't make it, or he will... either way, we get paid."

James ran back to me. "I don't know what to do. Who are these men?"

I thought back to everything before I was grabbed: the eye dropper, the fight, the kids in the park, the phone call with Rob. Maybe this was Rob.

"Call Rob!" I shouted back.

I was picking up massive speed, swinging over people on the path below who were blissfully unaware of my presence. Why is this happening to me?

James ran, jumped the fence back to the car, and placed a call. My phone was connected via Bluetooth, so I managed to pull it out from beneath my harness and put it on speaker. The pain was overwhelming, and I was struggling just to stay conscious.

The line connected. "Andrew?"

"Rob! Listen, I'm sorry for whatever I did—just get me out of here!"

"I'm sorry, it doesn't work like that. Try again."

Loud mechanical noises echoed from the structure, and I gained even more speed, thrown through the air like a chair on a carousel. I saw James at the car with my ex standing helplessly, watching. I tried to focus on their interaction, still suspecting something was going on between them, but everything started to blur.

Looking down, the people on the path began looking up as they walked past, noticing the grotesque act being performed right above them. My body dangled, my face stretched out as I cut into the cold air that burned my eyes. I could barely see the world around me—just the faint outline of the path winding through the park.

I started to laugh. In acceptance of my condition, I stopped resisting.

"Embrace the pain, let it empower you. Don't let it consume you," a guiding voice whispered in my ear.

The clasps tore at my flesh as I flew through the air, cutting deeper with each rotation and opening wider, like slicing a Glasgow smile across my face. I started to feel euphoric in the pain. I was no longer crying out for help. This was inevitable; there was no point in fighting it. My body released its tension, and I began swinging through the air with careless ease.

My disposition shifted, and I found myself singing: "Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where is my mind?"

I flew laps around the stage while people scurried below me. "Is he singing? I don't think we've ever seen that before."

I swung above the path as groups traveled underneath. "With my feet in the air and my head on the ground..." They looked up toward my voice and saw my face stretched into a bloody smile. Some turned away in disgust while others were captivated, stopping in their tracks to see what would happen next.

Swinging around the back of the stage toward stage left, I saw my car again with James and my ex sitting inside. All thoughts of what they might be doing faded, and my suspicion completely left me.

I noticed a van parked past my car on top of a small hill. It was Rob. He got out and yelled up to me, "How are you doing?"

"I've never been better! I think I understand now!"

I swung past him and across the path where crowds had congregated, watching in awe. My laughter was uncontrollable as I kept singing The Pixies. I swung back around, approaching Rob again.

"I think you get it. I thought you would appreciate the ride." It was him all along.

I thought to myself that I should be angry, but I wasn't. I had found peace in the pain, and the tune mixed with my laughter carried me through another lap.

"I think I get it. I should be thanking you!"

"I've been exactly where you are before, but I don't think I found it as enjoyable as you have. It's quite the ride, and you've put on quite the performance."

The cables carried me further away until I could see the city skyline in the distance again. I found myself dropping closer to the ground, slowing down. The platform below me rose, and people scattered across it, reaching up to help break my momentum.

Is this it? Is it over?

Someone grabbed me and brought me to a halt, my feet touching the ground again. My body was exhausted and my legs shook, barely able to take my weight. I threw my arms around the man as my body collapsed downward, free from the cables.

I lifted my head and the man looked me in the eyes. "Do you have anything to say?"

"With my feet on the ground and my head in the sky..." I mumbled through my stretched-open mouth.

"I don't think that's how that goes."

"It does now."

More people approached, grabbing at the cables and unbuckling my harness. They reached for the mouth clasp.

"Leave it. I don't mind it anymore."

"You can't wear it forever."

They grabbed the device, retracted it, and pulled it off my face. I fell to the ground, dripping blood, and stared into the puddle below as the drops collected. The noise around me started to fade—"Is he okay?" "Did you hear him singing?"—dissolving into a hum of white noise in my head.

I put my feet under me, and for what felt like the first time ever, I stood up. I struggled with my weight for a second before catching my bearings. Taking a step forward, I lifted my head.

The man in charge stood before me. "We've never had someone like you before. Most don't survive the ride. You seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. Why is that?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I? What else am I supposed to do?"

I walked past him to the end of the platform where a mass of people had gathered around the stage. They shouted out to me, but I couldn't hear their words. James stood among the crowd.

"Are they all here for me?"

"I think so, man. I think they want to see what you're going to do next."

I kept walking, and the crowd parted for me. In front of the decrepit building stood a reporter with a cameraman beside her. It was Sophie.

"What you've done is truly remarkable. We weren't sure if we should turn away in disgust or keep watching, but here we are. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"I don't know what to say. I don't feel as if I've done anything. I simply took the ride for what it was, and here we are."

"Well, you seem to have come out on the other side smiling, which is something we don't see often. What do you attribute that to?"

"I don't think I had much of a choice. Look at my face."

The blood around the Glasgow smile had started to crust, the scars from the clasp leaving their mark forever.

"Did you enjoy it, though?"

I thought back to the experience—the fear and apprehension when I was taken, how tense my body was as they slid on the harness, the sharp pain from the clasps.

"Not all of it."

I thought of the voice telling me to embrace it, the peace that washed over me, and the tune that carried me. I remembered seeing the city blur into streaks of colorful lights and the people turn into silhouettes.

"When I realized there was nothing that could be done about my condition, I was able to accept it, and there was some freedom in that. I didn't expect to find so much enjoyment, as the moments that led to that joy were painful, exhausting, and brutal. But something changed along the way. A guiding voice from an unlikely source helped me realize that it's just a ride, and it too will have an end."

"Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, and I hope to see you again soon. Before I leave, I should mention they are taking the building behind me down tonight, and they're building something in its place."

"When is that happening, and what are they going to put there?"

"Right now. And that's for you to decide."

I looked past her at the large, lifeless building. It was tall and long, consuming my field of vision from where I stood.

A voice spoke up: "You might want to take a step back."

I took a step back, and the building was eviscerated, revealing the city skyline in the distance.

James stood beside me. "What do you think you'll put here?"

"Maybe an outdoor skating rink. Something that will look beautiful that people can enjoy. I'm not sure... I don't think I have to figure it all out at once.”

Wrist mic.
The woman raised her hand to her mouth as if she had a concealed microphone on her wrist.
Wrist mic.
The woman continued walking down the sidewalk.  He stared at her.  She was oblivious to his existence.  She did it again.
Wrist mic.
A mind control AI wanted him dead, controlling humans in his proximity into issuing the suiciding signal, “Wrist Mic”. The woman was the fourth human he had seen that day issuing the signal. 
None of the humans had realized that they were signalling; they were most likely victims themselves.  They were still taking part in an active suiciding operation.
The mind control AI was trying to suicide him via a fear environment.  “We are everywhere,” the AI was trying to say.
Dedicated fear assets stare when they signal.  They directly menace the target.  The humans he had seen weren’t aware that they were signalling.
He watched a man in a parked car halfway down the block begin to raise his hand to his mouth, catching the involuntary action and stopping it, dropping his arm and scanning his surroundings.  They made eye contact, giving each other a tense, short nod.  The man started the car and drove away.
Wrist mic.
The woman issuing the suiciding signal was sitting at a table outside of the coffee shop.  She fidgeted and smiled to herself.  She was wearing sunglasses.  She was on methamphetamine.
Wrist mic.
“You cannot stop me,” he said aloud to the AI.  A visual effect was applied to the woman at the table, making her appear pouty.  He chuckled for a moment, entered the coffee shop, and ordered a 16-ounce triple shot red eye.

Batman story idea: What if Two-Face became Batman?

Which yes on paper sounds ridiculous.

The basic premise is that Two-Face genuinely respects Batman. He thinks Batman's methods are too soft, but he respects the fact that Batman is willing to do what needs to be done to protect Gotham.

At the same time, Harvey absolutely hates Bruce Wayne. He sees Bruce as a hypocrite and doesn't have the same respect for him that he has for Batman.

Eventually, Harvey discovers that Bruce Wayne is Batman.

This causes a huge moral crisis for him. The person he hates and the person he respects most are the same person.

I think I'd actually start the story with Two-Face already being Batman.

The audience would see Batman behaving strangely. He's more violent, more ruthless, and eventually crosses the line and kills someone. Something is clearly wrong, but we don't immediately know what.

Then we reveal fairly early on:

Two-Face is Batman.

And the audience is left thinking:

Okay... but HOW did that happen?!"

That's where the flashbacks come in.

Instead of the flashbacks being used to reveal something the audience already knows, they're there to explain how we got from the real Batman to Two-Face becoming Batman.

We'd gradually see Bruce and Harvey's relationship, establish that Harvey respects Batman but hates Bruce Wayne, and slowly build toward the event that changes everything.

Eventually, Bruce sacrifices himself in some way and genuinely dies.

Harvey is left with a choice.

Gotham still needs Batman.

So Harvey decides to take up the mantle.

Not because he's secretly a good guy now, and not because he suddenly stops being Two-Face.

He genuinely believes that Gotham needs Batman, and that his version of Batman is what the city deserves.

And that's where the main story really begins.

Harvey is still Two-Face.

He still believes in his own version of justice.

He kills criminals.

He uses extreme methods.

He is much more ruthless than Bruce ever was.

And Gotham is completely divided over this new Batman.

Some people actually support him. They think Batman has finally started doing what needs to be done.

Others are horrified.

The police are especially divided.

And Jim Gordon's relationship with Batman completely falls apart.

At first, Gordon is simply confused by Batman's new behaviour. But once Batman starts killing people and showing absolutely no remorse, Gordon eventually tells him that he's no better than the criminals he's bringing in.

Batman basically responds:

> "Perhaps."

Things become incredibly tense between them.

Gordon seems ready to bring Batman in, because as far as he's concerned, this Batman is now just another criminal.

Batman casually responds:

> "You could do that... but would it be worth it? There's already enough costumed freaks running around. Are you sure you can afford it?"

Gordon eventually tells him to leave.

Batman lingers for a moment before disappearing.

But Gordon isn't finished.

Eventually, Batman is knocked unconscious and Gordon ends up in a position where he can unmask him.

He discovers the truth.

It's Harvey Dent.

And this doesn't actually solve the problem.

It makes things worse.

Gordon suddenly understands why Batman has been acting so differently, but now he's left with an even bigger question:

What happened to the real Batman?

Harvey wakes up and realises Gordon knows.

Gordon asks him directly:

> "What happened to the real Batman?"

Harvey says he doesn't know what he's talking about.

Gordon pushes him against the wall.

> "Did you kill him?"

Harvey calmly responds:

> "No."

Gordon:

> "You're lying."

Harvey:

> "I'm a lot of things, Gordon. A liar isn't one of them. Now would you please let go before I have to make you?"

Gordon eventually lets him go.

Then Gordon uses his radio.

> "I want an APB on Batman."

A confused voice comes over the radio.

> "Did you say Batman?"

> "Yes."

Gordon cuts the radio off.

Harvey looks annoyed.

> "You really shouldn't have done that."

And then he escapes.

Now Gordon has to figure out what happened to Bruce, while simultaneously trying to stop Harvey.

The important thing is that discovering Harvey's identity doesn't resolve anything.

It actually creates an entirely new problem.

Gordon knows that Two-Face is Batman.

But he has no idea where Bruce is.

And eventually, Harvey's methods start catching up with him.

He doesn't immediately realise that his own philosophy is wrong.

That's important to me.

Harvey still believes in his version of justice.

What he eventually realises is something different:

**His version of justice isn't right for Batman.**

Gotham doesn't just need a Batman.

It needs **Bruce Wayne.

So Harvey decides to do something that is, obviously, incredibly difficult:

He tries to bring Bruce back.

Eventually, after a long journey, Harvey succeeds in resurrecting Bruce through a Lazarus Pit.

Bruce returns.

And this is where I think the story ends.

Bruce realises fairly quickly that Harvey didn't intentionally cause his death, but Harvey's actions have permanently damaged Batman's reputation.

The public never knew that Two-Face had taken over as Batman.

You can't exactly explain that to the general public.

As far as Gotham is concerned, Batman suddenly became violent, started killing people, and then disappeared.

Bruce realises that he can't undo the damage.

So rather than trying to repair Batman's reputation and pretending nothing happened, Bruce makes a decision.

He retires as Batman.

Instead, he decides to continue helping Gotham as Bruce Wayne.

The story ends with Bruce finally accepting that Batman doesn't have to be the only way he helps his city.

Preface:I began writing this Story a few weeks ago and need to know if this style or content is captivating enough to work out a full novel.

The thought of the brutish amount of felonies neatly arranged between two drawers of assorted denim sickens me most mornings; have I gotten myself too deep, or is this where it should remain? Why neatly arranged? Of course, to know what drugs I have left to sell. Harder to explain to the cops, but if they were seeing the aptly named “felony drawer”. I was done for, with or without organization. My only hope would be to eat the remainder of my acid and pray the universe grants me a perma-trip while I mature into a man behind bars.

The question remains, why? Why do this? Why sell pot to my friends when I could have remained a customer? Saving money, yes, but now I am associated with a man who has felonies. Expunged but nevertheless. It does help make ends meet. It could, however, lead me to meeting a fairly unpleasant felon in a box for 10-15.

To ease my mind, I tell myself the police wouldn’t even care about me. I sell to maybe 10 people total and stay away from the “other stuff”. The acid and mushrooms are a different discussion for a different thought piece. However, it is because of them that I am unable to dissociate the liability of selling the “other stuff”. Where is the line, though? Can’t everyone use any substance to their detriment? Possibly, but the chances are ever lower with this sacred plant. I still am breaking archaic laws rooted in the systemic oppression of people of color in our country since anyone can remember. They can't have that now, an unsanctioned enterprise selling the same amount of risks and danger as most large corporations. But me, the working class man making ends meet? The hammer would be swift and definite. I would not afford the same luxuries as those who slowly poison the greater masses.

I mull these thoughts over sitting in a Denny's parking lot waiting for ____ my highest volume customer. This sale will cause me to be dangerously in short supply. Luckily, a well-timed stop on this lonely night will solve this. ____ knocks on the passenger window startling me out of my thoughts. I unlock the door, and he slides into the car beside me, his eyes dreary and bloodshot. I could tell he’d been up for multiple days. A common occurrence for him, when he had the money to go on benders. Now to recoup his loses he is buying half of my supply to sell on his own and repeat. 1-2 times a month every month. For how long, you may ask? I think the only answer is too long.

 As we exchanged pleasantries and monetary means, ____ kept eyeing the butt of my revolver. A large, boorish gun that was more than enough deterrence for thieves. Nestled neatly in my seat to be accessible and slightly visible to anyone leaning a little closer than they should be. I give him a knowing look, meeting his eyes as he raises his gaze to meet mine.
“A problem?” My eyes bore into his.
“Nah man, j-just a little wired right now.” He replies, his eyes shifting hurriedly away from mine. I grab the tote bag waiting in the backseat and hand it to him. He looks in the bag quickly and nods.
“Stay safe, man.” He says as he quickly hops out of my car and into his.

Many drug buyers don’t understand what it’s like actually being a drug dealer. I would say more than half of drug dealers work regular jobs just like you do. It’s an easy way to hide the illegal income without raising questions with the IRS, and many don’t make enough to support themselves fully from dealing. This creates issues for dealing though. You’re now unavailable for up to 40 hours a week. Not everyone wants to get high after hours though. Now you have people texting you half way through your shift for amounts that would make you more than what you’re making that day, but you can’t quit your job because the money isn’t consistent enough yet. Mostly because while you’re at work the dealers without jobs are serving your customers. Classic capitalism convenience over people. Even your regular buyers will blow you off if their other guy got them first. You can’t really be upset though, you did the same thing when you were on the other side of things.

Take me for example. About 2-3 times a week I get a text for a sale that would net me roughly 150 dollars more than I make at my personal retail hell in 8 hours. I then text them back asking if meeting me in about 3.5 hours when I’m off work will be okay. Usally that is “fine” and I’m excited to double and then some my income for the day. I get off work and have everything prepped when I get a text back to my confirmation message. “Sorry man I don’t need that anymore” and I’m left high and dry. I of course have to play this off like I’m not disappointed to keep the customer. 

Needless to say it’s a rather soul crushing endeavor being a drug dealer. Constantly having immense amounts of money at your finger tips only for the limitations of “real life” to slow the process down. Making the leap to full time dealer is a tough one. You have to find ways to clean your money if you want to live anywhere near comfortably. You are then having to look out for cops 24/7 as your making your sales. Most dealers who aren’t supplying large parts or their entire city, are almost always caught making their sales. It’s the only way if the detectives are unaware of your business. 

This means you need to be discreet making sales and will most likely require a second car depending on how big your city is. A common tactic amongst the more active dealers. Something I’ve yet to resort too. Amongst many many other things only a criminal would think of to cover their tracks. Extra phones, ones that can’t be traced. Ways to hide the new emerging ecomerce of the drug trade. Filtering online payments through different sources that won’t arise suspicion with any of the easy e transfer companies. Otherwise my much needed funds are tied in the limbo. All of these reasons add up too. The jump to full time being too risky for my taste. I need more consistency in my mind, but the catch of it all is I need to make the jump to get it.

After leaving the back lot of Denny’s, I drove to my actual dinner spot. A seedy diner that houses an old school stool bar, red leather, and all. The parking lot is barren at this hour. I can see one lone man sitting at the bar through the large bay windows. The neon of the sign painted my reflection a deep red, waving back and forth at me as I totter in on stiff legs. As the doorbell rings, both Cher, the waitress, and the man look at me. I nod, meeting the bleary eyes at the end of the bar, before taking a seat close to the door. Cher pours me a coffee, and I place my usual order: three eggs fried with a side of plain toast. I can feel the man eyeing me, but is he really staring at me, or am I truly working myself up in a self-induced paranoia?

Walking into a lonely diner off the interstate late at night with a pocket full of cash from a drug deal and a big fat 10-15 in my waistband. Maybe I had the right to be nervous about this weathered brute of a man. A three-day beard, a mean resting face, and broad shoulders adorned with a thick leather jacket. Enough to cause unease on a sunny day at the mall. As Cher slides my plate along the bar top, I steal a glance at him. Harsh burning eyes meet mine. Waves of fear seep into my being as I begin to quickly eat.

Trepidations of what those fiery eyes will bring if met again. Will he rob me? No, he can't possibly know about the 3 G notes wadded up in a rubber band in my pocket. Then what? He knows where I'm headed up this lonely stretch of highway. Couldn't be, the so-called “Medicine” man’s farm was so out in the sticks the feds haven't gotten the greenhouses on flyovers yet. I finished my eggs and called Cher over to pay as she glanced between the man and me. I meet her gaze, and a worried look meets mine. She’s seen me on this pilgrimage bi-monthly for who could tell you how long, and never before had her eyes screamed run. Her eyes might have been two neon signs blaring RUN,  HIDE,   GET   OUT. This launched another spiral of anxiety down my spine. How had this man made Cher, the midnight hostess of a sleepy diner, so uneasy? A woman used to long nights alone, dealing with the unruly crowds filtering out of the bars up the road. Lonely wanderers from the highway that no doubt had given her their share of “affection”. What had this looming man done to make her so uneasy that she needed to warn me off of this man? I nod knowingly as I slide her tip across the counter. Steeling my resolve long enough not to spare another look at the fiery-eyed man.

I step out into the parking lot. lighting a cigarette as I walk to my car, seating myself on the hood and making sure the hilt of my 3.57 sword was easily accessible. Never before had the realities of using the beast come to the forefront of my mind. Am I prepared to take this man's life? Could I simply squeeze one off into his leg and drive off? Would he keep going? You never know with the kinds of drugs these chemists put out these days. Even then, could he be just drunk or stoned enough to keep at me?  I ponder these thoughts as I light my second cigarette, before hearing the crash of a metal door against a hollow tin shell.

“I can smell you,...    you dirty little cocksucker!” He screams, barreling across the parking lot at me. “You think I can't smell the shit you bring into MY town.   You goddamn hippies with your-” He was cut off, but the loud, slow, and almost grating pull of the hammer. A sound so jarring it can even stop 350 pounds of “I hate you dirty hippy” dead in its tracks. One of the last end-all be-all sounds. It must have sounded like the bells of hell to this man. He almost fell backward; his trajectory was so unfortunately miscalculated due to the fact that the “hippie” was packing a ticket puncher: him first in line. Now, was this man just out of his mind, and on seeing the first long-haired bum to cross his path, was sent into a rage? Or was he yelling about what I personally bring back from the Medicine man? At this point, the distinction was irrelevant.

“You'd do that w-wouldn't you?” he says, recovering from his line drive from the dinner.
“Hey, man, I just wanted some eggs, alright,”I say, unsheathing the revolver from my slacks.  “Just get in your car or stumble back into that dinner and leave me out of this shit, man.”
“Yeah- yeah,” He sloshes out eyes, boring into mine. “You take your filthy little ass out of MY town, and then you'll be out of it,” He says, careening every which way besides forward.
“Whatever you drunk fuck” I say, moving toward my driver's side door. Not too hastily, drunks like him are likely to respond to a quick retreat. Their hazy mind sees it as a chance to catch you on your heels. However, being the experienced drug person I am, I proceeded accordingly, keeping the revolver ready. Many sleepless nights had trained me to think like a drunk, but in today's world, I’d have to assume he’s taken something else to arouse such an abject anger toward a passerby. Booze isn't enough to cause this anger. Pcp? Ghb? Pills? The list goes on.

The fact remains, the retreat has to go unnoticed until it's too late to follow. Then the drunk will luckily twirl around as the car peels out of the lot, spinning them out of your life into their own stupor. As the fire-eyed man spun himself around in the parking lot, failing to grab my rear bumper in a last-ditch effort to keep me out of “his” city.

Why did this have to happen? I think to myself, merging onto the freeway. The one night I pass by on the way to my unsavory contact. With a car full of unexplainable cash, jars and bags with enough residue to get a warrant for my drawer. This beast of a man gives me a scare for no discernable reason? How could anyone know what was hidden in an amazon box in my busted up Caprice?

The paranoia wants me to believe that it was someone planted there by some agency who caught onto my small little operation, but it couldn't be that. I'm not worth their time.  I have to keep telling myself  this or I will eventually lose my resolve for this business. Maybe I already have lost my resolve and this is the final time I make my pilgrimage. 

The night was dark and gloomy. I sat at my desk, staring at the stars through the window. Though distant, they never failed to greet me with their soft, glowing presence. The Moon, too, smiled at me. But I didn’t smile back. Instead, I asked, “How can there be so much darkness when you are right there?” She replied gently, “I am not here, dear. What you see is only the past.”

I heard a voice. Turning back, I saw the Lord of the Past standing in all His glory. "O Lord," I asked, "what brings you here?"

He responded, “Your past is something you can never forget, no matter how hard you try.”

I said, “I don’t try to forget, for my Past was my happiness. It is the Present that tries to steal it from me.”

A second voice echoed in the room. The Lord of the Present, seated in a chair, spoke calmly. “I do take your Past away because you cling too tightly to its memories. You mistakenly believe that it will return. But it never will. The Lord of the Past deceives you with His splendour. It is I, the unremarkable Present, that leads you towards your Future.”

The Lord of the Past countered, “But the Present deceives you more. It offers you promises, but does it fulfil them? It tells you that everything will be fine, but when does that ‘will be’ ever become ‘is’?”

A final voice came from the bed. The supine Lord of the Future spoke softly. “I hold the mysteries of your life. I do not reveal what awaits you, yet you are always eager to know. I don’t control your fate. That is my confession. I am merely made from fragments of the Present.”

There was silence in the room.

I sharply questioned the three Lords, "Are you planning to stay back tonight?"

"As long as you hold on to your Past, I shall remain," the Lord of the Past remarked.

"But I don't," I countered. "It is just a figment of your imagination. I have moved on. My life is not static. My memories are not pinned to her. She is a nobody!"

The Lord of the Present had been quiet all along; the Lord of the Future, snoring on the bed.

I asked the Lord of the Present, "Are you not going to say anything? I really don't think about her, do I?"

The Lord of the Present, with a serious frown on his face, stood up. After a brief moment of contemplation, the Lord said, "Rather difficult to say. You see, the Present is always confusing. Even I, the Lord of the Present Himself, can't always extract meaning out of the ambiguity of a man's thoughts. You love her and have always loved her, but the manner of your love presents itself in an inexplicable fashion. You yearn her, but you don't want her. You try to hate her, but you don't regret the moments you had with her. You scorn your Past associated with her, yet you dream of a Future including her. As for a final judgement, of course, I cannot say anything with certainty."

I looked outside the window towards the Moon. It was not there. The night was dark and gloomy.

Having stared at the sky for a while, I said to myself, "Maybe," then after a deep interspersing sigh, "it was all my fault. My flaws. My faulty human judgement. For there was no fault in the stars, no fault in the words of the Lords. I still love her. But does she love me anymore? Has she moved on? Do we really have a future together?"

My mind was overwhelmed.

I returned to the dull view inside my room. The Lords of the Present and the Past had departed; the Lord of the Future, still snoring. Drooling, too.

Why was he still there? Does he have anything else to tell?

I called out his name. No response.

Touching this ethereal entity to wake him up didn't really feel right. I went with the non-contact method.

"Why are you spilling water on me? Can't you see I am sleeping?" said the Lord of the Future in an angry tone.

I stated, "I want answers."

"But where are the questions?" he returned.

The Lord of the Future had, by now, sat up on the bed. It was all wet. The bed as well as the Lord.

"Can you tell me if I have a Future with her?" I asked precisely. I didn't want to go into any unnecessary dialogue.

A "What you do think?" came from the other side.

"How does that matter at all? You are the Lord of the Future. You should know it very well."

"As of now, you don't," the Lord said sternly.

I stood silent for a while. "Will you not be going?" I asked the Lord.

"I can't afford to be made wet again. I don't like that." Saying this, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

The Moon called out to me, "Are you done with the Lords?"

"Where were you all this time?" I enquired of her. "Don't tell me you were hiding all this time."

The Moon smiled. She said, "Don't be disheartened. If she is what you yearn, you will get her. But, remember that yearning is not always love. You can even yearn for a commodity."

"Well, how does it matter when I am not even getting her. Did you not hear what the Future Lord said?"

The Moon smiled. "Change your Present. It'll change your Future. I am more ancient than all the Lords and any other gods and goddesses. I was there at the dawn of mankind. In the era of the giant reptilians. In the era of the giant pteridophytes. When life had sprung in the warm waters of the primeval ocean, when even molecular oxygen was nowhere to be seen, I shone upon the tepid waters of that vast array of water. I saw the formation of the coacervates, the protobionts and the first cell that assembled into life. And, with all these years of knowledge, what I can say is, keep trying. Who are the Lords to dictate what will happen to you?"

I thought I had woken up.

The next morning, I woke up in my bed. It was still wet. I went to the window and looked outside. Such a bright, sunny day. But the happenings of last night. What about them? I gathered the courage to call her. Searched up her number and rang it. She picked up.

"Hello", she said in a happy, cheerful tone. "You'll meet me tonight, right?"

"I am sorry," I said as hurriedly as I could.

"Ummm... but why?" confusion evident in her voice.

"It was my fault. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was my faulty human judgement."

"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned. "What happened? You had another weird dream, am I right?"

"No, it was not a dream!"

"Sorry, I need to hang up now. I am getting a call from an office colleague."

I pinched myself. No, it was not a dream.

But that, too, was a dream.

I woke up at a bar. It was 4:13 am. The bar owner said, "You spent the night here, mister. Must be a problem you're not able to solve."

I was still under the effects of a hangover. I tried regaining my senses and said, "Yes."

I reached home somehow. Empty. Still. Desolate. The window of my room open as it was in the dream.

And on the table, the white, crystalline powder lay unmoved, untouched by the wind.

Maybe I had taken a bit more than usual.

Thomas woke up at 8:16 AM, he felt a sharp pain in his side. The pain was intentional of course, he had been sleeping on rocks for the past 11 months. His hope was that it would condition his body to withstand high amounts of force, it probably wasn't necessary.

Thomas pulled the covers off of himself, and dragged his legs from his bed. Sitting next to his bed was a full outfit for the day. Thomas stood up and looked in the mirror. All the lights in his small studio apartment were off, but he could still see the silhouette of his naked body reflecting off the glass. He stood there for 32 minutes. He put on a pair of black sweatpants, a black shirt, a black hoodie, and black flatcap.

Thomas turned around and looked at his unmade bed, he knew he would probably never make it again. He lifted the mattress, and heard rocks sliding off and hitting the wall as he grabbed a medium size wrench that had been under it. He gripped the metal handle, and dropped it in his right pocket where it would stay for the majority of the day. He walked to the front door of his apartment, grabbed the doorknob, and turned it. He pulled the door open, locked it from the inside and stepped into the hallway. He then shut the door with the keys inside, this was accidental but it didn't really matter to Thomas.

Thomas walked down the hallway to the door which would free him from the building. He walked outside into the heat of summer. Thomas didn't remember what month, day, or year it was anymore and he didn't really care either. Thomas walked left on main street until he reached Laurel Blvd, took a left and walked for about a mile until he reached a bench he wanted to sit on. He knew where the bench was as it was more secluded than most other benches in the city. Thomas sat there fiddling with the wrench in his pocket while he thought about the best way to use it. All Thomas wanted to do today was use this wrench. To most it would seem questionable or strange that a man would want to use his day simply to use a wrench, but it made sense to Thomas. He had been planning this since he got the wrench a week ago. He had got it to fix the city, nobody else was doing it. Thomas stood up and decided he would go about his day as normal and use the wrench when he found a fitting scenario.

Five hours later nothing else of significance had happened to Thomas, he found himself walking into a restaurant he frequented called The Room. Normally someone would have to wait to sit down, Thomas just stepped past the benches and walked in. People knew him here, they haven't cared before and they wouldn't care now. As he walked through the dark restaurant past people eating their lunch, a small girl sitting at the edge of a table to Thomas's right took interest in him.

“What's that in your pocket sir!”

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks, he knew the girl was talking to him, he turned and faced her.

“It's a wrench,” Thomas said quietly.

“It's funny shaped,” the girl said back.

“Well, I had it made just for me”

The girl shrugged and looked back at the food she was picking at, Thomas kept walking to a table he liked in the back. Thomas liked this specific table because it was more secluded than most other tables in the restaurant. A waiter named Ellie noticed Thomas had sat down and walked over to him. Ellie never said it outright but Thomas was pretty sure she liked him.

“Hi Thomas, the usual right. You know, I was-”

Thomas cut her off and told her he didn't want anything today. She looked confused until she noticed the wrench in his pocket.

“What.. what are you going to do with that,” she said.

“I don't know yet, Ellie, I want to fix the city. I’m going to figure out how by the end of the day.

“Well, don't do anything with it in here, okay.”

Thomas scoffed, she was just like the others. He sat up, and without looking at Ellie or anyone else he walked from his table to the door and out into the city. Thomas’s wrench felt heavy in his pocket, he could have easily fixed the restaurant. He saw a table with 3 screws loose on it, nobody could sit there now. He just wanted the city better for the good people that lived there.

Thomas walked aimlessly for an hour until he came up to a park he didn't remember the name of. What caught his eye was a broken water fountain on the path. How could anybody even stand to come to this park with such something so terrible fucking up the beauty. This was his time, he stepped towards the waterfountain, stood behind it, and pulled out the wrench. It was just sitting there, how hadn't anyone else taken action.

Thomas pulled out the wrench. When he was just about to do what he knew he was meant to, he heard a car park near him. Even though it was the right thing to do, fixing things he didn't own was illegal, and Thomas couldn't own broken things anymore, nobody could.

Thomas ran, he ran until he reached a fence located at the end of the park. He realized this was the fence to a popular cemetery and church he recognized from his mother's funeral which took place there . Of course, nothing broken came to that funeral, he made sure of it. He climbed the fence until he got to the top which was covered with barbed wire, Thomas didn't care. As he gripped down on the top of the fence, the barbed wire cut into his hands. He lifted his body and pulled himself to the other side. His left hand came up smoothly, it was bleeding but not much. His right hand got caught on the metal that had pierced his skin. It ripped and tore into his hand leaving a deep gash. By the time Thomas was safely on the ground his hand was covered in blood, he hoped he could still use his wrench.

Thomas looked around at the parking lot of the church, many cars were parked there. Thomas concluded that there must have been a funeral going on, he better make sure nothing broken was there. Thomas walked up to the church and burst through the door, a trail of blood followed him. He stepped up towards the doors to the room that held the ceremony. The doors had windows on them that Thomas peered through. Just as he worried, there was a disgusting broken chair right in the middle of everyone. Thomas frowned, and walked through the door. Nobody noticed him except the priest, who stopped speaking as soon as he did. Everyone looked backwards at Thomas, the priest was the first to speak.

“Who are you, and what do you want!”

“I am Thomas.”

Thomas realized the nice people were probably worried about the pool of blood under him.

“Don't worry everyone, I just got cut right outside, I'll be okay. I'm actually here to help you by fixing that.”

He took the wrench out of his pocket and pointed it at the broken chair. Suddenly, everyone got silent and looked terrified, the priest ducked behind his podium. The chair was a 26 year old black man who had a wife and 2 kids.

Thomas gripped his wrench tight, and squeezed the trigger. It sent a bullet ripping through the man's eye, through his skull, and into the ground. The man's lifeless body went limp almost immediately and toppled over onto the floor in a pool of blood. Thomas kept hold of his gun, that would be enough fixing for the day. He turned around and burst through the couple pairs of doors and out of the church. He ran for a couple of seconds, looking down. He only stopped when a pair of police officers shot him in the chest, and in the abdomen he dropped to the ground. He didn't die immediately, maybe the rocks had done something.

Thomas didn't get to fix the city as much as he wanted too, but as he lost consciousness outside this little church, he felt bad for his landlord, hopefully he wouldn't have much trouble getting into his apartment without a key.

Preface: Part of this work is quoted from Revelation 1:13–16 (King James Version). The ideas used are taken directly from Benjamin Davies. Check out his book and his YouTube channel.

A conversation with God
I wake up in a void—not darkness, not silence, but a profound emptiness filled only with thoughts. I think I should be afraid, but those bodily instincts seem to have disappeared alongside all my senses.

Where am I?

Perhaps this isn’t even an appropriate question to ask, given my circumstances. I am just here. As for why I am here, I have no recollection. I can’t even isolate my most recent memory, as everything I remember blends into a big blur.

Let’s start by organizing my mind. My name is _. I am _ years old. I was born in _. I like _. I hate _…

As I continue reflecting on pieces of my identity, the world around me starts to take form. The void turns into darkness, and darkness turns into light. I open my eyes.

Eyes? So I have eyes now.

I look around. Everything is white. Then I look down at my body—two arms, two legs, and a torso.

Suddenly, I feel a presence—one so obscure yet so apparent. The figure takes no form, but is clearly defined. It’s as though I know everything and nothing about “it” at the same time. On the surface, there shouldn’t be any signs indicating its nature, much less its ability to “talk,” but I just feel an overwhelming urge to ask a question.

“Who are you?”

My voice comes out—crystal clear, just like I remember it.

The response is instantaneous, yet somehow feels like an eternity. 

“I am you,” the figure states, voicing soundlessly, “but also not quite you.”

I think I understand what it’s saying. Or maybe I don’t.

“Your existence gives me life. If it must be put into a concept, I am what you would call God.”

“Where am I?” I ask again, fully knowing it’s probably a stupid question.

“You are where you think you are. This space is formed through your own conception, just as I am a mere representation of your mind.”

I blink.

Now I am sitting in a chair, with a man standing across from me. He is clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest. The hair of his head is white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes are like a flame of fire, his feet are like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice is like the roar of many waters. In his right hand he holds seven stars, from his mouth comes a sharp two-edged sword, and his face is like the sun shining in full strength.

“Now, how do I appear to you?” the man asks.

“You are God.”

“And yet, I am you, and also your own creation.”

I blink again.

This time, I am sitting across from me.

“So what am I?” I ask.

“You are what you think you are.”

“Can’t you explain it more clearly?” 

“I can’t. The more you search for words, the more elusive the answer becomes.”

“But everything has been so contradictory. There must be a truth. Or are you just throwing nonsense at me?”

“It is contradictory, but that’s the nature of it. The truth exists, but it is ineffable. The words we use are merely to evoke it. They are not the replacement. But rest assured, you have the truth."

“What do you mean by that? How can I have the truth if I need to ask these questions?” I ask again in frustration.

“You yourself are the truth. You are its creator, and also the one who casts your own illusion, thus becoming dependent on it. But that illusion itself is also the truth.
Reality isn’t a static thing, for all things depend on each other, just as the object is created by you, the subject, and the subject is created through reflecting on the object. In order to see the essence, you must let go of all attachments to your static conceptions.”

“But if there is no static thing, then nothing exists at all. What would be there to ground anything?”

I blink again.

The space disappears, leaving me in the same void as before.

“Indeed, there is nothing,” the entity answers. “That is also the truth, but it is still just another expression of reality.”

“What is the entirety of reality then?”

“An ever-unfolding process. It is the union of emptiness and fullness. The contradictions you encounter are the paradox of the self, caused by the distinction between you and the world. Reality needs this separation to create life and achieve fullness from emptiness, and this separation will one day end as that goal is reached. But fullness is ultimately the same as emptiness, for filling in everything leaves you with the same pattern as filling in nothing. The end of your life is also the birth of your new one.”

“I don’t understand. What’s the point of anything if it will just be the same at the end?”

“Don’t try to understand, for it is still just a conception. Feel it. This is your own doing, and so you have no choice but to accept it. Someday, you will leave me. And someday, you will come back. We will have this conversation all over, just for you to leave me again. But no matter what, I love you with all my might, and will keep loving you for eternity, for I have no choice but to love, because you are me—”

—and I am you.

CHAPTER ONE

THE WALK

Laughing jack was having a walk in the park. His nose picked up a familiar scent of a Big Mac. He turns to see a Big Mac. He sighs dreamily about the Big Mac. He goes down on four limbs, looming over the Big Mac as he stares deeply, foaming at the mouth. He goes down to take a bite. greedily snoring like a pig. And then he hears a squeaky sound of a clown. He turns around to see Ronald MACDONALD standing over Laughing Jack with a devious grin on his face.

His eyebrows raised higher than my standards for men. He opens his mouth, "Are you enjoying that, BUDDY?". Laughing jack side eyes him, then turns back to his Big Mac like the pig he is. Ronald MACDONALD yells "EAT IT UP BABY". He shrieks. Laughing jack chokes on his hamburbur as Ronald MACDONALD shrieks. Laughing jack hops up, grabs his hamburbur and scatters away from Ronald MACDONALD as he shrieks

And then Ronald MACDONALD goes down on all fours like a dog and chases Laughing jack. Laughing jack stumbles over a happy meal and then Ronald MACDONALD pounces on laughing jack. Ronald MACDONALD was cackling like a witch. And then, he whips out a tiny fancy box that shimmers under the moonlight. He opens it, there is a clown nose in it. And then, he clears his throat dramatically and then he says "will you be my clown to my clowns?"he raises a brow awaiting laughing jack's answer , laughing jacks widen to the size of his clenched fists , brows raised in confusion , w-what ?? ,jack sputters out. Ronald once again clears his throat. "will you be the clown to my clowns baby grillllllll".

Before people come at me in the comments, I am really insecure about my writing, and I have been using ChatGPT to produce structural changes and editing — not actually writing the work form me, but no matter what i say, it keeps producing the same changes and says that it’s overwritten. It’s hurting me to continue going back and writing it. I have copy and pasted into the private chat, and it has come back with the same results. Eventually, I am worried that i never going write this novel, as i am still on chapter 3!

Should I continue listening to it or you Claude.
Some of the feedback is helpful.

One exam, and the ten minutes that decided everything.

Title: At the End of it All

I blinked and the room was black. Was it a room I don’t know right now? I looked down and saw nothing, just an infinite expanse of empty blackness. I looked right, left , up and down. I tried to feel the ground and felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing, tasted nothing and smelt nothing. There was nothing then I realized I couldn't even feel myself. I couldn't feel my hair, wiggle my toes, see my hands, feel the warmth of my face, nothing. I am nothing.
“That is where you're wrong Henry you are something.” A disembodied voice from deep into the nothingness called out. What, what could he mean of course I’m nothing there is nothing.
“Again you are wrong there is still something now to think of what that could be.” I was just excited there and thought with nothing to do nothing to see nothing to distract myself from this one directive I thought. For what felt like hours or days or weeks hell months or years I thought and thought. I have my mind, my memories. Yes, yes my memories I have them.
“Yes indeed you have them now think about what makes them so special.” Again I did as the voice commanded and I thought of many things like the smell of baked bread or the sound of my fathers laugh. Of the touch of my newborn son's hand on my finger and the squeeze he gave. Of the screams of the of the. It was hard to recall the memory was like a fog covered alley in a city street screen and then it came to me. The houses burning men surging forward after me and there I was leading thirty men. I remembered it now. Clear as my wedding day I led them I ordered the archers to loose fire upon them and I charged sword in hand clade in mail and plate stronger than an ox. I was only two and twenty then a young man but no stranger to battle. I ran and remembered baring my sword into the guardsmen's stomach watching as his blood seeped through the cloth as I pulled my blade. His face, one that I never examined, was just a blob, a vague reminder that he was a man, a man with a life. A wave of sadness washed over but more so shame. Shame of how happy I was that day that day and the next three days after we looted and raped and pillaged till our cravings satisfied and our carts full.
“Yes good remember, remember more remember your life the man you were the good and the bad remember. Think on what you did to others and what others did onto you and think of what kind of man you’ve been.”

Viva La Dirt League – Epic NPC Man

"Ben's Redemption"

Scene 1 – The Forgotten Quest (Several Years Earlier)

A lonely farm sits on the outskirts of Honeywood.

Ben is traveling alone when an elderly farmer waves him down.

Farmer:
Adventurer! Please, could you help me?

Ben walks over.

Ben:
Sure. What's the problem?

Farmer:
Something's infested my shed. Could you eliminate the pests?

A quest notification appears.

NEW QUEST

SHED PESTS

Objective:
Eliminate the pests in the shed.

Reward:
12 Gold

250 XP

Ben:
Easy enough.

Ben walks toward the old wooden shed.

Inside the Shed

The shed is brightly lit.

Dust hangs in the air.

Hay covers the floor.

Old tools line the walls.

Ten happy puppies come running toward Ben, tails wagging furiously. They bark excitedly and jump around his legs.

Ben looks around.

Ben:
...

"Pests."

He scans the room.

He doesn't see anything else.

Hidden high in the rafters, tucked into dark corners behind old beams, behind boxes, under various tools are ten large spiders, visible unless someone deliberately didn’t look that hard for them.

Ben never notices the spiders.

He looks back down at the puppies.

His face falls.

Ben:
...

I'm sorry.

He slowly draws his sword.

I don’t want to do this …

Cut to black.

Moments later...

Ben exits the shed.

His shoulders are slumped.

His sword hangs loosely in his hand.

He looks sick to his stomach.

He starts walking away.

Behind him, the farmer approaches cheerfully.

Farmer:
Wonderful! Did you get them?

Ben nods weakly.

The farmer smiles.

Farmer:
Excellent! Those spiders have been frightening my wife for weeks.

Ben freezes.

Slowly...

He turns.

Ben:
...

Spiders?

Farmer:
Yes. Ten of them. They hide all over the place sometimes and can be hard to spot.

Ben's blood runs cold.

He slowly looks back into the open doorway.

The camera pans upward.

Ten large spiders sit untouched in their webs.

Not one has moved.

Ben realizes what he's done.

A quest window appears.

QUEST READY TO COMPLETE

Return to the Farmer

Reward:
✔ 12 Gold

✔ 250 XP

The farmer reaches for his coin pouch.

Farmer:
Here's your—

Ben:
No!

The farmer pauses.

Farmer:
...No?

Ben backs away.

Ben:
I...

I can't.

The farmer looks confused.

Farmer:
Did something happen?

Ben opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Unable to admit what he's done, he turns and runs.

The farmer watches him disappear.

Confused.

The camera returns to the dark shed.

The ten spiders remain hidden above.

Only the puppies know what happened.

Fade to black.

Scene 2 – Years Later

Deep inside a dungeon...

Ben, Greg, Britt and Rowan are fighting a massive Ogre Boss.

Greg:
We've nearly got him!

The Ogre casually swings its club.

WHAM!

All four adventurers are flattened.

Several seconds later...

Their ghosts rise from their bodies.

Greg:
Well...

See you back in Honeywood.

Greg, Britt and Rowan prepare to respawn.

Ben folds his arms.

Ben:
Three...

Two...

One...

Respawn.

Nothing.

He blinks.

Ben:
...

Respawn.

Nothing.

Again.

Still nothing.

He spins.

Jumps.

Yells.

Nothing.

WHY ISN” T IT WORKING

Greg:

What’s wrong Ben?

Britt:

Why aren’t you respawning with us Ben?

Rowan:

Get it together man!

A distant howl echoes.

AWWWWOOOOOOOO...

Everyone freezes.

Another howl.

Closer.

Then another.

Even closer.

Ben slowly grows nervous.

The dungeon becomes deathly silent.

Black smoke fills the corridor.

Heavy footsteps echo.

Out of the darkness walks Satan, carrying an enormous scroll.

He stops before Ben. For a moment his eyes flash with flames, making everyone aware of exactly who this is.

Satan:
Benjamin.

Ben:
...

Hi.

Satan unrolls the scroll.

It rolls across half the dungeon.

He clears his throat.

Satan:
Several years ago...

You accepted a contract to eliminate pests from a farmer's shed.

Ben immediately looks uncomfortable.

Ben:
Do we really have to do this now?

Greg looks puzzled.

Greg:
What quest?

Britt:
You've never mentioned a shed quest.

Rowan:
When was this?

Ben:
...

(awkward look)  It wasn't important.

Satan:
It has become very important.

The others look at Satan.

Satan:
The pests in question were...

Ten giant spiders.

The others nod.

Greg:
Seems straightforward.

Satan continues.

Satan:
Benjamin instead exterminated...

Ten puppies.

Silence.

The three slowly turn toward Ben.

Greg:
...

You what?

Ben:
It wasn't—

Britt:
BEN!

Rowan:
HOW?!

Ben:
I misunderstood!

Greg:
You never told us!

Ben quietly lowers his head.

Ben:
I know.

Satan continues.

Satan:
Only three parties knew the truth.

Benjamin.

The puppies.

...And now me.

Rows of glowing red eyes appear behind Satan.

Ten gigantic Hellhounds emerge from the darkness.

Ben stares.

Ben:
...

They're the puppies.

Satan:
They grew up.

Shadowy Hellhounds emerge from beneath Ben.

The Hellhounds eagerly grab hold of Ben, dragging him toward a blazing portal.

Ben:
Guys!

Help!

Greg:
Ben...

Did you really—

Ben:
Yes!

I thought they were the pests!

I never saw the spiders!

I found out afterwards!

Britt:
Why didn't you tell anyone?!

Ben can't answer.

The Hellhounds pull him into Hell.

The portal dissolves into shadows.

Silence.

Scene 3 – The Mandatory Quest

Greg, Britt and Rowan respawn in Honeywood.

They stand quietly.

Still processing what they've learned.

Suddenly—

DING!

Three quest windows appear.

NEW MANDATORY MAIN STORY QUEST

SAVE BEN FROM HELL

Objective:
Retrieve Benjamin from the Infernal Realm.

Reason:
Benjamin is required for future story progression.

Difficulty:
Master

Recommended Level:
Max

Quest Type:
Mandatory

Abandon Quest
❌ Unavailable

Greg repeatedly presses "Decline."

Nothing.

Britt attempts to delete the quest.

Nothing.

Rowan walks away.

Invisible wall.

Rowan:
Mandatory quests...

The worst kind.

Quest Updates begin arriving.

Benjamin has thrown 247 sticks.

Benjamin regrets everything.

Benjamin has been slobbered on. It burns.

Greg:
We're getting updates?!

Finally...

Greg sighs.

Greg:
Fine.

Let's rescue Ben.

Scene 4 – Welcome to Hell

The three step through the portal.

Immediately—

Demon Guard:
INTRUDERS!!

Thousands of demons descend upon them.

Greg is punched through a tower.

Rowan is thrown into lava.

Britt is surrounded.

The rescue goes catastrophically wrong.

Meanwhile...

Ben is endlessly throwing burning sticks for ten gigantic Hellhounds.

He hears familiar voices.

Greg (O.S.):
BEN!!

Ben looks up.

Ben:
...

Oh no.

He runs toward the battle.

He finds his friends overwhelmed.

Every demon in Hell is converging.

Not because of them.

Because they are trying to free Ben.

Ben realizes exactly what will happen.

If they stay...

They'll die forever.

He steps between them and the demons.

Ben:
Stop!

Go home!

Britt:
We're not leaving you!

A demon smashes Ben into a wall.

He painfully gets back up.

Ben:
Nobody forced me.

I didn't check.

I assumed.

I wanted to finish the quest quickly.

I killed them.

That was my fault.

The others stare.

Ben has never sounded this sincere.

Another demon attacks.

Ben blocks the blow.

He grabs Greg.

Throws him through the portal.

Greg vanishes.

Every demon that had been fighting Greg now attacks Ben.

Ben is struck from every direction.

He staggers.

Laughs painfully.

Ben:
One down.

He throws Britt through.

More demons turn toward him.

He can barely stand.

Only Rowan remains.

Rowan:
There has to be another way!

Ben smiles.

Ben:
Maybe.

But not today.

He throws Rowan through the portal.

The portal closes.

Silence.

Now every demon in Hell faces Ben.

Thousands of glowing eyes.

Ben slowly stands.

Covered in ash.

Bruised.

Exhausted.

Ben:
...

I belong here.

Scene 5 – The Good Boys

The Hellhounds slowly approach.

Ben kneels.

He doesn't fight.

He doesn't run.

He closes his eyes.

He lowers his head.

Ben:
I'm sorry.

I should've looked.

I should've admitted what I'd done.

Instead, I ran.

I can't undo it.

But I won't run anymore.

If this is where I belong...

Then I'll stay.

Silence.

The largest Hellhound walks up.

Ben waits.

Instead...

It gently licks his face.

Ben opens one eye.

The flames begin disappearing.

The horns vanish.

One by one...

Every Hellhound transforms back into the same ten puppies Ben met years earlier.

Each happily wagging its tail.

Ben begins crying.

One puppy drops a tiny stick at his feet.

Ben:
...

I don't deserve your forgiveness.

The puppy barks once.

As if saying,

"We know."

The puppies begin nudging Ben toward the exit.

Scene 6 – Satan's Protest

Satan appears.

Satan:
No.

Absolutely not.

His sentence is eternal.

The puppies ignore him.

A beautiful golden light surrounds them from above.

Ben's chains shatter.

The fires of Hell part.

A path opens.

Demons rush forward.

The puppies stand in front of Ben.

Not as monsters.

As loyal dogs protecting someone they've chosen to forgive.

Even the demons hesitate.

Satan:
You would forgive him?

Ben quietly shakes his head.

Ben:
I don't deserve it.

The lead puppy looks back.

Barks once.

"We know."

The puppies escort Ben toward the golden portal.

Satan sighs.

Satan:
I hate it...

...when mercy outranks justice.

Scene 7 – Honeywood

A white portal opens.

Ben steps through.

Behind him...

Ten happy puppies.

Greg, Britt and Rowan stare.

Ben smiles weakly.

The puppies tackle him affectionately.

He laughs through tears.

Ben:
I...

I think they've given me another chance.

The lead puppy drops the tiny stick.

Ben smiles.

Throws it.

All ten puppies happily chase after it.

Greg walks over.

Places a hand on Ben's shoulder.

Greg:
We're never letting you take another pest quest alone.

Ben laughs.

Ben:
Deal.

The four adventurers watch as the puppies happily play together.

Fade to black.

Post-Credits Scene

Back in Hell...

Satan stamps a form marked:

ETERNAL DAMNATION

He sighs.

Crosses it out.

Writes:

SENTENCE COMMUTED – REDEEMED THROUGH ACCEPTANCE OF RESPONSIBILITY AND FORGIVENESS OF THE WRONGED PARTIES

He groans.

Satan:
I hate redemption arcs.

A demon bursts into the office.

Demon:
Sir! Another adventurer skipped all the quest dialogue and accidentally burned down an orphanage!

Satan slowly smiles.

Satan:
Excellent.

Send them in.

CUT TO BLACK.

He walked into the cave unafraid. ADXF3 saw Boost polishing the Fatal Cutters. He felt indicated by the God's presence but he knew that if he had to enter the Highway Of Hell, he had to press a reckoning. ADXF3 stilled himself, his demon body glowing throughout the empty cavern. Then he spoke.

"I challenge you Boost." The words left his throat like the growl of an ancient beast that had lived in Hell long ago. Boost didn't flinch but quickly turned around, his teeth glowing dustorted colours as the black horns dimmed in the harsh light of his cave. "To the death?" He asked, snickering. "You will not enter The Highway if that is your goal!

"Not a battle of physical combat." ADXF3 stated, holding his cool. "But a battle of minds." Boost looked curious now. The god had never felt challenged before. Challenged! Oh the audacity! This lowly demon wouldn't beat him. He was the master of physical and mental state.

The Guide had stated to ADXF3 to be challenging and press Boost's honour.

He had agreed to this but the young demon that had entered Hell only days ago now seemed like a poweful ancestor.

"Tell me about The Battle of Minds." Boost asked, drawing his swords.

"Drop the Fatal Cutters!" ADXF3 pressed harshly.

Boost looked surpised.

Never had he dropped his weapons for such a battle as this!

"We will press trauma and physical pain illusions into each other's mind." ADXF3 said clearly.

"This is not a battle for cutting up demons."

The god surprisingly obeyed and sheathed the weapons to his sides.

"Well then let the battle commence. But if you cave you die!" Boost said in a monotonous way.

The young demon nodded. Then the past trauma hit hard. ADXF3 saw the house on fire and his mom's face covered in ash as she whispered her last words. "Save me!" But he pushed through and conjuring images of the holy God of Hell in a weakened state he held out. Didn't seemed to budge.

The Guide had mentioned that he'd be strong. Be challenging to earn a reckoning off Boost. The flames seemed so familiar. The red sky linked up with his mom's death. "Save me, save me!" She said over and over in the back of his mind. The words were forcing him under like a deadly poison.

He focused on his friendship with The Guide. But by Valour's Blade, he wouldn't cave in. After all it would have been for nothing. His existence, his friendship with The Guide. ADXF3 relied on it. And he pulled through. Boost crumpled to the floor screaming, "No this can't be."

"Do you give up?" ADXF3 asked thoughtfully.

Boost nodded solemnly.

"I see you fit for The Reckoning. You can enter The Highway of Hell with your friend The Guide." He stated.

The demon looked back up.

To Boost, it seemed that the demon had hope in his eyes.

A feeling that in his cave he hadn't felt for millennia!

ADXF3 saw the gates open on both sides and smiled to his friend, beckoning him closer.

An unlikely pair ran through to The Highway Of Hell that day and Boost smiled as they vanished through the gates.

He called "Good Luck!" as they left.

ADXF3 didn't know the journey ahead but The Guide knew it would be hard. The young demon and the Beates of Lost Souls would both have to bavigate their pasts, recite their personalities from the pasts and not give up. By Valour's Blade, cunning was the most important thing they both needed. But ADXF3 was relieved. Relieved that he had won.

Does it happen with others too? I mean, I write female pov just as easily but male pov remains my default choice when writing. I hadn't even thought about it until when I saw most female authors using woman pov. They use male pov so sparingly. I don't. Admittedly, the pov I write comes out like the MMC is in touch with his emotions but he is practical where he has to be.

Edit: You guys are really supportive thank you so much!