If I Could Kill My Feelings… (A Novelette)

A novelette is just a really long, short story. And this particular one is romantic African science fiction. Here’s the PDF: If I Could Kill My Feelings.

I hope you enjoy it. But if you don’t, that’s okay too. We can still be friends. 🙂

And yes, the title of this story has an optional ellipsis at the end. LOL.

Art by the absolute GENIUS, Kaz Aninkorah.

Sneak peek?

If I Could Kill My Feelings…


I was in one of the blackest moods as I made my way to the cafeteria. My face was set in stone and my body was literally radiating hostility. It was rolling off me in huge waves. Everywhere I walked, people gave me a wide berth. It is this thing called instinct that leads you away from things that could harm you if you get too close. And in that moment, I was a threat to everyone around me. It wouldn’t take much to set me off. It was as if I was waiting for that perfect moment, for someone to approach me in just a hint of the wrong way, so that whichever insult I spontaneously generated would slide off my tongue and verbally slap them senseless. I wanted to get in a fight, to throw a punch at someone.

My phone buzzed. I ignored it.

I shouldn’t have left my room at all – in this state, I was far too combustible – but I was really hungry and neither my mood nor any other facet of my general wellbeing would benefit if I starved myself. As soon as I got my food, I planned to carry it to my room and lock myself in there for as long as necessary, until it was relatively safe for me to be around human beings again.

My phone buzzed a second time. I ignored it once more.

There were illogical amounts of distance in the self-serve line between myself, the person ahead of me, and the person behind me. Although I wasn’t looking directly at the person behind me, I was very familiar with the conflict she was internally dealing with. She was teetering, shifting her weight from leg to leg in hesitation, wondering if she really wanted to be in this line, whether she wouldn’t like the food somewhere else a little better. The longer she stayed, the stronger her doubt that she truly wanted to be here grew. Normally, I’d be self-conscious enough that it would dampen the Darkness a bit, then the space would decrease, the internal doubts would diminish, and her feet would start to find balance in sharing bodily weight equally again. Today, though, I was too far into the Darkness to care much about other people.

In a few seconds, I felt the sudden vacancy of energy. I didn’t have to look back to know that the woman who had been behind me was now gone.

The sea of people trying to get fed naturally parted for me as I made my way out of the door and stalked angrily towards my room, irritation at everything and nothing still bubbling in the pit of my gut. The buzzing of my phone restarted, but this time it didn’t stop after a second. It was incessant, and too agitating to ignore. Rage rose within me as I laid my food down on a nearby bench and snatched my phone out of my pocket, fully intending to terminate the call. I couldn’t press the reject button before I saw the ID of the caller, but I already knew it couldn’t possibly have been anyone other than Mario.


To read more, download the file linked at the beginning of the post! 🙂

-Akotz the Spider Kid

Read Predictable Books Anyway.

I recently finished reading The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks. Yes, he’s a romance writer. No, I”m not a romance fan. I do, however, like Nicholas Sparks. 

The first time I was exposed to him, it was through the movie The Last Song. I rented it, and it turned out to be corrupted. It stopped working halfway, leaving me full of suspense. Not knowing what else to do, I tried to Google it to find out what happened next, and then discovered it was a book. I abandoned my quest then. Naturally, I had to download it. I was impressed. Greatly. (Eventually, somehow, I got to watch the end of the movie, by the way.) I read The Notebook too, and although it was really cute, it didn’t set my mind on fire. 
I didn’t think about Sparks again until I watched The Lucky One on a plane flight a few months ago. I discovered that was a book too, and I downloaded it. Now THAT rocked my world.
So, when I saw The Guardian in my school’s library on the featured shelf, I was like hey, why not?
the guardian
After about thirty pages (out of about 430), I knew how it was going to end. I wasn’t wrong. But it had been a long time since I’d read something so predictable. 
I wouldn’t say it was an amazing book. And though it ended exactly as I thought it would, even when the middle occasionally surprised me, I wouldn’t call it a complete waste of my time. Because, you see, sometimes, it’s good to read predictable books.
Let me explain. Sometimes, the purpose of reading the book isn’t only about the outcome. And no, I’m not going to do the cliche stress on how you may improve your vocabulary. My emphasis, actually, is on what you actually learn from the book. There’s a lot of stuff you can be exposed to, just by reading, well, anything. As long as it doesn’t subtract from your Intelligence Quotient or bore you to death, anyway.
I, for instance, am more inclined to collect information about humans and behaviour from books than actual, solid facts like places or stuff like that.
Not to spoil, but the main antagonist of this book happens to be a psychopath. (Fun, right?) But, I mean, you read psychopaths everywhere. Alex Cross novels and the like have those in abundance. But as I read more books with more villains, i start to realize that they usually have perfectly valid reasons for being villains. That’s why I usually love the back-story of the villain, psychopathic or not, being told. It gives you strange insight into the character’s true make-up.
Generally, we’re ‘supposed’ to like and sympathize with the heroes/protagonists, and straight-up dislike the villains/antagonists, just because, well, they’re the bad guys. But just as in every Alex Rider book I’ve ever read (which is all of them except Russian Roulette), the villains always have reasons. As some famous scientist from somewhere has probably said before, nothing happens without cause. 
Even Dan Povenmire’s and Swampy Marsh’s character, Doofenshmirtz, has childhood memories that set off the ideas he comes up with in the present. 
As we read more (or even watch more, if you’re watching the right kind of things), you might find yourself observing patterns and/or realizing things you’d never really paid attention to before. It’s all very interesting. 
There’s so much you can take from a book besides how the plot was unravelled. 
Incidentally, up until recently, my favourite Once Upon A Time character was the Evil Queen, Regina. She might have been the villain, but she was the most justified one I’d ever known. Now, though, it’s Captain Hook. Not just because Colin O’Donoghue and his accent are sexy but…well, mostly that. 
But, I mean, look at him! He's even better when he speaks in that accent.
But, I mean, look at him! He’s even better when he speaks in that accent.
I’m kidding. 
But seriously. Read the predictable books anyway. 

She Wanted Beauty

Forgive me for being a romantic utopian with this one. The truth of it is, I’ve been watching too many movies about failed/failing marriages on TV lately, and I need to believe that it’s not as bad as Hollywood makes it. Although I wrote this a few months ago, this is the reason I’ve just decided to post it.


Beauty did not come, as everyone always tried to make each other believe, from make-up and splendor. Beauty came from simplicity and nature, which happened to be exactly the two things that came to mind when he looked at his house, his life and his wife.

She read by the window, occasionally looking up and out of it at the beautiful country meadow that was their exaggerated “backyard.” She was so engrossed in the book that whenever she did look up from it, she was contemplating the events of it and analyzing every word, like the philosopher and discoverer she was.

On the weekends, you could hardly believe the life she led on the weekdays: always rushing about, having meetings with dozens of people, sketching designs and programming late into the night. During the weekends, she read, she stared, she blogged and devoted herself to loving life and loving her husband.

He remembered when she’d once told him: “I want to be beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that comes from good looks alone. I want to be the kind of beautiful that recognizes beauty where it is. I want to look up at the sky and never forget the beauty of the moon or how much I love it. I want to look at the ground and think that dirt is not dirty but natural in the place where it belongs. I want to be the kind of beautiful who is beautiful every day right from the minute I wake up, simply because I fall in love every day with the things I do. People are beautiful when they evidently love what they have always loved.”

He had fallen in love with her then, because she hadn’t realized she was already the exact kind of person she wanted to be. What was there left to achieve? Success? A full life? She had them both. Loads of friends, many of them almost as smart as she was – she’d never settle for anything less. He was, himself, more of an introvert, but her friends were her friends, and his life was just as busy. His weekends were just as relaxed. And every weekend, he thanked his stars that he’d made the right choice. How was he supposed to have survived, having married anybody else? There was nobody as perfect.

She closed the book and looked at him, looking at her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he responded.

She lay the book down and walked over to him. Putting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him, not wishing that she were anywhere else at this point in time. He was beautiful too, especially in the evidence that he loved dearly what he had always loved: herself.