Flights of Fancy

I’m back! If you missed my last post, it’s because I forgot to put any tags. Yes, I’m an idiot. As usual, the short piece – this time a poem – is at the bottom of the post but I would appreciate it if you could all stick around for the entire post, as it will be pretty short and it will include some recommendations.

I have a love-hate relationship with rap music. I am naturally more inclined to listen to rock/punk/etc so rap isn’t always the first thing on my mind. Recently, that changed. My love for punk and rock remains but I also discovered some Korean rappers. I already knew about the great RM, Suga, J-Hope, etc but then I found Outsider. Holy shit. If nothing else, just give his song Loner a shot. I promise it’s amazing.

Then, yesterday, I found the iconic duo LeeSsang (리쌍) by chance and fell in love with their profound lyrics. My first introduction was their Tears of Pierrot trilogy, which I greatly recommend, though it’s very sad so be warned, as well as Painter/Song of Fire (화가), all of which can be found on Daechungpower’s youtube channel, with English subs.

Finally, today, I ventured into Big Bang’s territory and found T.O.P’s Doom Dada. It’s wacky and confusing and weird but also kind of funny and creepy and awesome. There are lyrics vids available for it, which I highly recommend, though they won’t clarify much, but the MV is worth a watch too. In fact, this song was my main inspiration for the poem in this post. Outsider made me feel; LeeSsang motivated me to write and change the world; and T.O.P inspired me. They’re all wonderful and deserve recognition.

Interesting fact: I came up with the title Flights of Fancy months ago, knowing I wanted to write something with that title. It’s the first time ever I came up with a title before I had an idea. Now, without further ado, I present to you:

Flights of Fancy

Flights of fancy,
on a spur,
whimsically this,
fancily flying,
fancy flights.
From day one
he beats a drum
freely, fearlessly
‘fraid of none
he beats his drum.
On a whim,
jumping up,
flying high,
burning bright,
burning out.
This and that,
zus en zo,
tu i tamo,
free to peruse.
And so he flutters
from one to the next,
always looking,
stuck with second best;
I wish this were the end.

From flowers to masters
to cheeses at night,
beers to piñatas,
no end in sight,
his endless plight.
Painting and sculpting,
even karaoke,
jumping and running,
fierljeppen out of spite,
never quitting.
his next pursuit,
forever forgiving,
singing lullabies to
crying babies
of the human variety.
Finally he found
a passion that stuck
and started writing
your favourite book.
These flights of fancy,
moments of spur,
looking lonely,
abandoned and dull.
And so he ends with
one last word.


Winter blues

Okay so it’s not technically winter yet. So what? My body doesn’t seem to know the difference. It’s cold out and my body is responding to that by making me sick. The fact that it’s still only November is wholly irrelevant. As such, you will find a depressing poem at the bottom of this post. Enjoy it or don’t, I’m so sick and tired that it’s all become irrelevant to me.

I went to Portugal for a few days with my mum last week, which I thoroughly enjoyed because Lisbon is a wonderful city I long to return to and we were lucky because it was 20-22 degrees while we were there. (Celsius, obviously. I’m Dutch, so I’ll refer to temperature and other measurements in the only way I know.) I would recommend it to everyone, though I’m also strangely possessive over it, unwilling to see it run over by tourists. Yeah, I don’t know either.

As for my prolonged absence, you’ve got my new job to blame/thank. The work itself is fun enough, though I’m not great with physical work, much preferring the use of my mind, and my bosses are quite alright (I think I have about five, though the hierarchy eludes me), but my coworkers are awful. A few of them are quite alright; some I can tolerate for the duration of the workday whereas I actually like others.

My problem lies with a select few, who haunt my nightmares even on the weekends. They are loud, obnoxious, stupid*, judgmental, fucking slow, complain a lot, too damn nosy, rude, and plain disgusting. They suck all my energy and motivation from me. They’re the real-life dementors.

Me being who I am, I hardly ever talk back. You need to really piss me off, while I have confidence or when I’m completely indifferent to the world around me, for me to explode. As a result, I kept quiet. I hate that I am this way. My neighbour kid – she’s 14 – has the biggest mouth, is annoying af, and a little stupid too, but at least she stands up for herself and loudly proclaims what she believes is right. I dislike that about her because her opinions are often bs but I envy her for it too because I would like to have the same ability.

My energy levels are low, I am sick and tired, my mood is unstable, and I haven’t had the mind to write. Good thing I have a bunch of pre-written stuff waiting to be read.


*by stupid I do not mean ‘slow learner’ or ‘less bright than me’ but those who are wilfully ignorant, proclaim their ideas with confidence, assume rather than ask, aren’t willing to listen to other opinions, and will use nasty remarks and actions to prove their ‘superiority’. You know the type.

N.B. everything below this point belongs to the poem, including the post-script (title in bold)

Searching For My Will To Live: an attempt to capture the zeitgeist

“My bag is larger than my will to live,”
said the girl on the train.
I look up and check the size:
a small backpack. Not bad.
A meme forms in my head
with her words and the tiniest bag.
I laugh to myself though I should cry;
I’d lost my own a while ago.
Looked on the train, searched at my job,
even checked at school: the place where I lost it.
Nothing. A failed attempt. Futile.
Relationships; marriage; kids; mortgage; travel; money; fame; success; sex.
None of it can fill this gaping hole.
Humour. Laughter.
What’s left when nothing’s left?
What’s real when reality seems absurd?
So we laugh.
“Amazon key to bring sweet relief of death… to your HOME!”
“Timberland: perennial labour for us ánd our boots.”
“Only twenty mental breakdowns until Christmas break.”
Our mass embrace of nihilism.
Life is absurd.
P.S. I still haven’t found my will to live

Cancer is a bitch, and so am I

Now before you all get outraged, the title of this post has nothing to do with me. The only person in my vicinity who had cancer is my grandmother and she recently beat it! But I did write a short piece called Cancer is a bitch and so am I, which you can find at the bottom of this post. Enjoy.

Now, to explain my absence: my life sucks. Good thing I made no promises about updating because my life took a turn for the worse and I am not dealing with it all very well. So what happened? First off, I failed my bachelor thesis for the 5th time. Yeah, fifth time. Consequently, I have zero confidence. Really, I would drop out had I not already wasted 4 years and nearly €10K on this bachelors programme.

I am currently in search of a job to fill this spare time and pay some bills, but that’s not going well either. I had a job but had to quit it to focus on school. My lovely boss told me I could come back after I was done, so I called him and he told me to email him. So far I have heard nothing back. It’s been two weeks and I am stressed.

To add to all that, pretty much everyone in my life has been nagging at me, telling me I should do more, that my failures are all because I didn’t try hard enough, because I am too lazy, etc. Stress levels through the roof. Not to mention the health scares this stress has brought me. I am currently in denial that anything is wrong with my body and will hold onto that tiny sliver of hope with all my might until either my mind or body gives in. Let’s blame it all on my weight and hope my problems will disappear once I lose some. Hahahahahahahaha, yeah.

Then, the true nightmare: my dad had a stroke. He doesn’t live near me, so when the police came to my home I was shocked, to say the least. It was a highly unpleasant experience and for a full day we didn’t know about his condition or whether he would make it. I was literally in shock for most of those 24 hours and remember them as if they were a nightmare. He is now fine, mostly, though his left side is partially paralised (hopefully temporarily) but he’s still abroad and none of us have seen him yet. We talk daily though so we’re up to date with his progress. The thing is, he has no insurance. His life has been turbulent this past decade so aside from being poor ourselves we might be facing more financial difficulties.

Though no excuse, these are the reasons I haven’t written a thing in two or three months now. The story posted below, then, is also at least 6 months old. This is the first time I am truly discussing everything that’s been going on, aside from my conversations with my best friend. Maybe I needed this, maybe I didn’t. I wouldn’t have needed it were it not for my elbow injury (sustained during an intense taekwondo training) which isn’t healing the way it should be, and which is the reason I’m not allowed to do taekwondo for a while, on physio’s orders. This sucks because I need taekwondo to clear my mind, stay sane, and be happy.

I will do my best to get my life in order again but I still make no promises with regards to writing. Hopefully I’ll get some done but I expect nothing. I’m mentally in a really bad place right now, surrounded by negativity and criticism, which I readily face on my good days but which are crippling when already in a bad mindset. Sigh.

But I’ll be okay. No worries, I am fairly resilient and tend to bounce back. Which reminds me how much I miss my former friend, even though he was a jerk. I will focus on the things I can change and improve rather than what’s out of my sphere of influence. And since I cannot come up with more positive things, have the story now:

n.b. everything after this point is part of the story


Cancer is a bitch, and so am I

That morning Kristy found herself clutching the toilet seat, watching her blood splatter all over the pot. She had been in this position for 45 minutes now, afraid to get up. Each time she had tried, a coughing fit brought her back to her knees.

She knew her situation was bound to worsen; she just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

She had been diagnosed less than two months ago. Lung cancer. The doctors had used some fancy terminology but it didn’t make a difference; she was terminally ill.

It hadn’t been her fault. She had never smoked a day I her life, made sure to avoid smoke as much as she could, yet she still got cancer.

And people judged her for it. As if she wasn’t angry enough that she got ill while some smokers lived until 90, people automatically assumed it was her fault.

‘’It’s lung cancer, she must have secretly smoked,’’ they would say. Not even her own mother believed her.

Her family had been slightly kinder about it, suggesting that she may not have known she was harming herself. Did they think she was stupid? She knew very well what cigarettes did.

Did they not know her at all? She had done everything right in her life. She ought to have been healthier than most of her generation. Instead, she was here, all alone in her apartment, slowly and painfully dying.

Alone. All because she refused to be happy. They expected her to be ‘brave’, ‘keep hope’, and act like those pesky cancer patients she saw on TV and described in books, making bucket lists, living their last moments to the fullest, being kind to others because life was short. Phonies.

She resented them all. Those with cancer who managed to stay positive, those without cancer for being lucky. It wasn’t fair; she did not deserve this disease. And she wasn’t going to be a fucking ray of sunshine about it either.

Tears ran down her face. Why had they left her? She didn’t want to die alone. Wasn’t friendship through good times and the bad?

Why was it so frowned upon to feel horrible about impending death? She could not and would not see it as a trial of God. Surely He wouldn’t be so cruel.


The next morning someone came knocking on her door. She had missed her appointment at the hospital, she knew, because she hadn’t been able to get up the night before and had fallen into a feverish sleep on the bathroom floor.

Now it was even harder for her to move. The knocking changed to pounding, or maybe it was in her head.

She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.


The next time she woke up she was in a hospital bed, all alone. She tried lifting her hand to call the nurse but lacked the energy. When rounds came, a nurse finally checked up on her. Noticing the patient awake, he told her the bad news.

‘’I’m afraid all we can do right now is make you as comfortable as possible.’’

She sucked in some air. ‘’Fuck… you,’’ she managed.

There was nothing comfortable about dying and they could all go to hell.

If only there was someone to hold her hand…




This piece has not been written to belittle anyone. Those who can still see the good in life even when suffering from cancer are admirable. But it is perfectly alright not to feel optimistic. Feelings aren’t rational and people can’t help but feel them. Telling people they shouldn’t feel a certain way is unhelpful and should be avoided. It is okay to feel however it is you feel, even if no one understands. It’s how you act upon them that is important. Still, it would do people good to try to empathise a little more now and then.

Kristy, too, deserved someone there for her on her deathbed. She made some rash decisions based on feelings, and now she regrets them. Unfortunately people don’t always get a happy ending. Sharing Kristy’s story with the world is my way of being there for all the Kristies of the world who have no one. They’re in our thoughts.



(Readability intentionally poor -> stylistic choice. Feeling dump. Experiment. Please comment.)


The midnight sky was lit around us; there is no escaping it in a city like this. But it was quiet, unusually so as the natural murmur of voices had died down with the rising moon. I looked at him and had to bite my tongue. He was beautiful. I wanted to tell him but this was neither the time nor the place so I kept my mouth shut, left my thoughts unspoken as to not disrupt this spell we had going, so magical in its fragility. He looked out over the city from the balcony we occupied, his facial features all larger than the average Korean’s. But that was part of his beauty, his charm. In a world of conformity, he stood out. The image before my eyes would have been perfect in one of my films yet the thought of my camera never even crossed my mind. We were in that moment, lost in it forever, a part of history to melt into all others. Serenity. Tranquillity. Peace.

‘’You know, I always used to think I would be happy if only I accomplished my dreams,’’ I broke the silence. I knew I shouldn’t have, I didn’t want to, but my impulses won from my restraint. And suddenly this moment we’d created intensified, not quite shattered but buzzed with a static enough to drive you mad. And I wanted to stop talking, hang onto that last shred of sanity and peace but I couldn’t because he was there and he was looking at me with his big eyes so innocent and open I had to finish my thought. So I spoke and I spoke and the ringing got louder in my ears, in my head, until I couldn’t hear myself speak anymore but I saw him listen. ‘’I thought if I found a job I loved, if I started making money making films, if I succeeded in my career I would become whole, I would be happy, but I’m not. I thought if only I found me a man to love, a relationship meaningful and lengthy that would make me happy, fill this void inside me but it didn’t. And you are here in all your glory, so sweet, so strong, so kind, so perfect, and it’s like a dream come true because you’ve been my idol for so long I thought it would be okay, I would learn to live in the moment and be happy with my life and myself. But I learnt something today. I have never been happy and I never will be. I’m a perfectionist, always striving for more. I’m greedy that way, I will never be satisfied, always longing for more. And the thing I want most is unattainable to all but me most of all for perfection is merely illusion. I see you, I see you, but ‘tis not enough for I wish to be one, to become one with you, a melding of bodies, of spirits, of souls until where one ends one begins. With a heavy heart overflowing with love I hold onto you, I held onto you for so long. And I can’t even tell if you’re comprehending my words at all but I hope I can convey it to you all.’’

And I held onto him, held on tight. For he knew all that I felt, all I was feeling, for deep down he felt it too.

And so

we were







A dabble in the dark – my surrealist adventure

How much of what we write fits within certain art or literature movements without us being consciously aware of it? To what extent were we influenced without even knowing? “Revolutionary” ideas could be as old as time itself but does that mean they’re not worth pursuing?

These and other questions floated through my mind after I woke up from a strange dream this morning. Consequently, it led me to play with the idea of surrealism in literature. I never really paid attention to it before but a trip to Google taught me everything I needed to know.

It turns out that I have written a surrealist poem before in my life, I just never knew it; I was unaware of the fact that it fit within the genre. Now, I must admit I never quite understood the poem myself, I just knew I liked it. I will post it below so you can see for yourself. If you have any feedback, let me know. I’m eager to hear it.

However, I wouldn’t be me if I let this idea go to waste so I spent the morning writing a short piece based on my dream. Its readability is lower than my usual work but this is a stylistic choice so I hope you take that into account. I used to think Kafka was a weirdo for not making proper paragraphs but now I totally get him. It just has to be this way. I will post that below the poem. Its title would be A Dabble In The Dark.

So, without further ado, the poem (untitled):


The confusion… but the clarity… so

vague but quite clear, I don’t

understand but I do.

The one who finds the peanuts sells

them, but what about the birds?

Expression, for the long forgotten.

In the end, all will make sense.

Alea iacta est.



A Dabble In The Dark:


A pallet of land floating on the sea by the coast, everything is of the purest white. It holds a couple of houses, of the cube kind with straight lines and perfect symmetry. Adjacent to them, some trees, also of the purest white, with their branches drooping to the ground, in their paleness a beauty and a haunting quality, like the once vibrant colours were caught in a cement mill, a rain of white suppressing all further growth, painting the scenery white, but just locally. The grass on the lawns barely visible, reflecting the sun’s bright rays into the eyes of bystanders, glowing under its harshness, victorious where the shore is not. The sea glistening around it, its typical blue-green shade, like glass suspended in motion, surrounding its white kingdom with shimmering beauty that somehow pales in comparison. Literally pales, as the white turns to black, oil dripping down the houses, painting them a gloomy shimmer that still reflects the sun but simultaneously hoards all light. The rays seem suspended in its thick black coating until they’re not, the sun has become unable to reach this piece of heaven on earth. The tree has morphed into some creature of darkness, the whole place in stark contrast but so similar to what it was before.

‘’It’s a monument to those lost to war, the cannons representing a better time in history,’’ the old man, inspector, tells me as we walk past the gruesome construction. He is right, cannons are clearly visible, dripping black where once there used to be something, something else just outside my reach. What had been there previously, what had I seen there before? The glistening of the sea now seems menacing to me, as if I shouldn’t turn my back to it. Something lives there, an evil beyond my comprehension, beyond human comprehension.

‘’It’s a graveyard,’’ I tell him, the headstones clearly visible against the pale blue of the sky which seems unaware of the change in atmosphere, unperturbed by the grotesque puzzle piece in its midst. There is sadness, too, coming from the floating exhibit, so pure it brings tears even to the manliest of eyes. The inspector drags me with him now, pulling me behind him into a building on our left, in which hallway after hallway connect to bring you where you most need to be. I went in there once, came out a year older. But now we stick to the foyer, looking out the window to the sight before our eyes. From this angle the whole seems less menacing, the darkness finally dripping down, letting the purity peek through, littering hope in our hearts. Wasn’t it supposed to be a living complex for the rich and famous, his wife’s golden white figure gracing the squares with her presence? They were triangles now, and the inspector seems a different man. What about the doctor with the pearly teeth who boasted so enthusiastically about – about what?

‘’Let’s go back out, hurricane season has ended by now. It should be safe for us.’’ And we walk, and we walk, leaving the construction behind us, there is no need to look back. It is behind us, we mustn’t look back. Even if it shows its true colours to us now, we must not look back, for we are at war. At war with these beasts. There they are: the gigantic elephant, its long-necked cousin the giraffe, they approach us in silence to the beat of an ancient drum, a drum only they hear as it vibrates through their bones, passed down from generation to generation. That ancient DNA, spread over millennia of peace, of sorrow and of solitude, now they march to its rhythm. Its much smaller shadows run around on the yellow grass, playing a game with anyone who dares approach, while its menacing twins march to our doom. Our doom, after all these decades, was always in the water park. We glide and we glide, the water smoothing around us, propelling us forwards, the occasional dolphin sailing past us.

‘’Watch out, it’s endangered, a whale!’’ I hear in the distance, the others just shrug. I take the chance and glide along, enter the waterslide of life, and see where the current takes me. Up and down, left, right, diagonally. I go everywhere, see everything, but the end is never in sight. Even that vertical drop, where I felt ripped from life, it was nothing. Too late I notice there is no way out. They don’t tell you that before you enter, keep it hidden to attract us, but here we are, gliding and gliding with no end in sight. And meanwhile the elephants and the giraffes approach. One, two, three, left, right, left. One, two, three, left, right, left. A toot to make themselves heard, then back on their merry way. One, two, three, left, right, left. And we glide and we glide as our doom approaches, helpless, all we can do is let it happen, steer to the right when we would go left, not aware the outcome will remain the same. After we’re done with this endless cycle, we cease. We forget to enjoy this, we are at a waterpark of all places, too focused on getting out to enjoy this moment. Too soon it is over and I have aged again, I’m unrecognisable, even to the youngster that operates this thing. It’s the end of the road for me, following in the footsteps of all those who went before me, laying the foundation for those to come. We are all the same, nothing will change. They are already lining up to get in here, the stray ones ridiculed until they submit or disappear.

I am here, I am here, and then I’m not. I have ceased.

The minute of free time I have…

Like the title suggests, I am VERY busy these days. I have an important university deadline 11 days from now and I’m awfully behind. Still, until I can get my creative writing out of my mind I won’t be able to focus on it.

I’ve had some lovely breakthroughs. I finally wrote out my planning for In the eye of the beholder and figured out half the storyline for Unusual (both to be found on my Wattpad page, if interested). (01-08-2017 edit)

And I’ve had some disappointments. I find I seriously dislike the first few chapters of In the eye of the beholder, but can’t figure out how to fix them. I’m desperate for feedback but haven’t received any in a long time, and when I did it wasn’t useful.

By the way, anyone seen that Grey’s Anatomy season finale? Holy shit. I need more, now please. Wow. They never disappoint. I find I deal with relationships (of any kind) much like Owen Hunt does, even though we’re completely different in other aspects of our personalities. Aside from that, I really want Minnick gone for good. I don’t like her character at all, I don’t like how (SPOILER) Arizona forgave her so quickly, their entire relationship sucks.

I can’t really think straight right now so if this blog post doesn’t make sense, my apologies. I’ll end it now. I would just like to remind everyone that I really suck at titles. Now, without further ado, I present to you another (very) short story:

Weapons Of Ancient Egypt

345 B.C.

Nectanebo II, pharaoh of Egypt for the past 15 years, was pacing in his chambers. He was on the verge of making a tough decision that all his advisors were opposed to. He didn’t care; he had to do it.

Many years ago, Persians had taken control over Egypt. Horror stories about that period were prevalent but Nectanebo knew it couldn’t have been so bad. Still, once the last Persian had been kicked off the throne, the great Amyrtaeus wanted to make certain such a tragedy would not occur again. He collected the brightest minds of the kingdom to help him create a superweapon. Unfortunately he was killed before the weapon could be put to use.

Baenne Nefaarud I, his killer and next pharaoh, had learnt of the weapon and claimed it as his own idea. He put it to use and soon his kingdom flourished. The creators, so fearful of the pharaoh they didn’t dare contradict him, were allowed to live, provided they continued to work, this time on improving the weapon.

Half a century later, Egypt seemed unconquerable. They had used the machines to build pyramids, to battle the enemy, and to control the citizens. The apple of Nectanebo’s eye was his temple dedicated to the Goddess Isis. Everything seemed perfect.

But Nectanebo did not have a suitable heir to the throne who he could trust with these weapons. They flew in the air without need for a pilot. It was marvellous. Yet he deemed them too dangerous in the wrong hands.

He suspected one of his servants would betray him for possession of the throne and he could not allow for them to have these weapons. The world would end, war would prevail until mankind was nearly extinct. He would not be the cause of this. He would rather let Egypt fall into Persian hands one more.

So tomorrow he was to announce these weapons would be destroyed and all writing about them as well. He had even hired some artists to replace images of these flying vehicles with other works of art. History was not to repeat itself, not with this matter. He would make sure.


‘’You cannot do this, Nectanebo,’’ his closest advisor and old friend told him. ‘’You will destroy Egypt.’’

‘’I will not allow that, my friend. Believe me, I am doing this for Egypt. My name will likely be forgotten but I will die in peace knowing I prevented a massacre of gigantic proportions.’’

‘’But the Persians! They’ll kill you without second thought. They will kill all of us. You cannot allow this to happen!’’ the young man yelled, upset.

‘’We will keep them at bay. And if we fail, it is because my predecessors let out soldiers slack. We may have these new weapons but we still need our soldiers to be strong.’’

‘’How can you speak so lightly? Do you not care for the kingdom? Do you not care… for me?’’ the man spoke, fresh tears staining his face. Nectanebo’s heart flooded with regret. He did care, for his kingdom and for his dear friend. Could he truly not understand Nectanebo’s reasoning? He wasn’t doing this out of spite. He was doing it out of love, love for humanity. Even if they were both killed it would have been worth it. And they would meet again, in the next life.

He pulled the man close to him. The least he could do was provide some comfort.


Nectanebo woke early next morning. He was going over his speech in his head, making sure it would be perfect, when one of his advisors stepped into his chambers.

‘’Pharaoh, if I may address you, I kneel before you as your humble servant.’’

‘’Speak what you came to say,’’ Nectanebo ordered him, not in the mood to listen to the man’s empty praise.

‘’Pharaoh, I thank you and beg for your forgiveness. What I am about to say is nothing short of insubordination but I dare say it despite this fact. I believe you are making a mistake, dearest pharaoh, wise king. I beg of you only to think once more, consider the consequences of what you are about to do, oh pharaoh.’’

Nectanebo was tired of listening to the man. ‘’Leave.’’

‘’B-but pharaoh,’’ the man stuttered.


His advisor left, muttering something under his breath that Nectanebo couldn’t hear. The man should be kissing his feet for allowing him to live. Nectanebo did not have time for this. He had made up his mind and would execute his plan.


‘’People of Egypt, I stand before you as your pharaoh. I have gathered you here because I have made a decision. We have all grown accustomed to having these droning flying vehicles around but this will change. Within seven spins of the earth I want all these vehicles brought here, where I will have them destroyed. I have ordered some artists to remove every hint of these weapons from our writing as well as our art. The transition will not be easy but I ask you to have faith in me, your pharaoh.’’

The crowd was silent for several minutes. Then one man started chanting ‘’all hail the pharaoh,’’ repeatedly and surprisingly melodiously. Soon others followed his lead until the entire crowd was chanting. Tears appeared in Nectanebo’s eyes. These were his people and they would do anything for him. He vowed to do everything for them.


The Persians kept their distance for several moons before they realised the sky was suspiciously empty. They were closing in and Nectanebo had to send all his soldiers into battle. As more moons passed he was running low on men and the Persians were getting closer every day. He appealed to his people, asking them to fight for him, for their kingdom.

The amount of volunteers shocked him, moving him to tears once more. he sent them out with everything they could possibly need yet they were bound to lose without help of the weapons he had destroyed. He awarded their families with all he could spare but it never felt like enough.

Soon, he was allowing women and elderly to fight too. He had little choice. The people, his people, continued to have faith in him. He could not let them down. He tried one final battle strategy.


‘’Nectanebo, they failed!’’ the pharaoh’s friend told him, having run all the way from the outside of the gates, where he had spotted the messenger.

‘’They failed! Did you hear me? What are we to do now?’’

Nectanebo put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘’There is little we can do, my dear friend. The Persians are coming. I say let them come. We will gather everyone who is left and willing to fight and when they come, we will fight with all our might.’’

‘’But Nectanebo!’’ the young man yelled, in a panic now.

‘’Hush, my dear, it will be alright. Trust me.’’

The man looked at his closest friend and saw the determination in his eyes. He nodded. He would trust his dear pharaoh.


All the men, women, and children were gathered behind the gates. They had all been more than willing to fight for their pharaoh. He had equipped them as best as he could but he knew they stood little chance. He was among his people, alongside his friend. They would fight until the end.

A young boy came running through the gates, excitement and awe visible on his face. ‘’They’re coming!’’

And sure enough the first row of Persians appeared in the distance, from the northeast. Nectanebo grabbed his friend’s hand and reassuringly squeezed it. He was ready to fight with all his might, alongside the people he cared for so deeply. ‘’To battle!’’ he yelled.

The year was 343 B.C.


Decisions, decisions, decisions

Edit 05-08-2017: I have made the decision to delete all posts prior to this one, with the exception of one, because they made me cringe. There wasn’t anything of interest in them anyway so you’re not missing out on much. Not all the information in this post is accurate any longer but if you continue to read my blog posts you’ll find out on your own what I mean so I won’t elaborate on that here. 

So some quick background info: I’m Arthur Duchannes. It’s not the name given to me at birth but the writer in me listens to it so I’ve embraced it as my own. I write a lot and my goal is to write for a living someday. I’m working hard towards it, ambitious and hard-working despite my lazy appearance, but in the meantime you can expect some of my short pieces scattered throughout my posts. Enjoy, and feel free to message me whenever. 

I am indecisive. There, I said it. My mind freezes as soon as I am faced with a decision to make and it drives everyone around me crazy. I’m the worst person to bring to restaurants, especially those without drink menus. Why wouldn’t they have one? How am I supposed to know whether they have ginger ale or cassis or ice tea? Am I supposed to settle for a generic coke or fanta just because I don’t know what else they have? Are they going to force me to ask the waiter/waitress? It’s an introvert’s nightmare.

I don’t think I’m an introvert. I’m no extrovert either but I never understood the ‘needing time alone to recharge’ thing introverts seem to do. I really don’t need time to myself. I hate being alone. I want to be around people. But I’m no party person either. I think ambivert would best describe me out of the limited options I have.

Anyway, back to decision making. It should be obvious to anyone reading this blog that I can’t make up my mind. I keep changing things, never fully satisfied with anything. Just look at my posts; they totally lack consistency. Were I any better a person I would’ve stopped this nonsense and stuck to whatever decision I made last. Unfortunately for everyone involved I am not. I hope this will be the last major revamp of this blog but who knows, really? I won’t make any promises. In any case, I’ll try to make this last.

So first of all, I want to discuss my writing. I’ve grown a lot but I still need to improve and I desperately need a place to talk about everything I’m doing without the person I’m speaking to going crazy. At least here you get to decide whether you read on. I might post some short pieces I wrote over the years but I’ll mostly talk about my characters, the messages that can be found in my stories, what emotions I’m trying to convey, etc. And if my thoughts and processes turn out to be useful for someone else then all the better.

Originally I started this blog because agent blogs kept telling me I needed one if I ever wanted to be published so I did it and made some social media accounts but it’s not for me. I can’t force myself to write 140-character posts several times a day. I can’t even get one done every month. I’m one of those people who tends to rebel when they are forced to do things. Tell me I have to do something, even if I had every intention to do it before you told me, and I will do the exact opposite 9 times out of 10. If you want something done from me, ask me. That’s your best shot.

Now I’m going to do this my way. If I’m as bad at this as I am at keeping a diary this might very well my last post in months. But I’ll try.

Secondly, I want to share some recipes with everyone. I found some great ones over the years, some of which I perfected over time (as far as that is possible), and I want to spread the joy. My signature dish is carrot cake so I’ll be sharing that one soon, hopefully.

Thirdly, I might share some stuff I learn about at university or some thoughts I have on relevant contemporary issues. I’m quite involved politically and love sharing my ideas on these topics. I’m always open for requests (as long as they are reasonable) so feel free to suggest some. I also love debating about ideas so hit me up if you’re up for it. (I’m particularly passionate about feminism and will force you to be as nuanced as possible.)

I probably won’t open up too much about my personal life but there should be plenty of content that can satisfy your curiosity about me as a person. Knowing myself I probably won’t proofread any of my posts. I’m not inclined to do so, I find going over details a rather tedious task. I’m more of a broad picture type of person so expect leaps of thought rather than detailed explanations of how I came to my conclusions.

If you have any feedback on anything, feel free to share. While I hate people not liking something I say, think, or write, I do appreciate criticism. Without it, I can’t grow. I want to improve and if that means hearing how much my writing sucks 10 times every day then I’ll take it.

I ran out of things to say so I guess that’s that for now.

Have a story:

Fate of a Villain

Zachariah ducked just in time. A gulf of flames rolled right over his head, scorching some of the longer hairs on his head. Josiah, his arch enemy, had really upped his game lately. The number of attacks on his life had increased, and so did their danger. The blond had come dangerously close to killing him.

Zachariah had never exactly understood why Josiah had it out for him. They were both villains, with their own territory, and they respected each other.

The attacks started 7 months ago, without a warning. One moment they were discussing what to do with the humans, who were increasingly displeased with their treatment – he wasn’t too worried about them, they couldn’t do much against him and his army of villains, especially if he was to work together with the other villain leader. That was what the meeting had been about. – the next, before he realised what was happening, the blond’s face had changed and he barely managed to move out of the way, the fireball killing his second in command. Since then it had been war.

Now, 7 months of vicious attacks later, the amount of scars on Zachariah’s body had increased twentyfold. He had a nasty scar near his right eye from a booby trap in his bedroom. He had shot back, but not as viciously, as he had a soft spot for the man. He didn’t want to kill him, or even really hurt him, so he meticulously planned attacks that would scare him off without actually inflicting physical pain.

‘’Boss, are you okay?’’ his second in command yelled out as he hurried over to what once had been the lift of the apartment building but what was now reduced to rubble and metal scraps. He looked at the man in front of him and got up, not wanting to show the pain he was in.

‘’I’m fine, Micah, but it is time for us to devise a plan to stop Josiah once and for all.’’ He said it with such severity it brought chills to Micah’s spine, the exact response he desired from the man.


As the villain was laying out his plan to stop Josiah’s attacks, his messenger, Hades, burst onto the roof, heaving for air. Zachariah shot him a murderous look, a warning that it better be serious or he’d be in real trouble.

‘’The humans! They got one of us!’’ he managed to get out between gulps of air. The villains shot each other looks of surprise.

‘’Ours or Josiah’s?’’ the shortest villain of the group asked, his thoughts far ahead of everyone else’s. Zachariah’s heart started racing. What if it was Josiah? He wanted to bash in the messenger’s head for taking so long to reply.

‘’Josiah’s. Krim. He was an arrogant bastard, always showing off, so today they took him. He never saw it coming,’’ the messenger replied, and Zachariah let out a sigh of relief.

‘’Maddie, Joachim, go to Josiah. See whether he wants to work together now,’’ Zachariah barked at two of his younger villains. They seemed pretty harmless but they knew what they were doing.

‘’The rest of you, take whichever humans you want. We’re going to have ourselves a party,’’ he winked at the group, hinting at the massacre to come.

A cheer erupted in the crowd and they all flew, ran, jumped, or beemed away, to hunt their favourite prey. Zachariah himself sat down and floated about a foot above the roof, simultaneously making it comfortable for him to think and instilling awe in the petty humans who decided to wage war on their oppressors.

An hour later he felt a presence on the roof. He sensed it were the two villains he sent out to Josiah. He turned around and nearly fell onto the roof with shock. He managed to keep his cool, though, and stayed afloat. The two were barely alive. Their clothes were torn, Maddie had bald spots between her thick salt and pepper coloured hair, Joachim had a deep gash running from his left clavicule all the way down to the hem of his boxers. Maddie seemed to be missing a large chuck of flesh from her right arm, and her legs looked so much like spaghetti bolognese Zachariah was surprised to see her still standing.

‘’Josiah,’’ was all Joachim said before collapsing. Zachariah rushed over and felt his pulse, not finding any. He was dead. He ran towards the apartment the main medic of the villains lived and smashed through the window. Too late did he see the trap set for him. The air seemed to explode in front of him and his world went black.


Zachariah was mad. Completely pissed off. He was currently on his way to fight Josiah in person. The bastard had gone too far. Two of his people were dead because of him, and he himself had lost an eye in the explosion. He was raging with fury, burning everything that got in his way, leaving behind a trail of dead humans, animals, and car cadavres. The lower ranking villains didn’t dare stop him, and the higher ranking ones were almost as angry as he was. It was time Josiah got what he deserved. They were not going to get in Zachariah’s way when he set out to do what they all wished they could do themselves.

He finally reached the villain’s lair and threw a fireball at the gate. The guards scurried off to warn their boss, leaving Zachariah to contemplate which to kill off first. He decided to blow up the one further ahead, to make a bigger impact on the other one. In no time Josiah was out and the two started their battle. His followers attempted to joint he fight but he blasted one away and the rest got the message. It was a fight between the two leaders. They yelled profanities at each other between blasts.

Suddenly a wave of water flooded the lair, immersing the blond villain. Zachariah looked around him confused and spotted a human. Before he could do anything, electric current ran through the pool of water, electrocuting the drowning villain. Zachariah, angry beyond anything anyone had ever seen, sent out a cloud of fire from his skin, burning everything within a 5 kilometre radius. The heat vaporised the water the villain had been submerged in, leaving him within an inch of death.

Zachariah ran toward him and gently took him in his arms. A tear ran down his face.

‘’I-I’m soh..’’ the dying man started to say. The dark-haired man kissed his forehead, one of the very few unblemished parts of the villain’s skin. A calm smile settled on the blond’s face. Zachariah cherished the moment. Then he stood up. If the humans wanted war, they could have it.

He enhanced the volume of his voice and spoke a message to everyone on the planet. ‘’YOU BROUGHT THIS ONTO YOURSELVES. I’LL BE MERCIFUL. YOU GET FIVE SECONDS TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR LOVED ONES, A CURTESY NOT GIVEN TO MYSELF.’’

He took a deep breath. He channeled the beast he had leashed inside him. All the years he spent trying to tame it, kill it, cage it, all would be lost now. He took a last look around and let it all out. Within a second, the entire earth was in flames.

– End –