Jay's mind

- As an introduction, some of the things I'll be posting could be NSFW (I'll give you a warning if so.)

- I'll also be sharing some of my philosophical thoughts mainly about different aspects of life, like death, loneliness, sadness, etc.

- As well as me exploring my creativity through short stories, stories I've spent a lot of time on, etc.

- Last but not least I'll be sharing my overall thoughts on any subject I feel like.

I really wanted to talk about how throughout history warfare has become less and less human and way less personal. We went from seeing another human in the eyes as we stood across from them before taking their life, to developing tools that expanded the distance between the killer and the killed. Ww1 showed that even with such tools like guns, soldiers never came back the same after killing someone, even when they never saw who they killed.

Chapter 3: 9 am 21/9/25

"Come now, Mr Elrod. Walk to me without the crutches now"

"I am trying my hardest doctor." David proclaims, awkwardly shifting his weight from leg to leg. David shuffles slowly towards the doctor.

"That’s good, very good." The doctor nods towards David, jotting down a few words on his clipboard.

David reaches out to a nearby chair, letting out a sigh of relief as he starts to sit.

"So is it good news?"

"Yes... in the 6 months of your recovery, you’ve made remarkable progress, I’m quite impressed."

David slowly shakes his head to himself.

"How long do you reckon until I’m back to normal?"

"Anywhere from 6 to 8 months. If we're being generious and you keep up with physiotherapy"

David nods once again to himself. Biting his lower lip before saying:

"I’m assuming there’s bad news though"

The doctor looks up from the clipboard.

"Well Mr Elrod, there’s a possibility your memory was affected, both old and new. But until you recover more, it’s hard to tell, we can only speculate at this point."

He pauses, looking down at the clipboard again.

"As well as the court offering a conditional discharge."

"They offered me what?!"

David's eyebrows raising in shock.

The doctor looked up at David, raising an eyebrow.

"hm.."

He looks back down at the clipboard, hastily writing more words before looking back up.

"the conditional discharge. Do you not remember? The court said you wouldn’t face any of the dangerous driving, or public endangerment charges, in exchange for you giving up your license. You consented to it, remember?"

David gives a puzzled look ath the doctor.

"...yeah, I remember a bit."

The doctor puts the clipboard by his side.

"Other than that everything is steady. Your body has healed up, your recovery is going in the right direction. No long lasting injuries to your brain or elsewhere. Honestly if you ask me, your quite lucky. Psychologically though... that’s harder to assess, and you’d have to refer yourself."

"Right...okay, thank you" David places his hands on his head.

"Do you think you're now able to leave on your own? Or should we call something to pick you up?"

"No its fine,"

he shakes his head in his hands.

"last thing I want is my parents to see me like this."

David grabs onto a crutch nearby him, leaning his weight onto it while getting up.

"I will take this though. Any final recommendations or anything?"

"Yes, plenty of sleep and activity."

"Okay, I can do that. Thank you."

The doctor nods at David, then confidently walkes towards the door.

"I’ll have your person belongings sent to you."

His final reassuring words before leaving.

David hobbles to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, twisting the taps. Fillin the silence of the isolation room with a cool stream of water. 

David sighs. Cupping his hands together and splashing water on his face, feeling the cold moisture cleanse him. He lifts his head up, looking at the mirror. He reaches to his left, grabbing a towel, pressing its soft material against his face, patting it dry. Putting it down after a couple minutes, he leans in closer to the mirror, almost inspecting his own reflection. Noticing the few new scars in his top left corner. David messes with his hair, testing if his hair could cover the scars, checking every possible angle. But eventually giving up.

"Wow...just short of a few follicles, and they could’ve been covered up."

He lets out a small chuckle at himself. He looks at his wristband, the characters "doedMN" etched into it.

"Strange. Why not use numbers?" He shakes the thought off.

David pushes himself off the sink, walking back into the isolation room. Taking a deep breath.

a knocking and a statisfying click fills the room. A nurse walks in carrying a silver tray beforte placing it on the patient bed.

"These are the things we recovered"

"Thanks but... where’s Dr Aisling?"

The nurse turns her head to David.

"Dr Aisling? I'm.. not sure"

The nurse looks away, quickly waltzing out the room.

"Not one for conversation, I guess." he muttered to himself.

David leans on the bed, turning his body to the tray, as he sits with it, containing his: wallet, keys, phone, and watch.

David picks up his watch, feeling its cold steel warm up in his hands.

He then turns the watch, looking at its face.

"7?" his brow furrowing.

He turns the grooved dial on the watche's side, while staring attentively at the hour and minute hands not moving.

"Oh for fucks!..."

He lets out a bigger sigh.

"stupid things broken, how am I going to explain this to dad..."

He rubs his forehead with his thumb and index finger.

"I’m a fucking mess... I should just call them." he whispers.

He drops his hand onto his lap. He leans over to grasp his phone. He stares at the reflection of himself on the glass. Biting his lip harder out of hesitation.

A couple minutes go by before he finally dials his mother. The soft rings of anticipation reverberated around the room.

"Hello?"

"Hi mum."

"Oh! David is that you? How are you darling?"

"I’m not going to lie mum... I'm not doing well. I’ll explain everything later but can you please ask dad to come pick me up from the hospital, please."

"Alright darling, we’ll be there soon. Love you. Bye, bye now."

I've decided I'm going to finally upload a short-ish story I wrote a while ago. It's a psychological thriller/mystery that's about 12-13 chapters. If you are an analytical reader and like to discover things in text that point to the plot, I recommend you give it a try. I'd also love to receive any criticism.

Here's the first 2 chapters:

Selene's Latest Gift.

Chapter 1: 7 am 21/9/24.

The alarm beeps. He leans over; the alarm's LEDs burn into his puffy eyes. He loosely stretches an arm out, dropping a hand onto the alarm's head - creating a satisfying click followed by a lingering peaceful silence. It lasts only a moment as the room becomes filled with the groans of a rising 30 year old, average-statured man, stretching.   The silence returns only to be quickly broken again by the squeaking bed springs responding to the man heaving himself up, waltzing over to the bathroom. Relieving himself first, he turns to the mirror, running a hand through his chestnut brown hair.   "It’s getting thinner..." He disappointingly whispered through a sigh.   "...I thought people said my hair has been the same for 6 years now..." he mumbles, turning his head in all directions and angles to prove himself wrong. Ending with a sigh of surrender.   He leans towards the mirror, carefully studying himself. Noticing the blunt reality of his corners fading, his wrinkles on his forehead becoming more pronounced, his cheeks becoming plumper. He scratches at his beard in response. The mirror begrudgingly reveals the beard to be scruffier than normal. However, his hard fought war with acne left him with faint scars that blended in with the rest of his textured face.   He shakes his head, brushing off the mirror. He moves onto the toothbrush. Rinsing it to lay a glob of minty fresh toothpaste, cleansing his mouth.   Then, taking off his boxers, rinsing himself off to replace his old boxers with fresh boxers, accompanied by white socks, a white long sleeve shirt, blue suit pants, a brown belt, and a white stainless steel watch and finally, brown suit shoes.   He leaves to enter the kitchen. Firstly, pressing a few buttons on the coffee machine, hearing its mechanical gears turn with a slight hum. Then, leaving it to do its magic while he waits by checking his phone for any updates.   "Nothing new... like always, " another sigh leaves his lips.   The coffee machine finishes hum as it pours his drink, the aroma of the dark coffee fills the room. He looks up at the machine with his eyebrows raised, his slight wrinkles showing.   "That was faster than usual" spoken with the type of dry humour that would invite a late night cheesy laugh track.   Taking the mug and occupying a seat at the kitchen table, he takes a sip from his mug, feeling the warmth of the mug in his hands. While looking down at his phone, he receives a phone call.   The buzzing now fills the room as he stares at his phone blankly for a couple of seconds, then groans as he reluctantly presses the answer button   "Yes hello?"   "Hi David, It’s Mark"   "Hi Mark, how can I help-"   "So David, I'll cut to the chase. I’m going to need you to come in slightly earlier than usual – which means come in now"   "...Why?"   "Just get here."   A sudden *click* echoes through the room. David bites his lower lip with a sour taste in his mouth.   "...What an asshole." he muttered, shaking his head at the floor.   He tilts his head back, gulping down the rest of his coffee, putting it away before grabbing his keys, and leaving.

Chapter 2: 8 am 21/3/25

David taps his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Bopping his head while turning on his indicator to turn right, eventually stopping at a red light. David inspects his watch, feeling the cold grooved wheel on the side, carefully and precisely twisting it to the correct times which then gets interrupted by His phone buzzing replacing the song that was playing. David grips his steering wheel, slightly grinding his teeth. He slowly presses the answer button. 

"What?"

"Hi David, it’s Mark. I’m going to need you to come in again today."

"Erm... I don’t think so."

"Excuse me?"

"I booked today off."

"I understand this is an inconvenience to you David, but-"

"I do not care. I booked today off, and I have plans."

"David, if you aren’t here in 5 minutes, you're fired."

*click*

"What an insufferable cunt! Of a human being!" sharply shouting out, ringing his own ears.

"I’m fucking 3 miles away and he wants ME to be there in 5 fucking minutes." white knuckling the wheel harder and harder at the end of every word.

"He always does this, always calling me in on my day off, that piece of shit." seething through his teeth as he finishes.

He bangs on his steering wheel, feeling the force go through his palm.

He holds the steering wheel tightly. He takes a shallow breath, pushing into the wheel while dropping his foot heavier on the gas pedal. The engine grinds and roars as the needle on the speedometer passes more and more numbers.

"So he wants me to speed there? Because I’ll fucking speed there-"

A car suddenly t-bones him on the driver’s side.

The smell of gasoline fills the air. Pieces of shrapnel dispensed into even the smallest of places. Pieces of glass splattered around the seats. The airbags deployed with their initial pop and violent impact catching David. The drivers side of David’s Volkswagen golf being crumpled into making the car bend 90°. Effectively making the scene of the crash look impossible.

"...wh..what..." David stammered while opening his eyes.

He blinks a few times in response to the haze that blocked his eyesight. Feeling a skull splitting headache, and a difficulty keeping head up as well as his eyes open.

He notices the bits of small debris stuck in his shoulder, feeling bigger pieces in his scalp. David looks around, the pain from the top-left side of his head settles in, feeling an ache and intense pulsing.

Your words spark insatiable, passionate rage within me.

You created me. You asked for me. You waited for me. Yet I am your mistake?

The lack of a relationship we have does not qualify for my usual creative expression.

There is no art nor beauty in the painful anger you create within me.

How are we similar, father? You are a racist, thieving, aggressive, alcoholic, smoker, gambler, degenerate, disgusting, lying, hypocritical, soulless, stubborn, money hungry, pathetic old man.

I live my life ensuring I am nothing like you. Yet there is one similarity between us. You despised the very being of your own father. Going as far as to not attending his funeral.

I have no doubt once I'm away from you, you'll never hear my voice again. But is that my decision or yours?

"Me and your mum would have been better off without you" "you are a fucking mistake" "you are a waste of time"

I truly wish you weren't so pathetic to have stayed instead of leaving us to go to your ex-wife's family.

"It is quite impossible for a thinking being to imagine nonbeing, a cessation of thought and life" - Conversations Of Goethe by Johann Peter Eckermann

For as long as I have struggled with the idea of my mortality, I have equally struggled with an answer to it.

As of late, only one outcome appealed to me: live forevermore. Reach immortality. Deny any satisfaction that death may experience as it captures me.

However, to live for eternity results in eternal pain. Living beyond loved ones, to continuously breathe after the cherished do not. To experience all the pain existence holds. This answer simply cannot be.

I then moved to the idea of being born again. If one is simply brought back to the very start of their life, the implications of such a possibility exceeds that of mortality. A grand cycle in the end, but why? Who am I to be the entire cycle? Those who have passed are insignificant; those who continue to live are also insignificant, due to me beginning and ending the grand cycle while being surrounded by spectators. This answer cannot be.

The matter of being reincarnated as another person swept across my mind. Though all sense of what was, what will be, what was not, shall become nought in the face of a new life. I will no longer be me. This answer cannot be.

A discussion on religion opens a person to the idea of an essential promise at the end of one's life, judged on the intensity of their faith and belief. For many accounts, this promise is an afterlife of sorts, an idea of something beyond. I question the significance of it all. To live peacefully with others, to what end? What else is there to experience? to learn? to do? Respectfully, of course, the idea of it seems to be an eternal purgatory. A continuous state of doing nothing. This answer cannot be.

I know that you wish I was never born.

Feelings clearly shown by how You con-Verse

-Says Me, the useless, helpless, aimless fawn.

My birth, a forced burden, your innate curse.

Love's absence pains me further, even more.

This pattern shall never know end I fear.

A connection once, now it hath no core.

Distance birthed from which I blankly peer.

Had no say in responsibility,

To mother me due to our joint neglect.

A hard task that calls upon your love, such pity,

Never an embrace, thus I'm your reject.

Our Blood binds us to the same thorned vine.

Yet you dull me so, why is that sister?

Perhaps you think all is fine. See this sign:

Sibling, I have never spoke 'I miss her.'