Alive: Part V

Hello everyone,

This piece will conclude the Alive series. I have finished a draft of The Visitor, and plan to start editing it in two weeks. I want to let it sit for a little while so I can return to it with fresh(er) eyes.


The six-foot thick sheet of glass fell to the ground,

The scientists already vacated the room,

But their scents lingered,

Forming a trail that I could easily follow,

There was a door on the left side,

I knew I couldn’t fit through it,

With one slap I tore down the brick wall around it,

Showering the ground with tiles and revealing a hallway that led to the surface,

I could see the scientists now,

Running as fast as their legs would carry them,

They were about fifty feet ahead of me,

While a line of armed soldiers were less than ten feet away,


I screamed as a barrage of bullets hit me,

With the scream coming out as a growl,

Bullets pierced my chest, arms, legs,

I fell to the ground,

Knowing what the soldiers would do next,

They kept shooting for a few seconds,

More bullets hit my skull,

Grazing the skin but failing to break through the thick bone,

I barely refrained from smiling as I heard the click of empty magazines,


My body was already expelling the bullets,

Slowly pushing them out to make way for new muscle,

The pain would persist for several hours,

My mind would block it out,

My body was ready,

I leapt off the ground,

Swinging my right arm in an arc,

My claws severed necks,

Cleaved skulls,

Lacerated faces,

Five hits,

Five soldiers dead,


One more problem to take care of,

I waited a few more seconds,

I could feel some of the bullet holes were healed,

There were just a few more to go now,

One bullet was still being dislodged from my left knee,

Tearing through nerves and veins as it made its way out,

I heard it hit the ground,

Then I could feel my muscles stretching to sew up the hole,

I planted my legs beneath me,

Feeling their strength,

Knowing that I was ready,


I pushed off,

Sailing over the soldier’s bodies,

Another leap,

Then another,

The gap between the scientists and I continued to dwindle,

I could only make out grey figures with my eyes,

But my nose and hearing showed me more,

Their coats flapping,

The rhythm of their steps,

Sweat on their skin,

The scent of food on their tongues,


With ten leaps,

There was food on my tongue,

I tore through the first scientist’s shoulder,

My teeth collided with one another,

Rattling my jaw,

Compressing bone and flesh,

The man’s scream was almost deafening to my ears,

So I brought my right paw onto his head to silence him,

I felt his skull flex under the weight before it stretched and crushed his brain,

As I raised my paw,

His head was a single splatter on the metal floor beneath me,

Three more to go,

They were all running at a similar pace,

Separated by only a few feet,


Five leaps,

One swing of my right arm,

Two more carcasses,

I wanted to take my time with the last one,

He was the mastermind behind my imprisonment,

I wanted him to stare into Frankenstein’s eyes before he died,

Two more leaps,

A claw tore through his Achilles tendons,

Sending him crashing to the ground,


I heard screams again,

So loud, so grating,

Worse than gunfire,

The mastermind kept moving forward,

Trying to crawl to safety,

I slid a paw underneath his chest,

Lifted my arm to effortlessly flip him onto his back,


He saw me now,

Red eyes,

Bloodstained teeth,

Five hundred pounds of fur-coated muscle,

The scent of urine became more pungent,

The screams died down to a whimper,

Tears mixed with sweat,

Forming a tapestry that I found deeply satisfying,

Not because of the smell itself,

But what it signified,

The mastermind now realized that I was not his pet,

I was his damnation,


My teeth tore through his face,

Penetrating his eyes, mouth and skull,

As I pulled my teeth away,

I could only make out a severed neck beneath me,

A macabre fountain that was decorating the ground with coppery blood,


The scientists picked this area because it was remote,

Now that would be their undoing,

The sun wouldn’t come up for eight more hours,

My new body would carry me far away by then,

To freedom,

To peace.



Alive: Part III

Hello everyone,

I’ve been posting more excerpts of Part I and II  on instagram and they have gained some traction with some users; a little more engagement through comments and likes than some other pics. With analytics now installed it seems I got lost in vanity metrics for too long, I’m not seeing much improvement in website traffic. However, I have already put a good deal of time into building my followers so I figure I’ll continue, while also putting in more effort to promote the site via the instagram accounts. I previously had the naïve mindset that any follower or anyone who likes multiple pics, will check my profile and view the site. Then I realized there are plenty of users I follow, who link to their website in the profile. I always think that I’ll check it out when I get time but then I never do.

Using excerpts of my pre-existing pieces has given me a bank of stories to draw from, but the excerpts are now running low. I don’t like reposting often and it seems like engagement and followers dip if I do it too often. Then again, instagram users unfollow faster than users of any other platform (from personal experience) so the loss of followers could be completely unrelated.

With that said, below is part III of the Alive series. I plan to tackle a novel or perhaps a novella for this story once I complete The Visitor and Hazard.


I could feel the blood swirling through my chest,

My chest was still expanding, and the blood was making its way up my throat,

My white shirt was stained as the blood lapped over my tongue and made its way into my lap,

My spine continued to elongate, it always grew fastest,

My torso now dwarfed my legs, stretching six feet away from my waist,

I looked down in time to see my arms and legs break free of the straps,

I braced for the most painful part of the transformation,

There was a deafening crack as my legs split along the femur,

Once the bone split, it began to twist and reform,

My five toes merged into three,

My skin started to shed now,

The dark brown canvas snapped like an elastic band,

Sprinkling the ground with skin and blood,

With the old skin now gone,

The new came out of hiding,

It seemed to come from beneath my flesh,

Wrapping around my muscles,

Black, almost silver under the light,

The fur came next,

I could feel the rough bristles tearing through newly formed pores,

It felt like my skin was burning,

Yet I knew it wasn’t,

My nose was already picking up new scents,

Cleaning products used days ago,

The scent of five people on the other side of the glass

Cologne, Cigarettes, Alcohol,

The food on their breath,

It was all coming to me,

Forming an image clearer than anything my eyes could give me,

The world became a swirl of greys,

All with different hues and tones,

Colour was gone, but clarity improved,

I could see grains of dirt that were invisible to me before,

I could see every pore on my arm as I stretched it in front of me,

Looking at the ground, I felt like I was floating,

Ten feet off the ground,

Two hundred pounds heavier,

Yet feeling lighter,

Baptized by pain,

In order to achieve power



Def Jam Poetry- My First Great Inspiration

Yesterday, I reposted a small excerpt from Gemini’s “Penny For Your Thoughts” on my writing instagram, @wmoviegrapevine. Since I am currently occupied trying to get an academic journal article published, I have been doing less writing for my second novel. However, I am also at a roadblock for my second novel, in terms of where to continue with the story. I have about 50,000 words at the moment but need another 30,000 for the novel to be an acceptable length for science-fiction. As I tried to brainstorm and dig myself out of this rut, my mind drifted back to what motivated me to write initially. I have been writing fiction since I was ten (not saying it was good, or is good), but I started taking writing much more seriously during Grade 12 in my writer’s craft class.

By this time I had finished a rough draft of my first novel, Elseworld, but had it sitting for years: not editing, or trying to get it published. My teacher shared def jam poetry with us and I began working on Elseworld again the next day.


This is the first piece I can remember seeing, and many more came after that. We were seeing people share brilliant work in front of an audience, but not for any real fame or glamour. Their lyrics aren’t in a song playing on 106& Park. They did it for the love of the craft. This is one of the most important lessons I keep coming back to. Sometimes it is discouraging to keep writing. After years of trying I have no published work and for all I know, 0 people read my average blog post. However, I realize I have to keep writing for myself. To maintain and sharpen my skills. To keep creative juices flowing and maybe even to show a prospective publisher that I am not just another person who wants to be a writer but doesn’t want to put the work in.

That was my attitude when I convinced my mom to buy me a guitar when I was in grade eight. I started listening to rock music religiously that year, Franz Ferdinand, Muse, Kaiser Chiefs etc. I wanted to be like the people on my ipod (2005, I’m getting old). Once I got the guitar I had no patience to learn slowly. I thought I’d pick it up and be playing solos in a few weeks. Frankly, I was a stupid kid seeking glory without hard work. Now, I have picked up the guitar again and still struggle to practice sometimes. Lessons are probably one of the only things pushing me to practice at the moment, since I want to show improvement when I go in week after week. Of course, my mom does not want me to sell the guitar, and I feel like that would be a betrayal at this point. I made my bed and I must now lie in it, pushing myself to tackle a chore.

I may be struggling to finish my second book now, but I know I’ll never struggle like I have with the guitar. Writing can be a lot to manage at times, but I do love the thrill of creating my characters, my world and pulling the strings. I do hope that I can one day make a living doing this, and I will work towards that goal. If not, I’ll keep doing it anyway. I might be the person in the retirement home telling nurses about his dreams, but I know I will never regret the pursuit of my dream.

Half Full

There are many institutions meant to prepare us for the shift from childhood to adulthood,

They herd children in, and in their minds, send adults back out,

Many of these institutions fail, and I think universities are the most glaring example,

I am one of millions of people who worked hard to graduate with good grades and a degree I hoped would ensure employment in my field,

It’s been half a year and I have yet to secure that goal despite actively pursuing it,


However, I don’t want to delve into more negativity,

For the past decade,

I feel as if negativity has drowned out rationality and optimism in my life,

My life has not been perfect, but no one’s life is, and I believe I have a lot to be thankful for,

It has been too easy for me to forget this,

My bad experiences overshadow all the privileges and opportunities I have had,

I constantly compare myself to others, never being happy with myself,

Sometimes I spread my misery to others,

Lashing out at people who help me and driving them away,

It is a vicious cycle where my attitude leads to rejection, which then leads to more negativity,
It is easy for me to remember friends I’ve lost,

It is easy to remember those who betrayed me,

The people who made me feel unwanted, used, stupid, ugly,

The people who only paid attention to me to tear me down,


It is so easy to forget the people all around me who are always trying to clear the negativity from my mind,

The family that can’t stand to see me doubting myself and want nothing more than to see me happy,

The friends who always make time, not excuses, when they want to see you,

The co-workers, bosses who always go out of their way to praise your contributions,


I do not normally feel optimistic, and my writing reflects that,

Writing has always been my catharsis, my way to release my negativity,

Yet I have come to realize that my writing is not enough to combat the negative thoughts that my mind harbours,

My writing is merely another engine of negativity,

I cherish every piece I have written,

I don’t think my mindset makes them any less true but I now understand that my pursuit of happiness must be a proactive one,

I cannot wait for it to come to me,

I must create it.

Judgment Day

The sky was pitch black a few minutes ago,


But now it was pierced by splashes of yellow light,


The splashes almost looked like fireworks,


Yet I knew what they really were,


They weren’t the signs of celebration,


They were a harbinger of death,



Each one was a meteor, visible from thousands of miles out,


By the time they reached Earth’s atmosphere they would block out the sky,


I had been warned this moment would come,


I did not heed the warning,



I thought I was going insane,


Hearing a voice in my head,


It called itself God,


It said that it wanted to punish Earth for its sins,


Hate, Narcissism, Greed, War


It also said I had the chance to save myself and the planet


I never answered, I only tried to shut the voice out,



As the meteors came closer,


I heard the voice in my head again,


“Do you want to save yourself and your people?”



The Final Frontier For Racism

As one article put it, it is the last bastion of racism,
What is it you ask?
Is it employment discrimination or housing discrimination?
No, those things do exist, and they are often justified by racists,
But at the very least employment discrimination and housing discrimination are explicitly illegal.
No one can say in court that it was not racist for them to deny someone a job or a house because of their race,
They can’t say “it’s just a preference”.
To some extent, even the people naïve enough to believe in a post-racial society can acknowledge the reality of housing and employment discrimination at times,

The discrimination that is always justified, by anyone that has their own “preference” is dating and sexual discrimination.
“I’m not racist, I just don’t like black guys.”
“I just don’t find (insert race) people attractive. That’s not racist though.”
“I don’t even see race, but I want to make sure I marry someone of my own race.”
We’ve heard it all before.
There’s nothing wrong with preferences themselves, but it depends what we have a preference for.

I have heard asinine analogies coming from supposedly “colour blind” people.
Comparing liking one fruit over another, or one hair type over another,
Those preferences are different,
Those are not racial preferences,
Racism exists when there is a belief that one race is superior to another due to inherent characteristics e.g. whites are smarter than blacks, blacks and Hispanics are lazier than whites, and whites are more attractive than blacks, Hispanics, Asians and Arabs

Online dating gives us so many options,
While some sights do not allow users to filter for race, some do,
Can you honestly say there is nothing racist about checking a box that restricts people of a certain race from showing up in your searches,
It is a situation where you do not know the person,
You know nothing of their personality, intelligence, interests
You made the decision to isolate them only due to their race.
Even if you can’t filter the races you see, you can still choose to respond to messages from one race more than another.

It is a fact that people of the same race may just naturally get together, and there is nothing wrong with that,
The problem is that many people go through life with the mentality that they will or can never connect with someone of a different race,
Some will argue it is a natural inclination, nature vs nurture,
However, I have to disagree
I believe nurture is responsible for stimulating what we view as attractive
Whether it is images in the media, or cautionary words from conservative parents, all external stimuli can merge and become invisible to the person they affect.
If your parents tell you to avoid certain races from an early age, you will grow up thinking your aversion to other races is natural,
If the media you consume is disproportionately dominated with certain images of beauty, you will think your attraction to that image of beauty is a natural one.

I don’t want to pick on online dating, or dating as a whole,
Racism still exists in plenty of other areas of life, but dating is one where racism is defended the most,
Ingrained racial prejudices are reduced to preferences that are no more harmful than liking apples over pears,
While we continue to point to Obama as proof of our post-racial world, we also strive to exclusively date our own kind,
The post-racial world is a myth, the end of racism is a myth,
You can either continue to live in your cocoon of denial or try to take a harder look at yourself.

Will you be one of the people that read this and gets defensive and angry?
Will you call me a racist because I dare to expose racism and try to work past it?
Or will you actually try to understand what I am saying and take a real step towards acknowledging and understanding racism, thereby working to diminish it.


Although the word’s meaning has shifted somewhat over time,

Most people understand karma to be a system of cause and effect, where one’s actions influence the future of that individual,

In the most basic sense, good actions are rewarded and bad actions are punished,


There are situations where karma seems to be at play,

We have all heard of them,

But is karma really as prevalent as we like to think it is,

If it always restored balance would there be as many corrupt politicians, criminals and terrorists?

Surely karma would be the biggest deterrent against their actions if it was a reliable bringer of justice,


The truth is, it is not,

Some may benefit from it, but most do not,

The pervasive myth of karma persists only because it is a comforting thought,

We have all been hurt at one time or another,

People lied to us, stole from us, attacked us,

For one reason or another, we will be truly powerless to do anything about it,

Yet it can give us peace of mind to think that some unseen force will right the wrong and make our transgressor pay for what they have done,
I want to believe that too,

But life has taught me that I cannot embrace this idea,

When you are betrayed, sometimes all you can do is learn from it and hope to avoid further betrayal,

That is the truth about life,

There is nothing out there that will guarantee people pay for their actions.

Rejection and the Manosphere

Rejection, like death and taxes, is a part of life,

It starts off simple,

Something our parents don’t want to get us,

An idea they do not want to support,


Then it evolves into rejection from our peers,

We don’t fit in certain groups,

We’re too shy, too skinny, too nerdy,

We don’t only hear this from our friends,

But from the people we like to think of as more than friends,


Everyone has dealt with this rejection,

And many of us continue to deal with it,

The thing that separates us is how we deal with it and what we learn from it,


There are those who continuously learn, improve on their approach and themselves,

They do not live with the goal of acceptance from someone else in mind,

They work hard to improve themselves to make themselves happier, knowing that success can flow from this,


Others let bitterness and anger overwhelm them,

They’ve been hurt by women, and they figure the solution is to direct their anger and hatred towards all women,

It is a fact that some women are manipulative and deceitful,

But it is also a fact that many do not intend to be hurtful when they reject someone,


The manosphere does not understand this,

Grown men are reduced to online whiners who are more interested in feminism than feminists are,

They see it as the source of all their problems, of all the worlds problems,

If the cruel “feminazis” didn’t exist, then they could be real men and get more of what they wanted,


I’ve read their work and it sickens me,

Sickens me that men aspire to be like the pitiful, insecure people who spend too much time thinking about what women supposedly owe them,

Sickens me that real, confident men are treated like cowards, “manginas” or “white knights” whenever they express some common sense


Yet I believe this is the direction the world is heading in,

Minorities are hated on when they complain about racism,

White people think they get discriminated against more,
And now men are combatting feminism, angry that women supposedly have it too easy nowadays,

We are living in the age of the disgruntled majorities, where the powerful play victim and attack those who already have less than them,

“Madness is rare in individuals-but in groups, parties, nations and ages it is the rule.”-Friedrich Nietzsche

The World We Live In

I remember hearing a spoken word poet say that he hates girls who think being pretty is an occupation,

That was about ten years ago,

He must hate the world we live in now,

Instagram and Facebook have given birth to a new horde of girls pining for attention from horny friends and strangers on the Internet,

It is truly a bold new era for “models” or cats,

While some girls seek adoration for their bodies,

There’s also a new generation that seeks love, without any idea of what the word really means,

I’d like to blame chick lit and YA crap like Twilight for conditioning teen girls to think a healthy relationship involves latching onto their boyfriend like a lamprey,

However, I think Twilight would just be a scapegoat,


In the great Western world, we either have less important issues to worry about,

Or we ignore them with sedatives like reality TV and social media,

Even if we use social media to acknowledge the issues around us,

We usually just give a like or a share to show how involved, intelligent and compassionate we are,

Then it’s back to our daily cycle of pointless, unfulfilling, mind-numbing media


The beach was swarming with tourists,

People who travelled from other countries and continents to walk along a once-great battlefield,

Some took pictures, and even more took selfies,

Making the moment all about them,

Showing that they weren’t truly there to commemorate other people’s sacrifices


I could not ignore the real reason I came here,

I saw it all around me,

My shoes were already stained with blood,

The sand was soaked with it,

Every step I took made it squelch beneath me,

While others took a leisurely stroll, trying to picture what happened,

I rushed through, wanting to free myself from all the images and sounds that were assaulting me,


Arms, legs, fingers,

Some were still moving, only a few seconds removed from their previous owners

The tourists all around me obscured my view of the entire beach, saving me from even more images,

But the tourists would also be witnesses if I succumbed to the uneasy feeling in stomach,


I was almost off the beach now,

Sidestepping, pushing, whatever it took to make clear path for myself,

I passed the bulk of the tourists, with only a few stragglers ahead of me,

As I prepared to sidestep someone ahead,

They turned towards me,

In my haste I never noticed the tattered uniform they wore,

But now I could see the face, torn apart by shrapnel,

Skin hanging loose from the cheeks, exposing flesh and nerves beneath,

Eyes reduced to red craters,


As I looked away, I saw another uniformed man making his way towards me,

His intestines were hanging from a gash in his stomach,

Reaching down and staining the sand as he walked towards me,

His face was intact, but I could see the shrapnel embedded in the top of his skull,


They said nothing as they approached,

I didn’t know what would happen if they reached their target,

I ran around them, making my way for freedom,

As I did, hands began to spring from the ground beneath me,

Bloodied, lacerated, dismembered,

All gripping me with immeasurable strength,

I fell, I screamed,

But my screams were quickly muffled,

The ground beneath me seemed to sink, and I was sinking with it,

Soon I no longer felt the sunlight above,

Only darkness.