literature

English Portfolio Cover -Story

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Literature Text

Words, every word making something different. Something unique. The words were her power, what made her who she was. Giving her the gift that she had always wanted. Each word was more important to than the last, piling on top of each other to form sentences. Sentences then turning into paragraphs, and paragraphs turning into chapters. Each chapter a step closer; closer to finishing the story. Her story.

They were like muscle fibers in a wing, being used to help for the entirety of it all. Words where the nerves, sentences the muscle fiber, paragraphs the muscle. All coming together to form the final wing, which she used to allow herself to fly. They were her wings, the stories she managed to craft from simple words. It was like magic, how she could do it. Every night, the clicking of keys on a keyboard as more and more words came into her head. All being up together so that it would be her own, personal writings. How she loved the write, the feeling of the keys against the pads of her fingers. It was calming, it just felt so right. This was where she belonged, amongst the letters and words that were her friends.

But the stories she wrote were twisted though. Not filled with white feathery wings, but black leather ones. It lead those who read it into another dimension, a place where nothing was proper. A place full of fear, but only to teach those who needed it. It was her way of trying to help, but it didn't. It terrified others of her, making her an outcast to the world. Why? Why was her type of writing frowned upon? It wasn't wrong, she didn't mean the things she wrote. She just wanted to teach others what she thought they needed to learn. Slowly, do to what others thought, her own wings slowly changed.

Feathers turned into skin, white into black. She was growing her own set of leathery wings in her heart, thanks to the world. Her own thoughts became corrupted, sick, and twisted. It was all she could do to keep from going insane was to write. Nothing would help but writing. Medication, therapists, any other kind of treatment just made it worse. She could see how they looked at her, thinking about how twisted she had become. But it wasn't her fault, it was the worlds. Her stories were meant to teach others, but it didn't. It only made them worse, their own wings turning black. But could they see it? Would they accept that they themselves were turning into monsters? No, of course they wouldn't. They would continue one, covering up their black wings with imaginary feathers of white. They wouldn't dare think of them as being ruined, lest they themselves become it as well. Their minds had been twisted to deny the fact of what was happening, deny the truth. So instead, they forced all of their own corruption on her, forcing her to take more than she could.

They twisted her more and more, which only increased their own fears. They would never admit to what they were doing, it was all her fault. She had written those stories, tried to use her gift in a positive way. But they ruined it, turning her beautiful gift into a curse. It was haunting her where ever she went, like a demon lurking in the shadows. A demon with leathery black wings, waiting to fully consume her. Waiting to drive her to the brink of insanity.

She could already feel herself slipping, holding onto that edge by a few fingers. A few letters. It was then that she realised her friends, her words, had betrayed her. And so, she let go of them, letting herself plummet into the dark place. It was only then that she released her wings, letting them lift her up. They may have been made out of the same material, but the ones she had been clinging to had been hurting her. With her wings though, she was able to be free. She twisted every-one's ways of looking at her back at them, making them realise their own sickness.

They hated her for it, hated her for making them see the truth. They tore her wings from her back, ruining the beauty she had found in the black leather. They stole them from her, before pushing her back over the edge. This time while falling, she had nothing to get her back. She could only fall, and fall, and fall. Nothing was going to help her now.
The story that is in the background of :[link]

O_O I was originally going to have a pretty little story using wings as a metaphore for stories and stuff, and this is how it turned out. The ending is not what I thought it would be.
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