"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair." - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
Nothing remains in the end. Even the grandest monuments, carved with pride and polished by ambition, are sentenced to erosion.
Time is the patient executioner. Empires collapse. Statues crack. Marble becomes gravel, and gravel becomes sand.
That is the point of the quote.
But you know what is worse than a mighty work that once towered over the world, only to crumble beneath the slow, indifferent hands of time?
A mediocre work, doomed not by time, but by creator's own hesitation. A creation abandoned halfway, not because the world rejected it, but because its creator lacked the will, the courage, or the talent to see it through.
Also known as "my novel".
I am twenty-five years old failure of a man. I live alone in a claustrophobic, poorly ventilated room that smells faintly of dust and instant noodles. The lightbulb above me hums like it resents being alive. I do not have a girlfriend. I do not have a job. I do not even have a plan for tomorrow.
I survive by leeching off my elderly parents, telling myself it is temporary, telling them it is necessary. I spend my days chasing the fragile dream of writing a masterpiece before I die, even though I have yet to finish a single book anyone would willingly read.
My fingers, thin and almost skeletal, rest on the keyboard. They move again, pressing down on plastic keys with the solemn determination to end this one due to it's mediocrity.
Another sentence appears on the screen, dooming another one of my own creation to the graveyard of ideas.
"Then the great arcana bomb world blowup and everyone died -The End..."
A pathetic ending for a novel abandoned by it's own creator.
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[Arcana: Of Steam and Sorcerry]
Description: In an alternate version of the 19th century world, society has been rebuilt upon pillars of steam and sorcery. In the smog-choked backstreets of the City of Mist and Machine, an orphan is born and raised. With nothing to his name but resolve and a talent he barely understands. His journey will not be kind. He will fight against impossible odds, and stand before an evil that seeks to tear this fragile world apart. And in the end, he may become the only thing standing between salvation and ruin.
Rating: 0.0 Not enough ratings (2 reviews)
Views: 1.1K
Words: 1.1M
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This novel was born from catharsis, torn loose during one of my many mental breakdowns.
My mind has a habit of conjuring things that are either brilliantly creative or unimaginably absurd, with very little space in between. For examples,
What if, in this world, fictional version of Queen of England were an immortal steampunk cyborg? A being of synthetic divinity, seated upon a golden throne forged from the sundered sun disk of the Egyptian god Ra. Under her eternal rule, the United Kingdom would be reforged into the theocratic imperial state known as the "United Empire" with Queen revered not as a queen, but as a literal God-Empress.
What if, after enduring violent revolution upon violent revolution, nation of France, finally tore a hole in reality itself? In their desperation to escape suffering, the people bends reality through sheer collective longing. The landscape would warp into a fractured fantasy dreamscape of madness known as "L'État Irréel", a land full of fantastical mythical creatures and magical artifacts.
What if, in an effort to replicate the success of the "United Empire" the German state ramped up its industrial capacity by turning its own citizens into clockwork-based cyborgs and creating steam-powered mecha suits? And as the nation spiraled toward radical, uncontrollable progress, it became known as the "Germania Technocracy" In response, a group of Luddite eco-warriors wielding eldritch primal magic rose up to fight against them.
And yet, many more nations, continents, and worlds remain to be explored and explained...
This is just a tip of an iceberg for the lore within my head.
Yet the story I wrote turned out to be just another tale of a good-hearted orphan hero fighting an evil antagonist, wrapped in a full collection of clichés: the harem, the academy arc, the arena arc, and everything in between.
It became painfully clear that my ability to write lagged far behind my ability to imagine.
And that is exactly why I decided to wipe the slate clean and begin anew with a different story, a new setting, and, most importantly, a new account.
I could not see any possible way for this novel to truly work, so I chose to end everything here.
It hurt to look at my single genuine review, the only one that was not from a spam bot, written by someone generous enough to give my story five stars. My mouse hovered over the "Author's Note" tab as I began typing the declaration that I was dropping the novel.
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Literally_A_God (2 years ago)
★★★★★
Damn, this is good! Author please don't dropped this novel!
Like:1 Comment:1
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I stared at the comment for a while and sighed heavily. A small droplet of tears ran from the corner of my eyes down my cheeks.
"I'm sorry, my writing suck" I mumbled as I clicked the mouse, publishing the final chapter where everyone died, along with an Author's Note declaring that I was dropping the novel.
I shut down my laptop. The monitor went dark, turning into a jet-black mirror that reflected back a picture of a scrawny man, who's basically an avatar of poor life decisions.
If I hadn't read the all-time number one novel on this website, I wouldn't have been inspired.
If I hadn't been inspired, my parents wouldn't have supported my dream.
If they hadn't supported my dream, I wouldn't be crying my heart out right now.
"Father, Mother, I'm sorry for being such a worthless piece of shit" I muttered in an unintelligible language as a torrent of tears streamed from my eyes like a river.
Ah yes. My depression strikes again. Time to take my meds.
I extended my hand to grab a tab of pills and pushed one out, swallowing it with a gulp of soda from a can that had been open for days.
It didn't take long for drowsiness to set in. I was already worn out from writing and emotionally drained from crying my heart out.
As I closed my eyes, ready to sleep and wake up the next day to begin my new novel, a voice called out to me.
It was as cold as ice and as sharp as shattering glass. The laptop monitor, which had been dark only moments ago, erupted with a brazen crimson light, as red as fresh blood.
"Do you realize your own sin? O divine one, atone and repent within thy work of creation."
The words pierced through the haze of sleep.
My vision slowly faded to black as I lost consciousness, the voice rising into a final, shrieking roar like a dying beast echoing in the dark.
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As my eyelids slowly opened, one question surfaced in my mind.
"How long did I sleep?" I muttered to myself.
I looked around and found only darkness. Maybe the lightbulb had finally given out. It was old and already on its last legs.
But then a strange realization struck me as I tried to stand from the chair I thought I had fallen asleep on.
I wasn't on a chair.
I was sitting on a wet, damp stone floor, slick with algae and layers of filth.
The stench hit me next. Dirty water, feces, and rotting trash rushed into my nostrils, so overwhelming that I gagged and vomited.
But when I looked down at my hands, something felt even more wrong.
They were smaller. Thinner. Like those of a middle schooler. My body felt lighter, shorter, as if my age had been reverse backward along with my bones and flesh.
And then I noticed it.
A countdown counter.
Floating in front of me was a brazen neon-red panel, like something out of the RPG games I used to play. There were no stats, no name, no explanation. Just a twenty-four-hour digital clock in white glowing text with black border.
[23:59:00]
[23:58:59]
[23:58:58]
I stared at it in stunned silence.
Then a roar erupted from behind me.
I turned.
Something stared back from the darkness. My skin prickled as terror crawled up my spine. Whatever it was, it was watching.
Then it emerged.
A black, slimy mass of eyes, mouths, and gnashing teeth slithered out from the shadows and lunged straight at me.
Still frozen in confusion and panic, I couldn't move.
It devoured me alive.
Its teeth crushed my bones. Its fangs tore through my flesh like meat fed into a grinder. Pain shattered my body. Agony seeped into my very soul.
And once more, my vision faded to black.
I opened my eyes again, convinced it had all been a nightmare.
But I was still there.
Still in a dark, damp sewer.
Slowly, with dread tightening in my chest, I looked up.
The red neon countdown floated before me again, glowing mercilessly in the dark.
Reset.
[23:59:48]
Then a roar erupted from behind me.