Thread: Demara's Writing

This thread is brand new.

I happen to write a lot of fanfiction and stuff, so I'm going to be posting it here. Since I fit them on the page like a novel (narrow margins), they're a bit long height-wise, and so I put each of them in spoiler tags. There isn't much here at the moment, because I only had one file with me at the time of creation, but I will be adding more.

By no means am I good at writing. You can form your own opinions; constructive critisism is loved.

After "Fight Club"

Spoiler for language:

His dying words echoed in my mind. I rubbed my shaking hand against my left cheek and felt the blood glide between my fingers; at the same time, I felt concussed and weak.
Tyler Durden. The one man I never wanted inside my head again. I blew my brains out to relieve myself of this absurd hallucination. Now I was standing silently, beside the one person who determined it was reasonable to follow me here, watching the skies for any more possible demolition. Embracing hands.
As I let go and walked forward, I pressed my sweating forehead against the glass and glanced down at the destruction he caused. I breathed out a sigh of relief. But the relief was mixed with the fact that I didn’t know what would happen now. As far as I was concerned, he was real. He was real through me, and I was the one at fault for making him this huge. It was beyond me at first, when I first realized he and I were two minds, somehow laced into one person. The logic behind everything soon added up, however. This brought me here. Here, my fruitless attempts to stop this madness only ended in disappointment, for me, but also for Marla and for Tyler.
Beating up myself, brutally I might add, in front of my boss didn’t seem like a smart move in hindsight. I contemplated this and more; where might he be, or what had become of those paychecks? Had Tyler abused the money and purchased these bombs, or had they been created synthetically, like his soap? Him and his psycho killer plots were too real to be imaginable, although one could almost say he was a genius.
The moment is drawn out by the sounds of additional blasts and glass pieces shattering. My gaze moved slowly as if it were a physical manifestation, grating on a strip of rough sandpaper. But everything has to end sooner or later, especially since I was on the clock. When would the police find us? My explanation would seem feral to the disciplined heads of their likeliness.
“We have to fix that up.”
I snap back to veracity, shuddering as I do so. My head was bleeding out one side, and this side felt numb and lifeless. No longer feeling any hand touching my own. “We can’t go anywhere but away from here.” My response was automatic, as if smug Tyler was still speaking for and through me.
“Hey, if you want to die here, then be my guest.”
Her cutting response managed to ail my resolve. Would they know I was the one responsible for this, or would they treat me as an equal, along with all the others who were around when the buildings collapsed? The excuse that the buildings were empty was only a diversion; of course people would still be injured. “I’m being offered help.”
“Of course,” she frowned at me. “Come on; let’s get your ass out of here.” When I hesitated to move, she paused and pulled on my arm. “Tyler. Now. I don’t want to be seen in this place, especially with that gun and the blood on the floor.”
I looked at her, eloquently, and told her what was on my mind. “I am not Tyler Durden,” I told her. “My name is Jack.”
“Really. And why do you want to change your name?”
“I am not changing anything, Marla. I’m afraid to say this, but… but I have multiple personalities. The Tyler you know was only one half of me. Since he was prominent, I was unable to show you the real me, the person who was honestly real. But there won’t be any problems from here on.”
There was a brief pause, her eyes flickering slightly in the process. And then she spoke, cautiously. “That’s just great news, Tyler. I’ll see you around, then.”
I only listen as her footsteps grow weaker and, eventually, soundless.
Would she come back? Who did she want, anyways? Jack or Tyler? Was I inadequate to her, now that I told her who I truly was? I wondered how much of Jack she actually saw. But I attempt to push this thought away, at least for now, as I slowly turn around. One side of my shirt has already become soaked with Tyler’s blood. I cannot tell how badly injured I am, as there is no discernable pain. But maybe this is only because of the shock.

(I so see her just walking out on him like that.)