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Posted: 12/1/2015 11:53 PM PST
please consider in reading my story called the beginning has begun and give me comments that would be wonderful. P.S. I loved your story it was really good and I think you should write more. Keep up the good work.
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Posted: 11/29/2015 11:44 AM PST

i LOVE this, I'm dyslexic and some times find it had to follow books. how ever this was so discriptive i felt like i was there! very good work i would buy it without a doubt!
hurry up and finish it!

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Posted: 11/16/2015 6:26 PM PST
Below is the short story entitled "4 minutes 'til". It has been a year since I have returned to writing
and am currently seeking feedback to assist in any improvements so as to get myself back on track
yet again. 

4 minutes 'til

I followed the fog; The veins of oak trees reached to accept me.
No one had called my name; Nothing had begged me back.
Silence collapsed me, beckons of help left me abandoned; so I strayed.
I forced my own way... without them.

Crisps of coldness stung; frostful burns of winter brushed my nasal tip.
Fresh soil clotted my feet -
my flesh glimmered with bluish tints; though, are not beautiful.
The air thickened, my lungs cringed to gasp.
my taste unfolded a putridity of events inevitable to turn back from,
it would take me, eventually, in whatever way it preferred.
Though my stream of consciousness kept me comforted there... enough..
for now that I could choose for my own will.. the how... and why.
Their branches swayed with direction, I follow suit to continue.
The grim is worn upon them, incomprehension lay thick in the crevices of their bark.
my hand peers outward; the oaks shy away in reluctance.
… Had their roots turned them from me, it seemed...
They whisper amongst one another through the winds; they crackle to laughter,
sigh to grievance, weep to loss.

Abyssal darkness lay between them, behind them, above.
Small orbs of dim lights lurk distantly; Others follow this path.
Though the path is made of their own, in turn.
Consciousness restricts my ability to venture with curiosity;
something has kept hold of me to stay here.
Consciousness, fueling the light that seems without source of location.
So dimmed, I must be, as it is faint.. dying.
I hear their moans, the orbs, such wails befall me -
are they as certain as I.. had they wished to go back..
The purgatory we wander.

I shutter to the mist that rushes my face;
warming bursts that causes the cold to bite more harshly.
I am unnerved; a jolt of restlessness stuns my ending nerves;
there is pain – intense, unsettling.
I struggle to escape it; my breathing.. I smother.
I still think and I still hear, still feel.

Though I, am 4 minutes 'til death.

Thank you to any who took the time to read and/or provide feedback. It is greatly appreciated. 
- Baph
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