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Hi there, I’m back from the dead again. You might be curious as to why I made this thread. Why, Zeal, is a thread about writing here on Pudding’s Place? What does rehab have to do with this?
Well, it’s a long story. The past month of my life has been marked by setbacks in nearly all classes I take at school. My grades have been falling, and I’m not getting enough sleep. My mental state has diverged far from acceptable psychological standards. This is due, in part, to the fact that I’m entering the third and last year of high school, more commonly referred to here as the infamous Senior Three. This means I’ll be facing the University Entrance Exams in less than 365 days. In a nutshell, this exam bears more importance in my education than any other test imaginable. And my current state of mind is definitely not the ideal mindset to prepare for this test.
That brings me to my second point. The school assignments of the day are time-consuming, greatly so. They gobble up space in my schedule to the extent that I cannot set aside a comfortable amount of time to write in ease without damaging the quality of my sleep. I have to change this situation; therefore, I’m making this thread here.
Starting from now on, I’m pausing all work on my novel-in-progress which has become too expensive for me to maintain due to the aforementioned reasons. Every night, I’ll be posting some little piece of writing on this thread, nothing but a scrap finished in around forty minutes time. Nothing big, nothing long, just something to quench my desire to write while ensuring I get enough sleep for tomorrow’s schoolwork so I can keep up in class and pass the Exams with better results. This thread is planned to remain a daily active presence here for slightly more than a year, until I finish the University Entrance Exams and put a period on my high school life.
And I need your help for this as well. Desire is a devil hard to reign in. I can see myself attempting to revert to writing long chapters of stories in the near future, telling myself that I can still write freely on weekends, on holidays. I can’t allow that to happen until May of 2026 rolls around. I encourage YOU to check in on my status as often as possible on this thread by dropping comments/feedback on my writing, or @ing me in case I miss posting for a day! I may not be able to reply to everyone, but I’ll read them all. I hope to end this thread next year with more than 400 comments.
This was written in approx. fifty minutes, ended it at 22:49. -
That sounds really cool! I’d love to provide you with encouragement (and also read your writing!) And sending best wishes for things to get easier – you’ve got this!! <3
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Oh, I’ve heard about the university entrance exams! Best of luck with managing your schedule!! You’ve got this:D
Your commitment to write for 40 minutes every day is so inspiring and I hope it works wonderfully for you! I’ll drop comments if I can–which might not be often at all (these two short paragraphs took half an hour to write. That scares me)
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Entry 1, 2025,6,12:
STATUS: Fatigued after three hours spent grappling with number sequences and derivatives.
SONG OF THE DAY: Gladiator, by Zayde Wolf
TOPIC: When you’re a professional hitman but your assigned target never, ever takes your attempts on his life seriously be like: (Part 1)
…
Oh. Funny lights.
His vison was a lightshow of glaring red and vibrant yellow, the latter of which had the tendency to turn into bright green spots when he stared at the color too hard. Stripes of hot pink intertwined with vines of purple pulses. It was mesmerizing to stare at, and it also hurt his eyes a bit.
No, now his eyes were really hurting. He tried to close them, turn his face away, but found himself unable to do so.
‘Ugh.’ He groaned. The imperative that had carried the meaning of ‘someone turn out the darned lights’ had not come out the way he wanted it to. His tongue was a piece of cardboard that had been dunked in wet glue and folded multiple times over. It was blocking his mouth to the extent that he was having trouble breathing.
A black shadow moved at the corner of his vision. He watched as it swam nearer to his face, like the silhouette of a fish when it nears the water’s surface. It hovered in the center of his field of view for a few moments.
‘Ah, there we are. Nurse, that would be enough of a dose for now.’ A male voice said. It sounded quite pleased. ‘I’ll page your station if there’s any more problems.’
Something of an electric shock coursed through his body. He knew that voice. He’d dreamed of hearing it. But from where? He could not remember. His memories were pale ghostlike things in his mind, dissipating whenever he grasped for them. He didn’t even remember how he got here. Forgetting the issue of his mouth, he tried to talk once more.
‘Ugggggh.’ The attempt was no cleaner than the last, but at least it lasted longer.
The shadow moved to his side. His ears picked up, for the first time, the sound of elbows being leaned on the railings of his bed. ‘Good day, Neon. Had a nice nap, I hope? Would you like plain water or boiled water or filtered water or mineral water or dehydrated water?’
He felt someone take his hand and wrap his fingers around the body of a paper cup. Almost mechanically, he raised it to the place he estimated his lips to be and tipped the water into his mouth. The cold was shocking, pleasantly so. It iced his swollen tongue and throat and tasted like shards of glass and diamonds.
‘Motor functions are improving.’ The voice noted. ‘You really had me scared back there. I thought that train had knocked you brain-dead.’
Train?
And then he remembered, memories gushing into his brain, a torrent of sensations and images. The hunt. The chase. The thundering. The blinding yellow lights of the engine as it rocketed towards him. There was now something large growing in his head.
‘It’s a wonder your body was intact enough to be salvaged.’ The voice continued. ‘But then again, not everyone can pull through extensive surgery with two legs missing.’
The something was anger. His vision began to clear up, the lights fading. The room he was in began to take shape before him. Blue curtains, white walls, the smell of antiseptic. A hospital ward.
And right beside him, a grinning young face with protective goggles pulled high up on his forehead, amber eyes staring at his face bemusedly. He knew that face as well. He had signed a contract to wipe that face from existence. He glared up at him.
The owner of the voice smiled back and raised a smug eyebrow. ‘Well then. Look who’s woken up. What, are you going to try to kill me again, right now?’