Our Character

By Dean Evans

Our Character finds himself on a Mind Body Group psychiatric ward and learns the lessons that life has to offer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean Evans
• Release date: Nov 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005300845

Dean Evans

Dean Evans is a writer, web copywriter, editor, frustrated novelist and regular blogger who lives and works mid-way between the cities of Bristol and Bath in the UK. He got his first writing job in 1993, penning video game reviews for a little-known (and now barely remembered) magazine called PC Review. Between then and now, he's been a computer journalist, film journalist (who liked Starship Troopers), travel writer and technology journalist. More recently, he launched and edited the technology websites TechRadar.com and CreativeBloq.com. Slipping the shackles of pro-publishing, he now runs a copywriting and consultancy business at www.goodcontentcompany.com. Which is ticking along very nicely, thanks.

Book preview

Our Character

Dean Evans

Copyright 2022 Dean Evans

All rights reserved

First edition

The evil embellishes, dictating a heart once so pure to listen to the cascading cycles of the danced twilight of when a heart diminishes it’s own inner revelry to how symphonies, no longer hold the keenest regards, of which emptiness displays the changed cards, marked only for when darkness firmly chords the fiercely settled resonance. As to how the sun rises, battling the contrasted sky into a sublimate terror, of which only a melted persona could hold the semblance given to receive in totality the non-individual, in that the agape eyes could witness beauty itself, outpouring this coloured emotion, this creation of fire, the bonds of karma breaking haphazardly clouds into jewel-like artefacts and as of yet upon glimpsing the virginal naked triumph of such a visage, a countenance so complete, replete with the palate of gold, holding no frame of lacklustre, the sweeping echoes of time presenting true glory to a character that could never witness such, instead an infestation of sheer barbarous madness emblazons itself it’s innocence direct into consciousness. The utter genius of one participant of the human genome strain, split asunder for all eternity, never once again to revel within time.

For as one sun mightily immobilises no movement, allowing for the creeping motion that governs whence light casts out it’s final feeble limb, frozen to perception of a last regard, a final push of Horus to when Set fiercely bites with demoniac teeth the life giving partnership to the cold brutal, terrifying apex of night, outpouring this emotion to a soul dejected frown of rejection. Of frozen embraces that would shatter any semblance of hope, all dreams thrown like shards of a delicate broken mirror, each sharp twisted drama destroyed within the godless inky black that constitutes the frozen wasteland of night.

This constituted the psychological functioning of the being. After being committed to a barren lifeless ward of a mental health unit, all that remained as activity was to interact with entities that possessed little or no understanding as to how the semblance of human life was to be unveiled. It was as if the curtain of family, home, ordinary everyday comforts that as a well-adjusted being takes as consideration to how life should and must evolve spirals downwards to a checkmated committed oblivion. Of faces that present a torch filled room, checking to ascertain as to whether the absolute zero of soul garnished from body, ripped from life via the modicum of hidden cutlery objects, stashed primordially into an occult drawer, for the curtained veil of life to obliterate, of nurses and guards that act like the dominion keepers to existence, snidely to snatch the open locked door of death, grimly to a twist of counterfeited dining utensils. Checking for suicide.

Of the ceiling that would jokingly mock, tearing and ripping an innocent victim, plunged into a semi-lucid terror, purging intelligence, pushing the firmament of soul into an area of which happiness never breaches. Of how our character decides to plot and formulate how to escape the yarn of this world, it’s semblance, it’s calamity, all the variables of forced hate escaped through one sharp movement into an ever limitless void.

The Apex had their experiment. Watching from a plethora of telepathic magic, pointing, pouting, blaming yet the truth was revealed to men that held MD’s, PhD’s and titles that belonged to the same aforementioned organisation of how members inter-galactically would select pawns to move large men and women into checkmate, but to the suicidal, our character, sitting and stretching, then lying down haphazardly, of the ever supposed climax of when and how death would willingly occur. Yet for a mental inmate to ever reveal such to well trained and whipped doctors and