Written Word
Selected passages from the works I'm most proud of.
||Creative Writing || Personal Essays ||Creative Writing
DO NOT SAVE ME
Oct. 2025
Context: Lines extracted from an original game script. The scene is when a maiden first encounters what she believes to be her savior for only a moment.
"The knight’s ascent of the tower is clouded with these thoughts, keeping his steps up the stairs heavy.
And she knows he’s here, her savior. Finally, joy racks her body whole. She’s out of the well. The maiden meets him at the
stairwell, blocking entry to her rotted room.
Maiden: Good work, knight. That creature will no longer terrorize me or your people.
She says with a curtsey, eyes sparked with hope.
Maiden: As for your payment, I know that the monster holds grand jewels and-.
Knight: I have no interest in such things.
Knight: I want your body.
The maiden's veins freeze. Taking this as a mere fluster, he moves closer to inspect his bride.
Knight: Your supple skin...
The knight trails off lightly, hand pulling her closer to him. He twists her head, left then right, to check for any more surprises.
Knight: While not the fair tone imagined, kept me going during my travels.
Knight: Long nights alone, it was only you who invaded my dreams.
Knight: Dare I say, you must feel the same in my presence.
The knight lets go of her chin, shifting to kneel. His musk is the iron of his suit, rusted with blood. The maiden, violated
by what reality is sinking in, wants to shrink away into the tower, to become one of its bare walls.
Knight: You’ll be mine, yes? My love, my queen, my everything.
He continues with practiced prose in a language she couldn’t decipher, but knew it was for the fantasy in his head. The knight’s mouth had
become a babbling brook, and he believed it to be poetry."
Snapped Distance
Mar. 2025
Context: Lines extracted from an original game script. In this scene, your player character reflects on where their lonliness has taken them.
"You remind yourself of this arrangement's context. What this was, and still is, a genuine, utter gamble for safety. You didn't know if you were inviting an ax murderer into your life when you put up your ad on Daveslist. One who would know nearly every location you visited and route you took, to leave no detail of your personal life unturned. An average person wouldn't beg to be tracked like rare game. But, your fantasy demanded that you couldn't get away from your appointed viewer. The idea alone gave your soul a necessary pump. It shook off some rust corroding your blood. [...] All options were suggested to you. You didn't oppose them. You enjoyed playing with the thought, back and forth in text. Nothing was felt on your end, though.
It wasn't what you needed. It was him. He knew your desires were at a different pace. He knew this supernatrually well, in fact. Questions about his personal life flooded your mind during the early days. You wanted to ask if chance planned for two certain weirdos to find eachother like this. You grew to understand it didn't matter. What mattered is that he cared and he did everything in his power to show it. You found someone where all danger was shed with each surveyed day. You made a good choice."
Sink Our Ship, Sign Off
April. 2024
Context: Original fiction about a man becoming infatuated witha spammer of emails. Here, he fixates on the monotus cycle that is his life.
"You begin your cacophony of keyboard clicks. But try as you might, these thoughts won’t leave. The workers’ faces were in the news next to matching company names. They were under the umbrella of the same conglomerate—your family. “Your blood was spilled,” the CEO would argue. It wasn’t chosen; it just so happened you were lichen on the same tree. Each who has died watched the same training video, dealt with the same mediocre manager, the same weight downing their shoulders from 9 am ‘till 5 pm. The machine you work for swallows you whole, taking what remains, making it into oil. You accept your fate with worn-down muscles. You can’t run. To care for the unfortunate is difficult when fatigue flushes it out of you. Oil is thicker than blood. You get back to work."
Subject: Party at Main Bay
Jan. 2024
Context: Victory has come to the Station after proof of other sentient life has been found. This is somehow the calm before the storm.
"Station #MP6A was never this alive. When you put a mighty troupe of marine biologists, ecologists,
and chemists into a giant lab, each toiling away in their own smaller labs, the last thing you would expect was an absolute rager.
That especially amazing night deep where no light touched, a rhythmic bass shook the alien underwater world around them.
Sweaty bodies collided against each other with joyous abandon. Some did their damn best to even stomp their feet to the beat,
others pulled off ‘870s Martian dance trends without a hitch. The divide in skill didn’t matter to anyone on the dance floor, though.
Nothing mortal like that mattered. Humanity had basically won; its future finally had a bright end. ‘We aren’t alone wallowing in
our sentience,’ every single scientist thought, ‘There’s more of us out there.’"
Personal Essays
Squares ≠ Rectangles
Sept. 2023
Context: An excerpt from a responsive essay to Andre Breton's Surrealist Manifesto as a 21st century college student, asking questions what is and isn't surrealist in our current age.
"There are well known surrealist video games. I count any that have had ‘surreal’ used to describe their setting and functions, characters and U.I. So many of my favorites have their ‘everything’ described by this word. They are my favorites because of their ‘everything’. For some, the levels are split in the Freudian ideals Breton loved so much: the conscious (reality) and the subconscious (surreality). But some let the two crash into each other, with no distinction of what is real and what isn’t. Whatever the true self is, is now hidden just beyond the fog. They’re inspired by surrealist ideas, artists, music, on and on and on.
But they’re not surreal. It’s still rational in ways I know [Andre] Breton would disapprove of. It’s still a game. A game always has rules. Health depletes whether you bash in the head of an enemy or vice versa, you can lose or win in ways that make sense. Mechanically, all of them are still a logical venture. An experience with an ending in sight. The Manifesto would spit in the eye of Silent Hill 2 if it knew it was also inspired by Crime and Punishment."
I Don’t Care if We’re the Last
May. 2025
Context: This was written as a 'book report' to reflect what I took from a class reading on Leonara Carrington's The Hearing Trumpet. I focused on my personal history in relation to spiritual abuse and how negative uses of Christianity affect our sense of morality.
"So often, too often, the Church reveals itself by proclaiming loudly that certain people are not welcome in their houses of God. They hope these groups burn during the hellfire that rains during the last things. I don’t know what my abuelo watches online, but there’s the sinking feeling that he will never accept me as my whole self. It's why I left the church that raised me. The guilt from doing so still haunts me. It shouldn’t. I don’t think it's enough to say that Jesus Christ would denounce these opinions. We have to reject them on Earth as well, just as loudly as they’re spreading such vitriol. And not only should we be criticizing these opinions, but also making sure that victims of spiritual abuse are safe, away from these structures.
Carrington knew what it was like to be rejected. I do too. She has expressed how such institutions have negatively affected her person and others spiritually. These people, so-called defenders of God's words, actively looked for cracks or fissures in followers and targeted them. Fear guided their hand instead of kindness, and she used fiction to explore not only what their hatred was capable of but those who were able to heal from it."
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