Griffen Helm
Bio
Griffen Helm; Writer of Things.
Fair Warning my work can be pretty violent, rude, lewd, and explicit; including themes of depression suicide, etc.
Stories (34/0)
When you're gone. Content Warning.
Why do we care about people after they’re dead? In both the literal and social aspects? I have people in my family who have passed away, and I also have former friends who are dead to me. Frankly, it's ridiculous to dwell on people that you can no longer dwell among (save for a shovel pointed at the dirt or a gunman in attendance.) There is no more companionship to be gained, only the soft despair radiating from that part of your soul they used to visit.
By Griffen Helm4 months ago in Journal
The Rain, The World
I’ll often stand beneath the rain. It feels like a soothing balm gently calming the torrent that often crashes through my life. I used to think of it as purifying, that it could wash away every harsh memory entrenched in the fibres of my being; but that was impossible.
By Griffen Helm4 months ago in Earth
Urine Blues
It was so... odd. Typically you don’t find urine test bottles scattered around London. Hypodermic needles? Rubber bands and latex gloves? Of course but you can typically hazard a guess at what those are used for. But even then, you’d be hard-pressed to explain the radioactive blue liquid that currently resided in the bottle.
By Griffen Helm10 months ago in Fiction
Data Care
I often wonder about them... those people beyond the wall. Guardian lets us see them if we ask. They always gather outside the wall, monitored constantly by Guardian's cameras and drones. Guardian says that they don’t patrol the wall to keep us safe but to keep them from hurting themselves against our defenses; It is apparent to see, in the 20 years since we were abdicated the only fatalities have been caused by infighting, intruders are always dealt with tact and care.
By Griffen Helm11 months ago in Fiction
The Lonely Shopping Cart
In a parking lot, a nondescript distance from my home; I often find myself walking my dog. And day after day, week after week I have not once failed to notice a peculiar shopping cart precariously situated in the far corner of the lot. It's filled with a wide assortment of city survival essentials; buckets, bags and bundles of clothes for warmth.
By Griffen Helm11 months ago in Journal
Me, my Dog and the Meat I can't Eat. Content Warning.
I am a Vegetarian My dog is not... that. And thus I find myself in a familiar circumstance, ripping apart a chicken carcass with my bare hands after boiling it down into a stock for the better part of the day. An unfortunate paradox to my senses, the food I’ve sworn off dripping the last remnants of its savoury grease into my sink as my dog awaits in visible tension as I transfer the spinal meat into his food bowl.
By Griffen Helm11 months ago in Petlife
Rain Writing
I’ll often stand beneath the rain. It feels like a soothing balm gently calming the torrent that often crashes through my life. I used to think of it as purifying, that it could wash away every harsh memory entrenched in the fibres of my being; but that was impossible.
By Griffen Helm11 months ago in Writers
SHOT CLOCK. Content Warning.
ERA ONE. FUCK!!! FUCK!!! No no nonononono.... For all that is holy why didn't I shoot myself! The mission was a success, still is a success I guess, but that bastard, that absolute scumbag fuck rascal, had something like that in his back pocket...
By Griffen Helm12 months ago in Fiction
Downtown London Ontario. Content Warning.
The downtown sector is strange in London. Given the size of our population you'd presume some amount of landmarks or points of interest, but, no, it's actually about the same as cities a 1/8th of our total sprawling landmass. There are local shops and restaurants, along with a few quaint spots. That alone makes London downtown feel pretty anemic, not because it's bad(it is but ill get to that) but because you'd expect a lot more for what we are.
By Griffen Helmabout a year ago in Humans
