Wednesday, 21 December 2011

Leonard.


 In Bucureştiul zilelor noastre totul este normal; totul este moral. Asta, cel putin, în aparenţă.
În realitate puţini mai au noţiunea normalului; noţiunea moralului. Restul se avântă într-o lume nebună fară sa aibe vreo idee, oricât de vagă, despre marea de haos care îi aşteaptă.
Aşa se face că Leonard, în loc să zăbovească în faţa televizorului cu o cană de cafea in mână, era la teatru, ascuns adânc în umbra oraşului.
- Cu fiecare alegere pe care o facem, se creează un univers alternativ în care am luat o alta decizie; în care totul e diferit. De exemplu, să spunem ca voi nu sunteţi încă siguri dacă vreţi să invăţaţi pentru testul de ora viitoare sau nu.
Din clasă răsună un geamăt al tuturor elevilor pe lista cărora învăţatul era pe ultimul loc de pe listă, asta dacă era acolo.
- După cum spuneam, nu ştiţi dacă să învăţaţi sau nu, şi dacă decideţi să nu învăţaţi, ceea ce preconizez că va fi cazul pentru marea majoritate, o să picaţi, după care vă veţi descuraja si nu veţi mai veni deloc pe aici, compromiţându-vă efectiv viitorul; dar, într-un univers alternativ, aţi decis să învăţaţi,în loc să ieşiţi la o bere care se transformă prin legi necunoscute de mine în vreo 7 beri, şi aţi stat acasă şi aţi invăţat, ceea ce a dus la promovarea voastră.
Din clasă se aud râsete, şi o mână se ridică sfios, atrăgând atenţia profesorului.
- Spune; Leonard, nu? Băiatul din spatele clasei încuviinţă.
Încercă să vorbească, dar gâtul lui uscat îl făcu să se înnece, în timp ce ceilalti studenţi se amuzau pe seama acestuia.
- Vroiam să ştiu ce s-ar întâmpla dacă acele două universuri paralele s-ar întâlni. Reuşi să îngaime într-un final.
Profesorul izbucni în râs.
- Aşa ceva nu se poate întâmpla; dar, teoretic vorbind, dacă cineva ar reuşi să facă aşa ceva, cele două universuri care s-au contopit vor crea haos în cele două realităţi, şi în cele din urmă distrugerea acestora. Nu pot exista doi de „eu” simultan în acelaş univers; cel puţin nu cât timp sunt conştienţi unul de altul. După care mai e si problema gaurilor de vierme, a portalurilor existente si bine ascunse de privirile celor ce nu merita sa le gaseasca. Dar asta vom dezbate altadata, daca si atunci.

Toti ocupantii salii s-au ridicat sa plece, fără să realizeze că dacă aveau să mai asculte cateva minute profesorul le-ar fi revelat un secret bine păzit.
Leonard işi închise cartea şi o băgă în ghiozdan; era nedormit de două nopţi şi cearcănele lui deveneau vizibile şi prin lentila ochelarilor groşi. Vroia să doarmă dar nu avea timp, oricum eforturile lui aveau sa aducă o schimbare majoră în viaţa tuturor oamenilor; putea să mai reziste încă câteva ore. Ieşi din sala de curs şi se plimbă pe coridoarele părăsite şi dărăpănate ale universităţii; avea dificultăţi în a se concentra; gândurile lui se învălmăşeau şi se contopeau într-un mod atât de alert încât îi era greu să le urmărească. Orcât ar fi încercat să nege, era îngrijorat. Nu mai avea încredere în nimeni, nici măcar în forţele proprii pentru a duce planul la capăt. Ar fi vrut să poată apela la cineva care mai făcuse asta, dar adevărul era că el era singurul care avea cea mai vagă idee despre ce făcea. Fie că vroia sau nu, evenimentele ce aveau să urmeze îi vor aduce un loc important în istoria lumii.
Afară era frig şi el fu nevoit să îşi tragă gulerul gecii peste bărbie. Drumul către apartamentul în care locuia cu chirie i se părea ireal. În toată viaţa lui nu se mai simţise aşa singur. Centrul Bucureştiului, pe care îl travesa acum, forfotea de oameni şi cu toate astea, el se simţea ca şi cum mergea singur pe o strada pustie, fără să se îndrepte către un loc anume. Îşi dorea să fie la fel de ignorant ca ceilalţi, să trăiască o viaţă mediocră, fericită, cufundată în neştiinţă.
Ar fi vrut să poată uita de consecinţe măcar şi pentru o clipă. Ar fi vrut să nu fie singurul din echipă care işi făcea griji legate de consecinţele proiectului lor. Într-un fel, numai el avea un motiv raţional pentru tot ce urma să facă, spre deosebire de ceilalţi doi colegi de echipă, ale căror acţiuni erau motivitate de teribilism pur şi de dorinţa disperată de a dovedi că sun capabili de mult mai mult decat îi credeau alţii în stare.
Din punctul lui de vedere, erau patetici. Erau doar într-o căutare disperată de a fi recunoscuţi. Iar el se folosea de ei pentru a-şi atinge scopurile.
Era atât de pierdut în gândurile lui încât nu observă că a ajuns la destinaţie, iar David, unul dintre colegii şi coechipierii lui, îl întâmpină în scara blocului:
- Cum stă treaba? sări David direct la subiect. Leonard tresări şi îi luă câteva clipe să îşi dea seama unde se afla exact, ar fi vrut să se poată întoarce, să se mai plimbe un pic, ar fi putut fi ultimele lui clipe de răgaz, dacă proiectul se va sfârşi prost.
-Poftim?
-Am întrebat cum merge treaba, omule!
-Merge bine, răspunse el grăbit. Dacă avem noroc îi dăm drumul în seara asta.
David aprobă din cap; un gest dubios din partea lui, mai ales pentru că părea că ţeasta îi porneşte direct dintre omoplaţi. Leonard schiţă un zâmbet forţat, care arăta mai degrabă ca o grimasă şi trecu pe lângă David şi intră în apartamentul lor gol, cu excepţia unor aparaturi de ultimă oră şi a unor caserole goale, cu resturi mucegăite, aruncate într-un colţ al camerei.
Olivia, ultimul membru al grupului, stătea perfect calmă pe jos, şi privea cerul printr-un geam mic, plin de praf. Leo işi drese vocea, pentru a-şi face simţită prezenţa, dar ea nu dădu nic un semn că îl aude sau că este conştientă de prezenţa lor acolo, aşa că fără să se mai chinuie să îi atragă atenţia, se aşeză la una dintre maşinăriile create de ei, un fel de radar menit să descopere locaţia portalurilor interdimensionale, şi începu să lucreze în neştire.
Pe percursul celor două ore petrecute de el lucrând, Olivia nu se mişcă din loc; probabil dacă Leo nu era deja obişnuit cu obiceiurile ei şi-ar fi făcut griji, dar aşa ştia de la inceput că era futil.
    -Exista 11 dimensiuni; Începu el să recite o lectie bine ştiută. In mod normal, ele ar trebui să fie distanţate una de alta, pentru a nu se atinge si crea o cale de acces într-o alta lume; un portal spre o dimensiune alternativă. Dar timpul nu e atât de constant pe cât îl credem noi, deci a patra dimensiune e uşor instabilă. Ceea ce înseamnă că si restul au grade diferite de instabilitate, acestea pulsând împreună. Însă ceea ce ne interesează pe noi acum este timpul. Trece din ce in ce mai repede, si vrem, nu vrem, cu toţii observăm acest lucru; ceea ce inseamnă că cele unsprezece dimensiuni încep să se apropie una de cealaltă, si într-un final o să se atingă într-un punct.
    -Şi ce o să se întâmple atunci? Îl întrebă Olivia, privirea ei aţintită asupra lui, plină de o curiozitate de copil.
    -Un nou big bang. Tot ce există va fi şters cu buretele şi universul o va lua de la capăt. Din cercetările noastre am scos la iveală faptul că mai avem doar un an de existentă. Asta dacă nu cumva vom găsi o modalitate să scăpăm de tensiunea timpului.
    -Şi cum facem asta?
    -Simplu; din calculele mele, trebuie doar să fim la momentul potrivit la locul potrivit. Îi zâmbi ştrengăreşte, iar ea nu schiţă nici măcar un zâmbet, intorcându-se la orice era ce făcea ea acolo.
Îşi dădu seama că Olivia nu mai avea nimic de zis şi se întoarse la maşinăria lui care aducea a mixer supra-dimensionat.
    -Nu te temi? O întrebă după ce se lăsă tăcerea.
    -Mmmmnu.
    -De ce? O presă el. -
    -Pentru că orice alternativă am avea, nu poate fi mai rea ca asta!
Leo nu a înteles niciodată care era motivaţia ei. De ce dorea să se avânte într-o lume necunoscută, dar totuşi creată de deciziile ei. Considerând faptul că ar fi putut rămâne în această realitate şi să fie perfect fericită în mica ei lume pe care puţini o puteau înţelege.
Orele s-au scurs repede prin clepsidra nevăzută a timpului, pe lângă Leo care era cufundat în calcule şi nu a realizat cât de târziu este până cand nu a simţit mâna lui David, pusă uşor pe umărul lui.
    -Aproape gata? Şi Leo se întrebă iar cum de a trecut atât de repede timpul, fără ca el să realizeze. Răspunsul era în teoriile lui, a căror demonstraţie o aşteptau cu toţii.
    -Aproape gata... eşti sigur că locaţia e bună? Cu tot respectul, mi se pare că centrul oraşului e un pic cam tras de păr.
Ochii lui David ieşiră din orbite şi se învineţi uşor la faţă.
    -Calculele mele nu au cum să dea gres, a spus pe un ton ascuţit trecându-şi mâna prin părul încâlcit.
    - Bine...bine...
Au început să se pregătească mecanic, pentru experimentul pe care urmau să îl facă. Au încărcat toate echipamentele şi radarul în duba uzată şi au pornit înspre Teatrul Naţional, unde urma să apară fisura dintre universuri (sau cel puţin aşa sperau).
Din cauza faptului că era vineri seara, traficul era haotic iar cei trei s-au gasit prinşi într-un blocaj. Singurul care părea afectat cu adevărat de întârziere era Leonard; lamentările lui au fost reduse la tăcere de David, cu câteva cuvinte rostite gutural care semănau mai mult cu un lătrat.
Odată ajunşi la teatru, au făcut slalom prin multimea de junk-isti care de mai mult de un an îşi făcuseră acolo un loc de adunare. În afară de câteva întrebări tehnice, instalarea aparaturii a de curs într-o tăcere tensionată. Oricum, nu doreau să atragă atenţia ciudaţilor care işi vedeau de treabă în zonă. Păreau nişte angajaţi ai teatrului care instalau ceva pentru un spectacol. După ce au finalizat instalarea, şi-au acordat câteva minute de linişte pentru a-şi putea lua adio de la lumea pe care o ştiau atât de bine şi în care se născuseră. Fiecare îşi lua la revedere propriul mod: Olivia privea o floare ofilită de pe asfalt, zâmbindu-şi din motive stiute numai de ea; David îşi rula o tigară, bălind în exces pe foiţă, iar Leo stătea şi privea absent cerul, năpădit de griji.

Orice decizie aveau ei sa faca, calea de intoarcere nu mai exista deja de mult.

Sunday, 20 November 2011

Just another night.

His wounds smelt like dried pus, the scabs tearing to reveal infected tissue and flesh, seeping out of his wounds in thick rivulets, like a kraken extending it's tendrils, staining the damp material of his clothes.
He was dying, his life ebbing away like the sun on a winter day.
He hurt, but his physical pain was nothing compared to the damage his pride had taken.
He could not, under any circumstances, abandon everyone he was supposed to save, abandon everything he held dear, and just die there.
He had to fight, move on, get up dammit, and go save them, for fuck's sake.
He was supposed to be a sodding hero, not a bleeding, rotting from the inside, corpse, lying in the woods on this cold night, waiting for death to do it's bidding.
He wanted to get up, tried to, heaving with pain, knees bending and creaking, wounds further opening, bleeding into his boots.
He keened, a high sound into his throat, teeth grinding as he straightened up, his wounds continuously shifting painfully.
It was almost too bloody much for him to take, tears washing the dried mud off his face, leaving behind scarred, milky, skin.
His vision spun wildly, erratically, as he made his way through the forest, limping his way far from the tree he thought was going to be his grave.
If he was going to die, he was going  to do so with dignity.


He was going to do something and quit whining for once.
Damn bastard.

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

On my own.

There's no turning your back to your nightmares; where you fears grow wings, made of the darkest of clouds, and soar into your mind.
No matter how, no matter why, you fight to be remembered, you will die alone, cold and scared.
No matter how hard I try, I'm still unused to being cold. I'm still somehow unused to being alone, since for a while I stopped being so, and now I'm back to square one, but with an unusual need to be anything but alone.

You know, in the end, I may be a monster, I may be inhuman, I may be human, and I might just be wrong; but before all that, I'm an idea.
And an idea never dies.
I look not to become a writer, but an almighty idea.
Feared, looked up to, loved, hated, but never ignored.
I'll become impossible to ignore, even to you, you bastard.
I'll make sure that wherever you look, you'll see me, the idea, and not me the meatbag, not me the human  clad in weaknesses and phobias.
I'll make sure you won't ignore me.
Why, even I don't know.

Until then, I'll just have to make sure you won't disappear from my sight.



Monday, 10 October 2011

Hero.

Not even you believed your dream was ever going to come true.
You are the one who gave up and lost faith.
The fault, the guilt, the pain and the sorrow; it's all yours to carry.
Yours to get over, by yourself, using just your strength.

Your soul is going to turn to shambles, like an old house, the door falling off it's hinges; the windows broken like your mind and heart.
It's freezing, isn't it? In your mind. Each though frozen in place, incapable of following it's route and developing further.
You'll never be able to escape; that's the sad truth. And one day, you'll lay wounded and tired, after countless riots against your own self, only to realize that in the end, it doesn't matter.
It was pointless.
Just a test.
A sick experiment, a sick trap.
And you fell right into it.
Fool.

Friday, 23 September 2011

Mad.

Utterly meaningless hate that spirals through time, hypnotizing, distorting the reality of the ones it touches, sucking their life dry, until nothing makes sense anymore.
Can those four walls cage your soul? Are they wide enough to accommodate it?
Can you be limited by matter alone?



No one said you had to be the best; no one said you have to hide your agony.
Why not let it paint the walls constricting you, suffocating you, keeping you away from your freedom?
Transfigure your rage into art. Bloody, heartfelt, hateful art. Something that can convey the emotions you get drunk on every night.
Make them realize how futile restraining you is.
How sad, that it had to get like this.
How sad that you had to sell your morality in order to live.



I'm through with trying to look away; I'm sick of pretending everything's okay.
Screw it all, toss it all away; you make the rules you play by, others obey them, not the other way around.

I'm through with talking, so from now on you'll just have to make do with my silence.
At least maybe then you'll listen.
Maybe my absence means a lot more to you than my presence.
Bastard.

Monday, 5 September 2011

Rushing tide.

Moving on.
Leaving countless moments, mistakes, laughs, smiles, tears, anger, love, hate behind.
There's nothing that chains you to the ground anymore.
Nothing holding you back from reaching your goals.
So just relax. Take a moment to look at the sky.
Take a moment to breathe in.
Makes you realize just how alive you are.
Wherever your joy may lie.

Beating hearts. Crimson blood.
Death.
Birth.
Scattered bodies. Your mistakes.

For a moment there, you were almost lost.
And yet here you are.

You were never alive; so now you have a chance.
Just take hold of it, grip it tightly.
Don't let go.
It's your only chance. Now or never.

Sleep. Breathe. Laugh. Love. Hate. Dream. Write.
Do whatever makes you happy.

It's not like I care.

Friday, 15 July 2011

Neurotic


I never get tired of changing obsessions when the current ones no longer go along with my dreams.
It's funny how things change. 
How something that at first seemed so full of life and love changed, in a matter of seconds, and now is only an empty shell.
In a way, it's sad, knowing that no matter how hard you work in order to lift yourself up to their level, once you reach it, they will no longer present any interest. At least not to you.

I know I'm full of shit, and I know I'm dysfunctional. I've been this way for a shitload of time now, and I don't think I'm going to stop soon.
I think my 'break' is over now. 

What was, what is, and what will be.
What I was, what I am, what I will be.

Mindless chatter.

I'm mad at my own brain.

Reality can never compare to the fantasy you've designed inside your head.

Just like how the colors you once saw will only be seen as blacks and whites once you've stared at the sun for too long.
But you only stare at the sun because you know you'll never be able to touch it. It won't ever belong to you.
Such a shame.
But as I once said, what you want is not always what you need.
If the sun was meant to be with you, it probably would've collided with the earth a long time ago, just so it could touch you for a moment, before you got charred away, and it died.

What a cruel fate we bare.
And how miserable the irony makes us feel.

Saturday, 9 July 2011

Willow leaves

"I've long since given up." A broken voice, hardened by years of pain and betrayal.
"Weak." Not worthy of a more eloquent reply.
"Why?" Not really looking for answers, not really looking for comforting.
The answer came anyway, after a sigh.
"Because you gave up, yet again. make up your mind, and stay with your decisions. Quit walking in circles."
Harsh, but deserved.
"'m Scared. I have no courage." Trembling, cold, afraid.
Rage.
"Having courage means that you are willing to face your fears, and accept the fact that you are scared! Quit hiding. Stop being such a coward. We don't break when the wind blows, we bend with it, we avoid confrontation."  Not so sure. Eyes averted.
"Then why did you break?"
Silence.
"Because I cared. And I had to fight, and I will continue to fight for as long as I need to." Emotion.

More silence, more fears, growing in intensity.

"Because I made a decision I had to follow. Because I loved and lost."
A sorrowful smile, a stray tear.

"...Would you do it again?"
"Yes. A thousand times."
"Why?"
"Because memories get scattered like willow leaves as time passes. Never to be seen again. And I'd give everything to hear that voice again."
...
"That's stupid. You...want to endure the pain all over again?"
Quiet laughter.
"You're still young and foolish. You'll learn in time."
Until then, I remain a masochist.

Thursday, 30 June 2011

No

I'm sick and tired of always waiting.
I've had enough.
Ignore me all you want, shun me all you want, but reality is, I am still a part of you, even if denied, caged.
I've had enough.
It's not that fact that you are ignoring me that hurts me, it's the fact that you pretend I never existed, you pretend I'm just a bad memory, a nightmare.
And I can't deny it.
Continue doing what the hell you want, ignore me all you want for however long you want, and I'll keep on living.
Not for you, but for myself.
and one day maybe you'll realize how goddamn stupid you've been.
And I'll just stare at you.
Back to normal. Heart made of stone again.
I'll see you around, in the nothingness you love so much.

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

.

He was the only one who mattered, that's why it hurt her so much.

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Lost.

I never knew, I never thought that, after all, I would end up this way.
It's like I can't ever have privacy. You're always there, in the back of my head, caressing my thoughts with your cold hands, leaving in your wake memories I do not desire, and yet, somehow, enjoy. Because you woke them.
I can't run forever. I refuse to run away again.
And one day I will face you, and then there shall only be one of us remaining.
Maybe I'll get lonely sometimes, Maybe we'll get lonely.
Not alone though.
Never alone.

Thursday, 9 June 2011

Schmetterling. Prologue.


She was a normal girl, as long as she was concerned, a normal human being with reason and logical thoughts that outsmarted almost all human population; So why she hated a guy she barely knew, never talked to and had only took a glance at was both unreasonable and illogical to her, and yet she couldn't stop it, nor did she want it to stop.
As logical as she was, she never took any interest in human emotions, and the thrill of hating someone with such passion baffled her, and at the same time made her go on, step by painful step.
She never liked love; the way it was described by other superficial 'friends' of hers, that it, if you could call them friends.
There were some things she was never going to admit though, not even to herself, not even if it killed her.
  1. She had a sick obsession with the idea of him killing her off.



It seemed so normal to her, so appropriate, and just so right. Because he was number one on her list; because she hated him in such ways that she felt that she could go out in peace only if he killed her and ended up having her blood smeared all over his hands and body. She wanted to be the only one to see his wide, scared eyes, so different from the sardonic look he always had swimming in them; his gasping breath after he tried screaming until his throat went raw and still no sound wanted to come out; his mouth, his full lips so drained of colour , and yet so alive; with his mouth half open and his teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he stared at her in horror.
His Spiky, usually neat dark hair ruffled and his spikes matted down by her caked blood. His clothes spattered with red, and the few drops of blood on his cheeks that were being washed out by his hot, salty tears streaming down, some landing on his clothes, some on the ground and the one that mattered most, on her. Because by then his shock would have passed and he would have taken her into his arms, her frail and cold body, hoping to bring her back, but her heart would have already stopped beating, and her eyes would already have that faraway look they often had, the only difference was that now they weren't going to focus on him again. Her mouth was slack, just as if she wasn't dead, just too caught up in her own thoughts to notice the world surrounding her, just like she'd snap out of it in the next second, smiling brightly and laughing, blood rushing to her cheeks, lighting up her eyes.
She wanted to give her life a reason, even if that meant that she had to die in order to do so. She wanted to protect the things she held close, even if those were her worst enemies. She needed to know that she didn't die in vain, that the ones whom she saved were worthy. And she knew he was. Because he had always been better than her.
But not in that night. Right then, she would have already won, when her soul departed.
He knew it was already too late; he knew she wasn't going to wake up any time soon. At least not in this life. She just seemed so dead, so gone and not coming back, never coming back; and he would only tighten his grip he held on her, wishing for death with such fervour he would freak himself out in any other circumstances, but not in this one. Because right then death would seem like a liberation from all his guilt and sorrow, all his regret and all of his tears, from all he hated, from the rest of the world. But he wouldn't kill himself and instead he would isolate himself from everyone and bury himself in books, in books she liked, and take on her dream, carrying her will even after her death.
Because that was all he knew, all he could do, and in that cold night he would let go of her lifeless body and instead grasp hold of her soul even if only for a bit, feeling as if through his actions he could be closer to her, even if she was dead, and a part of him died with her, because her actions, her emotions, her hate for him kept him feeling so alive, so ready to face every day head on just so he could see her smiles, her eyes, so full of life and so optimistic, lighting up his days, even the darkest of ones.
He would regret her death the most, and yet even in death she would light up his days.
  1. The second thing she was never going to admit was the simple fact that she hated herself and everything she meant.
Because she saw herself as weak and frightened, at loss of words when when surrounded by people, but most of all, alone and miserable.
She hated herself so much she never saw faults in anyone besides herself.
She wanted to isolate herself from the rest of the world so she could stop plaguing the society she would never fit in.
She was always happy when someone asked time to spend together, but then she remembered she was a gruesome human, a monster, and became morose and afraid. Too afraid to even show emotions, fearing that her friends would get scared of her and shun her, just like everybody else. And that was how she lived most of her life until she saw him, a normal human. And then, without noticing, she started hating him, because he was in no way trying to interact with anybody, he didn't try to fit in, and saw everyone else as unworthy of his presence. And she hated him for that, because even if everyone tried to include him, the silent brooding bastard, he declined each and every one of their requests, while she was ignored by most of them for being so...weird, for having that big fake grin plastered on her face just so no one would be able to tell how much she suffered on the inside, so no one could see her pain, her hate.
No one but him. He saw through her mask from the first glance, from the first time he looked her in the eyes, and she looked right back into his, just like she was reading his soul. He had distaste written all over his face as he noticed the hurt she had hidden inside of her, she hated the way she saw the gears turning in his mind as he classified her as a fake human being, a liar. And she only showed him how she really felt, because he was the only one who noticed her act, through small , seemingly stupid actions with no meaning under them for those who didn't see her true self.
And he accepted it; because even if she didn't know, he was in the same situation she was in.
She liked the way everyone saw her smile as being genuine, because they lived under the impression that as long as it was a smile, it was a true one. Little did they know that those who smile the most, suffer the most on the inside. They were so miserably wrong.


  3.She dreamt of him. A lot.

Maybe a bit too much to ever tell someone, but she dreamt of him every time her eyes closed, and because of that she kept herself on the brink of exhaustion at all times, just because she was scared of dreaming of him yet again. She didn't fear the dreams, she resented the nightmares.
Sick sequences depicting ways in which he died, so many, each competing with the other at the level of gore they showed her.
So many, she lost count of the nights in which she woke up covered in cold sweat, crying and gasping for air, eyes wide and hand holding tight the fabric of her shirt, right over her heart, just as if she feared her heart would shatter, just as if it hurt to see him die.
But no dream, nu matter how gruesome, could ever compare to the first time he appeared in her dreams. It was the most silent dream she ever had, the calmest, and yet the most tormenting.
It wasn't as bloody as the others, no one was murdering him. And yet, he died. Because he chose to end his life.
Suicide was not the reason she was so tormented, it was the fact that the sadness in his eyes had been so obvious, so alive, it hurt to see him suffer that way, it brought her so close to insanity that night.
Such a sorrowful expression marred his features, and darkened his eyes to the point where they seemed so black, tears running along with raindrops down his cheeks as he looked at the the sky from at the top of the building.
It was a pleasant view; the clouds were angry, thundering in silence as the sound was swept away by the blowing wind.
His hair and his clothes were damp, but somehow, he looked like he didn't care, like that was the most stupid thing to worry about.
Of course he didn't care. He knew it was all going to end anyway, and thoroughly ignored it.
And when the last drop of rain hit his face, another hit the ground, only that this one didn't belong to the sky. It was then that he crossed the edge of the building, going over the ledge.
He soundlessly leaned forward and let himself be taken by the wind, let himself be led by that gravity he hated so, let himself be guided into that cold oblivion that was death.
It was only then that he allowed his eyes to close, while so graciously flying towards the merciless ground.
After that, nothing was the same. The silent scream that came out of her mouth as the image embedded itself into her soul plague her even now.
The hollow echo of his fall as it came to an end reverberated into her mind every time single time she saw him. It was excruciating, to know that in your mind, all you want is to protect somebody, while in your life, you have to wish that human's death.
She wanted to keep him locked deep inside of a cage, never let herself go through that again. But how could she? After all, she was just a monster. Powerless and frightened.
The only difference between his behaviour in her dreams and his behaviour in real life, was the fact that, in her dreams, he cared.
In some way or another he always let her know he would always watch over her, take care of her, watch her progress. Even if that was something her subconscious made up, she wasn't ready to accept the truth.
That he, after all, didn't care.
She strived so hard to make people care, that now, when she had an illusion, she couldn't bring herself to accept the truth and move on with her life. She would have done whatever it took in order to keep that intact. Wear a hardwood mask for the rest of her life, wear that fake mask that made him hurt so.



Of course, she still wanted to keep up with the appearances; which is why she kept that mask firm enough to fool everyone. And refused to stare into those eyes she saw so often in her sleep, because she knew they would only have concern in them. And she didn't need pity.
She was fine for what others cared, even if the dark circles under her eyes said otherwise, she wanted everyone to believe she was fine. She blamed those on her inability to sleep rather than being so afraid of going to sleep because she might just see him die in her dreams again.
And instead of sleeping she just gazed at the dark starry sky, wishing it would all go away so she could get at least 2 minutes of sleep without seeing his sorrowful eyes stare back at her as he once again died and left her alone.
But she went on, and let out a sigh of relief every time she saw the breaking dawn chase the clouds away, every time he saw him alive and breathing, face devoid of any emotions as the day passed and another sleepless night approached.
  1. She hated her voice.
It wasn't the tonality that set her off so bad, it was the fact that she had one. It was the fact that she tried talking a lot so she wouldn't feel so left out.
But, she realized, once you talked, they all expected you to talk all the time, and thoroughly ignored your voice after a while. She hated it. The fact that she was too weak to make her presence known, and her beliefs acknowledged by others. She hated it.
So much, she sometimes wished her vocal cords would somehow sustain massive damage, and she would no longer be able to talk.
She could make do with no voice. But with a voice and no one to listen she couldn't.
She refused to get too close to humans just because of that. Their friendship meant nothing to her, and yet somehow she didn't want to be alone.
But somehow, she always was, but she was never sad, never lonely, because her eyes always locked onto his back, and her resolve strengthened. She was going to win the war. Even if it killed her, she would do it, fight until the end and lose with dignity.
Silence always seemed to scream back at her when he was out of sight; her mind always seemed to betray her when she was alone, crawling out of it's cage, tearing at her sanity, slowly, but violently, intent of driving her insane. Insane with the thoughts of him. She could feel the soft tissue of her sanity tearing away, the muscles clenching and blood dripping slowly into her mind, flooding it with thoughts of him. She was in pain, every time silence seemed to surround her; and somehow, only he could calm her monsters.
But she wasn't going to admit that. So close to insanity, she was more powerful than ever, she was ready to take him on, refuse his advances, his weak attempts at talking to her. His soft spoken voice, and his loud laugh always seemed to hit her so hard. Because she knew he could speak to her like he was everything, and yet he chose to use that gentle, yet so commanding tone of his. She refused to admit it. She refused to let him live.
She couldn't, didn't want to.
Her mind was too far away now. Her reason had long since been clouded by that searing hate that bubbled in her veins and burnt the inside of her eyes, turning her dull eyes into flaming pieces of hate.
She could go on like this, with the fire of her hate, and the power of her insanity.
She could make it through.
And yet somehow, that sane part of herself always seemed to be the one screaming in her mind lately. A voice so sharp and coated with despair, choked by sobs and muffled by her own insanity.
She hated her voice. Especially when no one but her heard it. Especially when it told her just how wrong she was, and how her battle was useless, and how hate could only bring forth more hate. Her mind was suffocated by hate, her reason shadowed by it,and her sane self knew it, and tried warning her.
Sometimes, she truly hated her own voice. Especially when she was alone.



  1. There were many useless reasons for her hate. But only one seemed to matter.
They were too alike, and she knew that if they ever got to talk to each other properly they would find a friend in the other; and that thought alone was enough to turn her insides out.
She wanted to stay away so bad, so much, her heart ached as the since of her thoughts strangled her.
She wasn't allowed to. She had to stay as close as possible and watch his every move, every muscle ripple in his back as he stretched, every twitch of his lips as he talked.
He hated him so, she feared one morning she would wake up chocked up by tar, keeping her from taking in a much needed breath. But she had to deal with it.
Her hate had to grow, and her useless thoughts would have to disappear if she ever wanted to become greater than him.
She had to die while hating him. She had to show him mercy in the end.
But until then, she would continue to hate him, just like in the first day.






1.
It all seemed so tragic, that after all, he had something he would never admit to her as well, even if his life depended on it.
He knew. Everything. The pained expressions she had so carefully masked were so obvious to him he always flinched and turned his gaze away from her, afraid of being noticed.
He was sure he didn't know how her hate was eating her up inside, and instead of those bright eyes she thought she had, she was so dead, so empty.
He knew. He knew they were too alike, and he knew it was too late. He knew what she wanted, along with what he wanted.
It all seemed to match up so beautifully, just like a butterfly soaring towards the faraway clouds.
But in the end, no matter how beautiful that butterfly was, he knew he wanted it just because he couldn't have it, just like she did.
He also knew that there was nothing he could do, but disappear and hope that along with him, her hatred. He wanted, even if for a moment, even if he imagined it, to see her alive, living, smiling; not clouded by that monstrosity that kept her in the dark for so long that she became darkness.
She would guide her from afar, and maybe, just maybe, that butterfly would stay just outside of his reach.
Maybe, it was all meaningless.
But, somehow, for him, that one lonely butterfly, meant everything.




*I'm quite tired of writing this so I'm not going to word proof it yet because I'm lazy.
Also, this is my 100th post. I am happy, yey. Woo. Whatever. I'll try to update on a regular basis now. But I don't know how long it will take for inspiration to return to me. I used it all up this time. heh. Kthxbai XOXO*

Doubt.

It was just another day, just another day wasted.
He couldn't help it, he couldn't.
It felt awful to him.
He'd been strong all this time, fighting everything that opposed him, moving on as fast as he could, evolving as much as he could.
But now? Now he just couldn't put up with it anymore. His eyes were dull, he was just tired.
Tired of acting strong, tired of fighting.
He'd been left empty by all that hatred that once consumed him.
His mask lay crumbled deep inside his mind, scattered pieces of who he once was.
He couldn't let anyone see him like this. He couldn't bear their pity.
He didn't need it.
It pained him to know that all he could do was just to pick up the broken pieces, put them together and start over again.
He couldn't get away from the pain.
He could fight it no more.
It was days like these that made him question his sanity.
Days like these that made him wish he was somewhere more secluded.
Somewhere alone.
On a field, laying on the soft grass as rain bathed his wounds and wind chilled his heart.
But he wasn't there. He couldn't muster the strength.
So all he could do was walk into the bathroom slowly and splash cold water on his tired face.
He gazed at his reflection, wondering if this, was what he was meant to do everytime his mask shattered.
He couldn't remember the last time pain was so visible in his eyes.
He looked away, and clenched his jaw.
He would start over.
But not now, because his mind was of no use to him at the moment, when doubt was lacing his every thought.
Right now, he would leave himself to regain his strength. Let himself drift as far away from his body as possible.
And only then would he allow himself to start over again.
No matter how much time passed.
No matter how empty he felt.
He would start over.
Just not now.

Memories.

He hated taking pictures.
The idea of having reminders of how he was in the past disgusted him.
He hated living in the past, inside his mind, reliving memories that should have been long since gone.
He hated the sorrow e could see in the few pictures he had of himself. he hated the smirk that tried to cover up said sorrow.
The need to be alone arose each and every time his ming brought up one of those memories, and he fought with that need, though to no avail.
He always ended up in the same lonely bar, with his head hung low, staring at the glass of scotch as the golden liquid swirled around the ice.
It was truly depressing.
The bad part was he couldn't do anything to change it.
And no matter how hard he tried to wipe those memories clean, they always came back to haunt him.

Wandering thoughts.

Remember those times in the middle of the summer when you felt so cold you thought you would die?
Remember those times when your heart could no longer keep up with you so you tossed it aside?
Remember that time when you wanted it back, but could no longer find it?

I've watched you for long enough to know how you act when in distress.
How you act when you're scared and lonely.

For all those days that passed by, I am grateful.
Because now, I chose to help you.
That is my gift.
I'll stand by your side until you breathe your last breath, and I will hold you in a firm embrace as your body relaxes and falls into nothingness.

And you want to know why?
Because I'm sick of always trying to stay away, sick of always trying to fight back the urge to stop you from falling.
I'll stay by your side. And I'll take part of your pain and make it my own.
Because you need it. Because I need it.
Because otherwise I'd be useless.
And so would you.

Escape.

"You'll never be able to move faster that the one who's in front of you."
The words chilled him to the core, and his questioning gaze landed upon the figure laced in the shadows.
"What do you want?" He grimaced. He couldn't stand being interrupted.
"The one who truly can move the fastest is the one who can clear his mind, and reach that point of concentration."
"What point?" He stood still, muscles contracting, ready to attack.
"That point between insanity and sanity. Between rage and serenity. Between death and life."
"I've never been known for my ability to concentrate." He joked, all humor gone.
"But you can, more than others."
"And how do I do that?" He seemed annoyed
"You're doing it now."
His vision blurred, and his breath got caught in his lungs as he fell backwards, hitting the ground with a thud.

Knowledge.

The way his shadow moved across the wall as he got closer sent chills up his spine.
How could he fight back? How could he oppose that monster, that demon?
"Stay back!" He shouted, the sound echoing off the walls and back at him, all distorted and unnerving.
He took a step back and watched the monster as it stared at him intently. His golden eyes were glowing with an orange shade due to the sunset reflecting into them, making him seem all the more violent.
He could see the pent up rage inside his eyes, he could feel the sorrow and pain, the frustration. He could see it all. He might have been a monster, but he had always been able to only read his kin.
"Why are you afraid?" His deep voice sent chills up his spine, his eyes focusing on the space near the monster so he could keep it in his sight and at the same time try not to stare at it too much.
"Why are you afraid?" The same question, repeated, and he found that he did not know.
His gaze met the monster's, and they stared at the other.
"I don't know." It was honest, the confusion was visible in his eyes, and the monster couldn't help but sketch a shadow of a smile.
"My name is Maana. What is yours?" the monster changed the subject, his deep voice turned a step lower, to a more comfortable and relaxing tone.
"I don't know." The same answer. His muddled thoughts didn't help at all as he tried recalling his past. He was  bewildered.
"How about Grul?" He asked, getting closer to the other.
"sounds good." He was still unsure, but for now it would have to do. He remembered nothing about his past, and he could spare no time.
He had to do something.
He knew he had to.
He just couldn't remember what.

Thoughts.

It's been such a long time since I've driven myself mad with writing.
It's been such a long time since I felt so pleasantly exhausted.

I seem to have lost all of my hate. Either that or I just stopped discriminating and started hating everyone equally.
Either way, no thrill.
I can't say I've lost all of my obsessions, because we all know my sick self needs an obsession in order to be driven to do any type of artistic thing.
I just find myself lost in this jumbled up world, so full of ... nothing. So dry, so lifeless.
Maybe the city isn't the place for me, maybe I just need a drink.
Maybe there is a big obsession on the way.
I hope I'm right anyway. I like my obsessions.
I like my hate.
Looking back, I pretty much don't regret a thing.
I'm glad I don't.
I'm glad I can finally fall asleep at night. And I'm glad I stopped having those annoying as fuck dreams.
I'm not always this 'deep' but bear with me as I try to make something that should resemble an update.
I fell like I'm stagnating again, and I feel like going with the flow and sleeping and reading all day.
I need a change, a haircut, and something to drink.
I'm not even lying.
I have a few more updates to make in the next 24 hours, and some other stuff, but I should be done pretty quickly since I'm running out of juice and energy.
I'll try to be a little less harsh.
Yeah right.

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Do you

"Do you know what's it like to have another person living inside of you?" She asked, though not expecting an answer.
"To have someone constantly tell you that you're not good enough to live, that you should give up and succumb to them, let them take over your body while you rest your tired mind?"
It was somewhat earth shattering for her to finally admit that fact, and to admit that she was oh so tempted to give up.
The old man, though, didn't seem all that fazed by her statement, by the anger and fear dripping off her words. His thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thought up a good answer; and his long, heavy sigh signaled that he'd found one.
"We all have our monsters, our demons." his lips quirked upwards in a soft smile. "And we all have to fight them into submission in order to live our lives peacefully. The fact that your monster is a lot more real than ours means nothing. It's still the same fight. We may never be able to become in complete control of our body, we may never be able to fully drown out their screams that ring inside our heads, but we have the responsibility to keep the monsters at bay."
She didn't seem in the least reassured.
"What's your's?"
"Oh my, it's already this late? I'm afraid we'll have to leave this conversation for another time, it's time we closed the shop." He got up and flipped over the sign hanging on the front door, and lowered the curtains.
"Another time." She agreed, even if she knew they weren't going to talk about it that soon.
Another time.

Chaos.

Nothing made sense, noting stood still.
Nothing.
He was dizzy, tired of being nothing, tired of being one and all.
So, mustering his strength, he tried stopping himself.
From moving, from being everything and yet nothing.
It felt good, the power that surged through him as he willed everything to a stop.
For a second everything was nothing.
And then the real chaos took place.
Bits and pieces of himself reassembled and transfigured in such ways, breaking the fine line that held them all together. And they split so far apart that he doubted he could feel anything anymore.
But he did feel.
And it felt horrible.
He'd been ripped away from the other parts that were him, and thrown aside as the universe continued to merge into something new.
Something in which he had no place.
He'd brought doom upon himself.
And yet he was happy.
"Hell, maybe it will stop being boring from now on."
And it did.
It stopped once he stopped living.

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

Unholy

„Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” The words rang hollow in the run down cathedral, the scenery bringing forth only desolation.

Beneath the boulders and fallen walls, broken glass and torn crosses, the cold air blew the lighter shards of glass through the frozen in time room. Her nostrils flared as she smelt the scent of an altered human being coming from the confessional and she headed that way, her hand poised and ready to reach for the gun in her brown-leather holster.
In the last days she had only encountered agressive chimaeras and she had grown tired of always having to kill them off.
She stepped into the confessional, willing herself not to choke on the dense dust that floated in the air and sat down on the wooden chair, watching everything with caution, a bored look on her face.

„Our Lord forgives every sin as long as we ask for forgiveness.” the voice was gruff, just as if the vocal cords of the one talking were being held in a chokehold.
The familiarity of the voice, though changed, hit her like a ton of bricks, and she drew in a dust filled breath as she willed her shock away. Her eyes soon returned to their normal size, and her head lowered, looking at the ground, a sorrowful smile gracing her features..
„I should have seen this coming, Daniel.” She said, shaking her head.

The creature didn't seem to recognize her well enough, and through the grate that separated the two seats she could see the dark furr covering the person, human, she once knew.

„My name is not Daniel.” He replied, seemingly unmoved, and turned his head so that he was looking at her. „I have no recollection of my past. I am now known as Grul.”
So different, and yet she could see the resemblence in the way he spoke, and the way his words were laced with pure, yet still dormant, madness.

She had so many questions to ask, and yet she knew that this was not the right place, and not the right time. And either way, one of them wouldn't get out of this alive.

„Were...” Grul seemed to formulate his question slowly, showing her the extent to which he had been altered, his brain function slowed down in order to allow instinct to take over.
„Were we close?” He finally asked, lifting his gaze to stare at the ceiling through his eyes.
So many similarities...
„Quite a few.” She replied. „You were the one who thought the plans over. Now without you all we have left is to act on a whim. Not always the best plan” She meant it as a joke, and yet her humour didn't seem to be working.
Daniel seemed to remember his time under the servitude of God. At least the emotion he felt when near something holy. He wasn't going to fight inside the confessional, that used to be his safe place when he was human...but once they stepped out, the battle would begin.

„You were such a fool.” She chided. „You sacrificed yourself in order to save me, and now I have to kill you. What a pity, really. We miss you.” She said getting up, and exiting the confessional.
He followed suit, and now they were both facing eachother, and under the moonlight she could see the ugly scars he had hiding under the patches of fur and reinforced skin.
The change was such a shock, compared to the old him, delicate and yet powerful, with perfect skin and light eyes, now all ruined.
„I wish I could stay and chat. And I wish I could change you back. It's such a pity that we have to do this.”
„There is no other way.” He replied, morose. „I was programmed to murder.”
„So then we fight.”
„Afraid so.” Grul said, and the both charged.

This wasn't going to end well for either of them.

Dream eater.

“Why do you think you sometimes do not remember what you dreamt?” His voice was neutral, calm and icy, as were his eyes.
The other seemed a bit perplexed by the question that seemed to pop out straight from the void.
It was always like this with them. They would be silent for most of the time, and then suddenly one of the would ask a random question regarding an issue that bothered him.
“You wake up too rough?” He asked, straightening his hunched back, slipping his glasses off to stare unhindered into the other's eyes.
He smirked, so predictable, as he brought his hands to his hair to ruffle it up a bit.
“What if there's someone stealing your dreams?” He asked in a casual manner.
“I think someone would've noticed it by now.”
“Not if they were asleep. Not if they were under disguise.” He countered.
“Okay, so what's gotten this idea inside your mind?”
His friend looked taken aback by the question his eyes widening a fraction, though he regained his composure quite fast.
“Nothing. Just thought it was interesting. What if someone fed on your most embarrassing dreams?”
“Then they are a bunch of pretty fucked up freaks.” He barked, laughing at his own joke, but when he noticed his companion was not laughing his smile faded into a frown.
“What's wrong man?” He asked, concern lacing his words.
“Nothing, just...scared, I guess.” he admitted.
“Well,” the other said as he got up, patting his friend on the back “ I have to go, but we'll talk about this when I get back. Keep your thoughts...and your sanity.” he smiled and left his friend stand alone in the dark room.
If only he knew.  

Monday, 6 June 2011

Summer rain.

You're like a stray cat. I never really know when to expect you.
You come into my life like an angry gust of wind, throwing around stray pieces of paper; dissolving my composure, taking my breath away.
You're like the sun shining on the last day of winter. Warming my cold heart, warming my breath until I can no longer see it as I exhale, warming my everything. You make me feel alive.
You are like the first blooming bud in spring. So full of promise, so full of life, so beautiful.
I can't ever take my eyes off you.
You are like the first falling leaf in autumn. Gently sliding towards the ground, all sombre and silent, and yet you hold such beautiful stories in your eyes.
You hold the world in your eyes.
You hold my breath in your greedy lungs.
I will never be able to read you, I will never be able to pour my mind inside your head and merge them together. I can never know you for sure. I can never be certain.
Your smile keeps me alive.
I live to see you smile. I dream of the day when you'll smile at me.
You took my life away, you ruined me.
And yet somehow, you saved me.
You brought me down and slammed me hard into the ground.
I'll never be able to get over you. Not now, not ever, my fallen angel.
You really are something.
You bastard. You saved my soul; Now and forever I am indebted to you.
I'll stay by your side for as long as you'll be my summer rain.

[*LIEEESSSSS*]

Insane.

How does it feel?
When you finally realize that you were never alive?
When you realize that all of your memories, all of your past, was just a sick dream, a sick joke meant to make you suffer and others laugh.
How does it feel?
To finally realize that all this time the God you believed in was fake.
To finally realize that throughout your life you've been nothing more than a puppet.
A perfect puppet.
With white skin and a broken mind; With lips sewn shut and eyes blind.
How does it feel?
Are you afraid? Are you scared?
Can you end it?
Will you end it?
Of course you wouldn't.
A dream is only considered sick the moment you wake up.
You were perfectly comfortable in your own fake world. You were perfectly fine not knowing.
If you could, I bet you'd rather turn time back rather than go on.
Worry not, it's just the human nature to be scared of change.
Better the devil you know.
Too bad you never once knew; too bad you were too foolish to realize the truth.
Too bad you're already dead, reliving your own life. Bound to relive it until you're further away from sanity than you've ever been.
Too bad not even now you don't have the courage to face your mistakes.
You're a lost cause.
Pity, because so am I.

Sunday, 5 June 2011

Dawn.

He stumbled into his house, drunk as always, and went straight for his bed.
 He didn't care that he still had his boots on,  full of mud that would dirty his sheets and everything else they touched in their way.
He couldn't care.
 He was too intoxicated to care about the things he dirtied in his way or the objects he knocked over.
The bed was soft and the cold material of the sheets felt nice against his flushed face as he slumped on his bed.
He was tired, and yet he couldn't fall asleep, his eyes wide open and lips parted as he listened to the silence, his heart beating hard and fast against his ribcage.
 Sometimes the silence seemed to scream at him. Scream at him to change, and evolve, but he couldn't.
 He didn't want to. Because he liked hating too much. He liked getting drunk so he could forget his thoughts and focus on his instincts. He liked escaping reality, even if that meant that he had to lie to himself in order to be happy.
He didn't want to change, he thought, because he was scared. He was scared that along with his hate he would lose himself in the void.
 His eyes closed tiredly as he chased those thoughts away and he brought into his mind the thought of that one human; such a weird human being, with such creepy tastes in everything. He hated everything about that one human, and yet he couldn't help but love absolutely everything it meant.
And as the hours passed while he slept, the sun made it's way through the clouds to warm the usually cold city and bring it back to life.
And he woke up with the sun shining down on his face. And even though he was still in the clothes he was wearing last night and the boots dirtied his bed and his pants, his hair mussed and mouth dry, he couldn't help but smile.
Because while to anyone else it might have seemed as nothing more than a thought, to him, waking up and remembering the fact that in his drunken state he admitted he loved, meant something.
It meant he could change, it meant that he had the courage to face fate head on.
It meant that he didn't have to hate anymore. He could stop lying to himself.
He liked the thought of that and the promise this day brought.
But first, he had to change his bedsheets and clothes.
And a shower would be nice, too.

Saturday, 4 June 2011

Insomnia

Nu era treaz, si cu toate acestea nu era nici adormit.
Ura momentele acelea, cand nu putea sa doarma, si oricat incerca mintea lui refuza sa se linisteasca.
Se simtea diferit, schimbat, defect.
Ura ce a ajuns sa fie, ura tot ce insemna el.
Isi ura corpul, mintea ochii, mainile, ticurile, grimasele pe care le facea in fiecare dimineata inainte sa se trezeasca, cand ii intra soarele in ochi prin pleoapele pre subtiri care se odihneau peste ochii lui caprui.
Ura vocea pe care o avea dupa ce fuma prima tigara, dis de dimineata, imediat ce iesea ce la dus.
Ura felul in care buzele i se contorsionau cand zambea. Ura umbra pe care o facea nasul lui atunci cand batea soarele dintr-o parte.
Ura fiecare strop de sudoare care se prelingea pe pieptul lui, alunecand usor, gadilandu-l, atunci cand soarele era prea puternic.
Ura felul in care pielea lui se incretea cand ii era frig. Ura felul in care ii statea parul cand se trezea.
Ura tot.
Ura faptul ca incalcase toate promisiunile pe care le facuse cand era mic.
Si totusi, era recunoscator.
Toate amintirile pe care le avea din vremea in care inca era inocent ii dadeau viata.
Pentru ca acum putea sa le compare cu felul in care era acum.
Se simtea blocat, inghetat in timpul care totusi parca se scurgea prea repede pe langa el.
Partea proasta era ca nu se putea intoarce, si cu fiecare moment in care era constient de acest fapt, valul de agonie care il inneca incet si dureros crestea in intensitate.
Partea buna, totusi, era ca putea sa ii puna capat oricand, intr-un mod usor ca o briza adiind printre crengile unui copac la inceputul toamnei.
Tot ce trebuia sa faca, era sa faca rost de un glont.
Restul venea de la sine.

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Destiny.

Too high for hell, too low for heaven.
Stuck in between the worlds, convicted to always roam the world aimlessly, broken, scared, alone.
Human.
Forced into a shell made to contain his broken soul perfectly, forced into a world that abides to no rules.
Forced into a world of savages.
He, the human, can no longer feel the freedom he once had, but he doesn't even know it because his memory was wiped clean with a sponge.
Maybe it's better like that though, not knowing what he's longing for, not knowing what he once had but now lost.
Maybe it's better to live a happy life as an ignorant, than live a miserable one knowing.
Maybe, we should all succumb to ignorance.
Or maybe we should fight, we should evolve, until we are able to break through the skin that confines us, and fulfil our destiny.

Saturday, 21 May 2011

Sometimes.

I can't promise you eternity.
And I don't want to.
I can't promise to light up your days. I can't promise you the moon.
And I won't even try to.


But what I can promise you is now.
I can promise you something real enough. A place to fall from.

And when you disappear, I won't expect you back.


You could be the one plaguing my dreams, you could be the one breathing the same air as I am.
You could be so much more.
You could be like me.
And yet, somehow, you're not.


You're telling me to go, and yet you're the one that always leaves.

Behind every lie is a truth.
Behind every  truth is a sacrifice.

I'm not lonely because no one cares about me.
I'm lonely because the one I want to care about me doesn't.

So wrap me in your lies until my bones are cold.
Be the one to end this, be the one to leave last.

Stop the pain; end the game.
It's your choice.
I've long since given up on the fight.
I've long since given up on myself.
To be saved is not to be redeemed, and thus, I am still far away.
Too far away from you.

Funny how once I thought of you as my ark.
Funny how things change.
Sad how you fell apart when you hit the ground.

I think I need some sleep.

Wednesday, 11 May 2011

Trecut

Incaperea era scaldata in intuneric, cu exceptia unei lampi, parca intentionat acoperita cu un val, care dadea o umbra galbena peretilor umezi si noptierei scorojite pe care era asezata langa un colt al camerei.
In aer plutea un miros de putregai umed, cald, din pricina zilei toride de care a avut parte, amestecat cu un praf innecacios care ii facea ochii sa lacrimeze.
Podeaua era acoperita cu parchet vechi, care scartaia sub greutatea pasilor ei. Parea a fi din molid, dar la fel ca celelalte obiecte de mobilier, culoarea era stearsa.
Geamul pe care il deschisese lasa o briza in camera, care aluneca si ii facea genunchii sa tremure.
Era frig.
In camera totul era normal, sau cel putin asa I se parea.
Observa in coltul camerei, o forma sinistra acoperita cu un cearsaf gri vechi, umplut de praf. Trecuse mult timp de cand a fost ultima data acolo. Timpul parca s-a scurs mult prea repede, iar ea a fost dusa de val mult prea departe ca sa poata sa se poata intoarce inainte ca acel loc sa I se stearga permanent din memorie.

A tras cearsaful de pe ceea ce parea a fi o oglinda, si se stramba un pic cand a observat ca era plina de praf.
Trecu mana pe suprafata ei , si a indepartat o fasie din acel praf uscat care a cazut incet pe podea cand si-a scuturat mana.
Isi zari reflectia in oglinda, si isi zambi. Dar in scurt timp zambetul ei se transforma intr-o grimasa cand a observat ca relfectia ei inca ii zambea.
Se holba uimita.
Ea, cea din oglinda, incepu sa rada isteric; era un sunet infiorator, si ea vroia sa o ia la goana, dar picioarele ii erau intepenite in loc.
-Ce mai face el? O intreba reflectia dupa ce isi calma rasul.
-Nu stiu despre cine vorbesti, isi raspunse, cu vocea tremuranda.
-Sa iti uiti trecutul nu e niciodata usor. Oricat de mult ai vrea sa lasi in urma durerea pe care ai simtit-o in tecut, oricat de mult ai vrea sa schimbi ceva ce tu regreti ca ai facut. Nu vei putea niciodata. Asa ca te mai intreb odata: Ce mai face el?
Nu stia cum sa raspunda acestei intrebari si se balbaia in mintea ei, cautand un raspuns care ar putea sa ii placa refelctiei. Ii era greata , dar mai mult decat greata, era frica;
-Oricat de mult vrei sa iti continui viata in uitare, nu am sa te las. Nu ai voie.
A vazut ca ea nu are de gand sa raspunda nici de data asta, asa ca, zambind, continua:
-Daca tu crezi ca in momentul in care discutia noastra ajunge la o concluzie, eu o sa dispar, te inseli amarnic. Venele tale lipsite de sange par destul de incapatoare. Cum crezi ca o sa se simta cand eu o sa curg prin tine?
Dintii reflectiei erau indentici cu ai ei, dar in acelas timp diferiti. Praful de pe oglinda facea ca unele detalii sa nu treaca prin oglinda, si implicit sa nu se reflecte.
Reflectia nu avea defectele ei.
Era atat de ametita de revelatia pe care a avut-o incat a uitat sa fie atenta la ceea ce spunea reflectia, iar sunetul care crestea treptat in intensitate era inregistat in mintea ei ca un zumzait enervant.
Ureltul refletiei plin de furie a scos-o insa din transa in care era:
-Asculta-ma! Deja furia se transforma in neliniste, reflectia ei devenea apoape la fel de speriata ca ea.
-Trabuia sa ma asculti de mai demult, cand inca puteai sa schimbi ceva...
Se privi in ochi, iar socul o lovi atat de tare incat genunchii ei se inmuiara si cazi pe podea, strangandu-si umerii cu mainile de parca incerca sa-si tina inima, sufletul, din a-i parasi corpul obosit si fragil.
-Pana acum te-am lasat sa faci ce vrei, vocea reflectiei incepu sa tremure usor; dar in cele din urma, daca alegi sa iti uiti trecutul, acesta va incepe sa te bantuie. Si diferenta dintre mine si trecut, e ca acesta nu se opreste pana nu ramai fara suflare. O sa te urmareasca pana in cele mai adanci si fierbinti colturi ale iadului, atata timp cat nu se poate odihni in pace.
-Ce vrei de la mine? Reusi sa intrebe ea intr-un final; pe obrazul ei erau urme proaspete de lacrimi.

-Nu vreau nimic. Nu mai ai ce sa imi oferi.
-Atunci dispari, lasa-ma in pace. Lasa-ma sa cred ca totul a fost numai un vis urat.
-Ma tem ca nu pot face asta, ofta reflectia; Nisipul din clepsidra ta nu mai curge de mult timp.
Acum era momentul ei sa rada in fata reflectiei.
-Atunci omoara-ma! Si pentru prima oara se uita adanc in ochii reflectiei ei si observa frica.
Aceasta nu raspunse, si o tacere invalui incaperea.
-Raspunde-mi! Tipa ea cand reflexia ei statea nemiscata, parca prinsa in gheata.

-Oglinda nu functioneaza decat atunci cand e numai o persoana in prezenta ei. Acum e inutila. Nu mai are cum sa te salveze.

La auzul vocii ea s-a intors brusc, iar ochii ei s-au intalnit cu ai lui.

-Nu se poate... Vocea ei parca era blocata in gat, refuza sa iasa.
-Ti-a fost dor de mine? Probabil ca nu
Se apropie de ea incet, cu miscari fluide, iar pasii lui nu faceau nici un zgomot pe parchetul vechi.

-Tu esti mort! Tipa ea, si incerca sa se tarasca inapoi, dar se lovi cu spatele de perete. Eu te-am omorat!
-Nu ai facut o treaba prea buna in cazul asta...Vezi tu, adevarul e ca orice ai face, nu poti sa scapi de trecutul tau.
Sopti in timp ce scotea un pistol din buzunarul gecii lui de piele.
-Doar sunt in viata, nu?
Rase, in timp ce tintea, si apasa nemilos pe tragaci.


Pana la urma, trecutul chiar a urmarit-o pana a murit.


*AN: I had a really good time writing this. I'm kidding, I suffered. I plan on writing more things in romanian. The feeling is really new to me and it's going to take some time for me to grow accustomed to it.
But I'm going to keep going until I get it right.
Okay I made no sense, I'm tired. I should go start typing out schmetterling since well....you'll have to wait and see *

Saturday, 30 April 2011

Fool.

The way his eyes reflected on the pool of drying blood that drifted across the cold marble floor and dirtied it; the way his spine stood out, bony and crooked.
There was something about him that made even the dead fear him.
"I told you" his voice was raspy from all of the cigarettes he smoked, like he had swallowed shards of glass that shredded his weak throat and changed his voice so.
"You cannot beat death" he said, the grip on his gun tightening and then relaxing, in sync with his shallow intakes of breath.
Though his words rang hollow in the lifeless room. His enemy was dead, and the only one who could hear him now, stopped listening a long while ago.
He was alone.
And yet, the feeling of loneliness saved him each and every time.
Because, unlike humans, he had hopes, and faith.
So he mustered up his resolve, and drew in another breath, stronger than the last; and he kept doing so until all of his spilled blood returned into his body, his time going in reverse with each heartbeat, with each breath.
And in the end, when the cold marble floor was yet again untainted by his cursed blood, he stood tall on his feet, fixing his previously shredded suit that now was as perfect as he was.
"Fool!" He called to the body that lay, devoid of a soul, on the floor.
"Wasting your chances at life like that...I have no pity for the likes of you!"
His voice was the only thing that remained unchanged, which was one of the reasons he never talked unless it was in the presence of a dying being.
Without another word, he left the room; his footsteps getting louder and louder as he got away.
Outside, the sun was dawning, drenching the gray buildings in a warm shade of orange, the cool morning breeze sending pleasant shivers up his spine.
He liked mornings.
They made him feel like he was still alive.
If only...