Right, I've had some time to think over this, coming over from the fiction thread.
Put me in, I want to write.
|# ¿ May 1, 2015 14:47|
|# ¿ Jun 26, 2019 20:02|
Poison for the Mid Light
The streets lights around tire me as I walk beneath them, they strain my eyes. Small groans I hear as I reach my front door, hand’s too tired to rise. The sandwich, forgot about that. Soft and juicy only hours ago, now unpleasantly freezing to the tongue. Why didn't I eat it before.
I unlock the front door and take off my shoes. Only one pair of shoes, the sweat gets cold as I take them off, and down the steps to the basement I go. Wooden stairs are deceptively creaky, the darkness of the once working light bulbs rest my eyes, even just for a bit. If I could just throw up everything from my chest, out of my mind, to sleep without dreams, without worries. That would be just fine. Instead, I throw my sandwich on a bin, and a cold passes through me as I open the basement door.
Radio white noise kept going until the morning, I forgot about it. I hear that distortion, it reminds me of those walking blind, wrapped around the light of a lamb which they cannot see. Those around me basically.
Another breeze of cold passes through me, the doorknob’s pure metal. It was always colder on the inside. Lock the door of my basement and take off my clothes off anyways. The sweat for today made me a ruin of heaviness. It's still early in the morning and the money is enough to last me for the week. Threw my jacket off and a couple of fifties fell out. Parents rarely help out, only then do I thank them.
I head off to my bedroom to sit on my PC. Tongue rolls around, a water on the way washes off the distaste. Not that drunk, but not that sober either.
I reach my PC. Years build around windows, doors and walls. Its suffocating. Not just the toxic narcotics produced by fumes, no, the poison that's killing me is beyond simple neck pain. I wish I had a garden, just like years ago before society gave on me. I wish I was a tree, just so I can escape this choking. Away from dusty messed up rooms, from lonely occupied beds. As far away as a dream.
My head hurts from all the thinking. I smell the bile and decomposition on my carcass, too stammered to take a bath now. I turn on the monitor, and I contemplate on the thin reflection in the black plexiglas in front of me. I looked at disenfranchisement. Should shave too, been a month since that.
Hope without action is meaningless. It is a means of self deception for those that refuse the new reality. I don't lack action, but hope? I once planted hope within my heart. But I didn't do anything with it, I just waited. I’ve abandoned hope. Do other’s think better? I feel dirty and ashamed even thinking I ever did such a thing. I can hear the radio playing on my bathroom, a bathroom never cleane, talking about so called truths and celebrities, all the more decreasing in speed and volume.
I sit there motionless, and I begin type. Hand goes through the motions, soda can from the stand, fingers mash on chilly plastic and worn keys. Monitor’s open now, I can hear it. But I cannot stop thinking. The more I try to stop, the more I end up typing.
Distorted sounds I hear and blurry visions I peek. Through the garbage, I see Ads on the side, products on electric wavelength. The distaste of alcohol is out, replaced now. The soft wool blanket, its warmth enticed me only materialy. Why I am tired, what’s missing? I don’t miss the big moments, nor am I bothered by the big lies. The bigger they are the more easy it is for people to believe them, thus the easier for me to spot them. Radio went on, subversive messages all around. Do they bother me with their sweet-bitter sense of humor? No, what bothers me are the small moments, the small lies. The human moments, those bother me. Those are sucking the life and energy out of me. The fruit which I gain my energy is absent. Social interaction, it seems, was beyond me.
But I keep on thinking, but I still can't stop typing..
For a moment, I begin feeling alive and I take a big breath, soda cans is all I smell, a good smell, that of artificial energy. I jerk backward, I see a dusty dirty desk in need of cleaning. No, I can’t let myself dwell on such trivial matters, that can wait another year.
Absent is the presence of a good eye.
Absent is the presence of truth,
All is absent.
I cannot take this anymore. Finger’s slip on disgusting oily keys, another soda drink opens, I gulp it down. I can still hear that cacophony on the radio, it disturbs me, but I let them go mute, like white noise. I must fight and battle their lies, wherever they are.
I try to have a good eye and I am blinded by filth.
I try to say the truth... and I find myself alone.
Everything must go. Everything must fall. I will find the switch of this modern world. I will go far and I will break many walls.
But I will find the switch.
And I will turn it off.
I press enter, and a tiny smile touches my dry lips, as I look at the message that is my work
"Jet fuel can't melt steel beams kek”
The dream must go on.
TheGreekOwl fucked around with this message at May 3, 2015 around 23:43
|# ¿ May 3, 2015 21:20|
Well, not suprised that I wrote the worst. I was sleep deprived when I had to submit this, or risk not posting in the deadline.
...wait does that mean my avata- sweet, free avatar.
Anyways, I am in, and I would like to request a song, preferably from my homecountry (Its in the name).
I swear that I will also try to write like a normal human being from this point on.
|# ¿ May 5, 2015 19:56|
One Last Breath
I heard her breathing before I saw her, slow deep breaths in and out. I passed through the door and there she was, chained to a wooden post, inside an awry stone room. In the lungs breath, along a with tiny shrug, and the dim teal moonlight revealed tiny dots of sweat reflecting on her chest. Out the lungs exhale and she seemed relieved for brief moment, beneath the sweat, bruises, and red marks on a topless body. The smell of burned wood reached up to here, and the sound of a withering wind hadn’t stopped the entire day. It became evident through the dried blood that she had been beaten, by the chairmaker that brought her in. The chairmaker was like most of the village; peaceful, yet he knew how to hurt people he disliked.
This woman depended on me now, but she wasn’t my friend. She was brought in a few hours ago, intercepted her at the bridge about to leave the village.
She saw me, and she came alive with a gleaming chest.
“That mob stopped giving a poo poo; we need to do something, I’m begging you.” she said.
I hugged her, she feels joy for a moment, even if it hurt “That mob is my family, it’s my friends.”
“I know” she said.
A fire started and it burned down half of the center hall. Somebody got injured. They say she started the fire, so I instinctively I went for the one thing that made her get down to the point.
I pulled out a bottle of vodka, not a lot of it left, and popped the corkscrew open.
“I dont need it, I can get drunk without it” she said
“How?” he asked
“By talking to you” she responded, and in a toxic way we both laughed. “Give me a sip, I need to wash down the blood” I bought the bottle to her mouth with a great deal of difficulty. It wanst’ the nudity, she’s the only woman I’ve been this close before. Rather, seeing such a brutalized body disgusted me.
“You had problems long before I intruded “ I came closer to her this time, I smelled on her hair that strange aroma she always had. First time she came in to register for her home they didn't know what to think of it. A bitter-sweet creature she was, always talking of spoiled milk instead of strawberries. I was the only one to hear her, the only one to shelter her in the end.
“This people are not unknowing. I know they want to do good” I said.
“They’re a mass. I barked and your elders for being hypocrites.
“No, you did worse, you made noise and accusations against the town” she turned away at that as well.
“I know i’ve done wrong in the past, but I stand on that. They are dirty old men and women, don't’ believe them.” she turned her head away from me “But fraud and adultery cannot go unmocked, neither can their little wives continue propping up feuds.. I wanted them to know how wrong they were”
I paused, and she stared at me for a moment.
“Was it you?” I asks.
“I didn’t start anything, I packed and left the village after they told me to.” she says
I gave her another shot but the vodka was now ending. She was struggling to survive, I had to act with no pretense of knowledge or tolerance, I had to come to terms with her demise.
“I’ll admit,” she begun ”I’ll miss your voice, I’ll miss hugging you. Atleast you weren’t hostile.
They never realized it, did they?” She remained silent after that, and only stared at me.
I let the vodka down and I took hold of the chains. I pulled them even though I knew I couldn’t do anything. I lacked even the foresight to get her something to cover herself, at least withhold her confidence.
I sat down and begun the deep thinking. That wide open face of her’s told it all. She knew how non-existent her chances were, she was pleading for help. If I came to her defense atleast they would be willing to argue, but if I didn't do anything the trial would be short lived.
“I’ve always tried to make the situation better” I said.
"They called me a communist, a foreigner. Why didn't you tell them to be better than.” .
“You wont take pleasure to my words, I won’t be able to save you if I say why.”
“I am ready for every disappointment.“
I paused, and thought of the people I knew. We weren’t perfect or blameless, we never pretended to be that. But those that stirred trouble couldnt go unpunished, regardless of how right they were.
“I won't survive my family if I stand by you.”
She froze and sunk in.
“I’m alone in this prison then,” she said stately “You’re cowardly aren’t you?”
I nodded as I let her hand down.
She didn’t bother responding to that. She only blinked, and turned her head away to face the wall, the heavy breaths stopping. That motion send a cold shiver through me, and a terrible feeling creeped up on me as I put the vodka down. No, we didn't have childhood together, we only spend a few days on my home. Why did I sympathise with some radical.
I raised my hand and swallowed down the vodka as this terrible feeling of responsibility made me sweat. This was the first time I thought about what our elders did, they just wanted to feel young again. It left me staring back at her with bitterness.
“Don’t bother. I’m not afraid to die for what I believe in. Keep the vodka, its meant for people like you” is all she said to me, and behind me. I had left her in this hell now.
The footsteps of many people begun to be hearable. Murmurs followed, along with many other noises. They were here.
“I’ll be quick than. The fire won’t hurt me. Say goodbye to everybody I knew.”.
The door opened and a couple of people came, “Family before everything else…” she said, and I stood up as one of the long bearded Patriarchs approached her.
“I’ll let my last breath soon, I know,” she said to him.
“You are a parasite, but you’re content my child. We’ll give you your independence, I assure you.” she got unchained as the Patriarch begun praying, and she was brought topless through the group outside.
It was autumn. The wind scattered nightly leaves off the forest near the prison, as a silent group of people escorted a defeated outsider to her punishment. I tried to follow them but I slowed my pace down as they became distant to me. They and my surrounding felt like foreigners now. The people I loved fell for easy fulfilment and bad loves, regardless how illegal they were, and now they resorted to violence, just as she was. I gazed and sat through until they disappeared, but I couldn't move myself anymore.
I’m a coward.
Family before everything else? No, it wasn’t just the family, it was the whole village as well. This woman was sly, an outsider, unlearning and wild, but ultimately, she was right. She called out elderly hypocrites, she threw rice at weak bystanders, she disturbed people and in turn, they shouted at her from houses one by one until the town center told her to leave. Yet she was content with her reputation. She was content to get beaten by an angry people who believed she was out to hurt them.
A sudden gloom fell over me. The village was clean and the people were friendly, yet they saw traitors where patriots were. I grasped my fists, I frowned, I cried, and for a moment and I nearly fell down from a plunge into struggle, until the night’s cold got to my bones.
After that, after the smell of burned wood and the sight of broken glass, I wiped my face off with my hand and I begun to follow where the mob was going. We would survive this village,we would do with those that were corrupt.
The wind blew on autumn trees and laid them bare. The winter would strip them clean, but they would surely be blooming in spring.
|# ¿ May 10, 2015 23:45|
Well.... atleast I didn't fail completely.
Im doing this again. In.
|# ¿ May 12, 2015 09:51|