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Long piano hands played a red beat.
Light on my shoulders, down to my feet.
Clawed at my spine. Coaxed out a moan.
Let the blood flow as the tips carved a tone.
Ravaged with love, each step a regret.
Reaching the places no one should let.
Drawing the sanity out from the core.
Rousing a feeling I felt long before.
Is this cold hatred, or anger coiled black?
Ready to pounce and launch and attack?
Planting a kiss deep on this skin,
You siphon emotions and take it all in.
Emptyshell walks tonight. Under yellow moonlight.
It's a big day for them tomorrow. It was supposed to be a big one for me, too, six years ago. I was sick, vomiting nothing. Probably, unconsciously, I was anxious that this one test would determine my future. If I didn't pass it, I hadn't much else to go to. We weren't affluent enough to afford any other.
I can't tell this to other people; they'd judge me. But it wasn't as excruciatingly hard as others put it. We're all different. I guess taking tests was one of my strong points. I even had minutes, almost hours, to idle.
We're just human, after all. While it would be really convenient to erase the existence of these monsters from the face of the planet, we can't.
And I don't think we should, either.
If revenge is to be served, it must be served cold. The quick way out is the easy way. No, they shall not receive such consideration.
Let their conscience haunt them. But first, let their conscience be reformed.
Let their sin wash down to their brethren.
Let their names be stained forever.
Let the shame be worn forever, for they deserve it.
And let them be forgiven.
There were notes jotted down onto the pad. I was sure it wasn't my handwriting. I searched my memory for events the words told of, but I could find none.
A few more notebooks later, I found myself face to face with pages of familiar handwriting. It was mine, but the style was slightly different. It was a notebook from high school.
In the next notebook, again, it was my handwriting; this time, it was a college notebook.
My penmanship had definitely changed, in little ways. The slant was always there, but the little details weren't the same for everything.
If I was isolated from it all, I think I might have eaten all the mental food I should. But at what price? My future self, most likely, would say that it's worth it. What would I lose, when fundamentally, I am a creature driven by mental mastery?
But I love so many other things. If I just discovered I could be physically capable when I was younger, maybe I might have become an amateur athlete. The thrill from playing and matching your skills against others - it's amazing.
And if I just tried harder to create and perform the humanities...
I stumbled upon that ad you posted online, the one on that hidden blog with just two posts. I thought I'd give it a shot. Hope this doesn't freak you out.
You said you've got three dogs and a cat. I've got a pet goldfish called Annie. I think she wants to go on an adventure and swim in the toilet bowl, but I don't think that's right. I mean, come on, all my shit goes down there.
Tomorrow, I'll be dropping by Aeon. There's this Rubik's cube contest, and I'm joining. You bet I'll win.
I folded deeper into myself as my world rocked. The motion reminded me of an extreme theme park ride, though instead of a pleasant thrill, cold terror ran through my veins. I closed my eyes and focused fiercely, trying as hard as I could to visualize a telekinetic shield around me. On any other day, I'd call that stupid. But desperate measures are for desperate times. I had to do anything to keep my wits intact and try as hard as I could to survive.
God, it felt like so many minutes had passed, but why didn't the shaking stop?
I am filled with sadness. He gave it all up. Not just him - they all paid the price.
The world wasn't ready for such vision and revolutionary thought.
I feel around this empty space, searching for traces any one of you might have left behind. I venture into the data banks and try to find where this cruel fate has led you.
Nothing, not a single mention of your sacrifice.
"We are meant to be forgotten," I hear the wind whisper.
"Look back and see how far you've drifted apart, from all those who promised to never forget."
I lay on the ground, motionless. Wet all over, I had nothing on me other than a skimpy piece of cloth. He crawled closer and took my hand into his. Gently, he placed his head on my chest. Then he came over and looked at me. Indecision was written all over his face. I needed him to do it; I needed it so badly.
But he just couldn't place his mouth onto mine.
His fear of losing me was far less than his fear of something else.
He nearly paid the price, my death, if help hadn't come moments later.
I got an ISFP. Half of what it said was true. I hate conflicts and aggression, and I shield myself from external emotional storms. I'm crushed by criticisms, despite trying hard not to be affected.
And the other half said that I was artistic, which, as far as I know myself, is untrue. I don't even see myself as creative. I'm traditional, I follow rules, and I stick to established systems - which, apparently, are traits that the ISFP runs away from.
And it says that the ISFP is quite likely to do poorly in school. I don't think I do?
Rogue. She used to touch everyone, in a friendly way. For some reason, she managed to relay her thoughts and emotions much better when she held her friends' hands, arms, shoulders... She felt connected, in spirit, through physical contact.
And now she just can't do it anymore. Whenever her skin brushes onto someone else's, she feels such a strong connection, but a dark one. Instead of passing on her feelings to others, she sucks theirs in, along with their vital force. They crumple and die on the spot, if the touch lasts for too long.
Isolation. It's her lifetime curse.
I guess we are a childish people. We love to make excuses, instead of accepting losses, whenever pride is involved. There is no recognition of hard work, neither of your own nor the opponents'. There is only the self-deception that foul play and unfair disadvantage are involved.
In the first place, ask yourselves, why do you love the fight so much when you already know that we inherently were not born to have an advantage in this battlefield? How can you accuse the opponent of having an unfair advantage, when they were born that way?
Pride. Stupid pride.
Another weight added itself to my conscience. Or should I say, I added it myself. Though, in a twisted way, I'd love to blame her for it. Going around with THAT in this concrete jungle - it's like wearing red at a funeral.
My skills have been honed for a score. I started when I was five. Of course, I did the easy ones first - inattentive people, crowded places, unnoticeable amounts.
Oh, I even strived to take only from those rich-looking targets.
But what little virtue I had was sloughed off when I started to feed mouths other than mine.
Shadows end as shadows call
Ivory irony on the wall
Lacerated fabric of time
Everlasting sin and crime
Nascent oxygen in the air
Turns to ozone. Dark affair.
Sing a song of age and cold
Hatred is hot, bat wings unfold
Arcadia closes down its gate
Terra tenebrae - the shadows wait
Telluris malus - the evil has come
Emerging from depths, the sound of the drum
Rings like a bell, a beat of desire
Itching to be cast into the fire
Nothing but pain awakens its core
Gardevoir rises to open the door
Sheda, scream out to silence the lamb
Over and over, oh queen of the damned
Casts the dark priestess.
Ell Tria Cestoir, Avrial Domines
Over and over.
She sees you in her dreams.
It's the only time she feels happy.
It's become her reality.
I talk to her in waking life.
She's as bubbly as ever.
No one notices.
Only I see the empty shell that you are.
I can try telling myself that it's just me and my paranoia.
But I've known you for so long.
No matter how many times you say so.
I just know you lost it.
It's on the floor.
Shattered and broken to pieces, you try to put it back.
I watch her cry dead love away.
I embraced her, as if she was lost to me forever. She, too, held on tight, trying hard to come to terms that this could be the end. She dropped all pretenses and let out those tears she'd held back for months. I closed my eyes and etched the moment into memory. She was saying unintelligible words...
I later found out she was irritated at me for going off so suddenly. Our friendship had been born in a flash, and, as she saw it, it was likely to end in a similar fashion. I wanted to hold her forever, but
You sit down and think about your friends. You suddenly find some things in common among them that you never really noticed before. For one, you realize how, in one certain clique, at least three have father issues. If you include the less active members, the number increases to no less than four.
But this was something you must have already known, but just forgot.
Then you go and think of another group, one where intense physical, emotional, and mental stresses were a common experience. At least four have major family issues.
You then wonder what this says about you.
You lose track of life, like I did. You look back and ask yourself how it came to this. You think of men and women, who, less than a few years ago, were people you believed would be with you for the rest of your life, but are now less than shades of the comrades they used to be.
You sit down. With each breathe, you recount and count one regret. You take a look at the lives of the elders, and wonder why they never seem to mention old friends they had.
And you know it's all a lie.
Budge held the two sticks, one in each hand. We were playing truth or dare with Shiel, Viktoia, and Jako. Truth corresponded to the longer stick, while dare was for the shorter one.
I asked Viktoia if he wanted Budge to play a truth or a dare. He said, "truth." For some reason, I knew in which hand Budge held the longer stick. I pointed to it, and Budge said "Truth."
The game went on, and every time a stick had to be chosen, I knew which was which.
Until it was Shiel's turn, and I had expected it.
I mean, how rotten can you get? You know their miserable lives; you've seen them defecate right before you on the sidewalk. Their clothes are all tattered and blackened. Oh, look, how they enjoy water sports in the filthy floods.
And you just divert your eyes away, as if banishing a terrible thought. If you pretend you didn't see them, then they surely didn't exist and won't continue to. Decades ago, you had to shake your head after this routine, and ponder for three seconds about their sorry state. Now, you just can't take your mind off your overflowing riches.
You can be filled with ire and anger for someone, but still do what he or she is asking you to. It could be threats. It could be skillful manipulation. Or it could be love.
I know I could, if I had to.
I look at them, and wonder why it is so. We used to do everything for each other. Now, priorities have shifted, and everyone is lower on the other's list. I don't understand how a loyalty built on decades of common experience could crumble.
And how it could crumble from one disagreement.
From one man. One child.
I just want to disappear.
That's how I feel at times. Maybe suicidal thoughts start from this.
You live for so long clutching that short end of the stick. You learn to take leftovers. You survive in a perpetual state of deprivation. You learn not to want anything. More than that, you learn not to care.
Which one do you want? Whatever. It doesn't matter.
You're filled with hate. No one understands. Everyone belittles the ghosts around you. Your space just closes in, getting smaller and smaller. You're trapped. Can't breathe.
You want to be found.
She told me something about you, something many people wouldn't see as a good thing. I guess I put judgment aside, although my face must have shown the clockwork underneath, doing analysis of all the data contained - past experience with you, regarding the way you talk, walk, sit, write, smile. Your clothes, hair, accessories, and those visual cues. Your overall feel.
I didn't come to any conclusion. And, considering what she said was true, I'm surprised that I wasn't affected much. I mean, yeah, what if it's true. So what? It isn't really bad. They just want to think it is.
The elevator doors opened. As I stepped out, I saw him at the end of the corridor. A wicked smile was on his face as I ran as fast as I could. Making my way out of Vega Center, I dashed toward the Carabao Park. Energy bolts whizzed past as I did, blasting holes into the concrete.
I got to the central star of the park and activated its stored energy. A force field shot up, glowing blue and violet. Seconds later, he came and slammed his fists against the barrier. I wept as I asked, "what happened to you??"
Drake was born with the ability to share. He could give out a lot of things - clothes, ball pens, coins... even immaterial possessions, like friendship, love, gratitude, laughter, help, sympathy. It was part of him - an instinct he couldn't turn off. Everyone loved him so much, and thought of him as someone important - an almost-brother, a best friend, a comrade 'til the afterlife, a lover. Unfortunately, deep inside, he never really understood why he couldn't genuinely reciprocate the same. He'd give out everything, all-smiles. Then he'd come home; even with all their gratitude, he'd feel drained and empty.
I sat on one of the benches at Magallanes station, waiting for the Taft-bound train. It was lunch time. Not a single soul was within ten meters to my left and right. The whole platform was practically empty. On the other side of the rail, though, there were about 25 people waiting for the train going in the opposite direction. I suddenly succumbed to the spotlight effect with the realization that alone, I sat before a crowd. I folded into myself for a split second, then swallowed the fear. Yes, even now, I still feel crushed by their eyes.
It was dark when he got back to the apartment. He pushed open the familiar white gate, and it gave a defiant creak in response. A wave of sadness suddenly hit him, and he himself was surprised by the fact. The typhoon last week, in his case, could have been a blessing in disguise. He hadn't realized how lonely it had been living alone, and how warm it was to once again be around family, even just for a week. And here he was, back to reality. He took out his key, opened the door, and turned the lights on.
Impossible as it may seem, I never really understood what people meant when they said someone was beautiful or handsome in those few years I was a child. I'd just nod my head in agreement, not really getting how they knew if someone was or was not.
Maybe it's because the things I knew to be beautiful weren't people. They were sunsets, lakes, trees, fields, and smiles. Beauty was in kindness, joy, and love. It was something you "saw" with your heart - a realization of good feelings.
Then my eyes were opened to the material world, and I was blinded.
Those first few days were difficult, and she was the one who saved me. I had no one, but she was there to talk to, to ride along with, to introduce me to new people.
I owe her a lot, and I never really acknowledged her for it. I should've given her some flowers back then - probably white ones as a sign of friendship. I wish I could repay her in some way. I know it wouldn't make sense to tell her I'm thankful for everything; it's been many years! But I know I can thank her some other way.
Red violet crayons on the floor
Creativity oozing from wounds on the wall
Race down the stairs as the wind sings high
Chase her up this pavement, leads to the sky
Crystal shattered, sprinkled graphene core
Peat and bread smeared on a cold sore
Highland bacon rolling in the deep
Emergency room is where you must fall
Swinging open yellow-smelling door
In comes doctor, hands so small
Cut and dust such an encrusting sleep
Losing count, five drops we weep
Vanilla violet flavor sheen
The wing extends to shade the mouse
Mockery diphthong frosted tongue
Say the sense in thickness slang
Keen the louse above the throng
Wicked wart on malice song
Trace on blade annihilated works
The western wall and the dome were completely obliterated. Whoever this madman was, he was definitely aiming for these religious sites. Not a single armory, military base, or supply depot was targeted. I wonder what change he wanted.
Initially, it would be convenient to think of him or her as a religion-hater. He or she might have been an atheist, oppressed in his or her teenage years for his or her belief (or rather, non-belief). But what if he or she had something bigger in mind? A mass disconnection of humanity from its idols, from this world itself?
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