Black slithered across the rotting wooden planks, hissing and spitting as it approached. Its body moved like a thin stream of ink, oozing and riveting. However, the harmless illusion was broken by long white fangs protruding from its narrow head and piercing red eyes. A snake, and yet something far worse.
The boy shuddered on the bed, gaze fixed on the creature, grip on the sheets so terse that all the blood had fled from his hands. He was barely breathing, but his heart was slamming itself so violently against his ribcage that it hurt.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
The sound in his ears was like music warning him of his pending doom.
The creature paused by the chest that stood at the end of the bed, but it didn't hinder it for long. With a snarl, the creature reared up high and surged forward, maw unhinging, aiming at the boy's face.
The boy's screams were swallowed up almost instantly...
To a Dearest of mine,
Your love has taught me many things within the space of my short life. One of those things is that to love someone is far from easy. In fact, on many occasions, it can hurt like hell. But to lead into my second point, another thing I've learnt though is that loving someone isn't always a choice.
I won't lie. There has been a time in which I have felt my love for you die. But there has also been a time in which I have felt my love for you being resurrected, despite how much I despised you. Perhaps it was this combination of love and hate which made my suffering more painful. I had no idea that you could feel such opposing emotions all at once, and the realisation of that was soul-breaking.
The third thing I've learnt from your love though is that with time and perspective, the pains of love can...
The place I find myself always returning to is a home that is forever changing, forever shifting, forever morphing into something completely different. It's a home where inspiration sparks like a racing heartbeat and where seeds grow up into beautiful flowers. I always seem to venture back to it, even when my connection with it feels strained, kind of like a moth drawn to an unquenchable light. I like to watch how its landscape changes, perhaps how a parent watches their child stumble through life, sometimes with tears, but sometimes with a beaming smile. I tread through it like greeting an old friend, my feelings of safety forever wrapped in its folds, my heart bleeding raw and true in its company.
I come back to myself in the place where dreams are reality. In my imagination.
He never speaks. He merely moves, his fingers and hands shifting in a silent dance, his footsteps on the pavement his only way to produce music.
His silence has made her mute, not in despair, but with a desire to understand. She can understand him better when she herself is quiet. They only need to share smiles or frowns or tears to talk. They converse with their actions, as he brings in the coffee, as she takes his hands and warms them inside her own, as they dress each other in coats and walk together through the snow-hazed streets.
The silent man was born quiet, but love made his dear wife quiet too...
1. 'GRRRLS' by AViVA - To express how I've never been one to follow the ways of others. It has cost me at times, but I prefer that than pretending to be someone I'm not. I like being individual.
2. 'Little Pistol' by Mother Mother - To represent my guarded nature. I have my reasons for being this way, but while it does serve me, it also gets in the way...
3. 'Buy the Stars' by Marina and the Diamonds - To express how many people have tried to trap me, thinking they know me, and yet very few people really know who I am. No matter what they try, I'll always desire freedom.
4. 'If I Believe You' by The 1975 - To represent my feelings of loneliness when faced with struggles. It got to a point where I felt so lost that I didn't know which way to turn. There was nothing to reach out to...
The girl dances amongst the withered leaves, trees surrounding her like a cage. Bruises cover her body like flecks of blue paint. Her green dress is faded from years of use and coated in stains.
She is trapped in a house broken by pain, but the forest has never scared her, despite how it terrifies many. It is her escape, the place where she can fly in those moments before her feathers are cut short once more.
It is her haven, as it is the only place in the world where she is free.
Her cheeks were flushed bright with tears as a smile ripped her face in half.
"W-why do you always keep running away from me?"
The boy’s own tears turned his upturned lips into fleshy diamonds.
"Because it hurts to even look at you..."
The small print of our human rules are truly the bane of our existence, like poison in your drink, or blood in your sink. We pretend our words are free, but really, they are just cut and pasted and reshaped, like clay. Of course, in the end, they make a beautiful figure, but on the inside, they are hollow.
We carve our minds out of stone, and tell ourselves that our hearts are made of the same stuff, when really they’re as fragile as glass. We cover our skins with ice to quench the flame of our souls within. Our lips are mechanical as they curve upwards, fake smiles hiding teary eyes. 'I'm fine,' we say, just to smother the suspicion that we are actually the opposite.
It's a painful existence, and yet we still sign on the dotted line like mindless lambs, because we fear what we essentially are without these rules. We fear what world should spring to...
She reached out for anything that might fill the gaping wound inside her, but no amount of meaningless luxuries could stem the bleeding. All she could do was watch as her heart and soul oozed away, leaving her completely empty, dead within. The vultures gobbled down the remnants, her happiness their sustenance, her sadness their dessert. She was left too hollow to feel anything at all...
His feet took him on a journey through a field of white, his own soul tainted black with accidental murder and despair. His faded eyes did not blink, nor did his chapped lips contort from their flat line, nor did he allow himself to stagger to a halt. If he did, his heart would surely fracture into pieces, and he would certainly break with it. After all, he was a monster; monsters don’t question, don’t contemplate, don’t try to redeem themselves.
Monsters feel nothing, except the desire to kill. At least that’s what they tell you anyway...
Her hatred was like 1000 daggers. If her hatred could morph so, she'd stab every inch of him with them, and watch him bleed out, as he had made her do, behind closed doors, alone...
No, she took it back. Instead, if she had the strength, she'd tear him a part with her own hands, and feel him break and disintegration between her fingers, splinter like wood, fracture like bone, shatter like glass...
She'd kill him if she had the power, but she didn’t. So she vowed that she would never forgive him, and prayed that through doing so, it would haunt him forever...
That's the story of a little girl whose wandered with hate by her side since the moment she was born...
I walk forever in the dark, unsure of where I start, unsure of where I end. I see a mirror, and yet nothing is reflected back, except for a black hole where my face once was.
Am I dead? No.
But am I alive? No.
I am neither. I walk this world as an empty shell, a cracked egg that had nothing inside to begin with. I am nameless. I am soulless. I am nothing.
Who am I?
I don't remember...
You walk away as if it was nothing, and yet I can hear your tears as they drop to the pavement, and I know that you can hear mine...
They pull the wool over her eyes,
And lavish her with words that stab her heart cold.
They put her out to dry,
And laugh in the wake of her battered soul.
They scrub her hands raw,
And turn away as her flesh bleeds.
They use her,
And yet they always expect her to smile.
The world was crumbling, the ground shattering like glass, the light stepping down from the sky.
The two watched from the clouds, shrouded in darkness. Screams and cries of horror drifted up to their ears like birdsong. One, with wings as white as snow, tugged furiously at the arm of the other, the one with horns as black as night.
"Can’t you hear their screams?" cried the winged one, with tears flushing her cheeks. "How can you bear it?"
The horned one revealed his face to the other, twisted by the wickedness of his grin. "Because they deserve it. They have taken far too much, and now must pay for what is due. If that costs them their lives, than so be it..."
The secrets flood out like waves on the shore.
All the lies. All the mistakes.
Your blood runs cold. Mine's burning like a flame.
It runs free from the knife wound in my back, and sizzles my skin until there is only bones.
Your heart has turned black with your wicked grin. Mine is dying in the wake of my tears.
We were once friends, but I never really knew you.
I don’t know you, and I'm drowning.
That's how you make me feel...
She walks along the banks of her river of life, with a black sky hanging overhead and rain hissing down. Forever, she has merely wandered beside the current, too afraid to dip in a toe, too afraid to swim with the flow. For a long seventeen years she has never dared to get wet...
For a moment, she pauses on the rocky shore and a day stagnates as she looks into the churning waters by her feet, and she questions if she'll every be brave enough to dance with the river of her soul.
Perhaps it's not about taking a leap of faith. Perhaps after all, it merely begins with the dipping of a toe to awaken the tide...
He walks with a bag of broken hearts slung over his shoulder, like how Santa walks with his sack of toys. The bodies in which those heart belong have been left lying in his wake, with their eyes forever streaming, their chests forever gaping. Of course, when he meets his next victim, he hides that bag behind a soft smile and friendly eyes, but they all turn wicked once he’s through with them. He's a collector of fractured lovers, and he'll never be satisfied, not until his dying day...
She was cold. Completely and utterly cold.
Her bones had frozen. Her soul was frigid. Her heart had turned to ice. The devil had kissed her, and now she was an empty shell, a cracked egg, with nothing left inside.
Her skin had once been bright, her cheeks rosey. But now she was paper-white and wandered the streets like a ghost. No one stopped her on her way and asked if she was okay, because like a ghost, no one could really see her.
No one had ever really seen her, and now that she’d realised, she no longer felt the need to breathe.
She was dead...
Sitting on that hilltop, with the wind striking my cheeks like the tail of a whip, I gazed into that dusky sky, and wondered. Every afternoon, I sat on this grass-weary hilltop and wondered. I battled the scalding heat of summer, and the icy burn of winter, and I wondered.
It was the best best place to see the sky, to watch the birds - some as bright as a rainbow, and others as black as the night - fly overhead, and wish to fly with them.
Many laugh when I say that there has to be more to this life. Mum even got mad at me once when I told her that I was going to run away on an adventure.
People just say that 'my head is in the clouds'. I wish my head was in the clouds, but they’re too high to reach!
So I guess my only plan now is to keep sitting on this hilltop,...
I lost myself,
In the moments,
That passed long ago,
In the times in which,
If there was a beginning or an end;
If time were stopped,
Would I stand still forever,
Stagnant and waiting,
Or would my heart stop,
And I'd die,
And never know,
What it means to be frozen,
His life was falling to pieces...
He was walking home, and yet he was going in the completely wrong direction. He was getting himself lost, but he wasn’t sure that he minded. He was walking home, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted to go home...
With eyes dull and heavy, he turned his gaze to the dappled night sky, and found himself feeling small in its vastness. In the silence, he prayed to a star that things would change, that things would get better.
He prayed that he could someday put his life back together...
There is blood on my hands.
I use the flames to wash them clean,
To wash them of my sin.
The heat burns, but I don’t mind.
It matters not if it licks away the skin from my bones.
Anything to get rid of the haunting evidence of my slaughter.
Yet even so, as I pull my hands free of the fire,
In the smokey haze that has distilled over my eyes,
I can still see the stains of red upon my charred fingers.
I can always see it.
It'll never go away...
The two brothers could only hold hands and watch as the flames rose higher, tears falling amidst the roar... They had lost it all...
Roads, cracked and broken.
Windows, shattered and yawning.
Doors, open and unhinged.
Silence, undisturbed and deafening.
Crows perched on frosted bones.
Rivers gliding over faded asphalt.
Glass dusted across crumbled pavement.
Blood rusting against weathered stone.
Air, heavy with smoke.
Light, blackened with dust.
Water, dirtied with poison.
Life, no more...
I feel as if I'm slipping away,
Into a land of diamonds and false jewels,
A land of feathers and stones,
A land of contradictions.
It is a twisted world,
And yet it is my world.
It is a confused soul,
But it is my soul.
This is my life,
And it may be a mess of a life,
But it is still and will always be mine...
A candle is lit, and still it changes nothing.
It rises and falls as quickly as the day.
A ledge dropping into black, a swirling pit of fear.
A false sense of security that will fade in the blink of an eye.
His stare was like gazing into a burning sun. There was a razor-sharp glint to it - a predatory glint - like it possessed the power to carve holes into one's soul.
And so, when it locked upon her own stare, she couldn’t help but ask, "Were you a wolf in your past life?"
He stepped forward, a grin twisting his thin lips. "Why do you ask?"
His prowling tread drew nearer and she found that her nerve was wavering. "Y-your stare... It’s so intense..."
A cackle broke through his fine teeth. "Is that so?" he murmured, coming to a halt barely an inch away from her face, his metallic eyes unblinking, his snout-like nose on the brink of touching her own. "Well, it’s definitely possible..."
"When we disappear, do our bodies turn into flowers?"
He paused in mid-tread, his heart still and his lips apart, and looked down upon the little girl, tightening his grip upon her hand.
"Why do you say that?"
The girl released a giggle, as if the answer were obvious. However, she still reached for the shimmering yellow roses that loomed just out of her reach and opened her mouth to speak.
"It’s just that they are so pretty, I thought it'd be nice to turn into a flower when you go away..."
For the longest time, he did not reply, not until she’d lost interest and she could no longer hear, nor see the tears in his eyes.
"Yes... I guess it would be nice..."
A fist curled around her elbow.
Her heart clenched. She was anchored down. She couldn’t run away.
His voice whispered out from behind her, it’s tone oddly sober compared to how it usually was, so bright and alive with amusement.
"Why?... Why is it so hard for us to be together?"
She did not meet his eyes, nor did she even attempt to struggle out of his grasp. What was the point, if she could never break free in the first place? It'd been months, and she still couldn’t be rid of him. So she kept her gaze trained upon the leaf that shivered by her toes, in case those tears began to froth up again.
Oh wait - they already were...
"B-because my life is such a mess, and having you in it would just make it so much worse. Now, could you please just leave me alone?..."
She expected him to say something, but he didn’t. She expected...
Static. It shrieks in his ears like a shrill, constant cry of agony.
It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t waver. Not for a moment. Not since he entered that room. A room alive with monsters. A room awake with nightmares. A room twisted with death...
She is still where she lies. She looks cold, frigid. Her skin is as white as the driven snow, and her cheeks have grown so transparent that one might’ve been able to see the bone that are beneath them.
She is beautiful, and yet the thought can’t shut away the grief that rips his soul to pieces. With quivering hands, he brushes those frosted cheeks, that mattered hair that rests about her like a bed of silk. Tears shiver in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he chokes in her deaf ears. "I let you down. I let you down..."
The memories flickered like stars fading in and out of the ink of the night sky.
Those eyes. That smile. At first dazzling, but then grey, like smoke.
She was like water in his hands, softly, and yet constantly seeping away. Soon her memory would disappear, and he would have nothing left to hold.
A beautiful girl, never to be his again..
It was a deadly dance. To dance with Death was lethal after all. To dance with the Devil was asking for trouble. And yet she could not help herself. She was too fond of the demon not to, even if she was aware that it would someday lead her to her demise.
He was handsome, and devilishly charming - if you'll excuse the pun - with eyes of glistening crimson and teeth as sharp as daggers. He knew her like no one else, not even herself, and perhaps that was what made it so wrong. But she couldn’t find it within her to care...
At least when death did come, it wouldn’t be a shock when she discovered who was on the other side...
I don’t know much about snow, for I have never seen it before.
As a child, it often filled my imagination to the brim, and I admit that it might still do, even to this day. There are so many stories, so many plays, and so many ballets set in the cold, with snow always a counterpart. It's one of the biggest reasons why Winter is my favourite season, and yet I have no idea of what it’s even like.
To see it with one’s own eyes; to touch it with one's own fingers; to hold it in one’s own hands. Of course it would be cold, wouldn’t it? But is it as soft as it looks, like a white cloud, or the white fur of a husky? Most people say it isn’t, but I find that so hard to believe.
But I guess I'm the one that’s ignorant here...
Bowing her head, her entire frame shook all over. With gritted teeth, she dared to reply.
"How can you say that?... H-how can you still pretend that that was nothing?... You are such a...such a..."
She tossed up her gaze to his smirking mouth, his mocking eyes. Her fists twisted tight at her sides.
"Well, I was going to say something worse, but there you go."
And with that, she turned and walked away, her eyes stinging horribly...
We break free of our cages like moths that have burst free from their cocoons. We run into the darkness and prowl through the night like tigers hunting the shadows. But when the sun rises again, we return to our damning cages, fearful of reproach should be choose to remain free. The cycle twists on and on.
We are dangerous, but we are afraid. We are loud, but we are silent. We are on the road to discovery, and yet we are lost. We are searching for our souls and our hearts, but they are nestled in our pockets, pulsing with life.
We are contradictions, but we are also quite simple.
We are human...
She was always looking up to the sky, and wondering what it would be like to fly. What would it be like to live off helium, to defy gravity, and sail off into the void that was the horizon? What would it like to have feathers for hands, to be a bird, and leave the misery of the Earth behind...
She wondered all those things, and yet she knew none could be so. She was a bird with broken wings after all. How could she possibly fly away?...
"Will you join me in the shadows?" he asked on the brink of twighlight, his heels on the edge of darkness.
She froze, her eyes widening upon that same darkness. "But isn’t it dangerous?"
A chuckle overflowed from his lips as he raised a hand for her own. "Only if you want it to be. Really, I merely find the shadows beautiful, but many people don’t see it that way. Many cannot look beyond their own fear."
She watched the darkness for a moment longer, silence stifling her. Perhaps the shadows were a maelstrom of gloom and uncertainty, or perhaps, if she looked hard enough, she could just make out the beauty that he was so invested in.
With a soft grin lifting the corners of her lips, she curled her fingers around his offered hand. "Alright. I'll join you."
And together, they fell away, into the shadows...
He walked the halls with a tread that was silent and feather-light, as if his body had decayed but a millenia ago and he was just the ghost that had been left behind. His head did not turn, nor did it twitch. It remained trained forward, as did his eyes, as if looking in any other direction was an immediate defeat. Those who watched him pass were always enchanted, perhaps by the resilience that seemed to drip from every step that he dared to take, or perhaps the tragedy that seemed to loom upon his shoulders like a dark cloud. No one was quite certain...
She cried, and cried, and cried...
He just watched, bloodying the rain with his cold rage.
His eyes were chips of ice. His heart was frozen.
There was no love there, and perhaps there had never been.
But as her tears turned red on the pavement, she knew that there was no going back...
Friendship is something that doesn't always last forever, unlike you're often told when you're five-years-old and don't know any better. But when it does, it's truly special!
I fall into the black sea, my ankles bound and my wrists entwined. I cannot reach the surface, no matter how hard I struggle. I just sink, and sink, and sink...
The water swishes around me, battering my sides, leaving bruises. It fills my lungs, as dense as ink and as poisonous as tar, and I suffocate.
I drown, a chill in my veins and ice in my heart. My tears disappear, as does the light, and my soul wither away.
It's the black sea after all. There is nothing here anyway, except darkness...
The moonlight glittered upon the windowpanes, and illuminated the dark room with a pale, chilling glow. She was sitting amongst the carnage that had been left to rot in the wake of her despair - empty boxes of pizza, empty bottles of beer, empty containers of Panadol, empty, empty, empty. It was how she felt; empty. There was just a black hole that was gaping in her soul, and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to fill it.
There was a knock on the door. She didn’t make a sound.
Another knock. "Maria? I know you’re in there. You’re mum's really worried about you."
Maria drew herself tighter, so that her knees were squashed up to her chest and so that her head was between them.
"Go away, Cameron," she choked, her tone barely above a whisper.
Of course, as it was with Cameron, the opposite happened. The door unhinged with a whine, and Maria tossed...
Rain splattered the grey pavement and glistened like diamonds upon his skin as he stood on my doorstep, illuminated by the pale street lamps.
A man possessed, he extended his shivering hand. "Please, I'm just asking for a date! That’s all I'm asking!"
My vision exploded with blood-red. "You woke me up at 2:00am for this?! How many times do I have to tell you? We are just friends! How clear can I make it?"
The door slammed shut, ringing like a slap to the face. I hope it felt like that too...
The air was rife with poison. And the little room was alive with a monster, a monster that could not be touched, a monster that could not even be seen, but only heard. A monster of words.
To the little children, its words of influence were like venom in their soft, naive ears. It spoke of many desires, many villainies, many lusts, all of which were dangerous to hear. To pick up the gun, the dagger, the whip, and reek havoc. To torture, to maim, to kill. To breathe in was fatal.
But oh, how they breathed in. They could not help it. The air was intoxicating and wonderful, like a delicious candy that one couldn’t get enough of. It was far easier to listen than bear the reality of not.
It was an infection of the mind, the heart, the soul. It festered, like flesh left out in the sun, and ate away a gaping hole in one's morality...
The leaves were red. The sky was indigo. A chilling breeze passed through me like a ghost. The path that I walked was crusted with the remnants of what had fallen.
How beautiful it all was, and yet I couldn’t see it very well. I was wandering aimlessly, trying to outrun the tears, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to follow me, no matter where I went.
And I was losing horribly...
He pushed her into a corner and pinned her to the wall. His fingers squeezed the blood from her hands as he held her by her wrists. In the darkness, she could just make out a razor-sharp glint to his usually timid smile.
"What’s this about?" she began, but she was silenced by a hush in her ear, a hush that made her veins shiver.
"Don’t say a word," was all he hissed, his nails now digging into her palms, drawing crimson. "Don’t say a word..."
It was like watching a billion stars explode at once. The sky was filled with fire. The earth was alive with sparks. And a thick haze blurred it all.
No one screamed. No one wailed. No one cried.
Everything stood very still, watching in silence, engulfed by the awe of what they were witnessing. It was the world’s end, after all. Where could they run?
He stood by the edge of the void, his gaze fixed upon the blackness that stretched beyond. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, his cheeks bloodless, his lips frozen apart, a tightness gripping his throat, his chest, his heart...
He'd watched her fall down into those cold depths. He wanted to call her name, but that would change nothing. She would never return...
"Have mercy," was all that he could chant. "Have mercy..."
He thought he saw her silhouette in the river. He thought he saw her silhouette in the forest. He thought he saw her silhouette in the ocean. He thought he saw her silhouette in the city. He thought he saw her silhouette in his own shadow.
But despite the twinge of hope that pinched his heart, he knew that whatever he saw was not her silhouette, because it simply wasn’t possible. He would never see her silhouette again...
Her life was like a violent river. It constantly churned and flowed over the waterbed, flooding in her rain of tears and growing dry in the wake of her emptiness.
At least he was there, like those rocks that emerged from the depths of a turbulent stream. He always knew how to calm her down...
Life was like a ball and chain around his ankle. He dragged it around like the ultimate burden, unable to rid himself of it, unable to shake it free. It weighed him down. It made him sink further into the black depths, unable to struggle, unable to swim back to the surface, where the light was. His tears only melted away into the water that surrounded him, discarded, insignificant. And yet he felt as if it were the tears that were suffocating him, not the water that he gulped helplessly into his lungs as he drowned...
Her palm curled like a whip across his cold, umovable face, leaving a magenta stain on his cheek. Her own cheeks were bright with colour, her eyes seething like amber flames, her entire frame shaking like a leaf. To her utmost frustration, his expression had not changed at all.
"What was that for?" was all he asked, his gaze appearing almost bored.
Her lips furled into a snarl, her face growing only redder. "For kissing me, you idiot! You can’t just kiss me and -“
A hand twisted like a vice around her arm and the weight that surged behind it slammed her back into the wall, pinning her down in a second. Before she could comprehend it, his brooding eyes were so close to her own that she could barely see anything else.
"And why can’t I?" he asked again, his voice barely even a whisper. "Is it not really about me, but about you?"
Her mouth open and...
A fist was thrown. It slammed into delicate flesh and knocked its victim straight to the concrete. The victim felt as the breath gushed from his throat, and he spluttered, lungs clawing to be filled once more.
His attacker - his brother - released a growl more ferocious than a tiger's. But there were tears in his eyes. The brother could see.
"It’s your fault," his brother chanted without mercy. "It’s your fault."
The brother rasped, reaching with a quivering hand to his distraught brother. "No. It wasn’t my fault, Oli. I get that she’s gone, and I'm sorry for that. But don’t put the blame on me."
His brother - Oli - could barely stifle a choked cry. His rage evaporated in an instant.
"Why can’t people just say dead?..."
I used to have nightmares... Gut-wrenching dreams that would rip screams from me without my control. However, when he was around, he would shake me awake, turn the radio on full and ask me to dance with him on the bed. I found that my fear would quickly evaporate and the horrible images would just...disappear. It was always easier to sleep after that...
Now that he's gone though, I find those nightmares are starting to come back, and I have no one to dance with anymore...
She stopped on the threshold, her frame overcome by quivering. Releasing a shaky breath, she raised her jittering hand to the closed door and knocked thrice.
The door did not open immediately, and every second made her cheeks bleed out further into white.
Finally, there was the jingle of a latch as the door gradually unhinged, revealing the person she’d both wanted and dreaded to see.
At the sight of him, her tears spilled.
"I've been such a fool," she sobbed, placing her face in her hands. "I-I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore, but I..."
He said nothing. However, with his sad eyes and sad smile, he stepped aside, inviting her back into his home, and subsequently, back into his life...
"Hush now," the thing whispered in a voice that grated like sandpaper, it’s shadow hovering over the children like a dark, ominous cloud. "It’s time to go to sleep."
All the little girls and boys huddled together, shuddering. They held each other’s hands, tears frothing in their eyes, some spilling free.
The thing reached out its clawed fingers, its rotten grin stretching wider, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.
"It’s time to go to bed."
The candles were snuffed out, and in their absence began the screams...
He watched, his veins ice and his limbs frozen, as the corpses arose like hungover sailors on a boat that rocked without relent. Their sightless eyes glared forward, glowing like fading stars, spinning like swirling pinwheels. Their hands, shredded and papery white, clawed at the air, reaching for the living. There was an anger in their slow, wavering movements, a revenge in their contorted, bloodless faces. Their souls had been stolen away, and now they wanted them back. And so they would take them, even if that meant stealing in turn.
He could not scream, not until one of their rotten hands curled around his shoulder at least...
"This water that surrounds us," he murmured in a voice that quaked, his eyes wide with madness. "It’s filled with the dead. Blood swims in this water, and turns it red."
The small, weathered boat creaked fearfully, rocking helplessly on the violent sea.
She turned to him, dread chasing the colour away from her cheeks. "What are we going to do?"
His expression only decayed further. "Die..."
The wolf trotted through the woods, its paws crackling upon the dead leaves of the forest floor. It’s long nose was low to the ground, sniffing, following a trail it knew far too well. It’s eyes were trained forward as it weaved through the numerous brambles and shrubs, glowing golden in the veil of night. It’s silver pelt was painted a lustrous blue amidst the light of the full moon.
it seemed an age the wolf walked, but it was not perturbed. It knew it’s destination, and knew that it was not much further away.
Upon the edge of a bush-covered slope, the wolf drew to an abrupt halt. Beyond was a clearing, with an enormous willow tree situated in the centre. However, it was no normal tree, for its trunk was embellished with chunks of quartz crystal. Surrounding it was already a horde of wolves, of all different colours, shapes, and sizes. Some were members of packs, and some,...
The knight raised his sword, his eyes ablaze with a maddening hunger for blood beneath the confines of his helmet. The desire drove away other feelings; fear, disgust, horror. There was no time for such feelings when the battlefield was already screaming.
He turned from left to right, unsure of where to strike first, of who to first attack. His comrades were already amongst the fray, his enemies also. Gore was already painting the fields, dying it a grotesque crimson. Bodies already lay limp and hopeless beneath the feet of their executors.
For a second, he wondered if he would make it out alive. But his thoughts evaporated when a foreign sword clanged against his own. The battle had begun...
Lying in bed,
Your mind wanders,
Of what shall come,
Tomorrow is a new start,
a new chance,
a new beginning.
But you don’t feel ready,
Because it is also,
Your last chance,
To get it right.
So sleep is allusive,
And you toss and turn,
Fearing what is to come,
You can always smell smoke. And although it is never near enough to cause panic, you can see it billowing out from the hills and the mountains, and you can watch as it turns the sky black.
it usually occurs in Summer, where the heat has become so terrible that it is dangerous to go outside. The temperature only seems to rise with each passing year. I fear that eventually, we’ll no longer have a Winter. And Winter is my favourite season.
The water evaporates from the dames and streams, leaving barren dirt beds to crack and wither in the unrelenting glare of the sun. The grass grows more brown with each passing day. You mourn it, for you remember that only a month or so ago, you only needed to look out the window to see the lush green fields that stretched beyond. And now, they’re dying...
Summer used to be a time of happiness and excitement; a time...
It was like a red wine stain, except it wasn’t, for it hadn’t spilled from a glass, but rather a gaping hole in his chest...
The crow. It sits by the wayside, its sleek ebony feathers buffeted by the breeze, its calculating eyes watching. Always watching...
Many find the crow to be mystifying. Does the Devil live in its depths? Or is it perhaps an angel that has fallen from heaven and has come to join us on earth, black plumage and all? Some say they are gatekeepers, those who guard the door between life and death, or perhaps any door that leads to something new. And some say that they are just birds.
Some find them to be beautiful, and some don’t. But either way, no one can deny that they are fascinating. After all, there is surely no bird more surrounded by superstition than the crow...
The flames; they leapt high, screaming, roaring, deafening. He watched as they ate her away. Their heated tendrils were like tongues, licking at her sides, tasting her. Hungry, they surrounded her and drew her in. They did not care for her agonised shrieks as they devoured her, eating her up as quickly as the trees that now withered in their wake.
All he could do was wail...
If you think about it, there is much to be found in a crown.
There is of course centuries of tradition dripping from its jewelled girth. It also comes with the uneasy feeling of knowing that your ancestors have worn it for generations before you. As well, it is heavy with the burdens of what it means to wear it. To rule an entire nation, on the basis of where you come from and what you wear? What an absurd concept, Ezra can’t help but think.
But then, if Ezra looks past the golden flanks and glittering diamonds, it is merely like putting on a hat. An overbearing and extravagant hat, but a hat no less.
Ezra wondered if his ancestors thought about it in this way, and if it made it any easier to put on each morning.
The blood surges,
like a raging torrent,
or a roaring stream,
in one's veins.
The heart pounds,
like a hammer,
or a trill,
in one's ears.
The eyes widen,
the electric blue giving way,
like an embankment breaking,
and water flooding.
The muscles tighten,
like metal pistons,
ready to spring,
ready to take flight.
The wind calls,
and all one can do is follow...
A cat crept through the undergrowth, and paused in the shadow of an oak tree. She closed her eyes and sniffed the air. The odor of rotting leaves interweaved with the warm scent of a creature. Mouse.
The cat perked her ears, listening. She heard the pulsing of its tiny hearted, and the way it rustled in the fallen bed of leaves less than half a metre away.
A fire surged through her as she opened her eyes and crouched low against the ground. Her belly fur brushed against the dead leaves as she rocked back on her haunches and quivered. Then, she leaped.
A flash of grey caught her eye, and yet she was faster. She flipped the mouse up into the air with one paw, threw it onto the bed of leaves, and sprung on top of it. She killed it with a single bite to its neck.
She clamped it in between her teeth...
The soldier watched with solemn eyes as the little boy resting in his lap gazed in wonderment at the black sky above. Raising his finger, the boy pointed at one of the brightest stars that could be seen.
"You see that star? That's mum!" He moved his finger to the one blinking next to it. "And that one there's dad!"
A lump settled in the soldier's throat. He didn't say anything, but wrapped his coat tighter around the boy and closed his eyes, faking slumber.
He didn't have the heart to tell the poor orphan the truth...
The burn of gunpowder within my nostrils. The scent of gasoline tainting the smoke that has become my oxygen. Flames catch upon the dirt around me. Is it possible, for dirt to ignite flames? Maybe if the dirt's covered in blood...
Amidst the ghastliness, I see you, golden hair and silver eyes, swallowed by mountains of books, at peace within the aura of paper and ink. And beside you, I sit, in awe...
I yearn for those days again.
So I stand, and covered in the gore of my comrades, I fight. Because I have to see you again...
He had lost the ability to breathe. He could not understand how, but every morsel of air he dared heave in barely reached his clenched throat before it was shoved back out, never to touch his lungs, never enough to keep the dizziness at bay.
As he stumbled along the resounding halls, his heels thrumming clumsily upon the stone floors, he felt a nauseous fear sinking into him, making him feel an incredible heaviness that he could not shake. A chill was scratching ruthlessly at his bear skin, and yet a cold sweat was oozing out just as relentlessly, turning his standard issue uniform into a bunch of sopping rags. He wanted freedom from this stifling sensation that appeared to be clawing at him from all possible directions, and the only way it seemed to get to that point was up.
In a ragged mess, he climbed the spiralling staircase in rapid concession, desperate to reach the roof, desperate to...
“M-mama? Where are you? I c-can’t…”
The boy pawed at the darkness...
A hiss. Light twitched within the blackness, the glow of the matchstick illuminating his mother’s face. She smiled and took his shuddering hands within hers.
“It’s alright. I was always with you, and always will be.”
Fiona Apple's version of 'Pure Imagination' is where I'd like to be. For all of my life, I've always wanted to be able to physical reach out and touch my imagination - see it, feel it, experience it, become completely lost within it... It's a scary place, and yet also a beautiful place that will mesmerise anyone who lays their eyes upon it, and I think Fiona Apple's version truly captures both the light and the darkness of one's mind. The idea of being able to travel there at will and live within it sends chills of both excitement and terror flittering down my spine. But if it all goes horribly wrong, you can simply return to reality and pretend that nothing happened at all. Yet is reality more horrible than the imaginary? I guess we'll never know...
I have lived for one hundred years...
And yet, I must live for one thousand years more...
It is the price for my sins...
And all of my misgivings...
But I would rather take them all back...
Instead of being forced to live any longer...
I used to always preach to my mother how amazing it would be to live forever... To be immortal... To never die...
Yet she would always shush me, and say never to wish that upon myself or anybody else...
As a little boy, I was too naive to understand...
But with little time at all, I began to notice all that my childish eyes had once filtered out...
The obscenities of the world...
And just like ink to water, it infected me and consumed me whole...
As a young man, I became a being of hate, a creature of greed, a fiend of lust...
'Wicked Claus' those beggars would say...
If eyes could speak, then his crystalline blues would've been shrieking for a saviour. Someone... Anybody... He simply didn't care who... Just somebody...
And yet despite the oozing tears that chugged their way down his sunken, icy cheeks...his gaze was forward. His lips tight. His jaw clenched. A courage that could not be quelled pouring forth from his every limb.
In spite of the metallic chains that sliced holes through his wrists and bound him unsparingly to the bloodied wall behind him, in spite of the darkness that spoiled the entire quadratic chamber and suffocated his sight...he stood tall, straining against the very thing that held him captive, his face open to the room of death... Ready... Waiting...
Should you be able to see through solid walls? Should you be able to piece them with your gaze and observe what can be found behind them? I don't know, but I can. And from behind my bedroom wall, I can see a frozen silhouette, shrouded in the impenetrable blackness of the night, made of nothing more than ivory bones and weathered flesh, so still it could have been easily mistaken as a statue. It took me many nights to realise, but I eventually figured it out. Since the day in which I turned five, Death had been watching me as I slept.
A tree is a singer to the gale's sonorous tune,
A loyal observer to the Earth's growing age,
A silent gazer of the night's starry sky,
A doorway to many whispered secrets if only one were to listen.
A tree extends her branches like wings that are destined to fly,
With teardrops of green that remain forever bound to her spindly fingertips.
Her trunk is her core, to which her soul resides, and where her life thrives...
London was a city whose sole purpose was to breathe life into the world that surrounded her. Amidst the chill of those wintery nights, she beamed brighter than any star, outshining all that dared to rival her, a gleaming sun in her own right. And yet in the day, she was as placid and as mysterious as the solemn moon, mounting the globe with her light and also her dense shadow, her heart so complex and twisted that a lover could easily grow lost. Within her centre streamed the murky waters of the River Thames, her life force, her veins, her blood. And Buckingham Palace stood as her mask, her beautiful, enchanting mask that served to show her unquenchable pride and her unshakeable resilience to the rest of the world. But underneath was perhaps something far more spellbinding indeed...
I stand in a graveyard of dreams. A colourless apse of drifting fog and ravished tombstones. Nameless. Shapeless. Dead. Gradually withering away.
Light has seeped away, just as love has seeped from my heart. A chill forever clutches my bones. Relieves the feeling from my limbs. I'm drowning. I'm choking. Lost in my depthless nightmares. Stuck within the wrong world.
A crow calls in the silence, a devil's cry, a demon's song, warning of an end that is surely near.
I reach out my fingers and press them upon a hidden door. A door that is transparent. A door that is nonexistent. But I know it's there. I can feel it's frigid willow surface brushing against my skin. It is my escape. My freedom. And yet I know all the same that it is locked.
My escape behind a locked door. Forever behind a locked door...
I stand adrift, surrounded in blue.
Choking in it.
Suffocating in it.
My crippled lungs screaming.
My withered heart breaking.
But I don't struggle. I don't writhe. I don't even allow myself to cry.
But I allow my boneless body to sink, to fall further into its implacable depths, my soul slipping free, my conscience fading away...
I can't bear the pain anymore of those depraved, heartless eyes gouging holes straight through me.
I can't stand it as they sneer, laugh and fawn over my same beautiful ugliness, observing through eyes already corrupt by ideal.
So I let go...and drown...
I am something,
Yet I am also nothing.
I stand erect against the pummelling of the rain,
My rouge skirts floundering about me,
My beauty as immaculate as ever.
But underneath, I am nothing but livid,
Ugly, with selfish and egotistical thorns,
That burrow into one's side like fangs of a viper.
From the outside, I am passionate red.
But within, I am nothing more than snapping prickles and implacable darkness.
Are we all the same?
I don't know, nor do I care.
For all that matters to me,
Is to be the most gorgeous flower out of all the flowers that surround me.
NOCTISINA - a place where Hell has a face, a name, an identity. But here, Hell does not burn, nor does it simmer, nor does it flame. In fact, here, death is not an option, though many who pass through long with all the fibres of their beings that they could die here, for here, there is no light, no colour, no sound. The city is a vast chasm of darkness, with structures built on layers and layers of black and pathways made of solid intangibility. The emptiness is your only companion, your only friend, for as you wander the alleys, searching for an eternity for light, it follows you, coiling around you like a snake, threatening to strangle you alive. Even as you feel others brush passed you, clipping the edge of your clothes, snagging at your skin as you cross paths, you are totally alone here for you cannot see them, you cannot hear them, you can't even...
Eden's legs are flying, kicking out desperately beneath him, his muscles propelling him forward like those thin metal springs concealed beneath the cushioning of a mattress. His feet pulse against the ground, churning up layers of damp earth, his frictionless shoes slipping in the mud and across the dead leaves that obscure the forest floor. His chest aches. His lungs burn. His throat seethes. Breath rushes in and out of him like the violent tides of an ocean. His heart pummels savagely against his ribcage like a tiny bird fluttering frantically in its chains, struggling earnestly to escape. Sweat floods out from his every pore and lathers his skin like a river over stones, despite no heat being present in the night's frost-kissed breeze.
The air tastes of pending rainfall, yet Eden doesn't dare fault in his steps, those harsh, heavy footfalls still reverberating throughout his skull, pounding against his brain and he is no longer sure if they still...
How had it all deteriorated so suddenly? It felt as though it was only yesterday when his lilac irises used to capture every single hue that splayed out brilliantly before his urgent sight. Yet like all things, the colours as he had known them begun to wither and die, seeping out of the pages of life like faded grey ink. The only colour that remained after the desolation was blue, a churning, dark ocean of azure, flooding out across his vision like an overflowing sink. Everything was blue; the grass, the road, the mountains, the trees. Even his own face was covered in blue. Yet to him, it wasn't a colour at all; it was empty space, and everything was empty.
How had it all deteriorated so suddenly? It felt as though it was only yesterday when his lilac irises used to capture every single hue that splayed out brilliantly before his urgent sight. Yet like all things, the colours as he had known them begun to wither and die, seeping out of the pages of life like fading grey ink. The only colour that remained after the desolation was blue, a churning, dark ocean of azure, flooding out across his vision like an overflowing sink. Everything was blue; the grass, the road, the mountains, the trees. Even his own face was covered in blue. Yet to him, it wasn't a colour at all; it was empty space, and everything was empty.
Each day, we watch, like a fly on the wall.
Luminous colour streams pass us, constant, blinding, yet cold.
A buzz splits our eardrums, choking the peace.
Hate strikes from all flanks, dagger sharp.
It draws torrents of heart-blood.
We observe it gushing down.
It leaves gaping holes.
Feeding Hatred's bloodthirst.
Caidence gazed between the silken curtains and into the yawning ocean of stars.
Yearning snagged at his heart at the thought of her.
In the moonlight, he could almost see her, carved in the luminous glow, dark curls buffeting her cheeks, butterscotch eyes looming upon him with dazzling vibrance.
It hurt even more to see those features each time his eyes grazed a mirror.
Why did she have to die?
"Caidence, are you alright?"
Caidence flinched and turned to witness Brendan, his features soft in the silverness, his Aqua orbs bursting with worry.
Caidence smiled, strained.
"Yeah, I'm fine..."
She smiled - a proper smile, one that I hadn't seen in years - her hazel eyes ablaze with fresh passion as she interweaved her fingers with mine and wandered with me back along the ruthless path to our beginning, middle and now end.
Each day, we watch, like a fly on the wall.
Luminous colour streams past us, constant, blinding, yet cold.
A buzz splits our eardrums, choking the peace.
Hate strikes from all flanks, dagger sharp.
It draws torrents of heart-blood.
We observe it gushing down.
It leaves gaping holes.
Feeding Hatred's bloodthirst.