He was in the mazy lands of my mind. Get out! Get out! I kept yelling, but we wouldn’t get out. Not knowing it was dangerous, he got inside my brain, maybe it was too late, or maybe it was just what was meant to happen, but sill, there was no point on waiting, not even one more second, to get him out.
Trough the ear canal! I said once more, as I felt the tiny being moving in the west of my brain, but he kept going, he messed a little with my sight, and with my logical thinking, and he was reaching my dreams. He saw thousands of seas, filled with deep emotions, he saw glasses of scotch, and when he saw people, he also saw pineapple trees. A star hidden in the deepest part of it, as well as a broken guitar made of carbon. Also some lost shoes, painless shoes, paintbrushes, stories, and some Japanese drawings. Those weren’t hidden, they where just there, close to a bunch of hearts, of all sizes, colors and materials.
Not, she was not daydreaming, [actually she was] she had just started to take the trip around herself, once inside, it was even scarier, enough to make someone cry. The last thing he saw, was a playlist. Life’s playlist she called it… What was it playing today?
Meanwhile in the underworld, Hades and his unhappy wife, Persephone were very busy to attend to any of the celebrations; they had the responsibility to take care and educate Zikaos. Hades knew well who he was and what was it all about the prophecy surrounding him, and he was interested in more ways tan one. There, Hades instructed him in all the knowledge of the underworld, the hidden beasts, the ship of the dead and the Tartarus; while Persephone introduced him into the world of nature, how did trees, spirits and nynphs funtioned as a whole and how was it all related.
Zikaos grew into a strong and wise being, he had traveled the worlds of both, the living and the dead, he knew all what was there to know about nature, and was trained by the many beasts and demons into the ways of battle and war. He perfectly knew the structure of his father's monarchy, he knew who ought him favors and who hated him. And most important, he knew his story and where was the door of the Tartarus.
It all started the first day of winter, when Persephone came back to the Underworld. Zikaos spoke with her and Hades, he told them that the time for change had come, that it was time for them to come out of their underground imprisonment, and take back the land which was once denied to them. Hades, who saw this coming a while ago, thought it was too soon, they had no armies or allies. Persephnoe on the other hand, was a little more surprised but agreed with Zikaos that it was about time to change the authority.
By instinct or by calling, all the creatures from the underworld, who were once confined there by the Gods, started to congregate. Some giants that used to be beautiful maidens, some manticores that all they had left of ancient warriors, were the memories, and other beasts the Gods hadn't care to name. Zikaos commanded this little army as if was something that he did daily, as if he was meant to do that his whole life. And soon, beasts and mutants, from all over the world, were at the orders of the hero of chaos.
Soon enough news of monster gatherings and monster revolts arrived the Olympus, where Zeus took them as futile attempts of rebellion from the stupid beasts. But Athena knew exactly what was happening, even if no one had told her, she could felt her brother's plan being executed at the distance, evolving, making allies, becoming stronger than the Gods themselves. Something in her felt a great joy and excitement that she had never experienced before, but her worries were bigger.
Zikaos was preparing a few armors for cyclops and commanding the harpies into battle formations, when he heard his name at the distance. He didn't know who was it, but he answered right away. And sited next to a pile of shields there was his sister, Athena. After so many years, she didn't recognized him, but there was something is his sight that was the same as when he had came out from Zeus' abdomen, it was not only his eyes, his whole essence was full of it.
Athena was desperate for their destiny, and the consequences that such revolution would bring for them both, so she tried to convince him to desist. But despite of the Godess' pleas, Zikaos refused, and even invited her to join, that together, they could destroy Zeus and create a new world. But such ideas were beyond Athena's reasoning, and it was there where they first dis encountered each other, knowing that sooner or later they would have to face each other.
Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it just to reach you.
Those times when all you got is nothing, but the song of the old times, when you used to sing to yourself, when the greatest company was yourself. You sing again, you ask about the day, you lay down and press play, and the words flow through your mind, into your skin, so slowly so tenderly, you forget you’re here.
So I sing a song of love, expecting something which I already know. And this is it, the time when it comes together.
After attempts, contrivances and strategies to cause the infanticide, that would bring security to the kingdom, Zeus gave this hard task to the only one with the skills, the cleverness and intelligence to make it possible, Athena. He gave her the job to annihilate the only threat, which she accepted, pleased to be able to help her father. So Athena walked away en search of the formula of how to kill who he not even the thunders tickled.
She went all around the world, from the dark spiritualists from the Egypt, to the ancient witches of Turkey. She asked the gorgons in all Greece, and asked for aid to the Angers. But yet, no one was able to help her or explain her why was that being to able to be killed. Mean while her trips extended through time and space, the creature grew up, looking like a god in appearance, buy yet there was something about him that didn't belong to any of what Athena knew.
Athena chose to educate the creature a little bit, since she was the Goddess of knowledge and wisdom, she could not allow a creature so close to her grew up as a simple beast. Because after all, they came from the same father, and she supposed the same mother too, they were siblings. Time passed by and Athena continued without finding the way yo finish with the life of his brother, mainly because she was no longer looking for it, she had developed some sort of affection for him. Soon, he was educated in the history of the Gods and epic heroes, in sciences and literature from men kind. She showed him the world, disgraces and beauties, majestuosity and decadency. He made his own opinion on many matters, as on why should the be ruled by a despotic and adulterous God, or why should the allow such atrocities happen to humanity. Athena answered a lot of these questions, but many others became doubts of her own.
But his could not las long, after a few decades Zeus looked for Athena to know if she had killed the creature. She was clueless about what to do, she knew she ought to be loyal to Zeus, but she didn't want to betray her only brother, Zikaos. So even if it hurt deeply, and betrayed a part of herself, she finally did it. So she told Zeus that she had achived the murder and had thrown him to the volcano Ethna, with the Thypoes.
Then, Athena was back at the Olympus with the other gods, who celebrated he adacity and intelligence for killing the creature that was neither a mortal or a god. The patriarch rewarded her for the achivement and parties were made to honor the end of the only threat to the established order for eones, to the regimen with no change and no imporvement.
[I do know, I just can't tell, at least not yet] By I'm the penguin
[Sign petition to free the cat, wether is dead or not]
Alright, you win, we don’t really know what we want, but oh surprise, neither do you! I don’t think you do, you can’t fool me.
The truth is we love being surrounded by the uncertainty of the next second; we love those tense quiet moments that we hate so much. The spaces between words, the place between wasted stares in which our best answer is probably a smile, but still we end up saying really stupid questions. What is that? Are we supposed to give it a name? Maybe not, giving names is not my style. Specially, how can you give it a name when you don’t have anything, maybe an idea or two of what can it be, but not really a definition by itself.
Maybe, if we knew something more about the other side of the equation, if we knew about the mysterious ambiguity surrounding every inch of or beings, then maybe, we would have a clue, maybe I would.
Zeus knew well a prophecy that said that his second child with Metis, the titan of the fourth day, would bring his end and the destruction of the Olympic Gods' kingdom. Because of this, Zeus made sure to get rid of Metis, by devouring her. When he ate her, he gained all of her power, included her infinite wisdom. But soon he sickened and had to realese some of that overwhelming power. The result of the tragedy was the born of Athenea, the godess of wisdom and all intellectual arts. So Zeus tried to keep Metis locked in his stomach for the rest of eternity, just to make sure she would never have his second child.
For a long time Metis, or at least the putrified remains of what she used to be, remained in the dark and solitude; all because of Zeus' arrogance and lust. She knew that he would never let her out, she knew as wel that the prophecy would never become real, unless she could have another child of Zeus, which seemed beyond impossible in her situation. But her anger was stronger than the force of a thousand suns. Zeus suddenly started having horrible pains coming from his stomach, pains that didn't let him sleep, think or even breath. The gods gathered to know what was all that about and to try to help the patriarch. After Hermes' attempts to bring the most advanced mortal medicine in the world, after Apollo tried a healing that would have cured any other disease, even after all the gods gave him their blessing; Zeus still had an uncontrolable pain coming from his abdomen.
This condition didn't get any better until Athenea wisely chose to investigate and concluded that she had to open his stomach. Obviously all the other gods refused, but being Athenea of Zeus' full trust, he agreed with such a procedure. So with the help of special tools from Hefestus and the strenght of giants and heros, they could finally open him. When they reachedthe stomach, they found a moaning mass, when they took it they affirmed their suspects, it was a baby. Knowing the prophecy, the first thing Zeus tried was to kill him, but he couldn't, for he was not a mortal. He tried to use the Gods' weapons, but they were of no use, he wasn't a God either.
It was a rainy day, but you didn’t care, I did. You weren’t that kind of person, you’d rather tell me today’s news, but I would rather tell you a bunch of stories Thinking of the times we never had.
And it’s not, A game Oh! Please let me explain It is just A change I want to go back to that place
The place were I come from The mirror I’m breaking The place you imagined Long time ago
[Mrs. K i t e ] that's perhaps why I will never be a lyricist... but... who cares?
What for? You haven't shown your face in over five years! And now you have the nerve to call the old man in his misery? You really have no shame Dallas
...Could I please speak to
You should not have called, not after all these years, and the way you went away... We were better off thinking you were dead
Mom, please don't start...
To don't start?! You dare to tell me not to start you ungrateful prick! This started a long time ago Dallas
Could you just pass me Robert?
After all these years one would expect you to call him dad by now
I just... got used to it
Where are you living? You better don't be with those junkies again, it would break your father's heart...again.
No, I've been clean for three years now
That's what you said last time, remember?
Mom, you're making this harder than it is
You think it was a day in the park for your father and I? Do you think we danced of joy every time we heard a body was found dead in a park thinking it was you? How do you think we felt knowing you were most likely in the streets passed out? You don't get to tell me what's hard and what's not young boy.
I just want to speak to Robert! Pass him the damn phone!
Don't raise your voice to me, it's of no use. I will not pass you to your father, he is weak, after the stroke the doctors think he doesn't have left much. It'd be better if he tought his son was dead in peace.
Are you denying me a talk with MY father?
No, I'm protecting my husband. Why do you think he had a stroke in the first place? He hasn't been good since you decided to disappear.
But is he fine?
I jut told you he is weak, he doesn't have much left.
So why won't you hand him the fucking phone?!
Because I told him you were DEAD! That's why! That's why he had a cardiac arrest and that's the same reason he can now sleep in peace knowing his son is not wandering the streets under the effect of God knows what.
So that's it? I'm dead for you? Now this is surprising...
Dallas, dear, there's no greater pain than a parent's loss for a child. But we lost you a long time ago, it doesn't matter the way
...
Now, if you'll excuse me, there are some peas in the stove.
Who was that?
Nobody.
Why are you crying?
Because of the peas! I'm crying because the damned peas are now burn, Robert!!
I had had a terrible week, my first and only attempt of the week had been a failure, which almost ended with me, getting caught. I had to eat somehow, and trying another big prize was too risky, and stupid, even for me. So I headed the lonely store around the nice neighborhood. I saw a young women heading too a Mercedes.
I was sitting in the door step. Expecting my ring tone. Where were you? I had been waiting for an hour now. You said you where home. You didn’t answer. (typical you) I was about to leave. I was wearing my brand new trousers and shirt, with that tie you liked so much. But it was enough. I took my suit case and left. I thought about leaving a note or so, but I was angry enough to hit the door as I left.
I was a terrible cook. I was so used to cook bag-pasta, and that would’ve been enough, if I had time to cook by myself, but know, you where on your way home and I couldn’t let you see my awful cooking, so I left home and went to the store to buy the ingredients I saw in the way out in the only cooking book I had, which my mother had gave me in her desperate attempts to find me a boyfriend. It was a calm day at the store, so I walked slowly, I had time. I went for a bottle of Bordeaux, it was the best closing for a romantic dinner. I finally paid everything, and left the store, I took my keys out and headed to my Mercedes.
A big splash of red wine flew across the parking lot, as the bottle stroked the floor. A young guy ran away in a brand new Mercedes, a young woman laid unconscious in the floor, and a cold guy left the door step in the house around the corner.
He was there, it took me a while to recognize him, but he was there, 8 years later. And it took me a while to know it was him, because I would have never thought to find him there, in a charity event; it could also be said that last time I saw him, he was 1.20m and wore a smiley face t-shirt.
I was shocked by his presence for many reasons. First, he was now all grown up, second was that his image took me back to those years I had long forgotten, back to a feeling I had let go a while ago. But that was not the only reason, it surprised me too because the last time I saw him we were in an amusement park, where aliens were putting into test human skills of understanding.
Yes, the only place where this can happen was the only place I ever met him, my dreams. They were blurry and a very long time ago, but yet I could recognize him. And I should recognize him because that vivid dream from when I was about eight changed my life in a way. I know that even if I tried I couldn't explain how, it was just something in me that had changed, that didn't work the same after that dream. It was the first time I felt what some would call deep feelings, and I don't mean I was in love with that little boy, because at 8 who can be in love? I can just describe it as some sort of unbreakable bond.
Perhaps one could think I was just hallucinating, and probably it was just a mere coincidence and that maybe he didn't look a bit like the boy in my dream, after all it had been 8 years. But I knew, I knew from the second I saw him. It took me a while to recognize him, yes, but I knew it was him. The way I felt was very complex, on one side I felt excited, I had finally met someone who had only lived in my dreams and memories. But on the other hand it was kind of terrifying. I'm sure that if we were all given the option to make our dreams come true, everybody would choose to, but that's only because they don't know what it is like.
Because if he was real, then I could let my imagination fly away. What if he was in fact that boy and I just dreamed with him eight years ago because I would end up meeting him? What if he meant something important in the course of my life and I have been looking for him all these years without realizing it? Or maybe he was just a familiar face and I was building castles in clouds.
So there he was, just hanging out with a friend of his, all day long. And of course I didn't approach him, of course I didn't plot out to be his friend so later I could know what he was like when he was eight in some bizarre way of closure. I didn't even say hi to that person who had meant so much in one imaginary night, because this was reality.
But now he will remain forever just as the solid and breathing proof of that feeling, he might never know this, the world might never know this. But for as long as he lives, he will remind me of the true feeling that some name affection, others friendship, I just call it odd-thing-i-couldn't-explain-when-I-was-8.
I remember the last time you came home. It was raining, just like today, and I was so tired I just lifted the intercom and heard a deep voice, (which I recognized half-asleep as yours) saying softly: ‘Can I come in?’
I didn’t even answer; I just pressed the shiny button in this really expensive and modern device which apparently (as I figured out a couple of seconds after) opens doors. Seconds passed until you climbed up the stairs, I could hear your squeaking shoes wetting all the mahogany steps. You made it trough the corridor, and into my room. You took off your shoes, your coat, and your tie. I could see your silhouette moving towards me, and as you reached the border of the bed, you leaned towards me, and you kissed me, ‘Good night’ you said. With the agility of a 6 year old jumped into the bed over me, and laid on the other side, the left side (right side is my side). You hugged me. Tightly.
Next morning.,,, I wished it was yesterday. You were gone.
She might not have known this, but in 40 minutes and 56 seconds, she would meet with her creator.
40.55
She was all dressed up ,and had even put some make-up on. But regardless of how "different" was that date going to be, something was constant: Richard's lack of sense of punctuality. She had waited for several minutes in a very uncomfortable chair, those that are designed for real girly girls with their right postures and legs crossed, not for Miranda. And after two glasses of free water, she felt forced to ask for something more expensive than 20 cents, which was the price of napkins.
38.48
She had the whole nagging planned out, beginning from the tardiness, which was more of a habit than an event, and going on to to the wasted 12.45 dlls for some overpriced espresso size "petite", that coffee tasted like a lot of things, but French was not one of them. So she was even making self-notes on how she was going to emphasize the fact that he had even begged for her to be on time, and had even dared to say it was "not as casual as we're used to". Who the hell did he think he was to ask her to put on mascara? But then again, he said it was important, perhaps he had gotten that promotion and would now buy expensive things. She liked to buy expensive things (books and mugs).
30.51
Richard decided to appear and apologize, blaming the traffic for his lateness, even when the fault was he cat's for messing his black blazer. So Miranda never knew Richard had to change really quick for such an important date, neither did she knew that he had left something important in the black blazer, and was completely ignorant that he had indeed remember the important thing and was in his left pocket. And so they both talked about their days, and as observing as Miranda was, she couldn't tell Richard was nervous. Not even because his palms sweat, his legs couldn't stop moving and he constantly noticed how the temperature was above the regular. She was quiet an observer.
24.32
Richard convinced Miranda to take a walk to a "lovely" park around the corned, and to reach they would have to cross lots of streets, each with a handful of heavy metallic masses that moved around 90km/h and could easily miss a pedestrian. In the way they talked about Miranda's 20 year old sister going to Prague next week, and how would she enjoy it along with her 40 year old boyfriend, who was obviously paying for everything. They also talked about the changing climate in the city and how annoying was to still have to sleep with pajamas with 35ºC nights. And discussing again how awkward was that they both were adopted in the same year, both born the 27th of different months. Richard kept the small talk superficial while he looked for something in his pockets, Miranda thought he had lost his cell phone, again. Richard thought he had dropped the letter in the coffee shop.
19.50
Once they were in the park and Miranda had made him buy her an ice cream, they began to talk about some serious stuff, as if they would ever move in together again, again because they had tried it a year ago and it had ended their relationship for about 3 months. They also talked about traveling the world together and the irony in asking for French fries in France. So after a few moments in which Richard cooled off he decided to grow a pair and begin.
10.01
While Miranda was very concentrated on not dropping her ice cream she just heard Richard ranting and uttering something that sounded like words but she didn't have the patience to understand. So after a while of the babbling Richard looked at her and said something about some stupid letter that he had forgotten in his other coat, and how fatidic all had been. And then she smelled mystery in the air, but was too oblivious to notice yet what was to happen. So then he said for the first time in a very long time the three words a regular girl melts for, but Miranda was busy making her ice cream melt to notice, and then she got tired of the ranting and got Richard cut to the chase.
4.41
Miranda was for the first time in the whole day impressed, really impressed. The image of Richard on his knee holing a little box had never crossed her mind in that date, perhaps when they were in the roller coaster or when they were lying in the woods watching the stars, there she had imagined an extravagant proposal. But never some odd request in a public park. And it took a few seconds for her to come off of whatever day-dream she was on to freak out and stand up ready to run. She will never knew is she didn't ran because it was politically incorrect or because the only way out was surrounded by fast traffic and possibly-dangerous odd looking people. The fact is that she stayed.
1.03
The moment was too emotional to let it go without drama, so she decided to say a simple "I need time to think", and in fact she needed time. So as if she had not heard well Richard repeated the same words in the same order, but with more emphasis in wife. And some seconds later she was taking the ring and saying yes, because it just felt right, and because the moment was right, and because she indeed loved him. And both of them yelled and jumped and yelled some more. Theirs had not been a fairy tale, but it sure had been a sweet, creamy yet intense one.
0.0 While they were in their little private party they missed to observe some nasty looking hobo, which happened to be carrying a gun in his pocket. As the pair was still filling the atmosphere with joy and nervous laughter the hobo approached in a subtle movement. He warned his victims they were about to be mugged and they should better cooperate, he obviously asked for the ring. And despite his efforts for terrorizing the happy couple they were too much into each other to notice anything else, that until he pulled out the gun. The first one to notice was Richard, and it didn't took longer than had a second for Miranda to bee terrified by the scene.
She doubt on giving him the ring, perhaps they could escape, maybe the hobo didn't even had any amo. But her common sense was greater than her imprudence. So she gave the ring, but the hobo still looked quiet aggressive, he was not OK, something in his mind many years ago was damaged irreparably to a degree were he could hardly think things trough.
It was all too fast, too fast for people around to notice, too fast for any police officer to do something. It happened, the couple's happy moment was ruined forever, the ring was lost. But the most significant part was the part where Miranda met with his creator, and if given a choice she wouldn't have want to, not under such circumstances.
Because it turns out that Miranda would never know the man that had robbed her ring and ruined such a merry moment was the same man that gave her to an orphanage 26 years 11 months and 13 days ago. The same man who had put half of the genetic information in her. He had met her birth father, her creator.
I was born ## years ago, in a place nearby you may not know. It’s a small place, filled with trees. My house was small but cozy, and by the river side, when I grew up I realized that was actually dangerous, but nothing ever happened, not in the rainy days, not in the storms. I had a canoe, my dad had bought it in a yard sale in the suburbs. It was kind of old and paint less, plain wood. I remember it was huge, when as a matter of fact it was certainly small. But the size didn’t matter, since two kids could fit easily.
I had no siblings, but the kids that lived around joined me in a different expedition one day. Sometimes we went fishing with some sticks n’ strings we got from Timmy’s garage. We where the flying Englishmen, whenever we played navy. We where the blue-skinned, when we played Indians, we where the spitty faces when we played pirates, and we where Ferdinand’s crew when we played explorers.
I had an adventurous infancy, even if the river was a polluted estuary, my house was cardboard-like, and the canoe was a piece of wood.
I long for the days in which you could see the deep blue in the skies and and fluffy white in the clouds. I long for days in which the only dark in the sky was an announcement of upcoming water, which cleansed it all with calm and purity. I can still remember those clear blues with nothing on them but the infinite, they took you as far as your imagination could go.
Now all I see are monsters that try to block the view, pity combinations of gray to paint the whole above. Winds now carry with air that's not supposed to be there, with noises that were not native form the sky. All I see is a gray plaster being invaded by monster-made giants.
[turn off that TV and ride your bike to the park] By I'm the penguin
I wanted to be a chef I wanted to be a lawyer I wanted to be a teacher I wanted to be an astronaut I wanted to be a film maker I wanted to be a doctor I wanted them to understand it I wanted you to love me I wanted me to live
I thought it was fun I thought it was interesting I thought it was inspiring I thought it was intelligent I thought it was my thing I thought it was noble But they never did But you already did When I realized I was already alive
I ended up being a doctor, and I may not be all those persons literally, but I believe I am. They might understand, and you may not love me. But I’m being more me than anything else. Julia, I don’t think that’s for the best.
I'm sure you've heard all kind of stories about the night your sister died, I'm also sure you try not to talk to your mother about it because, you simply know it's not right, and that every time she closes her eyes and breaths deep she's trying her hardest not to have a break down. And I'll tell you what else, I'm also sure you have no clue of what happened.
Your dad may have told you when you were very little that gran sis died because lordie wanted her near him, or some gibberish story. But the details came later, and I am going to far as to call them details, because he told you "Frank, your sister died a long time ago and it's not a pleasant memory to remember, if you have to know, it happened in an accident. Now finish your peas and make your prayers."
Your father isn't never able to talk about it, he feels guilty for her dead, guilty for your mother's broken heart and guilty for lying to you. They can't even talk about her, but if I had to describe her I would say she was beautiful, strangely beautiful. I wasn't very much around when she was about 7, but I saw her in a couple family reunions, the ones I was forced to go, of course.
She wasn't a normal kid, now I don't say this as in she was some mambling jambling freaking genius solving Einstein's postulates. Neither do I mean she was a complete freak who ought to be in a mental institution, she just wasn't normal. She observed the snails move and said no word, she showed interest for the most unimportant things of all, but she did with such a care. She observed and counted all the ants in a row as if they were some sort of moving cookies, or whatever the hell normal kids like.
But you know, the freakness didn't stop there, the worst was yet to come, as it tends to happen with this family. She grew up and turned twelve when your mother knew she was pregnant, now this is where it turns weird right? Because they've told you she died before they ever had you, what a huge amount of bullocks. Martha and your dad wanted to miscarry the baby, they were too afraid another child of them would have such a abnormal existence, but their fear of religion was stronger than their fear of genetics. So they just waited and hoped for you to turn out right, and Samantha just kept turning weirder, she now talked about talking trees and different dimensions where people were different.
Now it is not very clear, because your parents made sure non of us ever went to your birth, they were too afraid to show the world they had created another monster, but you came out right. So you arrived to your house, where 13-year-old Samantha was forbidden to be alone with you. You must think they were inhumane, but they didn't know what to do with her, they did all they thought was possible, they talked with the local priest and took her to church daily, what else could they do? Seriously, if your parents were anymore ignorant they would no longer be called humans, no offense.
I'm just telling you this because I think is necessary for you to know what happen and also because I know what happened. I was around that day, which is why you didn't knew about my existence until yesterday. Your mother was out and your dad and I were talking about shit and then we heard a noise. We thought it was just freaky Samantha doing her thing, but then the weird noises came from the baby monitor. We climbed the stairs as fast as our legs allowed us, and there you were: In her arms, she was holding you and singing to you, talking about you both going to the moon together or whatever, I honestly don't remember that well. I was too shocked worrying about your life.
Samantha had opened the window and climbed down with you and she was in the roof, holding you, just talking to you and Godknows who else. Your father was paralyzed, he could do nothing but yell, and he yelled at her forcefully and desperately, not only for the baby, but he was also blaming her to be the way she was. As you can possibly predict, you were rescued, and so was Samantha, but your parents knew you were no longer safe. So if church doesn't solve your problems what do you do?
I tried to convince them otherwise, I tried to help, but then again I've always been crazy Luo who faints every few weeks. I couldn't do anything, they took her to some mad house in Michigan, I never really understood why so far, they just did. And so they left little Samantha to her own luck in a place where she knew no-one, where she was treated as some rat in a lab. I visited her constantly, it was horrible how she had turned into a very aggressive being, even savage. After a while the visits were useless, they didn't allow her any contact with anyone, she had tuned into something that was not that little girl counting ants.
That's the story Frank, you have no dead sister, you just have a sister that was never understood by who she was, and now is alone in some dark room, alive.
Alicia is a girl with a lot of dreams and hopes, she expects to one day become a renown heart doctor. Because she wants to help all the people, that like her mother, died of a heart arrest before her fifties. She lives in a house with her father and her two sisters, they are all older. As a matter of a fact Alicia has four brothers and sisters, but her two brothers are now on their own, one is in jail and the other disappeared some time ago.
She has a bad relationship with her sisters, they always tell her she won't ever achieve anything in life, and that she is not smart enough to be someone. Alicia does not know they say so because of their own fear, because in the next ten years both her sisters will become prostitutes, and one is going to end up with a drunk husband, while the other won't live to the end of those ten years.So she cries every time her sisters tell her so.
Alicia and her family are now living in Florida, but it wasn't always like that, she remembers living with her whole family, aunts and grandparents, which wasn't better because they fought all the time. They moved from Puerto Rico Sushi is their business, they have a dirty place outside their house, no sanity department in the world would approve it, but people still go. And while it can't pay for Alicia to have more than one dress every year, it can very well cover her father's love for liquor.
In the place they live people are kidnapped or murdered daily, and every two nights she hears gun shots near her window. So to avoid this reality, Alicia not only dreams of being a heart surgeon. She dreams as well of being away, not away in Puerto Rico, not away in school, simply a place where she could rest from all the gunshots, outside, and inside her house. She is constantly daydreaming, thinking of how would life be if she only could run away one of this days, and go to a good school, study to be a doctor ,and heal all the poor people in the world. But instead she has to cut putrefied fish.
She goes to school every day she can, which is not daily because her father forces her to work in their sushi place day and night. While she is in school she enjoys being away and actually learning something, she can't see what about school made her sisters dislike it so much. Even tough she tries hard, she doesn't have the time, so she is failing almost every class. She tries hard so she can accomplish her goal.
Today, Alicia is making her homework next to the bucket of fish she has to prepare, she is also day dreaming about going away and knowing the world, being successful. And she still dreams and makes an effort because she doesn't know yet, that in five years her father will die because of some missed shot to a gangster, she will have to work full time in the sushi until it closes and then she will be a waitress until the age of twenty, which is when all her hopes and dreams are only memories.
So there I was, sitting in front of the computer. As always , folding some papers. As always. , breathing. Rare. , thinking. As always. , smoking. Never.
But I felt a different sensation in the wind tonight, as if it was made of stars. I couldn’t think about anything else, I just kept folding papers, and the time went by, quickly, smoothly, and then it was gone. As soon as I looked outside the window I saw it was already dark. I remembered I hadn’t eaten anything, but I wasn’t hungry. I thought about watching TV, or maybe reading, but I just wasn’t in the mood, not even to listen to some music. Songs where quietly playing in my head. As always. It was a good sign though, I was still me.
“They hadn’t seen the sea. And they thought about it on TV.” And what did they say……. “It’s better in the screen.” I heard for a while, before the, “No flesh, no sin, no maybe. And the sun is a tear on the eye, which can’t cry. Your back is September’s dawn, a map with no sense, or going back.” How I like that guy, he’s an old genius. Dos horas después.
I've decided that today I am a positive person. It is not because I'm usually all sarcastic, negative and judgmental, and now I want to change. It is not either because some velvet voice in my head told me this is the right path. It is due to some random idea that appeared from thin air . You might wonder if it is so easy to just be positive, why don't you do it daily?
That's the whole point, I choose to be positive today because I can, because I can choose what mask to wear each day. Just like clothing with normal people, I choose every morning what mask to use, at days I try something new and exciting, but most days I try the same one. It fits well and it's really easy to wear, plus, it scares away the curious.
I try positive too because it's a really big change from one to another, even a challenge I would say. But I know I can do it, I've been doing it since the dawn of conciseness. The real challenge won't be try to hold to that mask, but it will be not to get fatigued enough to have to wear the other one, but the again, it is a challenge.
You might also be wondering why the hell am I saying all this. Letting you know I wear them, kills off the whole idea of hiding. But today nothing can stop me, I've been in Rome and I've been in The cursed woods of nothingness, and they couldn't stop me, so I challenge you to try it. Arrogance can be my dead some say, let it come, I answer.
And I'm so confident because I've came really good in this game of deceive and hiding you call life, so there, you have it, I'm challenging you, I am. Bring me down, bring me and my lies down to a place where they are so scattered I have nothing but myself. I officially dare you to end this cyclic game no-one started but we will all end. Break the spell and set me free, I dare you, despite I know you won't be able to. And so we're in for the double dare, I try to lie again, you try to catch me, but we both know I've been doing this for longer.
There isn’t much I can say about the man who spoke to voices, I can’t say much besides I was afraid of him. He was not supposed to be my patient yet, but in the end he was, and I hate so much he was.
Now I have no reason to go back to that place, at least for now, because in the end, there's always a reason to go back... That place, the place of my nightmares, that place which got rid of part of my infancy, the place that got sure of damaging the part of the girl I now hide. I want never to go back. I don’t want the history, I don’t want to talk about it, I wanted to write about it. It’s such a relief. It wasn’t the worst thing for me, but I knew it since the phone rang. I’m so angry and tired of being the person that looses things. It's not the kind of trait that makes me feel all nice and special.. it's the kind of thing that makes me feel life is fucked up sometimes.
A tree was cut, a mix was made ,and holes were applied, and the I was born. I was very young when I was taken first to the basement, where everything was dark. But soon enough I was brought to the light to fill my purpose, being bought.
At first I thought it would be easy, everyone needs us, even if it's just to play some stupid word puzzle games. But I didn't know people actually take into account what comes in our covers, it was outrageous, how having an image of Barbie, which was the vivid image of the patriarchal paradigm, could make them buy so urgently. But I kept my hopes that some person in need for a simple paper-back-black-cover-with-round-sheets notebook would come along and take me. But apparently, people think that having a pink paper will make their writing more interesting, how naive.
After a while of leaving hope for the needed and faith for the desperate, I just sat back and watched how picky could children be with their new notebooks, who's pages would end up as paper planes. How shallow could teenagers be about the new covers where they would lay their heads and sleep in class. But then one day, not even in autumn, a girl came, saw me, and took me.
All I had known was that my purpose was to be bought, and then just used for some silly geography notes, or untidy physics calculations, I was never prepared for what was to happen. The moment I realized I wasn't going into the bag pack, I suspected the first words in me would be "dear diary", how ordinary. But instead I began to feel a story being written, some fancy handwriting, some violent strokes of excitement and pauses to think of a better adjective.
At first I was delighted I wasn't going to be a diary, what a burden would it be to carry the confessions of a silly teenage girl who's life was all about that guy named Josh who looked at her Tuesday in the third period. Instead I was a writing notebook, something which was much more deep, it was not a chronicle of her life, it was her soul portrayed into fantastic stories which took her imagination into me, a simple paper-back-black-cover-with-round-sheets notebook. Was I worthy of such an honor?
So every few nights, she would take me form that secret place in her shelf, carry that fine pen of hers and started writing. Sometimes she wrote what I understood were analogies from her real life put into a short story. Others, she would describe unbelievable worlds filled with symbols of life death and donuts. She would make a three page long list of questions about the whys and hows of the universe. It was just overwhelming, breathtaking, disquieting and ataractic, all at once.
My whole existence had a purpose, I wasn't just pieces of paper held by a metallic spiral, destined to hold the notes of some class given by some guy named Mr. Kepton. I was much more than those notebooks would ever be, I was a canvas for her wild imagination, a clear field for her to fill with mythical monsters and god-sent creatures. I was a writer's secret notebook.
I’m just trying to let words flow As if they where little pieces of life Falling in the night
It’s not the night itself that makes me blue It’s not the fear of coming through It’s not my soul getting loose I try to catch it, but it is already gone
There are to many words that I can’t grasp I’m standing still, thinking about the past That’s not important anymore I say as I take the road to where I belong.
1. You imagine a huge world, filled with whatever you like while being realistic. 2.Now imagine this world being populated by the intelligent creatures of your like. 3.Keep track of their progress as you keep imagining them. 4.Change things your way, but in a manner they won't freak out for the consequences.
Now who precisely are you?
THE creator.
At least according to this "IMAGINARY" people.
Because in fact, according to them, you created every single thing there is, and it was as easy as imagining it. Wouldn't they feel like crap if they knew their whole existence was just you doing something out of boredom?....
These are the days that I've been missing, Give me the taste, give me the joy of summer wine. These are the days that bring new meaning, I feel the stillness of the sun and I feel fine. Sometimes when the nights are closing early, I remember you and I start to smile. Even though now you don't want to know me, I get on by, and I go the extra mile. These are the times of love and meaning, Ice of the heart melted away, and found the light. These are the days of endless dreaming, Troubles of life are floatin' away like a bird IN flight.
I thought you said our love would last for ever Believing that the tears would end for good. I told you that we'd get through any weather Maybe that didn't work out, but we did the best we could. These are the days that I've been missing Give me the taste, give me the joy of SOME wine. These are the days that bring new meaning, I feel the stillness of the sun...and I feel fine.
I know what I want, generally. But lately everything is blurry, the world is changing and unpredictable, everything is going on too fast, I'm frequently sad and I don't know why. Lately, what I don't like about myself is that I end up doing the things I wanted the least, wasting what I wanted the most. I think it is due to the recent events.
"Life is beautiful and is meant to be lived happy" they keep saying, but I don't find any sense in that anymore.
I know I can solve my problems, but I choose not to, I choose this, and I scream when I'm angry, I don't keep my word and I choose this dark land of nothing. I rather not think like everyone else, although it is becoming less of an option in this world, be one more or die. And that is why I like myself, for being alone, for defying the authorities, because I need no permissions or groundings. I have my own thoughts.
And at this times of a constant cloudiness over my head I keep that black book, which makes my friends think I'm creative, bizarre I would say. But I'm no longer scared of others, the best part is that my parents get mad at me frequently, and I no longer care. The thing is that I know when something is right or wrong, but I don't like to know what I'm going to do next, the incertitude is my only gateway to liberty.
They know I have changed, but they act like they used to, my friends still look for me to study, my parents still try to talk to me and the rest of them trust me because according to them, I am reliable. But I changed, they should have noticed, the worst part is that in the process, no-one noticed I was gone.
So, this lonesome ant thought she could do everything by herself, she har family, her colony, her park. She would leave, to have the life she always wanted. She could hear the voice of the other ants, 'Ants are not made to live by themselves!, haven't you learned something with the colony, we all work for one, and that's the way we live, that's the way we do things, there's no other way." But she didn't care, she was going to show the rest... if she made it, she would be the source of inspiration of thousands of others who thought like her. She had begun to consider herself a savior. When all of a suden, a strong beam of light came upon her. She felt her arthropodic limbs burn at an extasiating rythm. The ant was dead. A joyful kid ran away with a 'having-fun' laugh. And that was it.
The Metamorphosis by Kafka was almost lonely, in the last bookshelf, in the left corner. Feeling old and cold, it yearned to be used by those fingers that had once felt her, who had run through its incisive verbs, the suffocating adjectives and the virtuous periods. Fingers who had hold her, lift her and thrown her. She wished to go all over again with Gregory’s change, always the same, but provoking different reactions.
A cold day of November, The Metamorphosis shouted with longing, not with true intention of being heard, she just wanted to let it out in the world. And in that same moment she heard a silent and low voice.
“Who is there?” was said with a hoarse echo in all the dark room. In that moment the Metamorphosis was left in shock- who could it be? - She asked herself, along with a thousand other questions, and she formed dozens of conjectures before answering in a soft tone.
“I, I am here” She answered, trying to make out any figure in the shadows of the library.
“What’s your name?” Asked the rough voice
“I am The Metamorphosis by Kafka” said the worried book, expecting some kind of answer
“Well, I am The old man and the sea, by Hemingway” said the tired book, then an uncomfortable silence reigned in the room. The Metamorphosis didn’t know what to say, and The old man had nothing left to tell.
“Don’t you feel alone in this cold darkness?” asked The Metamorphosis, a little desperate, trying to find in common the only thing she had, solitude.
“I have been here years, waiting, it’s all I have left, but I don’t complain” said the book in a somehow arrogant manner.
“You fool no-one, you know well you don’t like it here, none of use life it here” said One hundred years of solitude of García Márquez. “By the way, I am One hundred years of solitude, by Gabo” said the lively and downhearted book.
“Nice to meet you” said the Metamorphosis, still a little anxious “But, don’t you think it is disconcerting to be here? Without anyone to touch us, to read us, or even to smell us!” filled with contained euphorias and bitter memories.
“It’s not really the time, but the story that we have that matters” said One hundred Years “Plus, what else can we do?” he said carefree
“We could try to change, Gregory does it all the time, but trying not to end up disgusting” she said, with a worn out hope.
“If change is what you want, then why don’t you include a personal search instead of just a change and it’s emotional charge?” suggested the whispering voice of The old man.
“You could also include the family tree of the Samsa, making all the story turn around that bug of yours” contributed the piece of Gabo
“It all sounds fantastic; I’ll start adding the necessary words and commas” exclaimed the book while she did some serious movements grew in pages and splattered some ink sideways.
“For it to be marvelous, you can include too lost children” an echo was heard from the Charles Dickens shelf.
“Include some more existentialist philosophy” said the Unbearable Lightness of the being by Kundera.
“Put some vampires, you sure attract lots of readers with that” choired Anne Rice’s books
And so, all the books started suggesting how to be, what to say, where to put the hyphens and which parts to omit, how to enclose fantasy, and how to let the reader guess who had died. It ended being a chimera, completely metamorphic.
Unsure of how she had ended up, she waited a while for someone to look the dark shelves, hoping that now the fingers would concentrate on her. Said day took a while, it could have been days or years, but the Metamorphosis felt as if it had been eternity.
Then, for the first time in a long time she felt it again, the soft fingers holding her cover, going through her recently changed pages and her fresh prologue. Back to being held against the dim light, again read. That until it was heard from the fingers:
“What the hell is this?” the voice shouted “This is not The Metamorphosis by Kafka, this is crap!!” said the voice, angrier. “What have you done to my favorite book?!” continued yelling the voice as it threw the Metamorphosis back to her dusty shelf.
There it remained, lonely again, without any further explanations. She was simply rejected, again, after waiting for so long, even after yearning for such an event and having faith for the first time. Even after having such a metamorphosis.
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