Somewhere around the Horsehead Nebula, 20 seconds out of sync with the rest of the universe.

"We made it! We're alive, oh my god, we're alive," Oblitia said, looking around the pod, which looked much better than she last remembered, all bent and flaming up.

She looked around the pod, now reinstated to its former state of monotony, a silver pod, bare, save for the sophisticated quantum system that had saved their lives.

It was then that the silver cage popped open, and Ren fell out of it. "What the-"

Oblita grinned at him. "Welcome! How was it in there?"

"Where am I?" asked Ren, bewildered by the fact that he was in a silver room with large buttons on one end. For Ren, this was something out of a futuristic space movie - not much different from the world portrayed inside the movie theater he had just walked out of. "How long have I been out, Rosa?"

"That's Oblitia to you. Also I'll need your-"she trailed off as he gave her a dirty look. "What? SO I used a fake name on you. How weird would Oblitia have sounded on the tongue of an Ancient?"
Now it was Ren's turn to look offended. "Ancient? Excuse me? And why would you use a fake name?"

Oblitia stared at him, confused. "You mean the system rules and regulations didn't register in your brain? Only the language?"

This was enough for Ren. He stood up, overcoming the waves of nausea that threatened to take over, and walked over to where Oblitia was. He looked at her, square in the eye, and said, "I don't know where I am, or what you've done to me. The only thing I know is that I don't like it, and you're going to quit playing around like an idiot, and explain everything to me, as if I don't know it. If I'm confused by the end, I'm going to be very, very angry. And people don't like me angry. Got it?"

Ren wasn't very sure what happened next, because all he saw was a fist coming up to meet his nose, and then he was on the floor. Oblitia stood tall above him, her brown hands clenched, a stark contrast against her silver suit. The contrast was too stark for Ren to take, blinding his eyes, so he stared at the floor instead.

Oblitia now spoke, her voice steely and cold. "I don't tolerate being talked to like that. You will treat me with the respect I deserve, because I just saved your damn life. As for what happened, I will explain everything to you, on my own terms. And I can get angry too, and so far, my anger hasn't suited your face. So you'll watch where that little tongue of yours runs."

Ren sat up, nodded his head once, and watched as Oblitia settled herself a few feet away from him, ready to tell a tale. He had no clue that this was the second strangest tale he'd hear in the course of his life.

"So let me start at the very beginning. This is all about the technicalities, but you're a physicist, so I expect you'll be entertained by all of this crap."
Ren looked at her very pointedly and said, "So I'm assuming you're NOT the aspiring young bread scientist you told me you were, Rosa."
"Shut up," Oblitia said. She resumed speaking, however, with a little grin. 
"So, as I was saying, Mr. Physicist, here are the details. It all begins with our allure for time travel. About five decades ago, a physicist by the name of Dr. Sharma  hypothesised that to time travel, you can't exist in two places at the same time. So, for someone to time travel, they could have never traveled into their past, and their future was too dangerous to consider. Sound good so far?"
"Yes, but only one problem. They'd exist, technically, in the minds of people. Don't memories have a certain weight or something? And when you travel to the future, the present becomes the past. And the future becomes the present. There's no way..."
"I know. But they found a way out. They made these people, who weren't remembered by anyone - through the process of memory wipes of course. They designed a foolproof process. And people do time travel. Only, they never interact with anyone from their present, obviously. They use fake names and appearances in the past and future. Never remembered anywhere."
"Then what's the point?"
"We wanted to fix that, you know. Make scientific advances, prevent disasters, change timelines, etc. And we noticed that the further away we got from a certain time, say, 100 years, the effect of someone remembering them was reduced. So we started bringing in people from the past, They didn't exist in the minds of the present. They were people who would randomly be remembered, but without any disastrous effects. Just the memory remembered would be taken from the traveler's mind."
"So that's where I came in? But why am I here, and not in some lab?"
It was at this point that Oblitia got up, and paced. 
"We're near a blackhole," she said. "But I managed to save us. I'm better than the rest of the time travellers. I can manipulate it. I placed this pod 20 seconds out of sync with the universe. We're hanging on by a thread, 40 seconds away from never existing. But I'm good. We're still alive. Only, the damn system died, so we're stuck here until the blackhole slowly pulls us back."
"Which could take forever," Ren said  
"Which could take forever," she repeated. 

There was an awkward pause, and both of them shifted uncomfortably, each without any clue as to what to say or do in this situation, until Oblitia got up and faced Ren.

"So, like I said in the beginning, I'm going to need your help." Ren looked at her like she was crazy. 
"And what exactly would my skills help you with? We're out of battery I assume, because 20 seconds out of sync with the universe, no one invented a power source."
"Don't baby me. This ship should be running on an emergency battery. It's an escape pod, for goodness sake. It has all kinds of energy."
"Then what's stopping it?" Ren wondered. 

Suddenly a large rumbling began in the ship, and it shook uncontrollably. Ren and Oblitia tumbled about uncontrollably, until it came to a stop. 

"What!" Oblitia screamed. "My watch! It jumped time! We're 25 seconds out of sync with the rest of the universe. The blackhole should be pulling us towards it, not away from it!"

Just as Ren was about to reply, the ship's engines came to life, and a hologram appeared in the centre.  It was a woman, except she didn't have a face. The featureless terrain of where her face should've been made Ren horribly uncomfortable. She simply stared at them for a minute, looking at Ren and Oblitia in turn. When Ren turned to look at Oblitia, he saw nothing but terror in her face. He wondered why, until the faceless entity spoke. 

"Oblitia, you have been charged with one of the most serious crimes in the history of nameless time-voyageurs. Putting yourself out of sync with the universe. Do you have a reason for doing so?"
Oblitia struggled to speak, empty air instead of words spilling out of her mouth. "I - I was trying to save us, um, er - faceless entity?" 

"Horae, Mother of Time. Do you know not of your own gods?" the faceless entity questioned her. Ren knew that the faceless entity was really... faceless, but somehow he saw a shadow of an angry face in the faceless entity's ... face? upper area? He didn't really know how to describe it, but he saw her becoming angry, almost to the point where the image of a woman shaking and struggling to control her anger jumped into his mind. Horae seemed to sense that he could see her, the voice that was mostly directed towards Oblitia changing it's focus.
"You can see me?"

Ren nodded, his throat dry. He was at a loss for words too. Satisfied with his answer, the goddess' voice angled back to Oblitia. "Trying to save yourself from what? A blackhole?"

Oblitia nodded again, her head facing downwards. 

Horae spoke again, her words slow and angry. "If you were telling the truth, Oblitia, then it would be perfect. Going out of sync with time to save yourself from not existing is an efficient, albeit ironic way to save yourself from never existing. Your kind has discovered this from their travels, yes? But they have never had a criminal run away from justice...with a hostage in tow."

Ren spun around to face Oblitia directly. "Hostage?"
"Ah, so she has lied to you too? What did she tell you? A little experiment on memory recall was about to take place?"
"She told me I'd be an experiment if it weren't for the blackhole but...a hostage?"
Horse's face, at least the one in his mind looked at him as if he were crazy for a second. "Then what else would constitute hostage for you?"
Ren jumped up to defend himself. "She made it sound like there were more? It sounded harmless too! I don't see any shackles!"
"Neither do you see any other test subjects. Oblitia was on an illegal chase. She was being chased. Straight into the blackhole region too. Oblitia is one of the most crafty criminals known to this time."

Oblitia neither denied nor acknowledged their little conversation. She slumped to the floor, and then spoke. "So what happens to me?"

Horae's tone was severe. "I intend to kill you. Ren shall return to tell his story but you, Oblitia, must die. Be forgotten."

Although Ren was upset with Oblitia, Horae's directness and stinging tone startled him. "Wait, but, shouldn't you give her some sort of a chance? A trial? Something?"

Horae spoke shortly. "I don't like those who meddle with time too much. The voyageurs made a pact with me when it first begun, promising never to change time apart from going back and forth, but this. Using my son to save criminals? I won't have it."

Oblitia rose suddenly to her feet. "What did you say? You made a pact with the voyageurs?"
In Ren's mind, Horae nodded, and he had a feeling the goddess wanted him to tell her. "She, uh, nodded." he said unsurely. 
Oblitia looked at him, puzzled, but continued. "Was this, perhaps, the pact made in the year 2109? The one that stated I would receive a trial by you? The one part of the pact you forgot to mention, perhaps?"

At this, Horae's amorphous form began to take shape, the white mist that seemed to swirl around the faceless body changing, moving and clearing away. When Ren looked at her face, which had finally appeared, he was shocked to find it the same face as the one in his head. He looked at her quizzically, and the goddess held a finger to her lips. 

"Very well then. Stand in front of the true form of Horae, Oblitia. Come and receive your trial, for it is to be this:
You shall fight. 4 times, two for the two offenses you have committed. Trying to manipulate time against the rules stated in the pact that you were well aware of, and carrying a hostage. Is that understood?"

Oblitia looked at her, bewildered. "But? Wait, how is this a trial?"
"It is a trial of your character." Horae answered. "Oh, and to make it better, I have just decided that young Ren over here, with the brilliant mind and eyes that can see my face when it is hidden must play too. Are you ready?" 

Before Oblitia could say anything, Horae disappeared. 

Oblitia yelled, "But who are we supposed to fight, and how? And why Ren? We don't know anything."
Horae's voice boomed over them. "With every fight, you jump 10 seconds closer to the edge of time. 3 jumps puts you precariously close, but the fourth jump takes you right over the edge. Win, and you don't make the 10 second jump. Lose however, and only one of you lives."

This time Ren yelled, "But we know nothing!"

There was an eerie silence for a minute, and they thought the goddess was contemplating a response. There was a rush of air, and then nothing. 

And then the lights went out.

Hi guys!

There was this day where I just felt smacked in the face by inspiration, and I wrote this really short story. I'm not really sure where it came from, but here it is. In case you want to know, the song this guy is listening to in the story is Pills by The Perishers. I decided to experiment with writing in second person ever since I read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and this is the least messy story that's come out of it.

Have fun!

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You sit across her on the tube, like you do everyday, slipping in your headphones. She looks at you, and you look at her, just like you do everyday, but then both of you avert your gazes, not sure whether you’re strangers or secret lovers, because you feel this strange affection, but it’s not really love is it? Pieces of song drift into your ears as you recover.

My fists can fight for two...

And then suddenly, you’re walking over to her, just for once, being someone that you aren’t, and then, suddenly, you are you, just sitting next to her, talking to her, and you both know you’re best friends in an instant, but her eyes are too pretty to look into platonically, so when slipping your earphone bud into her ear, you ask her if dinner at Il Volo is fine. Of course its fine, only both of you know Il Volo is where every flies off the ground, into romance, which drips off of the air, and that both of you are very okay with this, because your romance for each other already cloaks the air and of course everyone can tell, of course, this is love this is love this is love and we are all in love both of you sing, the distance only deepening what both of you knew to be true. 

My love can blind you…

That night at Il Volo is where you take off, where the ground beneath your feet is finally removed. Sex on the first date, of course this is true love, and sharing dessert is also great on the first date, true love is true love and anything can happen oh anything can happen and both of you are singing as you take off and that’s the last both of you knew about the ground. You are floating on clouds, and this is true love.

Within the next month, both of you are living together, and you are living together in a fairytale and love is literally dancing in the air. You can see it in the bow of the tuxedo as you walk down the aisle, and all he can see is you, you in your little white gown, all ready to kiss him as his Mrs. Perfect and this is so much of a fairytale with the wind blowing your hair, and February whispering beautiful promises in the air.

Ooooh, ooh.

Then suddenly you are having your first fight because he is tired and you are also tired and this is the first slip up but it’s also the last isn’t it? Isn’t it?

One may think we’re doing fine…

Then suddenly that slip up seems so mild, and some nights when it’s not that bad, you can actually creep up into the same bed and share some human warmth with this person who is a stranger, who you once loved and with who you took off the ground at Il Volo, but you are landing and this is not okay, this is not okay.

I hope my arms can blind you…so you'll never have to see what we’re going to be...

Sometimes you are okay, and you smile stranger smiles across the dinner table, but once you take a walk after dinner, if any road takes you near Il Volo, both of you shy away, because suddenly the song this is too hard and we are too fast and crashing is inevitable is stuck in your head and both of you smile and hard, tight smile, and you turn around and head home in a chilly silence.

We need lies to make it through the day...

Both of you are only hanging on by a thread and that thread is thin and only one of you can hang on but this was true love and true love always lasts, always, and both of you were picture perfect but now it’s not and the voice of doubt it singing in your head saying is this it? is this it? can it be it? I can’t sing anymore god please end this for me I don’t want any pain. 

We’re not okay...

This is hitting both of you quick so you both recreate fairytale scenes, but they need actors, and actors are not what you are and both of you once prided yourselves for your honesty, but now you are shabby pretenders, shabby thieves with unshaven beards and hair that hasn’t been washed in a long, long time, but you cling to each other like you need each but you don’t.

But that’s one thing I would never…say to you

And then suddenly you remember the words of the song, and the song is not telling you your fists can fight for two, the song is desperately hoping you can, because this song knows your secrets, and this song knows you’re not okay. This song hopes loves can blind you but this song knows because it is a knowing song and when it sings in your head it sings in the key of paranoia paranoia and you are collapsing, collapsing and going to sleep shaking in the dark. You have hit ground zero. This is an airplane crash, no, a nuclear bomb inside the both of you, with no survivors.

...But that’s one thing I would never…say, to you.

And then suddenly the song ends, and it ends in three sad piano chords, and you are sitting in the Tube again, and she can see through your eyes that something has gone wrong.

Next morning, when she sits on the Tube, she sits in the corner, and you sit exactly where you used to sit, but something has changed and the air is not the same when she is not in it. Repeat, repeat, you have hit ground zero.

The Problem with my Bluebird

Charles Bukowski once wrote about a bluebird.
The one who he wouldn't let sing,
the one who couldn't see the sun shining.

But I have a different problem -
I want my blue bird to shine,
to cause commotion.
I want my buebird to be alive.

Have you heard of blue babies?
They haven't enough oxygen,
and my bluebird is starting to feel a lot like one.

They smother it down,
not asking whether it can breathe,
but whether the pressure is enough,
can I still pump out a tune in the key of A?

My bluebird is dying
crying
screaming.

But no one hears it.
I am running out of breath,
and my bluebird is suffocating.

Locked inside a cage of my own volition
I cannot scream nor can I shout,
and I am stuck with my own bluebird
asking me why I don't get out.


Based on: x

Hi my cutie patooties!

So, recently (or two months ago), I had this idea for a story that revolved around the Pied Piper of Hamlin, and the children that disappeared. So, I'm going to sit down and write the introduction for it now, because I figured, better now than never, and because I'll never do it unless I force my self to sit down and write it. Enjoy! (This will suck, so get out the popcorn and be ready to laugh disdainfully, plus, give me sassy feedback!)

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Waking Up

She opened her eyes, feeling strangely old and new at the same time. She was in a cave, she thought, vague memories of the past slipping through her mind, as she tried to gather where she was and how she got here. Around her were a thousand stalctite, glittering like daggers from the roof of her mysterious abode. Suddenly, she heard a great grating noise at the end of the tunnel, as if someone were trying to open the doors pf the cave. She dropped down immediately, her instinct telling her to blend in, shielding her eyes from the little light that trickled through from such a great distance. She was so, so weak and tired, as if she had slept for thousands of years, only to wake up for a great destiny.

Suddenly there were two men, traipsing down the mass of bodies that she had neglected to notice, their eyes filled with horror and wonder. They thought aloud, wondering what a mass of chlidren were doing here, and why behind a cave? Were they even alive? She wanted to raise her hand, to ask for help and ask for them to help her survive, but she was so, so, befuddled by everything.

 She had questions of her own.
 What was the name she was recalling in the grey darkness? Who had led her here?
Only one thing seemed clear to her foggy mind, the only thing that she knew was as true as the stone floor she lay on, and as sharp as the rocky dagger sky she knew lay above her:
The Pied Piper will save you. 


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Here it is guys! Tell me what you think, and please tell me how I can improve it! I only had 15 minutes to write this, and it's not a full fledged introduction, but I'm trying my best, since I've never written a story before. What should I add to it? Is there anything that's boring/too literary and not enough information? Help me tons!

Good night my little ducklings!
Anoushka

Hey guys!

I was walking my dog just now, and thinking about this tumblr post http://pizza.tumblr.com/post/83215322972, which basically says "what so you call someone who's obsessed with the moon - a lunatic"

What a great pun! But basically, it made me poetify it, and now I have a pretty poet-let in my head, and I can't stop singing it in my head. And I can't help but think there are so many little "wayward thoughts" floating aronud in my head that I'd really like to share with people, but I never get to. So why not make a section about it? (Hahaah. Exploiting lack of skills)

So here's the one wayward thought I came up with today:

"But darling how to make you swoon?

   Because all I see are stars
   and you're a lunatic in love with the moon."


And something I have written down from a few days ago:
(Bear in mind, anything written here could be a poem or a little undeveloped thought paragraph. Sorry!)

"I crumpled up the papers because I thought I couldn't write poetry. But when I held them again in my

hands, ready to throw them away, I felt the anger and sadness in those pages, and that was a moment of

fire, of frustration, and of everything I'd ever failed to be. Locked in those pages were memories, dark

thoughts swirling like a slushie gone wrong. And then I learned something. In destroying, I had created."

Hello anyone that reads my blog, (you're sexy. that's right. you're sexy. I complimented you. I love on if you read this. yeah. that's right. read my posts more often. because I love you. I know my punctutation sucks. it's your opposite. that's right. one more compliment. love you. now read the rest of my crap, ya beautiful piece of ass.)

Apart from that long intro, hi.
I know I haven't written in a long time. I keep on meaning to, but today I had a lot of homework, so I decided, hey, you know what? Instead of doing all this work I should do, let me just procrastinate. I know, I'm responsible as hell.

Okay, but today I have a challenge for myself. Let me explain it to you. We're doing a poetry unit in English right now, and I want to show you a poem someone(aka a GOODASS AUTHOR) wrote:

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

petals on a wet, black bough.

Ezra Pound

That's it. THIS BLEW MY MIND. *keyboard spasm* There's such a great amount of imagery in this. Seriously. What a kid/man/poet/ungodly thing that sold his soul to the demon for this kind of SKILLZ.

Anyways, my English teacher said you have to be a pretty strong writer to do this kind of stuff. So I decided, since I'm not a strong writer, why don't I go and try to humiliate myself on the internet? Yes. 

So, the challenge is that I'm going to look out my window and find two images, and try to write them as a one line poem. No dictionaries, nothing. Just an everyday test of the literary skills (NO). Anyways, I had best be starting.

Alright, let me look outside. 

Things seen:
- River

- ripples because it's raining

- yellow street lights

- twlight darkness settling in

The pearly raindrops dance on the river surface,

twilight darkness seeping through the weary bones of the city.

That didn't take too long(5 seconds max, I blew it, damn.). But it's probably poop(yes, that's right. I like saying poop. yes. no, it's not a swearing thing. I tell my mother I love her with this mouth and I have quite a dirty one on occasion. yes. back to actual writing now).

Okay, next thing I'm going to do is look around my room now. This is going to be harder. All I see is evidence of entropy. Crap. This is going to suck even more. I'm sorry to inflict literary pain on you.

Things seen:
- curtains billowing because of open window

- grossly messy bed because of all the pillows/stuff from school I dumped on it

- ME (oh yes, sexy little me, MMM. jk. that would be weird. or narcissistic.)

- wires from my charges dangling over my bedside table (potential poem piece? alliteration there? didya catch it? you're welcome)

- books on the shelves. tons of them.

No, I'm not going to write a two line poem on all of this stuff. You can only fit so much in one line.

A room with a view of the endless entropy that a busy life grants us,

books scattered on shelves like water splattered across the window after it rains.

I tried SO hard. I like the first one better. Okay, my dog just walked into the room. I want to write a poem about him

Things seen:
- ONE CUTE DALMATIAN DOG AND HE IS MIIINE

He gazes up at me with his adoring, brown eyes,

his ears flopping over  his face like petals on a tired flower.

Here are some photos I took when I went to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.
Hope you like 'em.

These are the photos that I feel don't suck entirely! :P Hehe. If this gets a lot of views, I might post more :)

Hey everyone!
(or anyone who reads my blog. hmph.)

MURRY XMAS Y'ALL. I can't wait for 2014! One more year to mess up the year number that I just got used to writing. Enthusiasm!

Anyways, according to the lovely Weird Girl (http://thatweirdgirlinyourclass.blogspot.com/) I write a lot of depressing stuff. So, at 11 in the night (almost) some nice not depressing stuff came to head, and it's not twisted at all. In fact, it's a poem. Or an attempt at one. Yay. Here goes (plz dnt h8 i tried):

I love holidays
There's so much of nothing to do.
I love holidays

I can wake up in the mornings
And take as long as I please
Wiggle my toes and smile delightfully in bed,
not hurrying or rushing ahead.

I love holidays
The beautiful mornings that I never get to enjoy
Now stretch out deliciously like a promise
waiting to be fulfilled.

I love holidays
The memories of these days are warm and fuzzy.
I read books in bed and watch TV
Nothing ever bothers me.

I love holidays
It is on these days I do not hate myself
Living is not a chore
School is not a bore

I love holidays
Because I can promise myself new beginnings when they end.
I don't cry over my next assignment,
Instead I cry over some happening in a book, in a land far far away.
It is sad when they die,
but I know if I go back to the beginning, they'll be there again.
Smiling, and waiting, for me.

I love holidays
They'll pass by like a blur.
Somedays, I'll die of boredom,
but oh!
The luxury of having nothing to do
is too great to be missed.

I love holidays
I really do.

I guess I don't like food, really. Or, that's a rather stupid thing to say. I don't like mealtimes. I love food. I intensely dislike, maybe even abhor mealtimes. Why do I, you ask? Well, it's not really that complex.

You see, when I was growing up, my family and I would have dinners together. My dad wasn't at those dinners often; he worked late. So, my family was incomplete, 5 days of the week. I never saw my dad then. My mom and my brother however, only made it worse. Don't get me wrong. I love them. I loved them even then. But my brother was a little difficult to manage, I guess. So they were always yelling at each other and I often got caught in between. My brother did not make dinnertimes easy for my mother, but then again, she didn't make it easy for him either, so both of them squabbled. Sometimes, I got mad and frustrated too, so I added in my own word - which of course, did nothing to help at all. In the middle of these terrible dinnertimes, for some reason, the old maxim would occur to me, "Treat others the way you want to be treated." And I'd ignore it, ignore the idea of saying, because I knew it would fall on deaf ears, and I'd get reprimanded and I wouldn't be able to hold my tongue. And the poor maxim would be stampeded on and defied and made to feel useless. So I never emitted a word after thinking about it. So, actually, mealtimes became a terrible thing for me to have. When I arrived at the table, I'd often not feel hungry. When I ate the food, it would taste uncooked and tasteless, and I couldn't even focus on it. My main focus would be to finish the food and not enjoy it, even though my mother was a great cook. I couldn't, didn't want to eat. The fact that I had to so that I wouldn't have to interrupt a rude exchange or have anger taken out on me just made it worse.

And I guess, now, when I get to the table, I just feel a little less hungry. My mother and brother turned out allright for all their quarrels, but I can never snap out of it. I don't remember anything, but I guess my subconscious does. My mind begins to make up excuses, but then, I sit myself down and eat a good lunch, and I taste my food because I am not focused on finishing it, and I can relish it. But the beginning is always hard. Sometimes, when I've had a bad day, their images will shimmer like mirages on the dining table in my kitchen. They fade away soon, but leave an imprint on my memory. It's hard to get rid of it. Maybe I shouldn't eat today. I'm not that hungry anyways.

I woke up to the sound of pounding in the hotel room above me. I was sick and pissed, that on a lovely day, everyone got to go to the beach, but I got to stay home and cough my guts into the pillows. It was disgusting. That was it. I'd had enough. I was going to get up, go upstairs, and tell whatever kid that was jumping up and down on his parent's bed or playing canoes with a chair that I was sick and I wanted my sleep. If his parents were there I'd look sternly at them too. 

I got up and made myself look presentable but slightly dissheveled so that I'd look the way I felt. I walked to the elevator, which had stopped at the floor above me, and then made its way down to the ground floor, from where it could take really long to get to me, thus decreasing my chances of being justly annoyed. So when the elevator stopped, I promptly got on and didn't notice a thing. Except for, of course, the ridiculous small red stains on the green carpet. Who made an impromptu attempt at redecorating?

I walked impatiently to room 2020. At first, the pounding sound didn't seem to be, well, pounding anymore. I thought of letting it go, but, while I was here I might as well give it a shot. I rapped so hard on the door, my knuckles stung, and the door swung open more than it already was. I looked inside to see who was there, and screamed. 

She was lying on the floor. And I don't remember her face, but how I sank to the floor, utterly destroyed by one little flutter of the eyelid. And my eyes fell to the wooden floor, with red running through the cracks, filling the empty spaces with its thickness, clogging the air with the scent of evil. That is all I remember now. The red, vermillion brilliant colour, seeping through the cracks.

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I have given my testimony now, I won't be needed. I can go away to someplace else, forget her, forget those cracks, forget how the air smelt and how my heart felt and how I thought I was dying for want of air...

No. I couldn't, actually. They all told me that they'd help me, but I pushed all of them away. The pyschologist told me these things happen and we move on, so I moved on from her. My mother told me she loved me and would do anything to make me forget about it, so I forgot her. My best friend told me he loved me and he'd take me away, so I went away. From everyone and from everything. I move alone from hotel to hotel, wondering that maybe, one day, I won't be afraid of the pounding in my head, that I conjure up sometimes. Maybe one day, I'll look at the wooden floor, and my vision won't turn red, maybe one day. It still hasn't happened yet, but until it does, I will not stop.

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I can't do it. The red is filling the cracks faster in my dreams now, every so often it spills out and I drown in it. For her, at least it is over, I have to live on. I thought I could keep travelling, but green money is not much to a girl whose dreams are filled with red, bright red. I closed down my bank accounts and mailed my mother the last of the money. To my bestfriend, I sent a picture of us smiling, at the time when I thought that life did not have the colour red, it need blues, greens and pinks to make you happy. And for me, it did. But red, red changed it all.

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I go back to hotels with wooden floors again. It is fine now. I swirl the last bit of the sleeping tablets in the red wine. I have been mixing them in for an hour now, because I like watching the white fade away eventually and the red take over. There were so many white tablets. None of them won out and stayed white. None. I laughed at it, surprising myself because I haven't heard myself laugh in 5 years. It used to sound like a tinkling; I had a tiny laugh. But now it sounded dead and tuneless, like bells out of tune, sharp and discordant, dry and brittle. I haven't talked to anyone in over a year now, resolving to plain gestures, pretending to be mute. I let it go though, because I do not want to know what I sound like, dry and raspy or careless and coarse. I watch the last tablet swirl out in the wine, and I roll off of my brown plush chair onto the floor. How like the floor she lay on, I wonder. I note every single crack in the floor, each gap, each swirl of the wood. I lay on my stomach, like she did, and drain down half of my red wine. My head suddenly feels dizzy. There were many after all. I shrug it off, but its hard, so instead, I let my arm drop. The wine runs through the cracks, just like her blood did, thick and runny. The smell of it clogs the air and I sniff it all in because in a moment I won't be able to. Outside, the sea crashes and fades away, just like my screams when I saw her. I close my eyes to the sound of this, and the wine bubbles on, bright red in the cracks.

He was angry. He lusted for her, and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears. He got up resolutely Today he would tell her. Today, e would own her and today she would become all his. So what if she had seemed distant all day? The way she walked away from him, the look in her eyes reminding him of a caged animal, all of that didn't matter. She was sick. She had been sick for a long time. He loved her, and he would make her walk towards him, even run.

He stumbled into her hallway. His eyesight was blurred and his ears were filled with the pounding of his blood. He banged at her door.He heard her walk towards the door, each step echoing softly on the wooden floor. She opened the door slowly, her hair cascading down her sloped shoulders. She looked like a queen, a swan, elegant and regal. He gripped her by both arms. He expected her to stiffen, or widen her eyes but nothing happened. Her shoulders slumped and she shook his arms off. "Don't," she said weakly, turning away from him and walking towards the window. He slammed the door angrily and walked towards her with resolve. She turned around to face him, and he gripped her again. He pulled her closer and closer, looking into her grey eyes. They were withering, dying. He would bring them back to life with his kisses. Fill them with that fire she had. The one that was slowly being put out. He moved closer to kiss her, but she pushed him away, and walked out into the terrace. "Don't ever do that again," she said tiredly. He blinked angrily. She wasn't even upset. She didn't even care. She was just tired. Tired of him. Tired of the way he loved her. Tired of life. Well, he was tired too.

Tired of being the only one that loved her. He was changing that, now.

He stumbled forward again, shivering a little because of the wind, now stirring up a storm. To think that she didn't care enough. To think that he wasted all these years loving her, and now, she was just tired of him. For everyday that he thought he was closer to her, he was one step further away. She turned around to look at him. "Please don't be angry. You know I never meant for this to be the way it is..."

Don't be angry? Who did she think she was? After all this time, she never meant for it to happen? After all this time? How dare she?  His feet stumbled a little more as he increased his pace. He was seeing red, then black. Spots clouded his vision, big red blotches of anger blocking out what he could see of her, except those grey eyes. Those grey eyes that had turned him mad the first time he saw her. The way the drove him mad every time he saw her.

Then suddenly, his vision turned black, and the last thing he heard was her scream.