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It's about truth, love and revenge.
BUT
IN A DIFFERENT WAY.


Submitted:Sep 21, 2011    Reads: 116    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   



THE RAMPAGE
This short story is just a fiction and the characters do not have real existence.
(I WILL NOT BE IN CHARGE OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Life is a mysterious tragedy with its own ambiguous traits. A kind of illusion which does appear in various smells, colors, and flavors. Here, the story which I am going to narrate is a completely new case; it does smell blood, sounds gray and tastes bitter as venom, as much as my mouth has got the bitter flavor of truth's poison. Sometimes it sounds that this fact, this canker, sticks to my existence and tries to decay it from inside. No way to remove it because it belongs to me; it is a part of my soul.
Although, the truth, this forgotten and weird quality, is disappeared without any trace from humans' sight and dictionary, it still merely has some strikes in the black sky of the lies and this word is one of those very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, in this world people are so unaccustomed to admit the truth. If somebody tries to prove a real and true word and wake them up from this phony sleep, they will pretend with a wise smile of hearing and understanding. Then with a fake critical joke they will try to ignore the remark, and without any shame they will ignore you, your words and even themselves as well. These creatures are so strange. They do not know other one by humanity, but only by the fake numbers and letters. I do not believe in those inky pages which are written by them, they are as lies as a nice dream, and as life itself. White sheets, I have found the truth in you. There is nothing among the pale of things, it is so obvious throughout your lines.
It is a long time that I have separated myself from them. I cannot remember when and where I decided to do so, but now, when I think about the different perspectives of this alienation, I get that it has been the best choice in all my lifelong time. They do not understand me. I felt an unbearable burden on my shoulders, in my chest, the burden of words and confession, shame and breathe.
Weather is so cold and I am impatiently seeking for a hope to flee and to get free. What shall I do? Here, I am going. Going to fly, going to be free from this fleshy cage. I am the nearest to the climax of dissatisfaction, among all the momentums of this dismal grave. I am leaving the time and breath behind, passing the distances, confused between craggy rocks covered by dark snow, along a familiar frozen river. The frigid wind, yells like a fox sound, circling in the valley, suffers me. My face has gotten red, as if it is covered by the blood of the sun. I do not know if it is because of the shame or coldness. I can see the released vapor from my breath which seems to make my confusion more ambiguous. A weird sense of admiration encourages me to carry on, to go forward. Here, from the zenith of my nasty catastrophe, I am watching the horizon of dark destiny. I am watching how the dark waves of disaster make a dreadful vortex and try to absorb me inside the ocean of history.
When I first saw her, I thought a shiny sun dawned on my endless grey nights, the nights of ignorant moments, and the nights of blindness. How could I get so close to sun without being burned? She was shining while I was burning and flaming. Beneath the ashes of my love, I was burning without her awareness. I could not say. No, she did not deserve this nasty dusty transitory love which is sentenced to decay. I shall not make her spirit dirty by earth's terms. No, I shall not. She got merged with distance. My legs and I were not able to reach you. I wish I just knew what you said to each other.
The days were passing by and I was satisfied of feeling the warmth of that sun, that hope of life, and that fear of proposing love. I did not know if I was able to stand that, but I was trying to reserve it wholly. Her illusion was a mean to go up upper than sky. Naïve, they said, humans. I do not care what others think about me. They have always stretched the madness finger on me, a mad woodman. I was not used to spend my time between these two-leg creatures. They are so critical and they always follow the details. They know each other by numbers and codes, which I cannot understand. I have been alone since my childhood. My parents passed away when I was very little. Till now my best friends have been loneliness and my axe, an axe which has its own story, my only and unique heredity from my father. Formerly I noticed that my axe has a sense of jealousy towards her, a jealousy with blood's smell. It had a red mood as if it had been in fire for centuries, so thirsty but I did not care.
Though I was not in the mood of going to the village, her love tempted me to go. On the other hand, winter was so close and I had to bring some logs to the village. It was a long time that I did not go to the village. I have hated everything related to humans, everything. In spite of my own desire, I went to see her again. I prepared myself, and I went to the village. It was a habit for the village's villain children when they were seeing me coming to the village, they would circle around me and they would repeat this word constantly with a strange rhythm: MURDERER, MURDERER, MURDERER, MURDERER!!!!! I could not criticize their behavior while a sleeping donkey was more wise and innocent than their fathers. My only internal struggle was, "Would she notice me and see me, even in a flash?"
That day everything was extraordinary. Children did not come to circle around me. The silence of the village was extremely poisonous. Is this village dead? Everything was ambiguous. I was curious about what had been going on there. I had never seen that village in such a situation before. Suddenly, I saw a cub, one of the countryside boys with a red head as if he was slapped. I asked what was going on in that God damned village. While answering me, he was laughing. what a cold laugh it was! The laughter was cold enough to make the hair stick on the skin.
_ a ceremony.
_ She married. Our village's craziest girl married.
_ her husband is from Esfarayen.
_ what a cute guy he is!
_he is an urban man. He has a car, a white car.
_ he is distributing money among quests and village's children. Now, I have to go, I need to take a snap, or else I would not take my portion. After he finished these words, he ran so fast that he disappeared between grey and complex walls of the village houses. I was wondering about who was that fortunate crazy girl that the boy was talking about. I was thinking and walking towards her house. Wherever I was going, I would see a black cat which gazed at me.
I felt something bad was going to happen. After a while, I was there, exactly in front their house. She was smiling to everyone and I was smiling to myself, to destiny, and to my story. I remembered the sun. There must be a sunset otherwise the dawn shall be so far away. For a very short moment, I accused her to be human. However, I should not finish my story there. I could not let her get mixed with those grey shades. Therefore, it is time. I had to do something to prevent that harm, that catastrophe. My jealous red axe which always smelled blood killed them, both of them. I was satisfied to watch that sunset. I was not and will not regret because there was an appointment in the mountains and there was no time. She is close, as close as she never had been. Sun needs me, so I must go.
The weather is so cold and I am impatiently seeking for a hope to flee and to get free. What shall I do? Here, I am going. Going to fly, going to be free from this fleshy cage. I am the nearest to the climax of dissatisfaction, among all the momentums of this dismal grave. I am leaving the time and breath behind, passing the distances, confused between craggy rocks covered by dark dark snow, along a familiar frozen river. The frigid wind, yells like wolf sound, circling in the valley, suffers me. My face has gotten red, as if it is covered by the blood of the sun. I do not know if it is because of the shame or coldness. I can see the released vapor from my breath which seems to make my confusion more ambiguous. A weird sense of admiration encourages me to carry on, to go forward. But it is going to be late. Sun is waiting, ground is calling me.....





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