Bits and pieces

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some days are heavier than others and the only way out of their unhealthy loop is to write what my mind dictates on me. the resulting pieces are sometimes a spark of imagination, sometimes scattered brain matter, and sometimes cow manure. So I'll humbly invite you to my entangled world in bits and pieces of myself.

Submitted: April 11, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 11, 2017



Where do I begin?

You’ll probably ask me what celestial blessing befell me today to look this nice, this jolly...then as you zoom in on my merry face you’d notice the shadows of a barely masked scowl under both my lips and my eyes. Then you’d be pulled in my lost eyes and you’ll definitely conclude that something is wrong, drastically wrong, when you feel all your energy deflating the more you gaze into them. As you break contact with them, you’d like to catch some gulps of breath before you suffocate to death. You’d feel like you went in a date with the reaper and had a few chats over which soul should he collect next and to your unsurprising horror, he’d inform you while stirring his regular sugar coffee that you’d be the next candidate for sharpening his scythe—he heard blood does wonders to the life span of a blade.

Then you’d be brought out of your reverie by my hollow voice assuring you in my obscenely fake tone that I’m having fun and that I’m ok. You’ll dare venture into the deepest pit of my eyes in search for the slightest pleas of help, just a minor incentive for you to take action and start your saving project only to be faced with something worse than a reaper: his nest. Your first reaction would be the undoubtable ‘oh shit’, your second reaction would be questioning your life decisions, your third reaction would be to attempt, and fail, counting the number of the dried skulls scattered here and there. At that moment you’ll be wondering if anyone survived this onslaught, if any lucky bastards got away and out in the colourful free world. You’d doubt it just like you’d doubt your sanity. You’d regret forcing yourself in just like you’d regret laying your eyes on mine. You’d see the reaper get up from his bony throne arching his back and yawning loudly in the process revelling in the euphoric sensation of stretching his ancient bones. He’d reach for his scythe, shivering by the flood of memories swarming him from the simplest touch of his old friend; memories of fallen insects and headless crap machines. He’d raise his crowned head (with the skull of the bearer of the nicest bone structure he’d seen of course) and smile welcomingly at you, inviting you to your final destination. Now you’d have only three options: faint and make it a painless and senseless death for you, crap yourself and prove yourself a common among commons, or turn the other direction and try to outrun death in the shortest chase scene in history. But see, you’re a brave soul, a warrior. You’d never let something as petty as death get the upper hand. You march straight into the reaper’s zone and shoot him with a hard-sculpted defying glare. To say the reaper would be bewildered would be a major understatement. He was the almighty, the absolute; yet here is a single human in a fit of irrational determination trying to say ‘fuck you’ to his face all for the sake of a single, soulless eyed girl. As the reaper is marvelling upon the unpredictability of humans, you’d address his Darkness in a gust of desperation with a simple ‘fuck it’, kick him where not even the reaper should be kicked and bail it out of there before he grasps his composure again.

On your way out, you’d violently shut the solid humongous door behind you making the whole dark space rattle. You’d gaze back at it one more time eyeing the ‘no trespassers’ sign with regret, regret that you didn’t heed to its warning, then you’d follow the trail towards the light; the happy cheerful world singing out your name, reciting your epic journey to the young and curious. As you’ve ascended from whatever hell you’ve been in, you’d immediately avert your gaze from mine, then hold it again and will yourself to see sparks and life while answering “glad you’re doing ok”. By the end of it all you’d be reverted back to your life with scars from a deep dark place that you’d wish to have never ventured in and remember from time to time that you didn’t say fuck you to the reaper, but to the lost person with the soulless eyes herself.

And then there would be no reason for me to begin.

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