Old Title

The first thing that came to mind when I saw him was that he was perfectly gluttonous. His protruding stomach did not help my estimation of him. It was round but turgid, as if constantly full. That wasn’t what set me off though: he swaggered when he walked. The man exuded self-confidence. The wine glass in his hand: it never emptied the whole time. He sat down beside Ralph’s mother and leaned in, invading her personal space, but she didn’t seem to mind. The hand gripping the glass was held at arm’s length as if he was trying to gloatingly display it by letting the lights bounce of it with eye-hurting brightness, and it did mind you. You know what was funny though? He looked like shit. I looked away when I realized my lips had curled into a sneer. I ended up looking at the bratty little kid in front of me who kept kicking me under the table. I glowered at him and watched with amusement as his mother tore off a piece of chicken. Her canine winked at me, and although I knew it was just the meat giving her a hard time, it looked very much like a snarl directed at me. I guess I deserved it.



drawing in words

Why is it that many a time, we never realize the true beauty of things the first time around?

I could never forget the things that make me smile..

Does keeping your mind occupied really distract you from the things that matter?

Hate is a disease that can spread and breed..

We don’t change that much.

I give a little bit of myself to everyone I meet, but how can I share it all if I haven’t discovered every part of me?

When can you tell that the insignificant changes make the biggest differences?

Time is a cruel illusion.

Friendship is a dare.

You are blind when your eyes are closed.

When you break someone down, is it your duty to bring them back up?

Curiosity drives us, spurs us on

I laugh because we are complex, but other times so simple.


Whatever makes you happy
I finally began to volunteer at the clinic. It was boring and nice. I wrote 'Beginnings' during the boring part. I was stationed in the nurses room today, learned how to check temperature, weigh and measure people on this complicated balance scale, how to dress a wound.

The woman with the wound was in pain. She had hit her leg on a rusty bin, but took forever to come in. She was very quiet and small. Her wound looked interesting, some would call it disgusting. A scab was forming over it before it healed on the inside (sounds a lot like us humans right? I keep making simple statements profound) so it was covering the bruised blood beneath. It had to be cleaned and softened, then the blood underneath squeezed out. Need I say which the painful part was? The covering and wrapping was cool. These packets with small square cloth like fabric were opened, soaked in hydrogen peroxide, then placed over the wound. Then they wrapped the mesh gauze around that, then used strips of medical tape gauze to secure that. She’s not allowed to get it wet, and she can’t eat fish or pepper. The woman wouldn’t look me in the eye until the very end. She kept looking at the nurse alone, but I guess since I was there long enough, she succumbed and began talking to me.

The man at the eye clinic looked at my glasses, which are partially broken but wearable, and told me he would tell me what was wrong with them. So he comes back with this paper, looking a lot like a prescription, and presents it to me, and on it is scrawled the word ‘UGLY’ in nice big letters. -_-

The first woman that had come in, her son had been murdered recently, and we got the tale. It was… I don’t know. It’s easy to get used to these things, and that’s the sad part. She wasn’t the only one to say something similar.

Also, an inmate came in, I didn’t even notice the handcuffs at first. He was dressed in white from his cap to his shoes, looking immaculate and scrawny. His head was shaved and he had these beautiful orange and white beads around the dark skin of his neck. That’s what captured my attention the most. He was friendly, polite, and said thanks with a smile. He looked more decent and interacted with you better than the man escorting him, who stood in the doorway lasciviously eying people.

Speaking of which, one of the nurses had these pretty eyes. They looked big and soulful, and just really beautiful, even when there was no shining emotion in them. The other nurse had a knowledgeable way about her. There are these series of questions that they ask everyone, a long list, longer for women. I now know most of it. I also answered the phone, made cotton swabs, called patients in, but those parts seem insignificant. Lunch and everything after was boring. I met some young people. Actually, I met a whole lot of people today, some kids who just did GSAT, saw old friends twice, was angry and took it out on the man at the cafeteria. They will be rotating me among the different sections of the clinic, and I won’t have the time nor desire to write long descriptions everyday.


Beginnings are wonderful. I don’t like middles. And I’m never sure if endings are actually endings.

Renee was bored. He was bored. Renee was so bored that he couldn’t bother to repeat the words ‘I’m bored’ out loud anymore. Staring across the wild grass behind the house to the grey of the falling rain in the distance, his lips half formed the words so that only the ‘bored’ was audible. This utterance then slowed and softened, mouth moving without sound, so that only the rushing of air through them could be discerned. He sounded like a dying person gasping for water, even to himself. If only he was brave enough to go through the bush to the other side, the side where there was water, rock and sand. He was sure his brothers were lying about the crazy old people who lived there, but if he couldn’t work up the courage to forage through the prickly tall things that his aunt called grass, he would never find out. He sighed.

Some time later, Renee was asleep. He awoke with a shout as something heavy fell on him, something definitely heavy, breathing, and screaming unintelligible words. He was surprised his aunt hadn’t come running already, but she was senile, or so his uncle kept saying to explain everything. He pushed the loud thing off himself roughly, receiving a kick in the shin in return. After flapping some sort of excess fabric off his face, he came face to face with a… a… boy? girl? Either way, finally! He had someone to play with! Renee was unsure of the best approach to use in this situation.

“Get off my property!” he shouted. The thing set its hands akimbo, and now Renee knew it was a girl. She stuck her tongue out with an air of arrogance and began walking closer.

“It’s not yours stupid. I don’t see your na-- ” She tripped mid sentence, cap falling off, braids flying. She tried to get up, then gave up and sat on the ground, knees drawn up, one bleeding. Renee looked at the bleeding knee, then at her face, then at the knee again. She began to sniffle, trying not to cry. He looked at her again; then he began to laugh. Her face twisted in anger, fingers scrambling through the dirt on the ground. She found a suitable rock, and hurled it at him. It caught him on the shoulder and only made him laugh harder. She really began to cry now and Renee panicked.

“Shut up idiot!” he cried frantically. She paused for a moment, then started to cry harder and louder. “If auntie comes outside, I’ll get in trouble for waking her!” He was desperate now. He stooped down and crawled closer, grabbing her knee, once again having no tact, and began blowing on the wound, tiny droplets of spit reaching it as well. He grabbed a random leaf and tried wiping the blood away. The problem was, the stupid girl wouldn’t stop bawling her head off! He shoved his hand over her mouth and she bit down, hard. He was at the pinnacle of his frustration, when they both heard a door slam open and two necks snapped to face the direction of the bang.

“RENEE!” Renee’s eyes went wide and he shot the girl a glare. She wasn’t even crying anymore! She was looking at him, first curiously, then mischievously. She stuck her hand out and whispered quickly.

“I’m from the sea. I live with grandma and grandfather. My name is Sedna and I want to be your friend,” she took a breath, “and you’re really really dumb.” She dragged out those last three words, nodding her head knowingly. Renee just looked at her incredulously and stormed off in the direction of his house.

Stupid girl. He was in so much trouble.

The Soul Collector

He was waiting, as always. She granted him a faint smile and approached, feathered feet silent. The kiss bruised her lips instantly, her back arching in wondrous pain as cloth tore, blunt nails scraping across the dirt, toes bleeding. She didn’t want this, not now. Indecision was eating away at her mind, a thousand pricks to her skin, disrupting stimulation, stunting her movements, channeling her thoughts. His turn had come and she wasn’t prepared.

He half dragged her across the dirt, ignoring the door to choose the moonlit grass, sparing a brief pause in inquisition of her apathy. She looked at him then, and he knew. They stared at each other, her eyes soulless and resigned, his stilled with despair. A moment passed.

He attacked her, with his lips and hands, tongue and teeth. She looked to the sky. Her pleasure, her comfort, her predictable fool... he was too kind, too trusting, too beautiful, like the rest.

The hair resting on her neck lifted, harshly, rapidly. The warm digits clawing up her spine moved faster, desperately. He worshipped her flesh, trying to give a reason to hesitate, slobbering on her. Her nipples ached, her thighs trembled, but her mind traveled far away.

Her fingers glowed blue; he began to choke. She felt his eyes on her. She heard the plea in his silence. She refused to return the glance. His skin darkened, drying, eye sockets sharp. She knew the terror that was appearing before her without seeing it. She had yet to forget the first. When she heard the last clink of bone, she looked, jaw clenching.

She added the fifth soul to the chain of soul gems between her breasts.

Curse the gods and their silly games; she was slowly losing her heart.
Inspired by a lovely painting. I don't like this. I see potential. Too rushed... but I wanted to capture it with few words.


I am amazed, simply, surprisingly, amazed.

I feel lazy and wispy, like it is always sunrise and it is always sunset. The ticking time in between whirs by, because it doesn't exist, even while it is not forgotten.

I am rising like the wind that combed through the grass at daylight, through the windows and front door, through my hair, over my skin, freshening all the rooms, shifting the sheets, caressing the walls, banging the doors, playing with me.

Shhh. Every time it moves, my lips move too, upwards, joining the sonance of nature, trailing a zephyr, all the way to the other end of this strangely concrete building. Why is it so heavy, when everything feels so light?

I am floating with the smog that settled over the city at morning then stayed till dusk. I am forever experiencing and being the colours of the sky, at dawn, at night, at midnight.

And everything

makes sense, because there is a weight in the back of my mind, that is so familiar, that it is not there. All is balanced and equal, homeostasis presides, as that shadow, barely looms. It is patient and weary, disillusioned, unable to touch me, because my care for it has changed.

I am not laughing; I am smiling. A faint difference, that illustrates the truth in such a fragile way, of utter beauty.

I can hear the sound of tapping feet, see the movement of careless faces and sweetly tired hands, reach the smiles on dreamy faces, and hear the tinkering of dewdrops on grass and spider webs.

I could sigh myself into naïve intoxication. This vision of simple contentment,

is mine.

Art did this to me.

The Lights Are Out


Clickety clackety clickety clackety.

An odd assortment of noises carried down the dark lane, past the dusty windows, broken doors, and peering eyes. The squeaking of unoiled joints, the squelching of wet rubber and the groaning of wood resounded, siphoned through the street from beginning to end, beyond. Carried by strong vibrations, they were felt even before the figure was realised. The air was damp, foggy, chilled, and saturated with fearsome anxiety, given away by frantic murmurs and the shuffling noises of poorly hidden movements.

The sounds became louder as the shape moved closer. The air seemed to thicken and tighten in on itself. Particles of dust, seen in the dim beams of light from the street lamps, ceased their frenzied movements. More shifts of cloth against cloth, cloth against skin, and scraping of shoes could be heard; terror took hold and feet moved in the opposite direction, away from the windows, doors, and other unknown orifices of the building. The silhouette was now upon the first house. The door opened, as if on a gentle breeze, and light flooded the street, carrying upon it, neatly floating, the irregularly quiet form of a baby. The dark shape slowed as it came into the light. It could now be identified...

A wheelbarrow

As the illuminated body floated through the air, life seemed to rapidly drain from it, limbs going limp, the fluid under the skin losing to gravity, turgidity gone. The now corpse-resembling mass of flesh was delicately lowered into the moving container. There were no screams. The lights in the house went out. The street was dark, foggy and poorly lit once more.

The sounds started up again, less creaky, more clackety.

I don't know what I'm doing. This came from nowhere. There's more, but I don't think here is the place to post it.

The Tree (the dream)

There stood a tree, a beautiful, big, red tree, viewed from a distance, through the hazy partitions of a dirt-stained window. The land around the tree was earth and wood and crunchy leaves. The red was extremely red, yet the green of the forest behind it remained bright. To the right of the tree was shrubbery and land, a great big expanse of it. The only thing which could be seen beyond was the deep gorge of a valley and the blue of the sky, along with the occasional wispy cloud that remained stationary in it. To the left of the tree, was wild grass, tall bamboo and a green fog which seemed alive and playfully beckoning to all.

The tree was always alone. The atmosphere around it was always the same and the weather refused to change. On the other side of the window was the interior of a silent house. There was a person in it who was trying to reach the tree. Well, in actuality, it was simply a hand and a mouth, but these things are always connected to a body, so a person must have been trying to reach it. The person must just have been, unfortunately, invisible. Every waking minute was spent staring at the tree or walking to the door.

A most curious thing seemed to occur whenever the fingers on the hand curled around the latch of the door, pressed down, then pulled it open: all the windows in the house slammed shut and shutters seemed to magically appear and roll down before the glass of the windows. This darkened the house and made the hand let go. The hand and mouth, strategically positioned as if they belonged on a body, would once again move to the window and the invisible eyes would examine the tree and its monochrome colours, entangled branches, shiny leaves, and heavy-looking capsule enclosed fruits.

This drab, yet magical routine continued for days on end, or it might have been hours, but as the atmosphere around the tree never changed, it remains a thing to be guessed. The tree was so big and it’s branches reached so far that the hand and mouth knew, or to simplify it: the invisible person knew, that if they could just open the door and get a glimpse of outside, they would get the ultimate experience of seeing a branch of the tree close up, maybe even be able to pick a fruit, or just step on a fallen leaf. This thought made the invisible person realise something very important: not even once before had a leaf fallen from the tree.

As a matter of fact, the wind never seemed to blow through the leaves to rustle them, the fruits never fell, the fruits never even got bigger, there were never insects or animals or birds around it, and... every single leaf and every single fruit was a perfect replica of the other. Now the invisible person knew that something was wrong. Extreme determination set in.

The hand and the mouth moved to the door. The fingers on the hand curled around the door handle and pulled. The house darkened as the windows were blocked off and the light source interfered with. The hand pulled harder. The door resisted. The hand pulled even harder. The door resisted some more and the hand pulled even harder. A howling began, the mouth formed an ‘o’, rain began to fall, thunder clapped, and the invisible person could see outside. There was a red branch all right, there were red leaves, there were red fruits that looked like bulbs, and everything looked real. This is what the invisible person saw for one glorious second.

There were also dead people with friendly, colourful faces, who wouldn’t stop howling, and wouldn’t stop approaching the door. Rain was falling from the sky, everything looked green, and the group of dead cretins howling in unison was really close.

The hand slammed the door shut. Everything was silent and it all seemed the same. The invisible person moved to the window.

The red tree wasn’t there anymore. There were two fat pieces of tree trunk, lying side by side, but

nothing else was there, not even a fallen leaf.

The invisible person was now sad and confused. Should it have opened the door?

That should have sunk in by now. Yes, my dreams have been taking a strange turn lately. I can't make sense of them. This is just an embellished version of the most recent one, but that's how it went. I don't think I captured the essence of the tree. It was beautiful, yet untouchable, something to stare at and be entranced with. The entire tree was red, and it was HUGE. I left out the last part, because it didnt seem to fit. In the actual dream... I opened the door again and became friends with the zombies...