She knelt and ran her hands along the wall until she found an empty brick; she removed it and placed her secret behind it, then replaced it again into the wall with the others. She rolled over and sat, pulling her knees close to her body and hugged them to her chest. She bowed her head and wept.......
* * *
As she lay there silently on her back, staring deeply into the intricate yet excruciatingly dull pattern on the textured ceiling- as if it were a piece of fine, overpriced artwork, she let her thought processes wander over exhausted terrain. She thought of life, of death, of love, of hate, of god...and everything along the way. What was it all for? She began to scribble a few notes down on a piece of paper in front of her. Her mind began to flutter from one feeling to the next.
“I'm reading all the time of hate and anger and frustration. I'm hearing nothing but the pain of others. I see the agony of all around me. And I have felt it, breathed it, been engulfed by it. I understand the need to vent, to get it all out. But I realise now that I can no longer accept it.
Blood is on the minds of millions of innocent children, searching for an answer to this emptiness that harbours our death wish. We hold, in our hand, the power to steal...but nothing is taken without payment. Give and take, live and let live. No harm done, no penalty. Even the most gentle of beings get judged by the monster.
This is no dragon, no giant; this is a group, a society, a network. This monster is sacrificing the happiness of the innocent for suicide. This monster is killing off what may be our last chance. Children beaten down and left to bleed and to cry, they are screaming but no one cares, no one sees them. They are irrelevant, theses children are...they are the children of you and yours and people you know. They are outcasts these children are. They are banned from beliefs of any sort of rebellion or belief in other gods. But these children need no god. These children worship themselves. They are good and are portrayed as evil, yet they are shunned and thrown away. Put on display for window shoppers to point and stare and mock. These children are not different, they are not unique. The children are minions banned together to have their freedom. They are slaves to the system. Their innocence is overlooked but ignorant bystanders and administrators. These children are against everything, against god, against the devil, against you, against me. They refuse to worship the nine inch nails of your so called "Christ". You will never win! The children will persevere. The children will run free. You will die someday. They will to. They know that in the end we are all alone and you’ve spent your lives convinced that there is always someone looking out for you and your heretic children. These children know better than you. These children know fate. They know yours and you can sense it. They can smell the fear in your shattered voice. They can smell failure. The innocent children have a blood lust and a hit list...I guess this means you will die. Too bad we couldn't save you from the innocent children...they killed us too. We are locked inside our minds and we are rotting here now"
'Everything dies' she thought, but she still hadn't figured out how to truly live yet. Would her life come to an end before she even knew the answers to all of her questions? It seemed meaningless. Everything seemed that way lately.
Her life had become a painful cycle of the same boring events, day after everlasting day. Her friends had begun to slowly detach themselves from her, and it made her question herself. She'd been gone for so long when she moved away, and her world felt wonderful when she had returned to her home, and the people she had taken advantage of before. They'd all seemed glad to see her, and she'd never felt so important. She fell back into her circle of friends and remembered all that she had walked away from. She was happy again, and that was good.
One day, it was like the world had shifted suddenly and everything changed. People stopped talking to her. They no longer came by at all odd hours of the night bearing gifts and happy drug-induced smiles. Distancing them. Maybe they all finally came to the conclusion that they hadn't been missing much after all. People tend to romanticize things to a definite fault, and when they realize they've set themselves up for disappointment, they don't always realize that they themselves are not the only ones being affected by their great epiphany. They sometimes forget the person in the middle of it all, maybe even unintentionally, but without even thinking twice...
She asked herself what she possibly could have done to turn them away so suddenly. Was it just her character in general? Were some mindless beings getting rushes of power by spreading dirty lies about her as their new form of narrow-minded offence? Were they sick of her already? The fact that she found herself with so few people left to talk to wasn't what bothered her. It was the fact that she was entirely oblivious to the cause of all of this landfill that made her question herself over and over again. The more she thought about it, the wider the possibility grew that they had never really enjoyed her company in the first place; it was all a terrible charade. She hated that she could be that person that people associated themselves with for mere lack of anything at all better to do. Was she that person that they all talked about in her absence, like she had seen them do to others in times passed? Did they avoid her when they saw her in the streets? Were they all 'two-faced' after all?
Again, her reasoning began to shift. She wanted no part in any kind of comradeship with a person too shallow to tell her to ‘go away’ in person. She felt, she knew she was better off by herself. Somehow she felt more at ease in her own company anymore. She'd learned a lot about people in the years prior, and it sickened her to think about what humanity has come down to, how meaningless people have become. She honestly didn't mind not having friends. Of course friends are wonderful to have, but she had found that she became more herself everyday she spent alone, and she liked that. She had come to the abrupt realization long ago that people really aren't worth much anymore; definitely not worth wasting your days trying to change or analyze, or even hold a civil open conversation with, for that matter. And again, it all comes back around to the irrelevance of everything. Why had she just wasted her time thinking about these people that she doesn't even like to surround herself with anymore? Since she'd returned, everything had changed so dramatically. Her friends were not the same people they had been three years ago, and they never would be again. She knew she could do nothing, and had accepted this fact, but it lingered painfully in the back of the bedlam of a mind she possessed. She wished for simpler times.
She began to let her mind jump to other things. She'd tired herself of pondering anything even remotely related her connections with other people, and had come to the conclusion that she was indifferent on the matter. She really couldn't bring herself to care much anymore. If someone desired to speak with her, they'd approach her, and she would listen, but making any sort of an effort to please another person seemed ridiculous to her - Meaningless. The past three hours had been meaningless, and so were the thoughts she had spent that time thinking. And now, so were the people that had provoked these very thoughts.
* * *
Darkness can be sensed; yet its invisible wings spread, detached from all, upon the universe like a thought of a dying heathen. Darkness is the furnace spewing the energy ceaselessly and forever. It breathes, each gasp filled with the deepest thoughts. We feel it and we see it in our minds whenever the clarity is eclipsed and pursued by the menacing shadows of unknown shapes. Some people run away and hide in their lighthouse that they call the world. Some people stay and let themselves be devoured by those dark shapes for they are of the same essence.
Her soul was devoured to be reborn in death. The deadly silence speaks to her and accepts her in its entirety as its own essence. Her soul is dead and free from any false hopes and misleading beliefs. Her soul is black. Its absence of light has quenched the flames of hell and minimized the shimmering glow of divine radiance into a singular light.
Light: Watch it and you will be blinded and unable to look inwardly. Your blindness will be taken for granted. Perhaps you should know that this light comes from the dying stars and one day will be dispersed into nothingness. One day the light will be reduced to the invisible and equal counterpart of Darkness. Till then, blessed be the gleaming mirage of the "real" forms.
You triggered her thoughts as we stood there and watched the eclipse threaten the world. The men then in defence raised their Gods and science to shun the unknown shapes.
Men are impudent and pathetic in their efforts; yet, one has no right to blame them. One ought to learn from them. Regardless, we found it to be their duty to judge her and people alike, to scorch their image with fire and propel them to fall. Allow them to laugh. Where are they to descend? Since darkness permeates all and the light streams from everywhere, there is no underworld to fall in. Go ahead and try to force them to fall, as you had it so many times. There is no underworld to fall in. There is only the choice to be of Darkness or of light and the vacillating crossing in between. When you surpass the mesh of dimensions, you shall see the cosmic balance of all things. You shall see that happiness still passes day and night leaving the trail of happy hearts behind until they are lashed out by the despair that dusts the sprinkling shine of sun. Unlike ‘happy people’, happiness itself is unbiased. If ecstasy is its utmost consequence, then they say that there is a black flame of happiness present in each work of art that people label as sombre and dark.
She stares once more at a ‘secret’, shrivelled and now in a shade of ivory due to the immense time since the paper had last been read. She delicately pulls her black wind-swept hair away from her pale face and begins to scan the letter she wrote many years ago.
“Collapsing to my knees on brittle ground I gaze at my heart, particle of life, which has been gingerly laid out in front of me. This little particle has been detached from its soul. I cannot cry a single, infinite tear for it, as darkened hands and regrettable eyes are dragging it away from me, fearless minds of deception and disillusion. These pains I can only tolerate for so long, sombre and desolate my emotions become, numbing my reality I once viewed with a rhythmic beating of hope and faith. Now lost at the whim of that blackened essence, who mocks love and possibility. Questioning how I fell praying to their desire of awakening death, clumsily sown, all within a foggy version of my purpose. It is too late though, for mercy. One who lives in a dream will never face reality and consequently will be savaged out of all humanity joining the deceptive, reasoning of truth behind happiness of all faults. What must I now accomplish? Send me back out onto the front lines so I can take heed to my punishment. I feel alone now, as I always will. Too many questions left unanswered in my mind. I am just another blank face… blank stare… blank emotion…blank heart, and forever will be. ”
She knelt and ran her hands along the wall until she found the empty brick; she removed it and placed her secret behind it, then replaced it again into the wall with the others. She rolled over and sat, pulling her knees close to her body and hugged them to her chest. She bowed her head and wept...
