if only i can apply my memory faster..
i almost didn't hear a christmas song today.
i didn't hear one today also.
got any?
send meee
haha sorry i don't have. i would've heard one if i have one.
***************
why didn't i think of this reply earlier?
comeflywithme09.pixnet.net
(okay first of may isnt exactly a christmas song but wtf christmas trees are mentioned)
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
compliment
"My cousin works as a salesman. He almost rarely help us out."
I was eavesdropping unintentionally to a conversation happening behind my head. Their face features weren't striking enough for me to remember as i walked pass them. It was just that i didn't bring that book to divert me from paying attention to the most trivial and uninteresting happenings around the departure gateway. I was surprised, but not regretting that my attention span wasn't that short to make me wonder what that tall guy with a-face-that-you-would-like-to-punch with elvis presley hair with very formal but colorful clothes and sharp boots was doing with his laptop.
"Why are we so alike... we were fed by only women."
I thought i saw some bubbles from the LCD screen of the laptop. But my brain prioritized my ears over my eyes as i nonchalantly heard that. A brief moment of silence that came after seemed to symbolize the full stop of the sentence. The plain-looking teenagers took some time to empathize each others' mishaps. I felt greeted by a superior maturity coming from that two girls whose age would be at most ten years my junior. Not seeing them, i assumed that they would be staring at each other (like lesbians) or enjoying the same view with blank expressions (like lesbians too).
"Neh we are kinda different.. you guys are only two. I have three other siblings!"
The raise of tone wasn't directed at the one who said the mistake although it was a one-on-one dialogue. Rather, she sounded pitifully proud and i would like to think of that as the reason. The fact that we were in a flight departure gateway implies that they have to live with it and get the best out of life no matter how hard it is. This moment, i could only sympathize, contrary to the me that usually tries his best to empathize.
"Yeah you're right.."
The-answering-one made the-one-who-raised-her-voice sounded as if she triumphed over her in the shortest debate ever. But no, there are no victors or losers here. I continued to feign ignorance after a following quiet moment. Perhaps the two realised that there was an illegal judge to their privately emotional debate.
The silence was then broken by an inclusion of another voice familiar to those two but not me. Then i saw that the game which that-weird-man-whom-i-gave-him-a-long-description was playing was called 'Bubbletronix'. (it wasn't a pretty girl playing so i didnt remember properly)
And beside him, were two human beings responsible for excluding me from participations in debates as such.
thanks.
I was eavesdropping unintentionally to a conversation happening behind my head. Their face features weren't striking enough for me to remember as i walked pass them. It was just that i didn't bring that book to divert me from paying attention to the most trivial and uninteresting happenings around the departure gateway. I was surprised, but not regretting that my attention span wasn't that short to make me wonder what that tall guy with a-face-that-you-would-like-to-punch with elvis presley hair with very formal but colorful clothes and sharp boots was doing with his laptop.
"Why are we so alike... we were fed by only women."
I thought i saw some bubbles from the LCD screen of the laptop. But my brain prioritized my ears over my eyes as i nonchalantly heard that. A brief moment of silence that came after seemed to symbolize the full stop of the sentence. The plain-looking teenagers took some time to empathize each others' mishaps. I felt greeted by a superior maturity coming from that two girls whose age would be at most ten years my junior. Not seeing them, i assumed that they would be staring at each other (like lesbians) or enjoying the same view with blank expressions (like lesbians too).
"Neh we are kinda different.. you guys are only two. I have three other siblings!"
The raise of tone wasn't directed at the one who said the mistake although it was a one-on-one dialogue. Rather, she sounded pitifully proud and i would like to think of that as the reason. The fact that we were in a flight departure gateway implies that they have to live with it and get the best out of life no matter how hard it is. This moment, i could only sympathize, contrary to the me that usually tries his best to empathize.
"Yeah you're right.."
The-answering-one made the-one-who-raised-her-voice sounded as if she triumphed over her in the shortest debate ever. But no, there are no victors or losers here. I continued to feign ignorance after a following quiet moment. Perhaps the two realised that there was an illegal judge to their privately emotional debate.
The silence was then broken by an inclusion of another voice familiar to those two but not me. Then i saw that the game which that-weird-man-whom-i-gave-him-a-long-description was playing was called 'Bubbletronix'. (it wasn't a pretty girl playing so i didnt remember properly)
And beside him, were two human beings responsible for excluding me from participations in debates as such.
thanks.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
fragments, scatter # 4:
My/His weary legs finally dragged us to my/his room. I had to tolerate her constant complaints about how they are gonna fall away from my body. And the sad little fact that she changed the way she addressed this body from 'us' to 'him', as if it didn't belong to her. If this body was mine it wouldn't be this way. Things would've been different. I wouldn't have to struggle to merely make a step. I wouldn't have to worry about what was I gonna think about. Worrying about what to talk about when things are normal is already hard enough. Especially this one who analyses almost every single thing but fails to do so when I want him to do so.
This one? Am I just another one that you can just simply disregard?
More or less.
I would've looked away. I would've remained in silence. I would've hoped that he was sensitive enough to know what my reactions meant. But I had already answered him before I could do something about it. Naturally but involuntarily. Keeping the mouth shut and keeping the mind shut are two very different things. This was awfully awkward. If this was a phone call, I would've find a way to end the conversation as soon as possible and proceed to occupy my mind with some random activities. All the memories that I have shared with her came to me like a kaleidoscope, immaturely denying the impulsively honest reply her mind gave. My sense of denial was so strong I begged her pardon although I was pretty certain of what she replied.
Another one? Simply disregard?
You want me to rephrase the 'more or less' into a simple 'yes'?
I thought of how she used to rest her chin on one of the side of my shoulders (usually left) whenever we would encounter a mirror to practise our compability in terms of appearance. Oh, so? I thought of how she used to bite MY fingernails instead of her own when she had a manicure and still couldn't shake off that unbreakable habit of hers. You enjoyed it too didn't you? I thought of the uncountable number of clothes she would pick just to try on before purchasing anything to let the shopping attendants eye me with sympathy for being very patient. So you can't really wait?
I can.
The effect was bizzare. It was as if someone threw coins at you. It hits hard. It hurts, in a heartwarming way. This one usually says things that are music to my ears. I used to think that they were fabricated just to please me. I have to admit that I'm a horrible adoration junkie so I artistically provoke victims to compliment me, regardless of the sincerity. Of course, I would prefer them to sound authentic, intellectual, humorous, confident, etc. But this, this two simple words, "I can" sunk into me even if i wanted to doubt it, like food too good to be digested.
But really, so what if you are the most patient person in this world? It doesn't change the fact that i'm stuck here, with you, seeing ghosts everywhere.
I was propelled into a state of shock. Her lack of appreciation sent my self-esteem into a downhill slide. That childish and selfish part of me wanted to deny truth but what I've heard, or received was written in her mind. The childish and selfish part of me persisted to futilely convince myself that the voice projecting in my head wasn't actually Xyren's. Or at least, the Xyren that I knew.
Then, this, is the Xyren that you don't know.
......
A long silence ensued. It was disturbing for awhile for it being the first silence we had encountered since I woke up with her voice in my head/the cemetery. Even the most timid person in the world should have something going on in his mind in the state of sobriety. Or maybe it felt long, because there wasn't a time that our minds were put to rest since we both were brought into this mess.
You make sense.
You said this to make me feel better, to feel less guilty about yourself didn't you?
What?
For a tiny speck of moment, I thought that we could still.. work. Why did he had to spoil it all with that statement? Why couldn't he just grab hold of the truth and accept it? Why did he had to doubt?
At least you still wanted us to work.
Argh. Did you just ignored everything else that isn't pleasant to your ears?
I couldn't stand this. I wanted him out. Or to put it in a less harsher way, I wanted myself out. He's overreacting too much that it creepy. To think that he had to witness what I felt first hand. And to think that we couldn't seemingly do anything about it. There must be something, right? There must be something we could do. There must be something I could do.
Do you think a witch, or a shaman, or some lady with mystical powers could help us with our current state?
So you hate it that we are completely honest with each other? What about the promise we made to each other about being never lying to each other?
Stop being such a whiney pussy! I bet that you're not enjoying it much either.
Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes, no. I don't know!
Seeking for a diversion from this dreadful topic, I looked around. Two figures stood by a blank wide side of the wall, facing away from us. There were so many ghost encounters along the journey back here that these two no longer terrify or surprise us anymore. Their hands seemed to be pre-occupied with doing something... like rubbing the wall with their hands/to the pictures?
Pictures?
An instant flash of memory images of those pictures of Xyren that I've unskillfully but diligently drew popped into my mind. How could I forget those while coming in? I wanted to impress her. I wanted to surprise her. All along. It was dark. We didn't turn on the lights while limping in. But I could read his memory like its mine. I could project the many, many 'pictures-of-me'-s around; which piece was based on which picture and where it was taken, which piece was innovated out of his imagination, which piece he was proud of and which piece that he wanted to throw away.
I gasped.
Are they... me? The fact itself was so hard to believe, but it wasn't something that science couldn't explain. Unlike the situation now. Are they really me? His obsession towards me was scary, in a diabetically sweet kind of way, but still, enough to frighten the hell out of me. It was like a serial murderer that pins up pictures and newspaper articles of his victims on the wall and all his victims are.. essentially me. Are they really really me? Oh Blinkey.. you don't really have to do this.. Can I turn on the lights to see clearer? You don't really need to do this.. Why would you want to draw me? How much time did you spend on everything? Oh the effort.. Why didn't you show me earlier?
It's not completed yet.
I remembered the portrait(s) of her that I've tried to fully draw it with only red. The overall red isn't dark enough to be the outlines so the inadequate contrast of the shading red used to represent the shadows made the picture look like she's crying and growing moustache. The more presentable ones are pinned to the walls to see which part of her that I've properly drew in order to be implemented in future attempts. I remembered the first portrait that I did, it was drawn till her abdomen, which is my second favourite picture among my works. The subsequent pictures of the similiar manner couldn't replace the impression I had on the first picture. However, the proportion of the boobs seemed out. No matter how many times I corrected the right one it would either look like its bigger or smaller than the left one. I finally settled for the right one being bigger, only slightly though. Haha you underestimated them. My favourite one, is a fantasy depiction of an angel of her. Aw... that's so sweet.. but your sense of fashion sucks! Everything was just recited in the mind, his mind so I still needed to see the whole thing with my my own eyes to achieve a higher satisfactory level.
We switched on the lights.
The two ghostly figures gestured us to look at my masterpiece/the wallpaper of me like cinema ushers. My memory served me well. Obviously though, since I see it everyday. Somehow the ghosts didn't strike me as disturbing at all. Rather, their cooperation with my intentions seemed like something that I wanted, although not expected, to see. It was as if something too good to be true came true. A mirage turned reality. They say seeing is believing, but this case defied the saying. I wanted to smile. I wanted to laugh. My heart raced. Well, not exactly mine. It is. Aw.. I wanted to cry. And then I want to laugh again. Nobody would do such a thing for me. This is too much. I felt guilty but happy. I felt responsible but irresponsible. I felt weird but I kinda welcomed the feeling. I felt orgasm but not sexually. Probably due to the absence of female hormones.
Oh, that's right. I'm already dead.
Tears, that neither of us were sure whose or why, began to wet our cheeks. I began to wonder if dying had brought me to my own heaven. Or if this was the so-called white light or the image phase I'm supposed to see when I am dead. I touched our face to check if it was ethereal. It was physical, and we weren't even sure to react positively or negatively towards it. I wanted to lie, to tell her that everything's fine, that everything's gonna be alright. I wanted to dry the tears, but i'm contributing to them both physically and mentally. I wanted to be her shoulder to cry on but we are crying together and we share the same shoulders now. At least, I'm crying when she's crying.
What the fuck? Lame, but it did made me smile. The slight movement of the lips wasn't mine.
And i'm smiling when you're smiling too.
This one? Am I just another one that you can just simply disregard?
More or less.
I would've looked away. I would've remained in silence. I would've hoped that he was sensitive enough to know what my reactions meant. But I had already answered him before I could do something about it. Naturally but involuntarily. Keeping the mouth shut and keeping the mind shut are two very different things. This was awfully awkward. If this was a phone call, I would've find a way to end the conversation as soon as possible and proceed to occupy my mind with some random activities. All the memories that I have shared with her came to me like a kaleidoscope, immaturely denying the impulsively honest reply her mind gave. My sense of denial was so strong I begged her pardon although I was pretty certain of what she replied.
Another one? Simply disregard?
You want me to rephrase the 'more or less' into a simple 'yes'?
I thought of how she used to rest her chin on one of the side of my shoulders (usually left) whenever we would encounter a mirror to practise our compability in terms of appearance. Oh, so? I thought of how she used to bite MY fingernails instead of her own when she had a manicure and still couldn't shake off that unbreakable habit of hers. You enjoyed it too didn't you? I thought of the uncountable number of clothes she would pick just to try on before purchasing anything to let the shopping attendants eye me with sympathy for being very patient. So you can't really wait?
I can.
The effect was bizzare. It was as if someone threw coins at you. It hits hard. It hurts, in a heartwarming way. This one usually says things that are music to my ears. I used to think that they were fabricated just to please me. I have to admit that I'm a horrible adoration junkie so I artistically provoke victims to compliment me, regardless of the sincerity. Of course, I would prefer them to sound authentic, intellectual, humorous, confident, etc. But this, this two simple words, "I can" sunk into me even if i wanted to doubt it, like food too good to be digested.
But really, so what if you are the most patient person in this world? It doesn't change the fact that i'm stuck here, with you, seeing ghosts everywhere.
I was propelled into a state of shock. Her lack of appreciation sent my self-esteem into a downhill slide. That childish and selfish part of me wanted to deny truth but what I've heard, or received was written in her mind. The childish and selfish part of me persisted to futilely convince myself that the voice projecting in my head wasn't actually Xyren's. Or at least, the Xyren that I knew.
Then, this, is the Xyren that you don't know.
......
A long silence ensued. It was disturbing for awhile for it being the first silence we had encountered since I woke up with her voice in my head/the cemetery. Even the most timid person in the world should have something going on in his mind in the state of sobriety. Or maybe it felt long, because there wasn't a time that our minds were put to rest since we both were brought into this mess.
You make sense.
You said this to make me feel better, to feel less guilty about yourself didn't you?
What?
For a tiny speck of moment, I thought that we could still.. work. Why did he had to spoil it all with that statement? Why couldn't he just grab hold of the truth and accept it? Why did he had to doubt?
At least you still wanted us to work.
Argh. Did you just ignored everything else that isn't pleasant to your ears?
I couldn't stand this. I wanted him out. Or to put it in a less harsher way, I wanted myself out. He's overreacting too much that it creepy. To think that he had to witness what I felt first hand. And to think that we couldn't seemingly do anything about it. There must be something, right? There must be something we could do. There must be something I could do.
Do you think a witch, or a shaman, or some lady with mystical powers could help us with our current state?
So you hate it that we are completely honest with each other? What about the promise we made to each other about being never lying to each other?
Stop being such a whiney pussy! I bet that you're not enjoying it much either.
Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes, no. I don't know!
Seeking for a diversion from this dreadful topic, I looked around. Two figures stood by a blank wide side of the wall, facing away from us. There were so many ghost encounters along the journey back here that these two no longer terrify or surprise us anymore. Their hands seemed to be pre-occupied with doing something... like rubbing the wall with their hands/to the pictures?
Pictures?
An instant flash of memory images of those pictures of Xyren that I've unskillfully but diligently drew popped into my mind. How could I forget those while coming in? I wanted to impress her. I wanted to surprise her. All along. It was dark. We didn't turn on the lights while limping in. But I could read his memory like its mine. I could project the many, many 'pictures-of-me'-s around; which piece was based on which picture and where it was taken, which piece was innovated out of his imagination, which piece he was proud of and which piece that he wanted to throw away.
I gasped.
Are they... me? The fact itself was so hard to believe, but it wasn't something that science couldn't explain. Unlike the situation now. Are they really me? His obsession towards me was scary, in a diabetically sweet kind of way, but still, enough to frighten the hell out of me. It was like a serial murderer that pins up pictures and newspaper articles of his victims on the wall and all his victims are.. essentially me. Are they really really me? Oh Blinkey.. you don't really have to do this.. Can I turn on the lights to see clearer? You don't really need to do this.. Why would you want to draw me? How much time did you spend on everything? Oh the effort.. Why didn't you show me earlier?
It's not completed yet.
I remembered the portrait(s) of her that I've tried to fully draw it with only red. The overall red isn't dark enough to be the outlines so the inadequate contrast of the shading red used to represent the shadows made the picture look like she's crying and growing moustache. The more presentable ones are pinned to the walls to see which part of her that I've properly drew in order to be implemented in future attempts. I remembered the first portrait that I did, it was drawn till her abdomen, which is my second favourite picture among my works. The subsequent pictures of the similiar manner couldn't replace the impression I had on the first picture. However, the proportion of the boobs seemed out. No matter how many times I corrected the right one it would either look like its bigger or smaller than the left one. I finally settled for the right one being bigger, only slightly though. Haha you underestimated them. My favourite one, is a fantasy depiction of an angel of her. Aw... that's so sweet.. but your sense of fashion sucks! Everything was just recited in the mind, his mind so I still needed to see the whole thing with my my own eyes to achieve a higher satisfactory level.
We switched on the lights.
The two ghostly figures gestured us to look at my masterpiece/the wallpaper of me like cinema ushers. My memory served me well. Obviously though, since I see it everyday. Somehow the ghosts didn't strike me as disturbing at all. Rather, their cooperation with my intentions seemed like something that I wanted, although not expected, to see. It was as if something too good to be true came true. A mirage turned reality. They say seeing is believing, but this case defied the saying. I wanted to smile. I wanted to laugh. My heart raced. Well, not exactly mine. It is. Aw.. I wanted to cry. And then I want to laugh again. Nobody would do such a thing for me. This is too much. I felt guilty but happy. I felt responsible but irresponsible. I felt weird but I kinda welcomed the feeling. I felt orgasm but not sexually. Probably due to the absence of female hormones.
Oh, that's right. I'm already dead.
Tears, that neither of us were sure whose or why, began to wet our cheeks. I began to wonder if dying had brought me to my own heaven. Or if this was the so-called white light or the image phase I'm supposed to see when I am dead. I touched our face to check if it was ethereal. It was physical, and we weren't even sure to react positively or negatively towards it. I wanted to lie, to tell her that everything's fine, that everything's gonna be alright. I wanted to dry the tears, but i'm contributing to them both physically and mentally. I wanted to be her shoulder to cry on but we are crying together and we share the same shoulders now. At least, I'm crying when she's crying.
What the fuck? Lame, but it did made me smile. The slight movement of the lips wasn't mine.
And i'm smiling when you're smiling too.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
22-23-22
"Put me out of my fucking mi-ser-
I realised I've let too much percentage of my breath out. Don't go too high, rasp the start of 'ryy' with something high enough to go low later for 8 to 9 seconds and then switch back. My throat let out the usual growl that i've earned by sacrificing my ability to do normal falsetto notes and somehow it felt unfamiliar. It's getting rusty already, i pressume.
ryyyyyyyyyy
I can pull this off. The whole ryyy went okay for my untrained throat, i think. I heard someone appauld. Only one pair of hands. Good enough though. The growl i've projected was steadily sustained as till now. Just when i thought i deserve to be proud of myself, i desperately inhaled a sip of air to carry on the punishing yeah and cursed the raggy a few minutes ago for being overconfident. My heart whispered 'shit' but my mouth screamed the
-yeahhhh"
I couldn't pull this off. I struggled after the third second which was supposed to be the twelveth second. My stomach warned me with a slight cramp and i remembered the huge amount of food intake from the buffet breakfast a few half-an-hours ago. I surrendered to silence. Chester's yeah continued in the background for four to five more seconds and my disappontment acknowledged it as a taunt.
"wa ee pi lu ka ku gok" (wah he's longer than you)
"beh chio eh la" (Can't be sung wan la)
Perhaps i just wasn't emo enough.
(for those (i think everyone) who don't know, we were singing k, and i picked the song 'given up' by linkin park which has a 17 second long growl. )
*****
happy belated birthday
****
The couple, in separate cars, wound down the window simultaneously. The two girls giggled like they found 50 bucks on the floor. We eyed them with almost curious eyes and wondered if there was bird shit on my head and we didn't realised it as we woke up too early in the morning.
"Wa raggy you're so pretty!"
"you look like a girl from this angle!"
I took that as a compliment but remembered that i own (no past tense okay) a dick and gave them two fingers that symbolized it. No hostile situation here, I was still half-smiling because a deluded part of me still believed in that lie.
"HOR zeroes u cheat!"
He smiled, they laughed, my middle fingers persisted and the couple realised that we had enough nonsense and stopped the conversation by winding up the car windows. But it was still red light. Boschbell (haha) became fickle-minded (and jealous) and wound down the window again, as if to tell us something important.
"but i'm prettier!"
***
happy belated birthday
***
Work is getting busy. No time for fragments, scatter. #3 has wrong paragraphing. And i am doing nothing about it.
and erm. we skipped our carnival night for you! touched or not? okay maybe that's not much. roar.
I realised I've let too much percentage of my breath out. Don't go too high, rasp the start of 'ryy' with something high enough to go low later for 8 to 9 seconds and then switch back. My throat let out the usual growl that i've earned by sacrificing my ability to do normal falsetto notes and somehow it felt unfamiliar. It's getting rusty already, i pressume.
ryyyyyyyyyy
I can pull this off. The whole ryyy went okay for my untrained throat, i think. I heard someone appauld. Only one pair of hands. Good enough though. The growl i've projected was steadily sustained as till now. Just when i thought i deserve to be proud of myself, i desperately inhaled a sip of air to carry on the punishing yeah and cursed the raggy a few minutes ago for being overconfident. My heart whispered 'shit' but my mouth screamed the
-yeahhhh"
I couldn't pull this off. I struggled after the third second which was supposed to be the twelveth second. My stomach warned me with a slight cramp and i remembered the huge amount of food intake from the buffet breakfast a few half-an-hours ago. I surrendered to silence. Chester's yeah continued in the background for four to five more seconds and my disappontment acknowledged it as a taunt.
"wa ee pi lu ka ku gok" (wah he's longer than you)
"beh chio eh la" (Can't be sung wan la)
Perhaps i just wasn't emo enough.
(for those (i think everyone) who don't know, we were singing k, and i picked the song 'given up' by linkin park which has a 17 second long growl. )
*****
happy belated birthday
****
The couple, in separate cars, wound down the window simultaneously. The two girls giggled like they found 50 bucks on the floor. We eyed them with almost curious eyes and wondered if there was bird shit on my head and we didn't realised it as we woke up too early in the morning.
"Wa raggy you're so pretty!"
"you look like a girl from this angle!"
I took that as a compliment but remembered that i own (no past tense okay) a dick and gave them two fingers that symbolized it. No hostile situation here, I was still half-smiling because a deluded part of me still believed in that lie.
"HOR zeroes u cheat!"
He smiled, they laughed, my middle fingers persisted and the couple realised that we had enough nonsense and stopped the conversation by winding up the car windows. But it was still red light. Boschbell (haha) became fickle-minded (and jealous) and wound down the window again, as if to tell us something important.
"but i'm prettier!"
***
happy belated birthday
***
Work is getting busy. No time for fragments, scatter. #3 has wrong paragraphing. And i am doing nothing about it.
and erm. we skipped our carnival night for you! touched or not? okay maybe that's not much. roar.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
fragments, scatter # 3: wake me up inside
Great. It could be you who gave us the ability to see ghosts. And now is not a good time to be sarcastic.
How can you not trust your girlfriend? You're breaking my heart.
It could be that you were hiding that fact all along to spare me the dreadful details.
I'm not.
But it doesn't make sense either.
Or it could the side effects of.. your possession? I wanted to think that this was a dream.
You're convincing me little by little that this isn't a dream, from that statement.
Am I actually listening to your unfiltered thoughts?
Are we actually listening to each other's unfiltered thoughts?
This could be problematic.
Didn't you just say that I could trust you?
Yeah, but..
but?
All of my woman-ly secrets would be unwillingly revealed to you. Like my ex's name is Monero that you didn't know and that I preferred his body over yours. (obviously)
Shivers were sent down my spine. I
felt that too and it was weird as hell because it's like I was making myself shiver. It's not like I heard Xyren pronounced her sentence word by word but it just... occurred to me? I felt the same too. As if we were communicating as one person's inner conflict. Discipline versus temptation. Principle versus efficiency. My angel versus my devil. Heads versus tails. Difference was, it's Blink versus Xyren now. And a kind reminder, we were in a cemetery. I knew, stop repeating. The same silhouettes continued to stare at us like we were a quarreling couple in a drama. That made us realise that all that conversation/ our monologue happened a lot faster than our talking pace. The shiver shock was still apparent within the spine, rendering goosebumps to almost every existing hair of my/his body. The exaggerating vibration was so unbearable that my reflex pointlessly sent our hand to stop the vibration like how you cover a fresh wound. My eyes turned to look at my hand, mine but not authoritatively mine. The unexpected change of view felt 'Cloverfield'-ish.What the fuck? Much to our horror, 'something' (similar to those festering on Hind's legs) was twisting and tickling and shaking my spine like an emo kid gone bonkers/it was the cause of the shiver. The grotesque was hideous beyond my imagination.
And you actually saw it before?
His question was answered by my memory before fleeing from St Jermane. Somehow, it resembled the sheer ugliness and the lack of form although it didn't look necessarily the same. The missing body parts, or the only existing body parts of the 'something' consisted of three hands, a longer one, one that looked like a human's and one that looked like half a hand. It shared the same faded grey with semi transparency. Adding detail to its atrocity, the three arms seemed to be joined to an asymmetrical face whose face features almost proportionate with the length of the arms. We could see its brain exposed at its forehead and the sight intensified the nerve-numbing sensation. Our hand began to wave frantically at where the 'something' was to shove it away although we didn't exactly know if that action would do any good.
Surprisingly it did.
Really? The situation we were in now wasn't very convincing. For a tiny speck of moment my spine felt normal but your uncertainty seemed to have revived the unholy creature. Then, a second wave of shiver, this one a whole lot more amplified, hit us as if it intended to peel off all the hair from the body. Variations of the 'something's solidified in thin air from trails of black ashes converging from every direction to form the body parts. A pile of apparitions (lets call it apparitions instead of 'something's from now) were cutting each other's queue to 'play' with my/our spinal cord.ArEReREerRerreREeReRErgEEeH!!!
I/We wanted to scream but choked momentarily and no sound came out and I imagined those apparitions summoned two hands to choke us to death. I would like to think, though, that both of us issued different commands that confused this body instead of apparitions trying to suffocate us. Impressed by Blinkie's optimistic deduction at such a dangerous timing, I will try to put away all my negativity and help juice out some ideas to free ourselves from this mess. Still, my/our head jerked to the front violently from the attack and I had to move a few steps to the front to accommodate our balance.
Thanks, but did you just called me Blinkey?
And I let my mind get distracted by that embarrassing inquiry although I knew now wasn't exactly the appropriate time. Answering him,
Ever since I'd actually starting to feel something for you.
Don't you dare call me weird!
Much to our delight that distracting conversation/ monologue lessened the tingling annoying sensation. Another unsolved confusion about the silhouettes that were sitting or moving around observing us suddenly popped. Most of the apparitions broke into fragments and scattered around, diverging to every direction and gathered or disappeared in random spots. The shiver hadn't been completely gone but it felt comfortable enough for me/us to unknowningly stare at the immobile silhouettes I/we saw before. The facial features was a blur at first but every feature seemed to fall onto place the longer I/ we concentrated. The abnormality slowly constructed itself from the scattered fragments from the fragments of the apparition to look more and more normal, and now a middle-aged man stood before my/our eyes. As neither of us were familiar with such sightings, a simple gesture like a smile from that phantom erected every hair in my/our body again what the fuck.
I wanted to look away so I turned around to confirm if my deductions were correct.
Again, the apparitions re-formed the same way to possibly do the same thing to us but we kinda felt prepared for it by forcing ourselves to talk to each other intimately/reenacting lovey dovey sweet talks!and what the fuck do you mean by 'forcing'!? was talking to me that fricking hard?
Explain blinkey? I do love talking to you. It's just that you always want me to say something smart.
Because I think you're really cute and you deserve a '-ie' behind your original name. and what the fuck- 'i do love talking to you' is nowhere smart.
Why are you replying before I could compose anything from my mind? 'Blinkey' kinda annoys me.
What do you mean annoying?! It's not!
It is, to me! To think that you NEVER actually called me that be- (interrupted by another thought)
An inconvenient truth: I realised we were communicating with each other's unfiltered thoughts too spontaneously. A human brain takes some time to receive input signals coming from random sensing sources and takes some time (the period usually differs for each individual) to interpret them to produce reactions. And now, we were as if listening and talking to each other's processing language - I wasn't even sure it was even English. It could be a customised language for a specific word that you were most familiar with or a picture that pops to the mind. In any case, a picture would be the most instantaneous. A mind then decides which reaction would deem the most appropriate by the norms and then present a reaction. As for now, anything that came to mind will be heard exactly even before any physical reaction is given - because of the 'possession'.
Somehow I understood what Blinkie meant - I'm not sure if I could if I wasn't sharing his mind - and it soothed my mind which was in a boggling mess.Quickly I was reminded about the apparitions which were supposed to be responsible for sending shivers down our spine.Why you!~
The 'oops' was so casual that it unknowingly distracted my mind from feeling fear. Or maybe it was that smart ass observation that Blinkie made that I wanted to hear which kind of charmed me to the extend I temporarily forgotten that I was starring in a horror film. Did i just not see those apparitions when we were pre-occupied with our own world of thoughts?
Not to mention that our spine was relaxed since what-the-fuck-did-you-mean-by-forcing.You thinking what I am thinking?
The guilt of the five murders..
and that I forgot about it and no longer see them right after realising that my cause was righteous..
Am I actually reliving in your memory?
It was as if I was recalling the scene. As it was still fresh in her, or our, mind, the details and sensation were so unbelievably... myself, if it was the word for it.I wondered if I could dig into a random stored memory of Xyren's.
Hey! No peeking!Wow, a few more seconds of distraction from the shiver!
Huh?
Another shiver.
I would like to think that this one was lesser in magnitude. I would like to think that Blinkie is the most optimistic boyfriend in the world. And that we were pretty moronic for standing and flirting in a cemetery. And cool too. Because I was getting more and more used to it? The form of the apparitions correspond to our feelings?Uhm. Ya. Smart. Sarcastically impressed. Let's run away?
Impulsively I commanded the right leg to make the first step while I used the left to do the same and fell like an oversized toddler that tried to run before knowing how to walk properly. The bruises I've gathered moments ago from Whart was excruciatingly painful as I/we landed on the ground in contact with them.
The pain couldn't be so real. Your voice couldn't be so clear.
This really wasn't a dream.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
fragments, scatter # 2 : death isn't enough to separate us
The wheel of fate is turning.
A few droplet of tears met a piece of paper that spells the name Klanfal Oademe. The liquid ate its way throughout the paper within Rag's hand like condensed hydrochloric acid. But it didn't do any harm to the wretched fingers that belonged to the Grim. Several seconds ago, the very same Klanfal Oademe that the paper meant was waiting on his motorcycle for the traffic light in front of his office to turn green. An efficient employee himself, he was always punctual. Sadly, the truck driver from the left junction didnt share his punctuality. Trying to keep his job, the trucker made a high speed corner to save himself some two minutes because he was already five minutes late. However, his vehicle went out of ccntrol. The container dislocated and rammed through poor Klanfal Oademe's head. His helmet wasn't enough to save his fragile life even for a few seconds after impact. When the Grim decided to kill Klanfal Oademe The Grim never knew who he was, how did he look like, how old was he when he perished, or how he perished. Like every other Grim, Rag just randomly chose this name, or any name, not according to how many sins or deeds he/she did, nor showing any signs of remorse or compassion. The wretched fingers would then fill its emptiness with another paper with another name;this time, a Saedem Aerok, forgetting the murder of Klanfal Oademe he committed just a few five seconds ago. Those same emotionless tears. It vanished the same way. As a result, a 46 year-old man surrendered his life to cancer. Modeas Aerok and Mrs Saedom Aerok who were in his dying bed wept after the doctor pronounced his death. Like a doctor, a Grim's job is to pronounce death. Unlike a doctor, a Grim never document the cause of death. A Grim may be an reincarnation of a previous deity, a human, an animal, a plant, another Grim, or nothing at all. Whichever he was, he has no recollection of his previous life nor any prophecy regarding his futuring life. He wouldn't just spare a Thereza-something because of the possiblity of another Mona Thereza. He wouldn't just save a Adulf-something because of the possiblity of another Adulf Hitta. Afterwards, a Thereza Polos was being erased. An angry client just clubbed a prostitute to death. Next a Edawe Ol Desfo. A beggar died of hunger. Next a Adeis Aloaped. Drowning suicide. Then a Poon Soow Sea. Electric chair, death sentence. And no, Rag never bothered to know how even though someone around them knew, be it punished, suicide, accident, or anything. Like a diligent operator, he worked like a machine, never hindered by the absolute monotony of wetting papers.
Then a Xyren Leverouqe. Rag gave this name a few seconds before deciding to cry on it. It was as if it was calling out for something. A distant memory perhaps? For the very first time, he felt curious although he wasn't supposed to. He was then quickly reminded by the 'punishment' if he lost his focus but an obscure sensation in himself made him wonder for a few more seconds again. He dismissed the interference but the interference relented, saving that paper for a few more seconds, and then it was gone. Before he realised it himself, the same few disintergrating tears escaped his eyes like captives from a prison. He never noticed whether the tears reached the paper but the previous mysterious urge resurfaced causing him to let go of that piece of paper. He wasn't sure if his tears came in contact with the paper. That little sheet danced its way back into the wheel of fate. He didn't cared to track it back though. Subsequently, the wretched fingers reached out to grab a Whart Dogdot, resuming his constant routine of eternity.
Little did the careless Rag knew that only one drop of the tears touched that piece of paper with Xyren Leverouqe's name on it. It vapourized a portion of it but it wasnt not enough to make the words unrecognizable. The semi-damaged and semi-viscous piece of paper then landed on another piece with the name of Blink Cryxalis. And merged with it. And disappeared into the billion pieces of papers with many other names on them that spiralled ceaselessly to look like the galaxy's most expensive confetti.
The wheel of fate kept turning.
***
A fucking dick. It felt alien but mine as I actually felt it being touched. This had to be a dream. Weirder than the one where I had hair that spanned to the length of my knees. Or the one everyone around me looked like me. Or the one I accidentally entered a beauty pageant for travesties. Oh wait I felt like one now. But it was never so.. surreal. I should be waking up anytime now right? I should be waking up. Wake up. Or maybe, the dream wasn't strange enough to signal goosebumps to my whole body that was gonna make me jump off the bed? Right? Right? Right?
What the fuck. For around ten seconds, i was too dumbfounded to move my hand away from my private part. Monero eyed me in disgust, probably infuriated by my indecent queer-like position. Knowing homophobic him, he must had thought I insulted his pride. His state of confusion hadn't left him though, and he was curious enough to talk to, erm, whom he assumed was Blinkie.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
He was loud but wasn't as loud as he was when he was searching for us. It took a few seconds to register in my mind that I should at least reply him to stop ourselves from staring at each other awkwardly. And I could test out my voice too.
"Enjoying my manhood."
I paid attention to myself as i said it. I actually sound like the-man-who-was-gonna marry-my-corpse, but the feeling of myself producing someone else's (although a boyfriend's) voice is extremely freaky. In hopes of provoking the stupid ex further, I grinned and imagined how retarded I/Blinkie would look because I never had cam-whored-with-grinning-poses with a different face before.
With the left arm shielding his waist and the right one clenched to form a fist, he charged wobbily towards me. His movement was much slower than before that I even had time to notice that Hind was still rolling on the floor and Whart was already shot dead probably during the random fires while struggling with Hind.
"Take this!"
That trademark one-shot punch again. Did he thought that I evaded the previous one out of pure luck? Underestimating people had been his negative trait. Inability to learn too. That hand on the wound had gave away more openings on the other parts of his body. Sorry Honey.
I barely dodged the attack and swiftly jabbed on his Adam's apple, nose, and then his stomach. It did hurt my cracked knuckle a little, but watching the big guy tumble to the floor was worth the pain. His fall was accompanied by profanities and gibberish that made me felt sorry for myself for not being able to hit him hard enough to silence him. But hey, I wasnt using my body. What the fuck. So I've beaten the last boss of this virtual game called dream. Do I get to wake up now?
Maybe Blinkie possessed my body in return and was hiding somewhere molesting it. He could've just asked right? That shy boy. But he's so unbelievably cute sometimes. Heeee. I looked around. There were men who were moaning and groaning like they lost their manhood (one did) and men who died happy cause they were satisfyingly silent for catching a glimpse at a dazzling-magnificent-elegant(not forgetting cute)-gorgeous lady's cleavage before breathing their last breath. I didn't see any prima-donna-super-model-beauty-queen that tried to act like a hero, nor any soul that might give me the slightest hint that it was Blinkie's.
Blink blink.
I just murdered a few people. Did Blinkie end up in one of their bodies or mine and then died? Not that I never killed before, but this was kind of.. scary. Guilt surged into me unconsciously, it had being ages since I had actually felt guilty.
Blink blink blink.
Simple logic, nothing was gonna change no matter how many times I blinked. No corpse was gonna spring back to life and tell me he was Blinkie and then we could start a gay relationship. But a little part of me thought that that would be very romantic. Subsequently that little part of me got me to examine the fallen men to ensure if my perception of romanticism was wrong. Something semi transparent that resembled dark clouds seemed to be coming out from all of the bodies that I had obliterated. Okay. They were gonna turn into horrifying ghosts and scare the living hell out of me and I could wake up and cry to my boyfriend about the weirdest (and coolest) nightmare.
Blink blink blink blink.
Similiar unknown entities hovered around Monero, as if they were helping him to regain his stance. The clouds from the dead formed shapes that looked like themselves. I could recognize the-pivot-head, the-castrated-man, the-useless-jerk, the-failed-gunman and the-professional-batter standing transparently on their own body. Hind was still spinning around, very much alive, screaming his lungs out to 'something's kneeling in front of him, licking (or eating) his wounded leg like vultures feasting on a carcass. The 'something's looked like perverted uncles who died to fatal car accidents or brutal samurai slashes or anti-alien laser beams because none of them had complete human body parts. They would push each other like aunties on a hard sale boutique store for food but none of them seemed to extract any mass from the leg.
What the fuck?
Blink blink blink blink BLINK.
I did NOT wake up. The five vengeful spirits were still admiring how good I look. Stupid ex was almost managing to complete his impossible feat of standing up. Vulture food was still screaming like a vampire bathing in sunlight. My guilty conscience multiplied. Fear manifested. So I ran. Down the stairs. Out from St. Jermane. Out from Rakelash Cliffs. Anywhere but there. Anywhere without them.
*****
My knee joints were in stinging pain, as if they were gonna dislocate from my thighs. I had being sprinting for five minutes. Lactic acid was threatening my legs to give it a stop. Oh great, now I'm stuck in the typical-running-from-ghost nightmare, and this was about time my legs would fail me and the ghosts would come so close to me and they would slash or hack or rape or bite or pinch or suffocate or flog me till I wake up. So I braved myself to turn around (as well as cursing Blinkie's untrained legs) to watch how creative my dream would annihilate me out of the dream-world. Odd enough, they were behind me and the distance between them and me was still the same, even when i stopped running. Regrettably, they looked ugly and so I closed my eyes and imagined Blinkie's face so that I could die with a good looking smile (in a dream).
Xyreennnnn!!!!
Wow. My imagination rocks. Hold on to meee!!!! Huh? I could imagine his voice as if I really heard him. I remembered that I was lying down with my hands clinging on to the love of my life, and then i was... unconscious? Was I sleepwalking? On such a time? Did I run like a coward?
What the fuck? Where are you? And why was I guilty anyway, I was saving my boyfriend's ass. I opened my eyes anyway, hoping to see Blinkie in my body which was somewhere around and then it occured to me that the external voice sounded just like him. He should sound like me with my body, right? Wait, was it even, external? It sounded like it was coming from within me. Inside. Nevertheless it boosted my courage to deal with those freaks although I might not have any idea how to do so.
What do you mean? Where are you? Was I hearing her talking to herself that she heard what was i saying in my mind? Why couldn't I see her around? Why am I gasping for breath?
I was hearing him, or should I use 'you' too. Let's see.. if I have still had control over this body.
"Where are you?"
I felt my mouth move but my brains or my reflex never issued any command to speak. Was I being mind controlled? I was pretty sure that I heard Xyren's voice just now, but it didn't seem to be coming from any direction. Did I miss her so much that I started to hallucinate her voice in my head? Or did she poss-#
That made perfect sense now. I just poss-#
#POSSESSED#
me?/him. I was unexplainably happy to hear that uninteresting voice though. As fast as the guilt vanished, the apparitions seemed to be dragged away, to the direction of the lighthouse. Haha. What a sweet dream. Now I could hear the exact thoughts of my man.
Grrr. What you mean by uninteresting? And there were ghosts chasing you? As weird as it seemed, this didn't felt like a dream at all.
Oh no.
Death isn't enough to separate us. You/I said that.
Oh no.
Watch what you said! You/I replied.
Our minds went blank for awhile, trying to dissolve what that had happened to me/us. A few seconds proceeded, I could hear this might be the best or worst dream of my life, what if this isn't a dream?, and what happened to the five stupids?; while I could hear did i just pulled her soul into my body?, Where is her body? What happened to her ex and the gang?
Then we saw silhouttes, scattered around in random spots, some stationary while some mobile, staring at us with the most curious eyes. (of course we can't really see their eyes as they are silhouttes. We judged by the way their faces turn towards me/us.)
You gave me the ability to see ghosts, didn't you?
What the fuck. I didn't know. I still thought this was a dream.
Well, good job for dreaming me into a cemetery.
A few droplet of tears met a piece of paper that spells the name Klanfal Oademe. The liquid ate its way throughout the paper within Rag's hand like condensed hydrochloric acid. But it didn't do any harm to the wretched fingers that belonged to the Grim. Several seconds ago, the very same Klanfal Oademe that the paper meant was waiting on his motorcycle for the traffic light in front of his office to turn green. An efficient employee himself, he was always punctual. Sadly, the truck driver from the left junction didnt share his punctuality. Trying to keep his job, the trucker made a high speed corner to save himself some two minutes because he was already five minutes late. However, his vehicle went out of ccntrol. The container dislocated and rammed through poor Klanfal Oademe's head. His helmet wasn't enough to save his fragile life even for a few seconds after impact. When the Grim decided to kill Klanfal Oademe The Grim never knew who he was, how did he look like, how old was he when he perished, or how he perished. Like every other Grim, Rag just randomly chose this name, or any name, not according to how many sins or deeds he/she did, nor showing any signs of remorse or compassion. The wretched fingers would then fill its emptiness with another paper with another name;this time, a Saedem Aerok, forgetting the murder of Klanfal Oademe he committed just a few five seconds ago. Those same emotionless tears. It vanished the same way. As a result, a 46 year-old man surrendered his life to cancer. Modeas Aerok and Mrs Saedom Aerok who were in his dying bed wept after the doctor pronounced his death. Like a doctor, a Grim's job is to pronounce death. Unlike a doctor, a Grim never document the cause of death. A Grim may be an reincarnation of a previous deity, a human, an animal, a plant, another Grim, or nothing at all. Whichever he was, he has no recollection of his previous life nor any prophecy regarding his futuring life. He wouldn't just spare a Thereza-something because of the possiblity of another Mona Thereza. He wouldn't just save a Adulf-something because of the possiblity of another Adulf Hitta. Afterwards, a Thereza Polos was being erased. An angry client just clubbed a prostitute to death. Next a Edawe Ol Desfo. A beggar died of hunger. Next a Adeis Aloaped. Drowning suicide. Then a Poon Soow Sea. Electric chair, death sentence. And no, Rag never bothered to know how even though someone around them knew, be it punished, suicide, accident, or anything. Like a diligent operator, he worked like a machine, never hindered by the absolute monotony of wetting papers.
Then a Xyren Leverouqe. Rag gave this name a few seconds before deciding to cry on it. It was as if it was calling out for something. A distant memory perhaps? For the very first time, he felt curious although he wasn't supposed to. He was then quickly reminded by the 'punishment' if he lost his focus but an obscure sensation in himself made him wonder for a few more seconds again. He dismissed the interference but the interference relented, saving that paper for a few more seconds, and then it was gone. Before he realised it himself, the same few disintergrating tears escaped his eyes like captives from a prison. He never noticed whether the tears reached the paper but the previous mysterious urge resurfaced causing him to let go of that piece of paper. He wasn't sure if his tears came in contact with the paper. That little sheet danced its way back into the wheel of fate. He didn't cared to track it back though. Subsequently, the wretched fingers reached out to grab a Whart Dogdot, resuming his constant routine of eternity.
Little did the careless Rag knew that only one drop of the tears touched that piece of paper with Xyren Leverouqe's name on it. It vapourized a portion of it but it wasnt not enough to make the words unrecognizable. The semi-damaged and semi-viscous piece of paper then landed on another piece with the name of Blink Cryxalis. And merged with it. And disappeared into the billion pieces of papers with many other names on them that spiralled ceaselessly to look like the galaxy's most expensive confetti.
The wheel of fate kept turning.
***
A fucking dick. It felt alien but mine as I actually felt it being touched. This had to be a dream. Weirder than the one where I had hair that spanned to the length of my knees. Or the one everyone around me looked like me. Or the one I accidentally entered a beauty pageant for travesties. Oh wait I felt like one now. But it was never so.. surreal. I should be waking up anytime now right? I should be waking up. Wake up. Or maybe, the dream wasn't strange enough to signal goosebumps to my whole body that was gonna make me jump off the bed? Right? Right? Right?
What the fuck. For around ten seconds, i was too dumbfounded to move my hand away from my private part. Monero eyed me in disgust, probably infuriated by my indecent queer-like position. Knowing homophobic him, he must had thought I insulted his pride. His state of confusion hadn't left him though, and he was curious enough to talk to, erm, whom he assumed was Blinkie.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
He was loud but wasn't as loud as he was when he was searching for us. It took a few seconds to register in my mind that I should at least reply him to stop ourselves from staring at each other awkwardly. And I could test out my voice too.
"Enjoying my manhood."
I paid attention to myself as i said it. I actually sound like the-man-who-was-gonna marry-my-corpse, but the feeling of myself producing someone else's (although a boyfriend's) voice is extremely freaky. In hopes of provoking the stupid ex further, I grinned and imagined how retarded I/Blinkie would look because I never had cam-whored-with-grinning-poses with a different face before.
With the left arm shielding his waist and the right one clenched to form a fist, he charged wobbily towards me. His movement was much slower than before that I even had time to notice that Hind was still rolling on the floor and Whart was already shot dead probably during the random fires while struggling with Hind.
"Take this!"
That trademark one-shot punch again. Did he thought that I evaded the previous one out of pure luck? Underestimating people had been his negative trait. Inability to learn too. That hand on the wound had gave away more openings on the other parts of his body. Sorry Honey.
I barely dodged the attack and swiftly jabbed on his Adam's apple, nose, and then his stomach. It did hurt my cracked knuckle a little, but watching the big guy tumble to the floor was worth the pain. His fall was accompanied by profanities and gibberish that made me felt sorry for myself for not being able to hit him hard enough to silence him. But hey, I wasnt using my body. What the fuck. So I've beaten the last boss of this virtual game called dream. Do I get to wake up now?
Maybe Blinkie possessed my body in return and was hiding somewhere molesting it. He could've just asked right? That shy boy. But he's so unbelievably cute sometimes. Heeee. I looked around. There were men who were moaning and groaning like they lost their manhood (one did) and men who died happy cause they were satisfyingly silent for catching a glimpse at a dazzling-magnificent-elegant(not forgetting cute)-gorgeous lady's cleavage before breathing their last breath. I didn't see any prima-donna-super-model-beauty-queen that tried to act like a hero, nor any soul that might give me the slightest hint that it was Blinkie's.
Blink blink.
I just murdered a few people. Did Blinkie end up in one of their bodies or mine and then died? Not that I never killed before, but this was kind of.. scary. Guilt surged into me unconsciously, it had being ages since I had actually felt guilty.
Blink blink blink.
Simple logic, nothing was gonna change no matter how many times I blinked. No corpse was gonna spring back to life and tell me he was Blinkie and then we could start a gay relationship. But a little part of me thought that that would be very romantic. Subsequently that little part of me got me to examine the fallen men to ensure if my perception of romanticism was wrong. Something semi transparent that resembled dark clouds seemed to be coming out from all of the bodies that I had obliterated. Okay. They were gonna turn into horrifying ghosts and scare the living hell out of me and I could wake up and cry to my boyfriend about the weirdest (and coolest) nightmare.
Blink blink blink blink.
Similiar unknown entities hovered around Monero, as if they were helping him to regain his stance. The clouds from the dead formed shapes that looked like themselves. I could recognize the-pivot-head, the-castrated-man, the-useless-jerk, the-failed-gunman and the-professional-batter standing transparently on their own body. Hind was still spinning around, very much alive, screaming his lungs out to 'something's kneeling in front of him, licking (or eating) his wounded leg like vultures feasting on a carcass. The 'something's looked like perverted uncles who died to fatal car accidents or brutal samurai slashes or anti-alien laser beams because none of them had complete human body parts. They would push each other like aunties on a hard sale boutique store for food but none of them seemed to extract any mass from the leg.
What the fuck?
Blink blink blink blink BLINK.
I did NOT wake up. The five vengeful spirits were still admiring how good I look. Stupid ex was almost managing to complete his impossible feat of standing up. Vulture food was still screaming like a vampire bathing in sunlight. My guilty conscience multiplied. Fear manifested. So I ran. Down the stairs. Out from St. Jermane. Out from Rakelash Cliffs. Anywhere but there. Anywhere without them.
*****
My knee joints were in stinging pain, as if they were gonna dislocate from my thighs. I had being sprinting for five minutes. Lactic acid was threatening my legs to give it a stop. Oh great, now I'm stuck in the typical-running-from-ghost nightmare, and this was about time my legs would fail me and the ghosts would come so close to me and they would slash or hack or rape or bite or pinch or suffocate or flog me till I wake up. So I braved myself to turn around (as well as cursing Blinkie's untrained legs) to watch how creative my dream would annihilate me out of the dream-world. Odd enough, they were behind me and the distance between them and me was still the same, even when i stopped running. Regrettably, they looked ugly and so I closed my eyes and imagined Blinkie's face so that I could die with a good looking smile (in a dream).
Xyreennnnn!!!!
Wow. My imagination rocks. Hold on to meee!!!! Huh? I could imagine his voice as if I really heard him. I remembered that I was lying down with my hands clinging on to the love of my life, and then i was... unconscious? Was I sleepwalking? On such a time? Did I run like a coward?
What the fuck? Where are you? And why was I guilty anyway, I was saving my boyfriend's ass. I opened my eyes anyway, hoping to see Blinkie in my body which was somewhere around and then it occured to me that the external voice sounded just like him. He should sound like me with my body, right? Wait, was it even, external? It sounded like it was coming from within me. Inside. Nevertheless it boosted my courage to deal with those freaks although I might not have any idea how to do so.
What do you mean? Where are you? Was I hearing her talking to herself that she heard what was i saying in my mind? Why couldn't I see her around? Why am I gasping for breath?
I was hearing him, or should I use 'you' too. Let's see.. if I have still had control over this body.
"Where are you?"
I felt my mouth move but my brains or my reflex never issued any command to speak. Was I being mind controlled? I was pretty sure that I heard Xyren's voice just now, but it didn't seem to be coming from any direction. Did I miss her so much that I started to hallucinate her voice in my head? Or did she poss-#
That made perfect sense now. I just poss-#
#POSSESSED#
me?/him. I was unexplainably happy to hear that uninteresting voice though. As fast as the guilt vanished, the apparitions seemed to be dragged away, to the direction of the lighthouse. Haha. What a sweet dream. Now I could hear the exact thoughts of my man.
Grrr. What you mean by uninteresting? And there were ghosts chasing you? As weird as it seemed, this didn't felt like a dream at all.
Oh no.
Death isn't enough to separate us. You/I said that.
Oh no.
Watch what you said! You/I replied.
Our minds went blank for awhile, trying to dissolve what that had happened to me/us. A few seconds proceeded, I could hear this might be the best or worst dream of my life, what if this isn't a dream?, and what happened to the five stupids?; while I could hear did i just pulled her soul into my body?, Where is her body? What happened to her ex and the gang?
Then we saw silhouttes, scattered around in random spots, some stationary while some mobile, staring at us with the most curious eyes. (of course we can't really see their eyes as they are silhouttes. We judged by the way their faces turn towards me/us.)
You gave me the ability to see ghosts, didn't you?
What the fuck. I didn't know. I still thought this was a dream.
Well, good job for dreaming me into a cemetery.
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