Happy? Happiness, that emotion that is so aptly put as a state of contentment and well-being? Whomst should I give the accolades for instilling me with that subconscious sensation?
Let us look at the potential winners for the exclusive screening rights in my mental faculty for the upcoming months.
In the category of why do I sound happy at the prospect of manipulating these useless things to do my bidding, there is a tight race for first place.
We have candidates aplenty in the early child-rearing. Too long a list, so they were just lumped together, like the absolute champs they were. Are these fine specimens, the ones walking away with living rent-free in my brain for a while?
Chalk it up to childhood trauma, the classic, clear fan favourite.
However, one would come to regret underestimating the emotional impact that the flavour of the month delirium brought about. The quiet supportive cast for decades was finally ready for its place in the spotlight. Projecting, shifting blame, theorising my ineptitude, you name it, it has done it. Since its inception, there has been no traumatic event unturned.
Maybe the true friends were the mental illnesses we made along the way?
Last, but certainly not least, we have an unprecedented dark horse entering the race.
Crippling self-doubt, coming from the deepest insecurities hidden beneath a façade of nice-sounding spiel. There is no denying the impact this phenomenon has left in its wake. It did not come here to play, it was here to take the crown.
Who would persevere, who would come out on top?
What a strong competition, I could clearly not determine the rightful winner of this clash of titans. In my book, there were only winners present here.
But there could only be one… the choice, as per tradition, up to fate.
Spinning did the wheel of misfortune, in the mind to settle on the lovely discourse for the next month. Regardless where the wheel would land on, it would not be a price I would like to claim.
Carrying said mind in my thick skull for decades taught me enough: The damage has been done, regardless of what I think and try to reason. There is no way out of this spiral.
One did not need the hands of little children working in the mines to grasp that little nugget of wisdom.
The sublime, twas all ears, didn’t listen, but saw through everything.
I should not open that can of worms, since there is enough on my plate already. No need to throw out more bait.
The delivery is on the house anyhow.
If one were to question what Logos was doing at this very moment. The answer was surprisingly not busting out the worm as a dance move. No, for some reason he was throwing gang signs at me.
At this point, I did not ask, did not question; I simply nodded.
Just another day in perturbed paradise.
Mr smelt it, dealt it proved no correlation implied causation with every action taken. Be it creative sign language to unravel the secrets of the universe or a simple request to ‘can’ it.
The spineless invertebrates remained sealed shut─as such, why have you not wormed your way out of here? Logos, what are you loitering around for?
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
From the depths of hell, a royalty-free, B-grade, sitcom laughter crawled up and blessed my ears with the soundtrack of my wasted youth trying to understand what others found funny.
Its effectiveness in eliciting a laugh was as adding in value as the creatively bankrupt, morally reprehensible, audibly disappointing, ethically lacking, onomatopoeia war crimes were to any written work not named comic.
My very soul sapped away one sound effect at a time.
My search for meaning in self ‘n comedy went totally ‘BOOM’ as my heart went ‘KABUMM’ trying to keep me from ending it all. ‘Pitter, Patter’ went my tears. “SWOOSH” made the grey matter, moments shy of turning my life into a grey screen.
And ‘ZOOM’ we go back to the funny fun, fun currently assaulting in my ears.
The quest to determine why anyone was using this acoustic terrorism in the name of bringing smiles to people remained an elusive, enigmatic brouhaha.
The results were obviously less than Stella, the unfunniest species did not provide much entertainment in the way of comedy.
To this very day the crowning achievement of bipedal, hairy monkey humour is to be found when any male specimen of our kind gets an object launched at their scrotum and contact is made.
As the proud owner of a biological sister blessed with scientific spirit and a pair of said humoristic targets, I could easily confirm that its laugh-inducing qualities only appeared when the target was someone else's groyne.
Quite the breathtaking sensation. The master of disaster responsible for the current situation, whose breath I wanted to take away, was whistling the sweet tune of “Oh, look at the time, is the sky not really blue today”. The innocence in eldritch husk, he was…
“WOOOOOPS,” exclaimed Logos, totally, seriously, being the most apologetic he has ever been.
“What an unfortunate timing. This sound effect was mainly intended to underline a different punchline with much-needed crowd support.”
What an impeccable reasoning. Bang your head into the wooden walls enough-a-times, and one might truly be able to follow this mind-bogglingly chain of creative interpretations of what one can only assume to be a logical argument.
Not that I do mind the occasion to make light out of Plato’s sex cave here, but, ya know, what keeps you here?
Did’cha finally tie the knot with the TV? Want me to throw some rice, comb your hair while we are at it? If you say pretty please, I will catch the bouquet too…might as well marry my bed.
Till I am fused into it and only death do us part. Yum, Yum, Yum.
But I digress, my cerebral cortex is simply too small for this new world. Go ahead, call me an idiot, but please explain what keeps you here?
“My Impressively Deficient In Ordinary Thinking friend, the answer is before your very eyes.”
A finger shot up, firmly pointing ahead in a direction I had barely noticed. Oh right, dear sister in her midlife crisis.
...yeah, that's one way to go about it.
Well, she won't have to lose any face, not if we would take it first. I have one more question that I sincerely want answered from the bottom of this blood-pumping vascular organ.
Do you really have nothing better to do? No hobbies, friends, or anything with a greater communal benefit than piecing together something from this dress-up mini-game??
I'm just saying... if I had your powers, you would surely see me doing many things─excluding your Mom, as such lofty ambition is what Earth’s finest scholars pursue.
All that power, all that ability, in the end you simply do what Botox could have done at a much cheaper rate. Giving her a new face, well, I'd rather have mine angrily munched on by a rabid monkey...
If you enjoy the sudden Eureka-moment, finding monkeys to qualify as a good, ideal pet. If you truly are under the impression that this sounds like a good idea. Then, my dear friend, you should have listened to the recording of it, pure chills.
But Logos found no pleasure in my morbid knowledge. Would it not have been too great, if there was at least one thing we idealistic free-thinkers had in common?
No, the esteemed gentlemen devoted his full attention to the girl, the thing, this whatchamacallit, which with a lot, a lot, a lot of good-will could have been associated with my other otherworldly sister.
The difference between the body now and afterwards remains unclear. Aesthetic appreciation wasn’t exactly a valid motivation here.
Whatever, don't punch a gift horse in the mouth…
Speaking of horses... golden transition, I know, I know. How about you just turn her into an enchanting princess? Something that has never-ever been brought to the big stages of storytelling?
One can not exactly copyright the clichéd. After all, a happy ending awaited us all.
And if they did not die, they shall so soon. Of boredom shall it be, to perish, for nothing was happening at the moment. My life time, remaining, shall be spent and nothing of relevance ought to ever occur again. When the stars align, so will it be this world’s fate to die─before anything of relevance is to happen, again.
As if stung by a tarantula on opioids, Logos began doing things that renewed my lack of understanding and defied the bounds of normal, logical thinking.
He paced in circles, wildly gesturing toward the sky, looked as though someone had fornicated with his mojo, and grumbled with such exaggeration, that I couldn't conjure up a witty comparison anymore.
There was just so much grumbling.
.
A pregnant pause…
.
“Mon Dieu, I must bid Adieu," exclaimed the mysterious figure one may have come to know as Logos, as it simply puffed away in a whisk of smoke and disappeared into stale air, like a long-forgotten dream or my will to live.
Just like that, the father-figure of so many weird thoughts of mine, had evaporated into thin air.
The world stood still, still. Still, the silence returned to this place. The ‘it is not a phase, Mom’ went through another phase. While I ruminate about the intricacies of how Logos would surprise me this time.
Soon, he would pop up again in some sort of wicked-twisted “gotcha” moment.
Then, we would both share a good laugh at my own foolishness, exchange some semi-intellectual banter and then turn my sister into a monstrosity that neither this world nor planet Earth could have ever dreamed off.
Followed by a sudden, unannounced death brought to you by this very world. As it collapsed under its own weight, we were reduced to atoms in an instant.
THE END.
It was only a matter of when and how. When Logos would pop up, akin to Jack-in-a-Box and how in tarnation he’d fit into one.
Till then, I would prolly kill some time, by silently waiting and praying for my death. Count to a million or two, recite the bible in old Latin, inadvertently summon a demon in doing so.
The wait would be tremendous, and it already bored the hell out of me.
I appreciate the desire to make this memorable. Howbeit, I do not think that the potential pay-off was sufficiently rewarding if the set-up was done as sloppy as here. Subverting expectations was great, had it not been done before…in the last 5 minutes, give or take.
Would you kindly just do your thing, without waiting for the most pristine opportunity?
No?
The lack of explosions, sound effects or anything remotely resembling active happenings did not point towards a yes.
Deep breaths here Moirai, deep breaths. Lack of intelligence is not contagious, deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Dear Logos, my old friend, since we go way, way, way back let me think it out loud for you:
As an eldritch abomination, or however you or I refer to you now, presentation of your unfathomable powers is key. Should one see a pattern in your approach to your usage of power…then that, by definition, please bear with me here, does not make it quite so unfathomable anymore.
Shocker, I know. Of course, you are beyond the metrics of a singular human perspective. I just beg of you to reconsider. Spare me the misery of acting surprised.
Just get it over with, will you?
Patience is a virtue, I was a man of none.
.
.
.
.
Okay, I admit it. You have me beaten. I concede, I give up, I throw in the towel. You really got me good there. You have me right where you want me to be…would it not be a shame if you would be here to gloat in my face.
…seriously, any sign of life. Is that too much to ask for?
Anything…anything. Just give me something.
A L O N E
A word echoed in the brain. Silence spoke─to me, yelling─at me. Congratulations, you made me feel miserable again. Back to square one, are we not? A round of applause for the Logos, who has ruined everything.
Hip-hip; hurray!!! Hip-hip; hurray!!! Hip-hip; hurray!!!
Play the sound effect, Play the sound effect. Play the sound effect.
No one claps, no loudspeaker blares. Sound, none, now gone. I breathe, let it be mischief. Answer, there? Nowhere!
We all are just having fun. Playing little pranks, and were up to these, little, pesky shenanigans. We all are having such a joyful time.
…pure, unfiltered emotions of absolute happiness.
Dear Logos, beneath that cold exterior, and that willful ignorance may you have a heart…attack. Would you kindly suffer the slowest, most agonising death for me? Seeing you writhe in pain beyond imagination, in your last moments, would most certainly help me make amends.
Help a buddy out! Don’t be such a party pooper.
Oh, great─now the other troublemaker would like to talk to the manager.
A hot sensation assaulted my face, a clear trail of something viscous trailed down my cheeks, heating my face up to an unprecedented state.
As always, as always, this piece of flesh knew when to act up.
So, body, what doth thee want to reveal to me? What doth thee burn for? What is killin’ you this time?
Despite any prior experiences proving the exact opposite…my perception was not overwhelmed by the current affliction haunting this body. Far from it, a strange sense of clarity washed over me.
This pain seemed to possess a different note to it. Not the sharp radiating kind of ache nor had it the deep throbbing kind of quality. A direct injury differed; it was more akin to an irritation of the epidermis. A burning, lingering sting, primarily affecting the corner of my eyes─
Were…these…tears…?
Congratulations, Body!!! You did a thing, something normal for once.
But my tears should have meant something…
Yet, you are telling me all that time, all it took was something so trivial, so negligible, so simple?
I want my money back, this model is clearly broken and needs to be returned to its factory setting…
Of all things, tears? Tears? Do not make me laugh, this can not be happening…
Right now, I should be laughing. Yes, I should be lying on the floor till my lungs collapse…Logos, you have no idea…just how much I tried—to, to get this outcome.
They were the first of their kind…for as long as I can remember.
And what do we get after working towards such an emotional breakthrough for decades….decades? My eyes losing their tear virginity to such mindless drivel?
Now, this was a reason to ruin the mascara for.
I always thought it would be something grand; that my tears would provide my catharsis; that they would mean something. Another hope nipped in the bud, the seed of deflowered minds popped up yet again.
The mephitic hope, of halcyon days that never were, twisted the second adjective to a noun and flipped me off.
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It was just so exhausting. There was no purpose in this liquid, there was no meaning to me crying here. There was not even a great ‘why’ in here somewhere. Relief, was not given, new perspectives never attained, just another wasted chance to find myself.
Typical.
Shame on me, for having the gall to think that things would be different.
Where was the oxycontin? Where were the endorphins? Why could I not just feel better? Your body should normally throw around those happy, druggy hormones like a dealer handing out free samples to generate the customer of tomorrow─one sniff at a time.
I just wanted to get a feel…how it would feel to be like that…to be normal.
Such a thing was not in the terms and conditions of this used body here. Better luck next time, in another life?
OHH, ye poet of old, whom yours truly was accursed to forever wander…why must I be forsaken so, by things literally not working? Mayhaps the muse shall kisseth me were I to garner, a prose befitting.
Tears fell down, warm they were, but not more they are. All natural, yet all fake. Fabricated, by God's design or fallen victim to ingrained issues? Tears they are.
Oh the nerve of my decrying verve, a purpose it did not serve. Of morose woes, those I did not chose, ain’it all too freed of use?
Hear these depressing words, provide me with meaning to my tears…dearest, new, body of mine!
.
There was none about it. Just a flavourless brood of emotions that should’ve been.
Strong may the chosen words be, yet they did not capture. Inciting said emotions they did not. The outlook, indifferent, remained. Cold, callous apathy simply did. Sad and desperate, any such response, it ought to be. It could not be.
How peculiar, no strong response appeared. There was no big emotional wave, simply an acceptance of the lack of things; it just was the accepted route.
There was no sadness in wasted tears, no sadness in the lack of sorrow about the first.
Merely sober in the face of drunken feelings.
The conclusion drawn…an illusion of good or worse to come. Was it that I could not tell? Was it that I did not want to tell?
A pained sigh escaped through lips dry and cracked, the consequence of a brain left alone. The tendency evoked by unsupervised mental activity was merely the aftereffect from the game without answers─known better as ‘going to my dark place.’
The dance of glum rut moved too little in the long run.
To move on, simply feed the brain some semi-fermented topics, jump from arbitrary ideas to the next and dissuade any meaningful affairs into mindless entertainment that keeps the whole system running at twenty percent horsepower…and there we go.
The empty life was filled with enough horse manure to seem fulfilling, if one did not dwell too long on the depressing implications.
Clinical expression meets clinical depression.
I kid, I kid. Can’t exactly call myself that, if I have never been officially diagnosed, right? Just another idea of what might be wrong in the pile of potential elucidations. One should just choose whatever compliments the current core narrative of the mind.
A welcome exchange was a welcome exchange.
Life had that beautiful as…pect about it. My lovely monologue was cut short, by a piece of paper that was abruptly flung into my face from God, sorry, Logos knows where.
Was this perhaps a hidden gesture deemed to instil fear, knowing that HE is always watching? Wouldn't that be quite the twist, but no it was a crumpled piece of even more dead trees with a barely legible English scrabbled atop of it.
The kindergarten font really encapsulated the mental age of all parties involved here.
To quote the master of typography with his finest work deciphered in through the art of guessing at random…
It read as follows: “ Yooo, my G. How's it popping? Some biz popped up, soz for dipping! Ya know what it is, trouble keeps on knocking. Btw homeboy don’t go all looney on me, boi…going cogito ergo cogito once already moved ya all the way down to crazy town.”
It followed a line break, with some sort of smileys plastered beneath the word crazy. Their functionality raised more concern about the well-being of its writer more so than it did about its recipient.
Circling it twice left the importance of said term too vague…
“Fam, keep’em wacko vibes in your pants. Capiche? “
In fact, I did not understand. The enigmatic figure Logos must have taken a right in slang town, and must have got lost in the translation hood.
"Alright, so with the good vibes sorted, lemme hit ya with a few deets. First up, time ain't stuck no more. I just yoinked this place to a diff reality 'cause, ya know, you can't exactly keep it chill with the rest of the peeps and homies... given the whole situation and all.”
Ah yes, more gibberish.
“Bout the sister, I found a solution. Stuff’s gonna be easy-peasy. Later y'all will see the others. Dat fairy tail vibe, what a steal of an idea I’ve cooked up a little makeover idea for that sis of urs.”
“That be all, I enjoyed our time together, but like ‘em damn butt cheeks: we all gotta part.”
“We'll catch up later, but it's gonna be a hot minute before that goes down”
Make sure to live, while you can. 'Cause, let's be real, this world's gonna go down the drain, flushed down like brown torpedoes... So, make the most of the ride."
“Peace OUT.”
Well, that just happened. In the complete self-interest to remember the English language by its beauty and not by the travesty of letters coming together in an unholy union of gibberish and sacrilegious youthful slang, deserving of the electric chair, I have come to the decision to not acknowledge its existence.
To briefly sum up the inexplicable thing that has never, will never and should have never existed: Time is not frozen anymore, the sister is thrown under the bus called ‘fairytale’
All interpretations are subject to change, because I will not subject myself to reading this piece of ineffable nihility twice.
Were I to do so, one might consider that to be a true Christmas miracle.
But, this was another plane of existence, the only thing I was rich in was pain, the ghosts of my past were very much alive driving ice-cream trucks, and my name was certainly not Ebenezer.
Therefore a friendly reminder, do not be a scrooge and make it a great fairytale...If you ‘once-upon-a-time’ me...I will drop dead on the spot. I am highly allergic to cliches.
10
A big number appeared, filling my peripheral vision fully. Adjourned a bad feeling, a very bad feeling.
9
A countdown continued. Ticking down to something…the voice inside screamed, panic struck. Body began to hyperventilate.
8
A premonition occurred. It drew closer and closer…the mind drawing upon the unimaginable, the horror that is yet to come. The body shivered, uncontrollable...
7
A tragedy loomed. There was no escape, there was no release. Heat flushed the face, nausea blessed the perception, headaches announced the rest to come. Soon!
6
A nightmare began. Teeth grinded, teeth crunched, teeth did shake. The number flickered, grew, and it smiled. Breath grew bated, sleep eternal awaited.
5
A system breaks down. A heart was beating; it was palpitating, beating out of my chest. Sweat trickled, hands trembled, the heart was pumping, pumping, pumping. A heart attacks…
4
A fear settles. Air was drawn in, blood and mucus spat out. Lungs inflammatory, in pain, in labour, in agony, inoperable, collapse imminent. A breath closer to death.
3
A despair occupies. Sanity disincentivized, anxiety fantasised, horror plagiarised. The muscles spasm, tissue shrivel. Groans and moans escape the mouth, not of pleasure, but of pain.
2
A silence rules. Ears ring, they die. Eyes see, they try. Body lies, it is paralyzed. An end was here.
1
A death is knocking. A throat is closing. An airway is sealed. A lump in the throat blocked. A panic set in. A life is in danger. Everything is…as it should have been.
0
“ONCE UPON A TIME” assaulted my eyes with its merry font, announcing the beginning of the abhorrent. As such I got an anaphylactic shock and dropped dead on the spot.
RIP, may I rest in pieces.
Though for real now, what am I expected to do here? Just clap like a seal, while you pull off your show? Just hand me a bit of those popping corn and I am eternally yours, Logos.
Instead another paper slapped my face. Destroying my hopes and dreams without me even realising that I had those. A quick glance, elation spread at once…the message was written in proper English!!! The contents on the paper were thus received with open arms and proper care was administered at once.
“Would you narrate this beautiful, tear-jerking, heart-warming transformation? Would you do so─just as you had done back then? Please, do so for the sake of our long, unbroken bond, which withstood the tests of time for all those years.”
Logos, of course, I would gladly do so….we go way, way, way back. Nothing could ever stand in the way of me honouring our friendship.
Though I do have a condition, only one: Could you get out of my head, you parasite?
Judging by the lack of paper ammunition tickling my face, I shall take it as you accepting these terms and conditions.
Ahem, test, test life is fleeting and ultimately cheese. We are all going to die and there is nothing that you can ever do to escape that fact…above a grave, we all shall weep and be wept upon.
Yes, I was ready, please proceed.
.
Scene and set!
Once upon a time in a world rife with trifle and madness running afoot. There was a room clad in mediocre wood. In it a young boy, born into death, deprived everything of joy. People and family joined in to pray, but slowly none of them were to stay.
Time passed on by, gone was strife… merely the young boy's sister kept him alive.
Someday, however, the young lad opened his eyes, his head filled with the wildest of lies. The sister rocked to her core, the spoon-carrying soup dropped─a miracle, never more.
The world frozen in place, much like the head of the boy, an endless maze. An enigmatic figure appears and shines light about the long, long night. In truth, the boy was dead. In need was it for a tomb, for it died in the womb.
Then who was he, the one in place of the stillborn, in this world so forlorn?
A caustic narrator, this is I, the verbal perpetrator. Watch the sister, all that amazing given grace…the enigmatic figure repaid, ripped off her face─straight.
To even the slate it is to be considered her fate. None was her choice, never had in this any sort of voice. Done as intended, done deeds, sprouting the desired seeds.
The sister, rewarded for years of sacrifice, for an update she was rife.
Now, here is to the start of the fairytale…grab hold of some delicious, precious ale… What transpired next was without rhyme or reason…tis’ the season.
The mantle of darkness fell over the room. The beginning of such tale, a fancy font, woven in storyteller kind, hovered in the air. Amidst the wooden scenery of a passed past; past the passing of stories untold, only a crepuscule awaited her.
Nothing else in sight, aside from such a sight…Pitch-black offered little insight.
And so it begins.
Once upon a time, in a land very, very, very close. A situation came to unfold, a mystery to be unravelled.
From atop a noise traversed down, a hymn of change to come. Notes, bright and cheering, deliver the ears tidings of joy, the heavenly was to embark.
Fanfares resounded throughout, their sound instilled a feeling of serenity within. Waves of warmth joined their side and clad the room in atmosphere to relish in. One need not see, one simply needs to feel.
It was comforting, it was reflective of the conformity only home could harbour... Descriptions did not suffice, the absence of a light, a weak visual to carry the importance of the emotions delivered.
The warmth was a gentle hand across the shoulder, a simple nod of acceptance, a reassuring pat on the back…a soft touch of assistance, at least how a young boy, who only knew the cold, imagined them to be.
Then came change.
Where once was darkness, there now it was not.
Gleaming light immersed the barren room in a shimmer of pure elegance. Falling onto the silhouette of my sister, submerging it in a halo of radiance. Rays spun around, forming a cocoon of immanence. The moth retreated, so that a butterfly may emerge, for that is a god-given purpose.
She stood in the sea of change, in the everlasting tides of happenings, she was ever so still, unmoving.
In its essence, it was a silent revelation. Not something big, or grande. She was pure─free of filth, which encumbered the surroundings. A line was drawn in the sand, one could not see, but feel her to be different.
The contrast was sharp, not that it was biting…only natural.
Once there had been an ocean of despair and fear, now there was a strange sense of ease. A serene enigma, eluding my understanding, served as its replacement.
The moth was changing.
The former face, her removed visage to my feet, showed similar signs. Slowly did it grow brittle to the touch, falling into pieces, tiny and unassuming. They crumbled and disaggregated…becoming streaks of light that joined the sister to become whole.
Radiance grew, the sight intensified. The room dressed in nought but white, presented itself to the naked eye.
Instinctively, everyone knew she was special. Her existence appeared so clean, so precious. She was something to revere, something too good for this world…unlike anything I have ever seen.
The sight was an honest one, it did not feel fake or fabricated…for the first time in my life, I saw something genuine.
The flickering glimmer ceased after some time, I could not tell when it had transpired, nor was there a need for me to have taken notice of it. The development was following the natural order.
Even as it came to a halt, the light did not simply disappear. It danced around her body, hiding her contours and shielding her from the cruel reality of this world.
The world fell to silence.
The cocoon began to resolve, to absolve. Cracks appeared, white skin, parts of it, were revealed. The image grew clearer, more of her was witnessed. Amiss, the contrast of filth and purity─a web of vain left behind. In vanity, the new form was revealed…unjust.
The saviour of my life, the saint she was…her body grew, no more. Her arms, now thinner, legs shorter, a meek frame carrying the world, on solemn faith alone. Her hands…
The light faded fully, the injustice revealed itself.
Her hands… missed fingers. The absence of a pointer to the left and an index to the right. The logical consequence of gangrene, grime and infection spoke enough a tale. The world had claimed its due price…she was not deserving of it…yet it was only fitting.
Her legs, unlikely to hold enough strength to shoulder the burden of caring for me or for herself. Twigs, dressed in a makeshift patchwork of old cloth, masquerade as limbs. Holes littered it, cloth and skin alike. Dirty the wounds plastered atop the body shown beneath.
Infections…still failed to infect her smile. Her face, rawboned, haggard, still shone brightly. The reasons for doing so, seemed exploitative and pitiful.
In the face of hardship, azure eyes smiled. Locks as gold as straw fell over her visage, providing a solemn, sole sense of a warped normalcy.
The voice inside questioned…which sibling was to die first? The reply given, it was of no matter who.
A family of famine, malnourished her appearance. The future’s hope was death─a quick one at that. To be taken out of her misery, she had earned it.
But time waited for no one…we only waited for the upheaval of this world. The knowing catastrophe, the deliverer of the good, happy end. Soon, the veil of time would fall and the countdown of our pitiful time left to live would start.
So it resumed…the spoon fell, the soup fell, a gasp escaped her mouth, followed by several coughs…shock spread over her face and the wet impact of soup becoming inedible spread across the room.
Welcome to reality!
Welcome to my new life!