Dark Days

He walks during dark days. Upon glancing up, falls one feather. And then two. Six. Twenty. A hundred. These dark days are never ending. There is no sky as densely grey as the one above his head. Dead horses. Broken carriages. At the corner he turns. And there they are.

One day, the mad and the powerful meet. They both smile and share a laugh. A joyful, burdenless laugh. At exactly the same time, a man in exile is contemplating. What has he done wrong?

The woman in her sixties picks up a crying baby from inside a cardboard box. She smiles at him and gives him a gentle look. The baby stops crying. The woman then brings him home.

One card, a tap. The gate opens. She waits for the next arrival. Leaning on the dirty wall, she’s humming a folk song. Her home is not where she is going. Her home is too far away. Right now she’s just going to her shelter.

Some strange occurances have been taking place around the city of safety for the past few months. These occurances, some have reported, seem to be quite hostile. Three people were heavily affected by one incident that happened in an apartment where they live.

He keeps walking despite of what he’s seeing in front of him. A little boy, his body unmoving. He was pulled out of the rubble and is being carried by two men. An old woman in a distance is sobbing, her eyes deprived of light. All he can see is surrender. One photographer is taking pictures. She talks with a strong accent.

The strange occurances have stopped. Not because they want to, but because there is nothing left they can touch.

He looks up again. The falling feathers are gone. There is no sky as bright and soft as the one above him. The man in exile is now free. He left the world that has rejected him so many times. He left the world trying to fix itself, with the little help it has remaining. He left the world hanging.

I Hate Writing

Well,

My eyes are tired

Sleepless mind

Nothing lively in my life

But I’m scared to die

I created days and nights

Through words that I type

They’re not lies

Just a disguise

So I can feel safe and fine

Shielded by my fictional lights

But…

When the river of thoughts is dried

What would happen to this disguise?

And no, I don’t hate writing, guys

Of course I don’t

I don’t, do I?

The Smiling Man

Maybe you can tell me the answer

Or at least think of an assumption

About who appears under the twilight

The one who befriends the leaves and orange sky

 

Leaves of red and yellow

Falling in motion so slow

Autumn breeze, gentle blow

In this corridor of mellow

He took off his dirty coat

And his hat, his watch

His pride, his pain, and sorrow

 

I was walking alone

When I saw the man, also alone

Picking up fallen leaves from the ground

He turned his body around

 

And he noticed me

His eyebrows were lifted

Tilted his head a little bit

And he smiled, tender and lovely

 

His hand was holding leaves

And his body slowly

gave in to the blowing wind

Turned into leaves

Scattered, flew above trees

 

The smiling man had vanished

His fragments travelled with the wind

So now I’m still wondering

Who is this man? What is he?

The Beast’s Desire

There was once a giant beast

With eyes black like a lonely evening

He stole a spell from the bees

The spell that used to protect dreams

 

He knew the consequences

The sky creatures would be angry

So he hid behind a tall reef

But he was found by the sea nymphs

 

Water creatures called the eagle

And so the eagle asked the raven

To listen beyond hundreds of deliriums

Until he found the beast’s whispers

 

So the eagle asked the beast

“Why did you steal from the bees?”

The beast only wanted to catch the wind

Just like bees are capable of flying

He desired the reality of travelling

Beyond this forest, beyond groups of trees

Into the tundra, until his body goes stiff

What Seth Told Me This Evening

“Hello again, Celia!” Seth greeted me and smiled at me while waving his left hand. “I just created a new idea this evening. It’s about—“

“Noooo! Not that again!” Sam rolled her eyes and walked away.

“But, Sam! This one is better!” he tried stopping her. Please, be interested, he thought.

She didn’t stop. Alright, screw her! He’s going to share his idea with or without her. She can go around telling people about how bad he is in making ideas, but he has faith that everyone knows that’s not true. He is special, and his ideas are the ones that had helped me all this time. Without them, I wouldn’t have come this far.

Yes, this style of narration is confusing, I’m sorry. Or maybe not that confusing. Hmm… But I always know what’s inside Seth’s mind, all the time. So it’s kind of like switching from my point of view to his and back again.

Besides, his mind is my mind. So there’s that.

“It’s okay, Seth. You can tell me about your idea,” I said while trying my hard to show some interest and not to roll my eyes too.

Seth’s eyes widened with an expression of extreme excitement. Must. Not. Sigh.

“So, I decided to make a very spectacular idea! And that is… roll the drums… drrrr…”

MUST. NOT. FACEPALM.

“Yes okay drrr… but Seth you can tell me now,” I said impatiently.

“How about, you execute an idea of me telling you an idea?”

“What?”

“Yes! To write about this very scenario that is in your head! Idea-ception!”

This sounds so ridiculous but, “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Seth is satisfied. Seth is so happy woooo