Posts Tagged ‘time’

Rounding up

You know what I just realized a few hours a go? I just had my last classes for this academic year…wow. This year went by extremely fast…damn, it seems like yesterday that I got to know the people I would study with for, hopefully, 4 years. All that’s left to do now is surviving two weeks of exams and re-sits, and then I’m more than ready to enjoy one-and-a-half month of relaxation. Six weeks is quite alot, so what would I like to do in that time?

First of all, I want to take the time for reading a good book. It has been quite awhile since I worked my way through a fine novel, even though I enjoy nothing more than finishing my day by reading a few chapters before falling asleep. Also, I should use the spare time to write down some of my ideas, and get a little longer story going. Maybe the summer break is the ideal time to elaborate on my Anthanatos concept?

Second, I would love to take a little trip somewhere in Europe. I have some options, with an attractive invitation to visit Sweden for a while (thanks for that, Joakim!). So, who knows, I might update my blog from there during the break? 😀

And last, but not least, summer break is the ideal time to do something nerdish, just to keep up the reputation. So, anyone who has input on that, just drop me a line. Anything’s possible: from a Stargate SG-1 marathon, to a crazy experimental RPG one-shot.

For now, I’m off to enjoy the evening. I adivce you to do the same, especially with this song I just can’t get out of my head:

Signed,

Aki

P.S.: Yes, it’s a new blog skin. Awesomesauce, righto?

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It’s Fiction Time, it’s Fiction Time, won’t you have some Fiction of mine!

(Author’s note: the following piece of fiction is a bit older, I think that I wrote it about half a year a go some where late in the night. I just had to get some things out of my head, and somehow, it took the form of a piece of fiction about two girls having quite an intense talk. The way it ends is not the way I intended it to end, but that’s just a good example of fiction can get a life of its own!)

Nothing compared to this. Not to this moment, not to this smell, taste and sound. It was like the origin of beauty framed unto this very moment. It was impossible to describe, but yet impossible to deny. It was the very cause, and use of life rushing through her veins.  But beyond this glorious feeling, this unnatural beautiful sweet scent of female skin was the bitter taste of loss and long gone days. And she knew why.

“You know this is good-bye” she whispered. The reply of her love followed, about half a minute later.

“It does not have to be. We can…”

“No. No we can’t. Not after what you did. I cannot give you…” But she could not finish her sentence. Once again, the soft lips of Tara touched her. It was exactly this soft touch that enthralled Diana merely two month ago. It was what showed her the very meaning of love, devotion and passion. But this fire of love and lust had been extinguished, by cold and harsh rain. It was ironic that the woman, who ignited the fire, was also the one that called for this tragic thunderstorm.  Diana stepped away from Tara, breaking loose from the warm arms of her love.

“Do not even try to make me forget about it! I cannot! I will not!” she screamed, with tears in her eyes. A lonely gust swept around her feet, as the word left her lips. Tara stared at her with a blank face. Another paradox: in one moment, Tara was the most passionate person in existence. And in the other, she was so cold, so solid. Like the cliffs at the coast of England they saw together during the holidays. The cliffs they looked at, while they confessed their love to each other. Those white, yet lonely cliffs. Was it all meant to be? Was it meant to be, that Diana’s heart would be lonely, once again? Like the cliffs at the coast of England?

“And again, you are the one being a drama queen. It was just a little mistake. I was drunk, and Isabelle looked so gorgeous…” Gorgeous? GORGEOUS?! Diana could not hold herself anymore. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she balled a fist. This terrible cocktail of anger and depression started to take hold of her, but she did her best to not lose herself.

“Do…do you know how you broke my heart when I saw you two making out…in OUR bed?!”

“Look, I do not have time for this. I still have things to do, you know?”

Things to do. THINGS to do. Things.

“Yeah, I guess that you still have things to do. Like listening to how I will break this relationship in two, in this very moment.” Did she just really say that? Diana could not believe her very own words. It was like someone else was speaking through her, like the ghosts of the times gone spoke through a medium. The blank stare on Tara’s face turned into one of surprise, and then into a grim visage of disgust. Then, Tara stepped forward on her slender, beautiful feet. She stroked her left index finger across Diana’s right cheek, as she strode past her.

“You know you cannot live without me. I am your addiction, I am your cause. You cannot leave me.” Tara was right. Diana could not leave her. She tried once, but she just came back, crying. She tried twice, but she just came back, crying. And now, she tried for the third time. And she felt how she would fail another time.

“I will leave you, Tara” Diana said, as Tara had just opened the door of the tiny, downtown apartment. Tara closed the door immediately, and Diana turned around to look into Tara’s surprised, and somehow confused eyes.

“You will no longer control me” Diana continued, and grabbed her mobile phone. She pressed some buttons, but did not press the green button. The green button that would call Maren, her ex-girlfriend.

“You know who I will call, right?”

“Maren Simmons” Tara replied.

“You know her all too well, right? What was the reason for your hate towards her? Oh, yes! She dumped you, after you cheated on her. How that must have broken your tiny, cold heart.” Again, Diana could not believe what words had just left her mouth. But somehow she liked how the sound of those vocals changed the expression on Tara’s face over and over again. It was like the very vibration of her vocabulary pulled and pushed the muscles in Tara’s face around, like a puppet master pulling on the strings of his marionettes.

“If you dare to…”

“She already awaits my call. All I have to do is to say I am free for the night, and we will have a most exquisite night with champagne, cheap action movies and philosophical talks. All. Without. You.”

All. Without. You. Diana liked to play the part of the ice-cold slut. It gave her the feeling that she was the one in control of this. It changed the entire distribution of roles in this macabre play, like the director had a sudden change of mind. But some actors start to really like their part, and turn into something akin a monster when someone takes their script away. And that was just what happened to Tara. She lunged forward, and slapped Diana in the face, followed by a punch to the stomach. Diana winced, but reacted by grappling Tara, and throwing her to the ground. She pushed Tara’s shoulders tightly to the floor, and both girls stared at each other with a wicked, yet desperate glare.

“You cannot leave me. Remember all the good times we had. All the moments we shared. Remember our love weekend in Paris, as we had a pick-nick under the Eiffel Tower? And how we danced next to the Seine, enthralled by the sparkles of light in the water?” Tara whimpered, and tears rolled down her face. Crocodile tears. Diana knew these fake, yet sweet drips of despair. But she also knew for what end these tears were. And she would not fall for them another time.

“But I also remember the times you left me outside alone. When I needed you most, you were not there. No, you had to party with your friends. When I could have used your shoulder to cry on, you just told me that I should not be such a twat and stop crying. And every time you got me far enough to leave you, you looked at me again with those eyes…”

Yes, those eyes. The mix between an emerald green and arctic blue was so pure, so unique, neither men, nor women could deny the natural perfection. Those eyes were meant to entrance, were meant to enslave. Especially to enslave.

“Give me another chance, my fair Diana and you can look as long as you want into these eyes. If you want, you can look into them forever.”

Forever.

Forever.

How did she do it? Moment ago, Diana felt so strong. She was on the best way to tell Tara to go fuck some wild whore on some dirty pub toilet and leave her the fuck alone, and now she moved her lips closer to those of Tara. And before she knew it, they were once more entangled in a kiss of beauty and perfection, but also an expression of addiction and slavery.

As they lay on the floor kissing, Diana realized how weak she was. She realized how much she was like those cliffs at the coast of England. Bound to the most beautiful thing on earth, meant to never leave, meant to never change.

And meant to be lonely. Forever and ever.

Eight in the morning

I met her on the bus. The seat next to her was the only spot left to sit, in a bus so crowded; it reminded me of those pictures from South-African bus lines. Surprisingly, nobody had taken the seat next to that girl with the black tie before me. I didn’t know why, she looked rather okay: nice blue eyes, shoulder-long brown hair, and she seemed to be an artist. At least she had a sketchbook with all kinds of drawings: trees, cars, faces and more. As I sat next to her, she looked at me, like she wanted to know what my intentions were. My only intention, however, was to relax before another day of work.

I turned up the volume of my iPod. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I did that; I could hear the vocalist of Motion City Soundtrack pretty well. My action provoked a reaction (go Newton!) of the girl with the black tie.

“I’m sorry, I can turn it down” was my first reaction. But the girl just shook her head.

“You’re sitting on one of my drawings” she replied, and I got up. Damn! I really sat down on a picture: a beautiful sketch of a sunset, somewhere in the mountains. And now the paper was all crumbled up! Thank you very much, big ass! I took the picture, and handed it over.

“I’m so terrible sorry for ruining it! Normally I’m not that clumsy and…” but the girl didn’t seem to listen. Instead, she stared at the picture, and smiled.

“No…you didn’t ruin it. You gave it the missing flavor!”

“Come again?”

“I just knew something lacked when I made this. I just couldn’t capture the…emotion” Puzzled, I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, but you felt crumbled up at that moment?” She giggled. It was somehow cute, yet otherworldly.

“Maybe, but how could words describe an emotion anyway?”

“People use them every day to describe their state of mind.”

“You sure they describe their state of mind then, or just create an abstract sketch of their inner turmoil?” Again, I felt confused. It was freaking eight in the morning, and this lady was doing a Plato. Just my luck again.

“I mean” she added, “When I make a sketch, I’m not capturing the picture, just the outlines, maybe even the bare skeleton of something that cannot be shackled by any mortal tool. Who could prove me wrong, or right?” She looked deep into my eyes while saying this, and somehow, her words echoed in my head. I could not think of anything better than:

“Many artists in history claimed that their pieces captured not just the image, but also the ambient emotions and feelings. And when I walk through a museum and watch all those whackos go crazy about some flashy colors, I guess they captured something on the canvas, huh?” Wow, for something completely improvised on eight in the morning, I thought this was quite a witty reply.

“They captured something. But if someone could truly capture an emotion like say, happiness, wouldn’t we already be able to buy it in the supermarket? A bag of happiness, today at a twenty percent discount!” She posed like a salesman would, while trying to sell his wares to a not so sure client. Again, it made her look cute, yet freaky at the same time.

“So you say that if humans can capture something, they try to make a fortune out of it?”

“I guess the market for emotions would be quite big. I would like to know what fear tastes like. What emotion would you want to taste?” Come again? What kind of question was this? Wow, correction: what kind of conversation was this? I didn’t even know this chick, but all of a sudden I found myself in a philosophical cage fight with her. Quarter past eight: still far too early for this stuff!

“I think our topics turn a little weird. You mind if I just listen to my…”

“Yes I do” Why did she look so mad at me now? I didn’t actually insult her.

“Look, boy, you know what I see when I look around this bus?” I wanted to give an answer to this somehow rhetorical question, but the girl put her right index finger on my lips, and leaned forward.

“I see boring people, with boring lives. They just KNOW that I would fill up their lives with a change, a twist, and thus ignore me. They don’t DARE to bring change to their existence they call mockingly “life”, but you took the right step. You know that I’ve been watching you for a few weeks now. Usually, you belonged to that grey mass of norms and values, of scientific truth and Darwinism. But today, you dared to step out of that. And now you want to fall back into that grey puddle, even though you have barely opened your eyes to a world filled with color? I won’t allow that, punk”. One half of my brains screamed: “FREAK ALARM! MOVE AWAY SLOWLY!” while the other said: “This could be interesting”. But before I could react, the girl gestured that she had to get out at the next stop, and I stepped up to let her out. As she walked towards the doors, she turned around.

“Think about: what emotion, what COLOR, would you like to taste?” She stepped out of the bus, and for now, out of my life. All she left was the crumbled up picture of a sunset somewhere in the mountains. And suddenly, I knew what I wanted to taste.

I wanted to taste the flavor of noticing how colorful life could be, yet standing in the grey, boring mass.

——————————————————————

NOTICE: I wrote this in about 30 minutes, because I felt like it. But still, think about it: wouldn’t you want to step out of your boring daily routine? Would you buy emotions if they were sold at your local Wallmart?

And yeah, part 2 of “Stitching Up” will be up not later than the weekends. Still have to study for my upcoming tests, so wish me luck!