Unwrapped

I can feel the tide is rising. I'm on my knees, I don't think that I have any power left on my arms to push myself from the ground. No strength left in my legs to stand up, turn and walk. 

I can feel the quick sand moving. And I'm on my knees, my hands sinking slowly. I can't see my fingers, my knees. I can't see nothing in front of me. Only the soft and chilly embrace of the welcoming burial.

I know that it is getting darker. Yet, I'm on my knees. My eyes adapted to it ages ago, yet I sense that this time it is different. There is no star in the sky to gaze into, the moon said goodbye years ago, no brightness on the eastern horizon that made it bearable, nothing to wait, no future to dream of. Faces that flows in front of my sight, none of them smiling, I can only imagine worry, sadness, heartbreak; in so many beautiful eyes once filled with joy and sympathy.

I can hear that the silence is getting louder. Still, I'm on my knees. My old, tired heart; tar oozing from its countless scars and cracks; beats faintly. Like the rustle of a an old rocking chair lonely shaking on the porch of a decaying house in  the desert. No soft whispers of comfort left, no angry shouts, no moans of pleasure or cries of pure pain, no silky smooth words of love, any giggle or laughter. All I can hear is a disappointed silence, a silence that I've deserved decades before it enveloped my ears, my mind, my soul. No music left around me, not anymore, like it abandoned me, I cannot even recall how many years ago.

The madness went away, followed the footsteps of the sanity that engraved these many years ago. I'm just on my knees, looking to what I imagine these faint marks they've left might resemble. The emptiness is suffocating, the compass I thought would never break has no needle in it anymore. The writings have disappeared with every breeze, or the waves that hits the shores of my broken mind. It was about time that one of us would retire.

The gust is turning into a storm, taking away all the sweet smell of dreams that burnt with the fire of what is real. I'm stunned on my knees. The happy scent of spring, the scent of your shampoo that colored my hopes whenever you've opened your hair, the opaque smell of rotting corpses that were killed with my words or gaze. I cannot remember what were they like.

No more tears left in my soul, to escape my eyes and march down the ugly landscape that they have eroded all these decades. Why am I still on my knees? What left in me to not fall and crumble? Get washed away by the tide of all these emotions? Get swallowed by the swamp and suffocate in loneliness? Get lost in the dark, that I see in the bloody eyes of the misery that I endure every time I look at the mirror? Get deaf by the screech of the silence of my long awaited demise? Get carried by the slightest breeze away from who I supposed to be, like a paper boat without an anchor or destination? 

I will sleep peacefully, when the clock doesn't tick anymore. When the last sand of the hourglass will fall down from its eroded cracks. When all the images will fade, and my darkness gets drained from every soul that was so unlucky to endure my touch. When my cracked voice won't be echoing in the beautiful minds, minds that were poisoned by my presence. When the last drop of tear that I made fall will dry. When my name is misspelled and mispronounced. I will sleep peacefully, when my last story that made you laugh or shiver will be told and forgotten forever.

I have said all my farewells in the last couple of weak heartbeats, all of them in my lonesome mind. I know that some of them deserved to be said out loud, very few of them would wanted to be heard. If only I wasn't so afraid that my darkness would slip though the cracks of my last warm smile. 

Tide

No one believed the child when he told how deep he could dive.

They did not listen to him when he explained how dark it was down there.

"Your lungs are too small" was what they told him, when he said how he felt in his chest.

"You're too weak" was their answer when he told how heavy was the ocean.

They've shushed when he told how cold it was deep under the water.

They've covered their ears when he yelled how lonely it felt in the bottom.

They've turned their head when he tried to show what the monsters in the deep did to his arms, legs, wrists. 

"Go on" they said "play with the others" when he was trembling in the corner.

They ripped off every color that he wore "this is not right" they said "that's too much color you've got there, give us some" they took each, one by one, until he had nothing left, only black.

"Don't dive then.." they said, when he started to walk in the ocean.

"Don't come near us" they shouted when he turned back to get off the water.

They did not see, when he was crying in silence.

They did not wait, when he needed time to catch his breath.

They did not ask, when he was dying to tell.

They did not look, when he reached for their hand.

They did not want, when he handed his scarred heart out.

There was no one left when he waved farewell.

They've all forgot...

...when he finally was gone.

Damaged

 Fear. Why is there fear?

Why so much feeling?

When will all stop? When they will fall asleep?

Will they all stop? At least, will they ever sleep?

Pain. Why is there so much pain?

Why is it hurting so much? Why is THIS hurting so much?

What should I do? How to stop it? them. this. whatever is it, this.

Do I want to stop everything?

Destroy, demolish... Shut it down. Shush it, them. Every single one of them.

Why don't I have any power?

Why I just can't make it stop? Make them stop. Make you, me, time; stop?

Why can’t I just end?..

...the pain?

Why am I so weak? Like a leaf obedient to the northern wind?

What is it that I cannot give up?

Any time of the day.. Noon or dawn. Or the darkest hour of the night, maybe blinded by the sun, shining through your eyes.

Numb as I want to be. Eternally condemned to be sober and aware, 

Questioning the very beginning, because I feel.. NO, I know that I am at the end.

Usurped, sentenced, shaped, tortured, killed and resurrected to be killed again by normality 

Is it only I? Because I feel you nearby.

Struggling to take a breath as if I know I did not deserve it.

Traumatized by what is to come.

Is it only I? 

Lonely in your crowd? Obscured by your light? Vulnerable and naked.

Every beat of my exhausted heart, every wheezy breath of my withered part.

Yanked, cornered, trapped between.. everything. Oscillating between life and serenity.

Underestimated didn't we, the weight of that spark of happiness, of that moment of purety.

So lonely, oozy, somber, out of tune... Misplaced in the wrong reality.

Under the moonlight and the rain that shines with your smile.

Charmed me, and only if you allow me to... Hold my breath until I can't take the next one,

And I whisper my last one, with all my heart.

The Scenery

The pen goes so straight. It follows the ruler. Its arm pushing to it, it doesn't need a rest. It doesn't need to ask for direction. Everything is so straight. Everything is defined, unnecessarily constraint. But, the pen knows where it goes. It looks to the ruler and knows. The pen, is black. Like coal.

The brush, doesn't care about the ruler. It simply doesn't. The lines are not for it. There is no target. Not visible at least. It looks to the lines on the paper, straight, strong, fundamental. Lonely. It is obvious that there cannot be only black and white on the paper. So, the brush starts running on the lines, not as straight as they are, not as strong, not initial. Yet, so much color splattered on the paper, so much variations, so much diversity, so much...

Emotion.

The paper is wet now. Once white as the snow, pure as a newborn, fresh as a teenager. First, it has been stretched to a cold wooden table. Pinned from all the corners, defenseless. It knows, all its frugality will be taken from it. First the ruler presses, then it feels the pen slides hardly on itself, straight, decisive, like the razorblade would slides on the wrists of a human sitting naked in its bathtub. As the movement of the pen continues, the paper soaks more and more in to the water in the bathtub, starting have crimson tone.

When the paper feels the pressure of the ruler disappear, the razorblade drops to the  clean floor of the bath. The human leans back, while the slightly cooler surface of the bathtub welcomes its back, the pins holding the paper on the wooden plank releases it.

Free as a bird, the human floats on the steam reeking on the surface of the, now crimson, bath. Eyes closed, the happiness of the sharp pain, stinging its heart rather than the bleeding arms. It floats, floats on the sea of faces, it once knew, felt for maybe? 

Loved?

The paper once again stretched on another plank, another angle, another surface. Fluffy towels soaking the blood running slowly form the scars, beautifully  placed, perfectly executed, giving whole perspective, whole symmetry and the beautiful asymmetry. So perfectly balanced that will ensure that the rest will always be relentlessly unbalanced. So masterfully normal, that will ensure nothing can be normal.

Never will be normal. 

And the brush starts to dance, on the paper, on the lines that shows where all should go. The black on white would dilute under the strokes of the brush blurring reality into a drunken surreality. The colors, with each stroke of any brush. All the emotion that made the human wrinkle on the floor of its bedroom, like the paper under the watermark, or the oil color...

Or the blood ran down the wrist.

Like the red, sexy, strong lipstick that he would wear, or the remarkable, wide yet perfectly tailored suit that she would wear. So lively, so bright, so happy lunacy that everyone else would stand up and applaud. Everyone that matters, everyone that the paper wants to impress, or just to blend in. Because it is what the lines directs to. Where the blood  run down the wrist. Where the tears, run down. Where the brush slowly pushes the colors. All the colors. All the beautiful, bright, lively, warm colors. That converges all, all the... 

... thoughts

... emotions

... reality

... surreality

... sanity

... love

... happy

... sad

... mad

... NO

NO

NO

NO

it cannot be

can it?

It all goes back to black. 

When you have too much color.

The brush leaves the paper, so soft was the goodbye, so gentle. The morning light starts to shine through the window, making all the colors brighter. You can see all the furious brush touches on the arms, the scars that bled and dried on the paper, tears coming down from the vivid colors that tells how lovely is to live, how beautiful the next breath smells and how terrifying the next emotion that will be painted on the naked torso of the human. The chest is shaking with the excitement of loneliness that will cripple any strong human to death, while it's holding the wrinkled paper that holds the masterpiece of humanity. Life...

... 

..

.

.

.

The brush, saved itself from the twitching hand, finally free, flying slowly towards the wooden ground. ''aaah finally" it says to the pen chilling in its destination "this time we had it right"

The brush hits the dark, raw, strong, beautiful wooden ground. Inhales peacefully, its stare locked on the twitching left foot, hanging from the impeccable white ceiling, which reminds it of the paper, that he spoiled with all its heart. It looks to itself to see the fingerprints of the artist...

the dreamer,

the lover

the feeler

the killer

the runner

the saver

the drunk

the sad

the musician

the paper

the pen

the sober

the wife

the husband

the kid

the grandmother

the mother

the gamer

the singer

the drummer

the father

the glass

the beer

the friend

the depressed

the manic

the son

the daughter

the human

the paper

the pen

the brush

the ruler

the narrator

the antagonist 

the protagonist 

... that had a smile on his face.

And a broken hourglass, that spits its sand.

Pandæmonium - Pt.3

He sit on top of the piano stool that he did not sit for years. He put his hands on the dark brown polished surface of the cover. He stood still for a few minutes, his head bent down, his precisely cut hair was covering his eyes. Slowly he raised the cover, without looking. The old hinges of the cover creaked with this unexpected motion that came years later the last movement. He spread his fingers over the keyboard. He played the first chord of the song that they used to play together. The piano was out of tune, the chord sounded so terribly wrong. He played again, a little bit harder, and again and again and again... Each time he hit the keyboard harder like he wanted it to remember how it should sound. Each hit he waited that it will sound like it should. He gave up after a while, his left hand on the piano, hammers stayed on top of the chords until his tears flowed and dried and flowed again. 

"- Let it go." the soft voice whispered with hidden trace of eagerness in its tone. "You were right. You ARE right. You are not worthy for any of this. Let it go now. You will not regret it." The voice was softer than silk, and convincing very convincing. He listened to that voice carefully, when the ice cold wind of the continental winter was cutting his senses like a sharpened  razor blade. He knew he was right, he thought about this very carefully during the past months filled with emptiness that scared the sleep away. He checked this from every possible angle. Then he double checked it and once again. There were no mistake. 

"- When was the last time we saw the sun?" he whispered. His breath brought a while cloud, disappeared moments later, like it was never there in the first place. His eyes blurred with envy while watching that momentary existence, born, lived gloriously and disappeared without any trace.
"- A few hours ago" whispered the soft sound from the darkest corner of the night. He stated the very obvious.
"- I don't remember." He said. "Can you remind me how it looked like?"
"- It was a distant, cold, bright light. A yellow that is closer to white. Hanging on the light blue, cloudless winter sky. It was like...
"- Did I look at it?
- Yes. You actually watched it carefully while murmuring some song. You were actually...
- Standing here. In the same spot. It was so cold. Why it was so cold?
- We are in the middle of winter.
- I know. But, it was colder than any other winter I remember.
- You are right -again- this time it is colder.
- What do you mean by 'this time'?
- I wanted to say... This year. This year is the coldest winter I can remember.
- I see. It was a weird selection of word. But I agree with both your statements."

The silence was swallowed by the howling wind that made his tears rush to his eyes. He was still thinking when he actually saw the sun. When was the last time he actually felt the warmth? He was trembling. He never actually cared about the cold that surrounded him. He never was bothered by it. "I always prefer the cold!" he remember he shouted that sentence in many different occasions with many different level of soberness. It was a very strange phrasing. 'Prefer over what?' he thought. All he could remember was night and its soothing and dark coldness. 

"- I can't remember any song to sing now" He stated without any emotion.
"- You don't need to remember any. Why would you remember any song?
- I always imagined that I would save the best one for the last. I can't believe now that I have forgot all.
- You see how it is easy to forget. 
- I can see it, I can feel it. Everything will be forgotten. One way or another.
- Sooner or later.
- Sooner or later. I...
- Yes, you will be forgotten.
- As I deserve to be forgotten. Without hurting anyone.
- You will not hurt anyone. Not anymore.
- This is how serenity feel like?
- Yes. Can you feel your loads fading away?
- It is amazing. I feel  that I am much more lighter. I feel that I could...
- Fly!
- Yes! All the heaviness is gone. I am ready to float.
- You are ready to fly! Just let it go" the voice had a disturbing timbre of satisfaction that was tearing the silk it was covered with apart. He could have heard it if he wasn't so drunk with his new found joy. "Let it go" the voice eagerly repeated, while his hands were loosing the grip on the ice cold metal railing. 
"- Let it go, you will fly! I will teach you how to fly! Do not afraid of anything! Ironic! Remember -hahaha- , everything is destined to be forgotten. You are already forgotten. No one will notice your absence. You did an excellent job past year! You did everything I asked you to do. You were amazing. Nobody cares about you anymore. Nobody wants to see your ugly face. You remind them every moment that you broke their heart into pieces." The grips were loosening with every sentence of that silky voice. And it continued."You broke them. Stepped on them. You alienated them just like I told you how! I am proud of you. I am the only one who was and is ever proud of you. I told you didn't I? I told you that it will hurt a little bit in the beginning, but once you bury the sun away, it won't burn you anymore. I told you that when the winter will fall upon us, it would be much more easy to get rid of all these loads that were holding you on the ground. They were pulling you under ground! And you know what is there?! You know what there is under the ground?! Rot! Misery! Suffocation! You know all of them don't you?! You were there! All those feelings! All those stares and looks and smirks and whispers! I thought you how to shut them off! And you, you did great. This time, you managed to shut every one of them off.
Oh boy, you won't be missed. You will not be talked about. You don't have to worry! Nobody loves you. Nobody cares. Actually, you are nobody. You are already invisible. You cannot be felt. You cannot be heard. You are already cold. You already are less important than that white cloud that is destined to be one with the void just after leaving your ugly lips! You're not even a sand in the river that time itself is. You cannot be touched! You already do not exist! And the time will pass, much nicer when you'll be gone buddy. Everything will be better believe me! Everything will flow, much smoother..."

It stopped, his hands re-tightened their grip on that damned metal railing. "That was it" he whispered wobbly.
"- What?!" The voice was screaming in his ears! Not smooth or melodic anymore. 
"- The song. I remembered. Everything will flow" He sobbed. 
"- No boy! This is not the song! You did not remember shit! What are you doing?!"
He sat on on the railing. He lifted his left leg, trembling and leaped over it, then he did the same with the right one. He crumbled to the ground of the balcony that is on the highest spot of the dark house. He was trembling, sobbing. 
"- How I was so blind?" He murmured "how I couldn't see it was you, AGAIN?!" He was talking to himself, all alone, his eyes were shut tightly. "Everything you have said is true. I agree with you. But... But this would hurt them even more. And they would never ever forget it. HE would never forget...." his voice was drowned by his own silent screech that teared his heart, soul and mind apart. He remained on his knees, his eyes tightly closed. His mouth was wide open with his silent wail until his lungs were blown out.

He waited until his body stops shaking, so he could stand up. He stood up slowly, his hands clamped to the wall, reach the door. He couldn't tell if he was trembling because of the cold or because of the life-long stare he gave to the empty eyes of death itself. He brokenly go down the stairs, open one of the doors that he don't remember when was the last time he opened and get in. Put his hand on blond hairs, caressed them gently without waking him up. He couldn't stop his tears from going down. He stood there silently, without even breathing to not wake him up. Then turned back and slowly slipped through the door and went back to his room. Turn on the desk light, took a bundle of paper and a pen. He took a deep breath and start writing the title "The little cheerful fool died today" by "the broken hourglass."


He leaned forward on his desk, to catch the eye of the clown who is sitting in front of him. "Please don't hand me to the architect!" the clown cried. "I had it in my hands. I don't know how he slipped away! I will fix this! Don't hand me over!" He was panicked!
He really enjoyed the misery of the clown, so he remain silent for a few more hours until he started to get bored by the charade. "Don't worry" he said finally, "I can see how his mind is falling apart now. He will be our masterpiece when we are done!" he started to laugh hysterically.

Pandæmonium - Pt.2

She turned the key of the house, stepped in and took a deep breath, as if she would announce that she was back home. Stopped. Her hand was still on the doorknob. Her heart forgot to beat for a few seconds, her eyes was filled with tears and dropped the key that she was holding to the ground. She remembered to breath again while her heart was torn into pieces. She fell on her knees, her head rested on the door that she was still holding like it was the only connection to the empty reality she was living in. She screamed, her other hand on her heart, tears were falling down her cheeks. She kept screaming until she was out of breath, kept crying until she was out of tears, on the doorway, while two eyes were watching her curious but silently.

"-Ok guys, combat res that fucking hunter! Buff him right away and someone pop a fucking bloodlust for him!" he yelled to the screen, in the middle of the night, like this sentence made any sense in this world. But it made sense in another world that he roamed, known by another name, living in another appearance.

"- He is going down guys! Push it! Push it!" His hand was dancing on the keyboard. His eyes were dry. It was minutes that he did not blink, his body was strained like his life was depending on what he was doing. "come on" he murmured "come the fuck on." He was sitting on the same chair for hours without moving besides his fingers that were hitting the key with all his rage.

"-Holy fucking shit we did it! We did it guys! Good job! Good job all, good fucking job all of you guys, thank you!" They obviously did something. It was the first time after months, that he felt... something. His body was relaxed after hours, he leaned back to his chair. He knew that he needed to be happy. He did what he was after for so long. He was one of the very few elite players that were able to achieve what he just did a few moments ago. There were still screams and celebrations going on in his headset. He took it off slowly and muted it seconds after he put it on his table. He held his head in his hands, his heartbeat was back to normal right after his glorious victory won against a repetitive software. "Now what?" he whispered to himself. 

He got out of his room. It was quiet and dark in the house. Took a step out to the balcony. The muggy summer night was a little bit soothed by the weak wind that could only carry itself. He lid a cigarette and stared to the dark alley that was visible from the place he stood. He was blankly trying to hum a song synchronized with the bulb of the street light that was flashing. It was then, he remembered that crumb of feeling he felt, just after his victory, that meant nothing to him now. He put his hand to his chest and tried to remember how it felt like.

Like a lightening, pictures started to hit his mind. He closed his eyes to get rid of them, but that just made them worse. Images of people smiling was filling his mind, a blond teen with eyes blue like the summer sky, was smiling at him. He could tell that he was worried. The boy was extending his hand towards him until a few centimeters away from him. It was the first time he saw the cracks on the surface of those beautiful blue eyes, that looked deep into him. It was the first time he realized how the hands were shaking while the boy was pushing the wall that was blocking him. He opened his eyes, he was not strong enough to look at this image under his eyelids.

Then he heard a voice. Whispering him softly into his ear. The trembling voice of a girl, which was clear as a diamond months ago when they first met each other. Her first reaction was to stay away from him. And now she was regretful for not keeping that line and letting that wicked guy in her colorful life. He first took the colors out, left nothing but black, white and grey. The red on her lips was the only color that he couldn't kill. Then he took the melody out of her breath and distorted it, distorted it until she decided that maybe it was better to keep silent than to sing. He pressed his hands to his ears to stop the whisper of the voice that was once pure and happy. That just made him hear it louder. He started to beg her to stop. 

He knelt down his hand on his ears, begging to a ghost that roamed his blurred mind to stop. He closed his eyes to see the broken blue eyes reaching to the deepest corner of his tar like heart. There, he felt a gentle hand on his back, trying to sooth him. A very familiar warm patting to comfort. He knew that deadly cold shiver would come running down his spine. He felt his razor sharp thorns were roughening. He immediately jumped forward, away from the touch, to face a tall, assuring young man approaching him slowly, with care. His face was pale, much paler than he remembered. The man extended his hands, to hold him from the shoulders. "No" he begged, "don't, it will hurt. I will hurt you, please don't" But the tall man didn't listen to his cries. Continued to caress his shoulders. With each movement he was bleeding more. With each stroke new wounds were open on his strong hands. The man finally reached out to hug him. "NO!" he yelled. The man did not care, and slowly hugged him. He saw a dark and sharp branch pierced through the heart of the man and joined to the dark of the night. "I warned you" he whispered "I begged you to not" he cried when the pale tall man became dust in his arms, leaving a memory of a broken yet happy smile drawn on the dying lips.

He tumbled to his side, sobbing. Months, maybe years later aware again, of what he did. Lots of different voices, familiar but long gone, were buzzing in his ears that he could here between his damaged breath. The heaviness of all the moments he neglected was pushing his chest down, much harder than gravity itself. He looked down to his hands to see wounds open by the shards of hearts he broke. He wasn't sure if the blood running down his wrists were his or the ones that he murdered, coldly. His ugly face was scorched by the tears flowed down like the core of the earth itself was pouring out of his eyes darkened by regret. 

"That is why..." a cold voice whispered from the dark "...we decided not to feel again, you jester." He never felt such rage, hatred and disgust in his life. He stood up from the ground he was crawling, he grabbed the figure hiding in the dark by his fat, hairy neck. He squeezed it with all the emotions he missed to feel past years. His hands were deadlier than claws of sublime predators. He shook the same ugly face he had with both his hand, and throw the dark replica down the balcony. Just to see him float mid air, with a smirk, stroking his bruised neck. "You will come back to me" the dark figure said with a lethal emptiness. Before disappearing in thin air.

He sat on the balcony until the dawn breaks, mourning for all the moments that passed by while he was refusing to live. 


He entered the room which was bigger than the magnificent foyer that he was waiting moments ago. "The Architect" he saluted with respect. The dark figure sitting behind a massive table which looked like a burned and crooked tree nodded. "First, an evil wizard from a child's book that literally obliterated his universe out of ambition with a band that got disbanded because of their over bloated egos. Now a pathetic computer game. What will be the cause of the next failure? A pink unicorn?!" he hissed from the shadows. His eyes caught the Architect's. There was a spark of excited sadism in them. "He's getting away, true. But the seeds are sown."  

Pandæmonium - Pt.1

"Tears rushed to the blue eyes. 
He never felt a despair this deep, a rage this hot. He couldn't comprehend what he has just heard. His mind couldn't process the news he just received. 
A piercing loneliness surrounded him. He shivered. Fear? Cold? It was the first time he felt alone."

The bitter smoke filled his mouth. He waited a heartbeat before inhaling it. The song was repeating itself for more than hundredth time. It had a soothing melody, the lyrics were telling a story of a long lost friend. A huge emptiness, similar to what he felt. He was staring to the empty night sky, wondering if he made all the stars disappear. 

Actually it was such a wonderful night. A cool breeze was hiking around that sleeping city. It was possible to hear the leaves chanting and dancing with each other. The smell of spring was carried all over the place. Some cats were running into the night to find their seasonal love. Many soul were resting in the melody of peaceful lullaby. Many hearts were beating with another. But not his.

He took another deep breath from his cigarette and put his left arm where it was resting moments ago. He was wearing only a black sport short. His back rested against the roughly painted wall of the house he lived all his life in. He couldn't feel his legs for more than a few hours now. He did not care. His eyes were bloody, partly from his insomnia, partly from the smoke coming out of the cigarette and partly of his allergy. It was more than a few months now, that he could not sleep more than two or three hours. He was heaving really hard time defining which was more uncomfortable. The fatigue that the lack of sleep brought or the aftermath of a happy dream he accidentally dreams. 

He heard the familiar soft scuff of velvet robes darker than the pit he buried himself in. The silhouette was holding a staff in his hand. It looked like he wouldn't be able to walk without it. The lonely guy lit another cigarette:
"- I started to worry that you would not show up tonight."
The response was silent. The dark silhouette came closer. He could feel the heat of the power surrounding that skinny, feeble body. The dark silhouette moved so softly, even in this night of absolute silence he couldn't hear the steps. 
" - Are you floating?" he asked without turning looking to the silhouette.
" - Why would I spend my energy on such a useless vanity?" His voice was cracked and barely more than a whisper. He collapsed next to the lonely guy. A long coughing fit came and went. Golden hands, which looked like a claw more than a hand found a black tissue from one of the hidden pockets inside the folds of his robe. The wizard wiped the blood coloring his golden lips. Two hourglass eyes, scorched with hatred and power looked to the lonely guy deep from the black hood he wore.
" You don't have the power to disappear the stars." acrimoniously stated the wicked companion, the moment he caught back his breath.

And they started to talk. Like they did for the past months. Both were afraid of sleep. Both, lonely. Both were loved. Both, knew that they were loved. They did not ask for it. They did not want it. It was a stronger curse than the one which gave the hourglass eyes to the wizard wrapped in black robes. A shackle heavier than their darkness.

There were no joy in the conversation. Barely any feeling other than a never ending hate directed to themselves. Time spent shushing were much longer than the words spilled from those distorted lips. Their uncomfortable presence were comforting each other. Both had hearts empty as the night sky. Only empty for their eyes.

He woke up from his usual uncomfortable sleep. "Two packs? Really?" he murmured. His voice was  very similar to his accursed companion that visited him yesterday. He cleaned the mess he created before his restless sleep. Collected the book he read countless time already. He knew exactly where he left, as he knew every crack or ink mark on the yellow-brown pages of that old book with a red cover. 

It took a few minutes for his barren heart to pump blood to his injured legs. There were only a few breaths until the dawn breaks. He could have waited just a few more heartbeats to watch the sunrise from the exact spot he stood still. But he did not. He turned his back. Get back in the house which suffocated him, and closed the heavy curtains to keep every single color out of his sight and his life. It was the first time he asked himself if he wanted to learn to fly. He decided that he wanted to see himself try.


The wizard got up as the lonely soul fell asleep. He stepped forward. He laid his hand on the left forearm of this ugly human. Great One, he whispered, grant that this sad soul goes through his life in safety. And happiness; he added, softly.



The room was dark, humid, huge and the heat was oppressive. "Just another day like any other." he murmured. He was summoned by the Architect. He did not know why he was summoned. He already had enough work on his desk. He really did not want any more, yet here he was. Waiting to be informed about this 'urgent' matter. The massive doors located on the far end of the room jangly started to open. He could see the red-orange light of the flame dancing. " Just another day" he murmured when he lifted his over-weighted body from the wooden bench he was sitting. "Like any other."