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[szpetne]

Hello everyone! You probably know me from one of my blogs, this is an archive sort of for my writing as it's scattered all around. Mostly on my old blogs @unseenarts and @pansdora which I don't have an access to anymore.

That's why after saving this url I decided to make a place where I would gather it all. For now starting with my favorite pieces, and slowly adding those more lighthearted and moodboards I've made as well

Anyway those main ones for now will be all there is here, but as I plan on adding more they will be tagged as #mainstory

More lighthearted, comedic ones (soon to come) will be tagged as #sidestory

As I said i don't have access to those blogs anymore so I can't delete old posts with them so please don't be surprised when you see then floating around

[szpetne]

Bloodless

The silence is all around me, silent are the moors, the forests and the swamps. They know - they know what happened, what the world has done to me. Perhaps they were mourning me, and the colour of my blood.

I can barely remember days when it was red. The fog covers it all. Was I happy? Was I alive? I had to be right? Well I wasn't in pain and isn't that enough?

The pain came later, of course, it always comes sooner or later. Blinding, crushing, the most unbearable of them all - the pain deep down in the soul, tearing it apart. It felt like the death, after all this time,finally came for me. And who knows maybe she did that day. After all which living thing bleeds all black?

People think that this is the end. There's no coming back from it, and nothing waits for you after. Well they're right, at least for the first part, there's no coming back. But little did they know that it's not the end, in fact it was far, far away from ending.

Second time surprised me, but to be fair, who expects their blood to turn into saltwater? The pain, stinging, burning, took my whole body. And then the dreadful realization came. It wasn't the end either, it was the cleansing - preparation.

It left me with marble veins, filled them with saltwater- beautiful but dead. Deceiving, poisonous if you drink too much.

Last time I was waiting for pain that didn't come. This thin velvet ribbon tying me to humanity, to life was gone at last. The ghosts of things gone, people, feelings, memories filled my veins for the one last time.

My blood has turned, from red, to black, to saltwater, to ghosts. And now I can feel it leaving - dripping away as the world continues to drain. And I know, I feel it in my bones - this time there will be nothing left. They will all leave and once again I'll be empty.

Suddenly in the fog the howl peals out. Screaming are the moors, the forests and the swamps, and that's how I'm sure that they know. They've seen it all, their rage matches mine. They're my shadow, my echo,the only part of me that's still alive.

But I'm not hurting, not this time. The change took all the pain away. And not only it… you see, with pain comes compassion, kindness, empathy - all emotions are tied to it. If the pain is gone, so are they.

Maybe after all this is not the end, but beginning. They made me into this, they took it all. And now they're going to pay.

This world has forged me. And now I'll roam it, I'll own it and I'll take it all, starting with the moors, the forests and the swamps.

[szpetne]

Museums - Cemeteries Of Gods

Here they are, oh how low have they fallen. They used to look down on us mortals from their golden thrones up in the sky. They were our fate and we couldn’t live without them, we couldn’t die without them, and in a desperate attempt of begging this stone-cold life circle for mercy, we started worshipping them. Little did we know the power it gave us.

These Beings, old as the universe itself, could be contained, so we did. We contained them in paintings, prayers, and sculptures. For the first centuries of our existence these sculptures,would look down on us, basking in their glory in all gold templates. But the time, the one true and all powerful force that exists isn’t merciful either for us or gods. And so they were forgotten, slowly buried in sand, dirt, and blood. Just like that they spent their days forgotten, invisible to the world, not expecting what became of it.

But there came the times and people, who arrived into the lands that weren’t theirs or their ancestors, to the lands they had no claims to. And they found them, shoving off the centuries worth of history. Amazed by the beauty of the craft, or the history they were bearing; either way, completely blind to what was inside them.

And what was it? Well, as we all know, the only way to kill a god is to forget it. And this of course takes time, lots of time. And they were there in their tombs, almost dead, but not quite. A few years more, a few more wars, few more religions, maybe, and they could pass away, dissolve into nothing and once again be the part of the universe. But that’s not what happened, as you know. Their peace was disturbed and, now there’s no going back for them.

And here I am, walking among them. These beautiful sculptures - their earth form, and their prison. Aligned into never ending displays, in this city that is also old as time itself. And beautiful, so beautiful. Unexpectedly, this beauty is the doom of gods. Thousands of people every day, walking past them, seeing them - meaning they can’t die anymore. They once more exist in the minds of people. But we’re not worshipping them anymore. Webrush past them, acknowledging the beauty of the craft, but not them. They can’t be alive either.

And so this is the story of how we, the humankind, have the power to be the doom of gods. It reaches through history. It was the work of all generations. And like them in the beginning, we are not merciful either. We won’t let them slip into soft nothingness of death, no. We have sentenced them to the cruelest thing both gods and people can imagine - into existence without meaning.

[szpetne]

Souls Die in September

And so September came, but it didn’t feel like September at all. Days were too hot, too long and nights were too stormy. And yet despite it, the souls were aching; being torn between the relief of summer days being mercifully prolonged and thus pushing the incredible sadness and nostalgia (which came in pair with them) further away and the longing for foggy mornings, grey afternoons and the cozy feeling of safety, that would be brought along with the promise of coming autumn.

A land of in between, these few days; placed in between the death of summer and rebirth of autumn. A period so short and peculiar that only a few people were able to notice it; the ones whose lives haven’t yet begun again. While others have already forgotten about this short time of freedom, coming back to their lives with full force, vicious and cunning as serpents. The few left behind, ghosts were wandering aimlessly through days; almost forgotten shadows of who they used to be, and who they will be in a few days, weeks, and months.

Yes, those lavender colored days, mercilessly ripped off of autumn and made into something they weren’t - an extension of summer. These days divided us, into ghosts and serpents. But the balance must be preserved. Everything has its purpose, there’s connections between us all. And so there were connections between serpents and ghosts.

Watching them was quite entertaining I must admit. Watching them struggle, bite and poison each other in the name of things so small and unimportant as getting a partner, or better career opportunities. They didn’t see the big picture, they never do, focused on the fragile, on ever-changing everyday pleasures and successes too scared to acknowledge that they could never be owned.

Some of them attacked too fast, or too slow. With too much brute force, or not enough of it. Some did it too soon and some too late. Too subtle, too elaborate or not planned enough. The list of mistakes goes on and on. And they were too busy ripping each other apart to notice that at least half of their attacks didn’t hurt anyone else but them, never learning..

Pathetic, really; entertaining but pathetic. Well, their reign was soon to come to an end anyway. As this strange, borrowed time was running out. The real autumn was coming, and with it the real game would begin. We all know that the autumn is a time for snakes, and unfortunate for them, the queen of serpents was ready to play

[szpetne]

sharpening my fangs with a pearl-handled silver file. The calming sound of screams outside - finally theirs, not ours. And I'm hungry and there's blood running down the streets, I can see it drop by drop staining white marble stairs.

I've been tired for so long, that I can barely remember the time before. It washed out everything and now looking back there are no other memories, only tiredness looming over them like some wicked and twisted grey cloud. And how can you blame me for that, blame anyone, when this city made us into a human sacrifice. Day by day, little by little taking parts of us - demanding more, and cutting deeper and deeper inside every night. To make an offering, to devote those tiny soul parts to its gods.

And to think of how merciless they must have been, to get this city, so cold and cruel itself to serve them. And so it lasted for the longest time, too long probably but how do you say no to something so indifferent, or its gods of which you're afraid to even think about.

They've trained us well, didn't they? But slowly there appeared something else. And I'm tired still, but now there's something more as well. I'm mad - at this city, at its gods, at everything they've done to me, to us. And now it is inside, black mass crushing my ribs, slowly made its way through grey numbness wall.

Keeping it inside, ignoring, pushing it down, as this is what they've taught us. But one thing I don't think they've planned - it got sharp and hard, it wasn't a mass anymore it was a knife. And it made me hungry, so why keep it inside? Why don't repay them? Good thing I had to grow claws and fangs to be able to survive in the reality they've created for us. Well now they will be of good use, won't they? I don't like waiting for my food for too long, after all.

Finally, they're sharp enough, it's time. File lands on the dusty floor, I look out of the window the streets were scary, dead, dangerous so on the streets we go to hunt.

"what about our bodies?" they cried, with fangs to their face, "Will you just leave them lying here?" And I think they forget, that not long ago it wasn't a problem for them to leave our bodies to rot there.

"what about the morning after?" they begged, with a nail to their throat, "Where will your humanity be then?" And I think they forget, that everything that made me human they took themselves, sacrifice after sacrifice, so greedily and often that nothing has left.

The morning after came, pearl-handled file lies bloodied on the floor.

How do we know we're still humans? we don't, and we probably aren't anymore, they really should have thought this through, before they made us into that I guess.

And I don't know what I am anymore, but the I wipe out the blood and finally, all is changed.

[szpetne]

The Girl and The Moon

There was a town on the verge of our land, where the moon would come down of the sky every single night. Oddly enough, it would dip itself in the lake on the main square. And for a few minutes, every night painted everything with a silver light.

Townsfolk stopped paying it attention after first few centuries, and now it was just a thing happening every night, not much different from setting sun, or twinkling stars. So they just went around with their very usual lives. They ate, drank, worked, married, occasionally danced and finally died, as almost every other village at that time.

In that town lived a girl with a raven hair and silver eyes. As we know the times were hard with the war raging around, so she worked nights. And so happened that every time she passed the lake in those few special minutes, basking in the silver light. Most of the people in town found this disturbing even after all this time, so they would turn their eyes and pay little to no attention at all.

That is why young Layla has found the two of them to be so alike. Blessed with pitch black hair, in the northern land she has always stand out. There is an ancient legend saying that a black haired woman would bring the doom on us. And as far as the memory goes, every time black haired girl would wear the crown, disasters struck our land. Soon the black hair would be marked as the symbol of bad luck, and so the townsfolk preferred to avoid both Layla and the glowing moon alike.

Knowing how it felt to never be called "beautiful" or even "pretty" she made sure to take a minute or two every night to tell the moon how much she loves that it shines so bright and how beautiful it looks tonight. And so the years went on, and Layla grew, often having the moon as her only solace. Her heart didn't love any man, and none of them loved her. But as the tradition says, she had to be married right away. And so the groom was chosen, and he wasn't a bad man, but he didn't loved her, and she never really wanted to give her hand away.

The wedding day was soon to come, and the night before she went for one last walk. But instead of silver light all she saw was cold dark night. The moon didn't leave the sky. Standing there she didn't think twice, stepped onto the frozen lake, and cried her eyes out. And in the place where for centuries the moon would touch the ground, just for this one night, was kneeling a girl, with hair black as night, and eyes as stars, praying, screaming, crying, until silver hair fell on her face.

And right before her a beautiful woman stands. Hair glowing in the dark with silver streaks, reaching out her hand. "at the dawn of time, the old being said that everything will find their match. After centuries alone in the sky, I dared to ask where is mine?" she sighed "it gave me place, and so I came night after night. Did I finally find? Will you take my hand and rule the night by my side? Will you be my equal and my match?"

Next day the altar was empty but the night sky was never so full. People say that the night had the colour of her hair, and stars were suddenly silver as her eyes. And so the moon never again left the sky, and the two ruled the night for the very long time.

[szpetne]

Sushi Bar at cold November Night

The light is golden, it's warm inside. Safe, safe from the grayness of the evening, cruel cold rain, and November wind. This world has been left outside, screaming and raging, as I enter another.

It took a few minutes to shake off the bits of it still clinging to my skin and to my soul. But eventually my hands warmed up and my mind calmed down. More people than usual, talking, buzzing a white noise in the background, so soft compared to what's outside.

It didn't fade of course, I still could hear heavy rain and howling wind, but it's safe now, patio walls and golden lights will keep them at bay. And here I am, a single person, a dot in the middle of the restaurant. I let myself sink into it, dissolve until I faded, and all that's left was other people's small talk and waiters taking orders.

"Safe, safe, safe" this was the only word going through my mind as I basked in the warmth and golden light. God it felt so nice to fall apart, and yet somehow for the first time in a long time feel alive.

My food came, spicy soup with fish parts, and sushi. I was so hungry, but I also realize the food wasn't the main thing I craved. I yearned for softness, gentleness, for the gold light and warmth, for the escape from my life. I wanted to be calm and safe again. I desperately needed to regain myself, even the tiniest bits.

So you ask me if I knew what I was doing choosing this place? Yes I did. I searched for a safe haven in a cold November night, and I knew exactly where to go. Does it take away some magic from it? Probably, or at least it's a different kind, than falling in love with a place for the first time.

That also would be nice, but I didn't need nice, I needed my mind to stop screaming, even for the shortest while, and for my heart to stop yearning for a home to which I couldn't come back, not for a long time.

And it did. I eat slowly, stretching this moment in time. Dreading the minute I’d have to leave. But as all the cruel things in life it eventually comes, sooner than I expected. And so I step outside into the gray cold night, I already hear my mind getting louder. And I can't do it, not again, I'm tired let me rest, let me come home. But it didn't, and I'm still trapped here.

I push one day at a time, but it kills me, more and more each time, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to walk through the cold night.

[szpetne]

Year After Year

I hate New Year's Eve, the snow is nothing but a distant memory, or haven't came yet, so it's grey, and brown, and white - not the pretty kind, the brownish dirty white - the color of sickness, tiredness, and ghosts.

Brown leafless tress, and dead grass with heavy dark grey clouds above. While others are lost in gold and sparkles of the champagne, this is what New Year's Eve has been to me. Maybe not only for me? Maybe that's what it is for them too? That's why they cover it, with sequins, velvet and jewels? Is this what you're trying to hide? Is that the wintery death both in the landscape and in your life you trying to escape?

Anyway, regardless if they're faking it or not, not a difference for me. I hate looking at them, I hate their clubs, their parties and their alcohols. I don't hate their sequins though - their velvets, jewels, satins and silks. I love them, that's why I rage every time - how dare they waste them on this awful night, use the beauty of my only companion and solace (what a shallow materialistic thing to say, but why shouldn't I? I've never said I have no flaws) to cover their disappointments, those which came and those yet to happen?

I feel like my soul is being ripped away from me every other day - I got used to it, but this day I still can't bear. And I wear black, this is the time to mourn. And maybe I can't look at it the right way, but when your past was beautiful, and the future is empty - you won't wait excitedly for it.

It's not only about what was really there. Every possibility, decisions made, or not, risks taken or ignored is a thing to mourn. And above them all - the death of what it could be, what I wanted it to be, and what it wasn't.

I used to pray for someone who wouldn't let me rot, they never came and they probably won't. So what was left to do? I learned to live with t h a t inside. And I keep it deep down most of the time, but today it's all out. And I wonder how can't you see it coming down my face, and choking my neck, all black and grey.

It was never a beginning to me, always the end - the hardest part of everything. And I can't do it all again. Drink your champagne, shout your countdown, but let me rot, let me rest because I hate New Year's Eve.

[szpetne]

Under The Vintage Moon

It was my apartment, although it didn't last long and I have lived in many others since then. Much longer, so long that it seems like more of a feeling now, rather than memory. Some unknown ache and nostalgia for something that was, and was unlike anything else. Something that was gone; but even though not remembered so clearly now, never forgotten. A dust at the very bottom of my soul, a memory, a feeling and an ache all mixed together. They were living there, in me, just as I used to live in what was previously them.

So what it felt like, you might ask me? Well darling, it felt like autumn.

What a disappointing answer, right? So abstract and unclear, needlessly trying to be artistic and vague. Ironically, though, it's also true.

It was autumn in the most painfully literal sense; it lasted from crisp September mornings - so new and refreshing after the hot summer days. Til' foggy November evenings - with the sky so grey, you could see the promise of the future snowfalls in them.

Such a short time, merely a dot on a lifeline, almost invisible if you don't know what to look for. And yet right there, right then it felt like forever; interrupted so brutally and raw. And even though my soul was ripped away from me, I saw this. The beauty of a thing ending unexpectedly, so touching, so devastating, so beautiful you can't turn away from it no matter how much it hurts.

But apart from this dramatic ending, it was calm, soothing almost.

It was the first rays of grey morning light coming in, on September mornings. Rainy weekends spent in a big bed in the middle of the living room, drinking tea and reading books as the heavy black clouds were passing through the sky. Candle light baths in the middle of the night, with the retro playlist playing in the background. It was coming back after a long journey in the middle of the night, tired, worn off, and frustrated but being safe, and being home as soon as you turn the key in a lock.

It wasn't perfect, of course, nothing ever is; no matter how hard nostalgia tries to tell you it is.

The heating was off, so the only warm place was my bed, but it had a certain charm to it, being toasty in bed (thank God for portable heaters), with everything else being stone cold. It was almost like some literacy metaphor, I cannot quite convey. Overall it was my apartment, and it felt like autumn.

Why am I telling you this? Honestly, darling, I don't know. I guess that after such a long time of bearing something inside of you, you'll have to let go of it eventually. And when it's something you can't bring yourself to tell another living soul, what's the better way than to just scream into the void?

But if you really have to get some closure to this, so the haunting feeling of incompletion would go away for a while. Then remember this. If you love something hold it dearly; even if…. No, especially if this isn't a romantic love. We too often forget that the real tragic love stories might have nothing to do with relationships, and too often it's the beginning of our tragedy. Don't do that to yourself.