#.theywrite

[ventilaccion]

Recently, I’ve grown to like Queen. This is inspired by “Love of my life”.

“You took my heart.”

“I know,” she whispered in the dark. He couldn’t see her expression. Inhaling, he opened his mouth to speak, but stops. There was nothing more to say. He wanted her to return his heart, he wanted it back. Yet, he knew better than anyone that his heart would stay with her. 

She left him. 

In the darkness, he heard the soft patter of rain against the window. A car drove by, a beam of floodlight cast across the room. Then again - darkness. He froze like that, for how long he did not know. It could be minutes. Or hours. She left and not only did she take the floor beneath him - she’d taken the carpet, the walls, the air. Everything. 

She’d taken his heart. And deserted him.

(What was he to do now - with no heart?)

[ventilaccion]

A small dark drabble triggered by today’s events. 

In this world we live in, we devour each other. I watched my friend getting devoured in front of me. He screamed. They came upon him like a pile of shadows. They tore him limb from limb. They ripped him open. All the while, he screamed. 

My friends were kind and weak. I lost many friends with the years. Many of them were devoured. Nothing left of them, nothing at all. They ate it all. Miraculously, I survived. And I grew up. 

One time they wanted me to consume a stranger. I knew nothing about her. I had no reason to swallow the life of another. I refused. After that, I became the outsider.

Sometimes I am surprised why they left me alone, why they had not devoured me too - torn me up, ripped my flesh, cracked me open. Perhaps it was because I was the outsider. I’d been the outsider for so long that I’d become invisible.

Then she walked into my life. 

She smiled to me like nobody had done for years. Instantly, I fell in love.

I watched her when she devoured, and marveled at how she executed the ugly task with such grace. Never before had I thought that devouring was glorious - the clothes stained with blood, hands covered in viscera, eyes red as rubies. 

Time passed. Then she met someone else. Many other people. And I realized that she was never mine to begin with. Her sporadic nature took me in, and soon I’d become a fleeting fragment of her imagination. 

I was correct. Not many days later, she looked at me with a frightening familiar expression - her eyes were filled with hunger. Her sharp teeth glistened when she smiled. This time I let go.

I let myself get devoured. 

[ventilaccion]

"I lo-" He swallows. He cannot say the word. It sticks in his throat and glues it together. They both know, but he wants to tell her. He needs to tell her. Yet he cannot. His shoulders slump and his heart sinks.

She cups his face with her slender fingers and looks into his eyes. Her eyes are deep and vast - no emotions, no turmoils. He should feel a chill, but to him the blankness is a strange comfort. He has been so afraid, of failure, and feels safer to see that her eyes have changed not. They are eternal and harsh.

She is, after all, a goddess. Gods, no matter how tender, no matter how (-), are untouchable. They are glorious in their solitude, elegant in their coldness. Their gazes are unrecognizeable, and make them desired. He understands. He yearns to tell her, but he will not. She wants not his words, therefore he will not ever tell her. The gods are powerful, and their wishes come true. Whatever the sacrifice must be - a human's death, or his life.

[ventilaccion]

Another small drabble inspired by life. I meet many people. I imagine many things.

She was desperate to befriend them - all of them knew: Her friendly and witty chattering - cunning and humourous, ignorant and dumb. People thought she was a strong person. To him, she was a constructed person. No human was like that. Her whole personality was fake. 

Then she smiled to him, gave him the same smile she gave everyone - one of irony, like she was mocking him. She loved to discern people, liked to make them feel like nothing in her eyes. Made sure they knew. 

Yet, she repaied with jokes and laughters like her ridicules were nothing. Like it would be ridiculous for people not to accept her mockeries - because they weren’t worth anything, didn’t have any right to get offended. In a way, she demanded them to accept her. And they did. 

Her mask would have been perfect, had she not slipped. His lips curled, because however good she was with her staging, he’d caught the flaw. And he relished in the knowledge he gained. 

She had a weakness. And if she had a weakness, he could exploit it.

He’d caught one true emotion within her. It was fear. She worked so hard to hold on to the people around her with her pretty little acting. She was scared to have nobody. With that, he knew what to do. 

- 

If God made him charming, he’d be terrifying.

He’d start with her best friend. He would win her over with a bright smile and a couple of charming words. She’d be devastated. Then, she could have the whole group. He’d let her take them. Not that it mattered, because at the end of the day, he knew he’d win them back. All he needed was charisma, and he’d destroy her. 

-

God did not make him charming, and so he can only watch. If he had charm, he’d be powerful. Because he can see through people, and the ability leaves him with the power to crush them. He’d become a horrible person - he can already feel that - the excitement he gains from thinking of possibilities, his potential - had he been charming. God creates humans to seek that which they cannot obtain, because people always strive for evil.

[ventilaccion]

A short drabble inspired by the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody. 

“I’m...” He can see her eyes - they glisten with tears threatening to spill, but she is strong and holds them back. He says the word with a soft sigh.

“Sorry.”

The word hangs in the air. Then she starts to weep. It starts with a silent sob, and then more uncontrollable sobs spilling with her tears. Her hunched figure - her shoulders are shaking and his heart has never hurt this much. In that moment, he felt that he’d do anything for her - anything to lessen her sorrow.

He never meant to make her cry. 

Seeing the misery he causes her breaks him inside, and he is filled with a deep regret. They both know that she has to carry on without him. She should forget him. 

What meaning has life then, if people are to forget you? If this is life - if his life is to bring people around him misery, he’d rather not be born. 

[ventilaccion]

Help, a cry from the dark, feral, ripping at ones hair unseemingly, never to see daylight, running away into the shadows, to forever be confined in the dark, to rip flesh to shreds with only the brute strength of ones teeth, gleaming in the moonlight - slick with blood, crying beside a dismangled corpse, cursed.

[ventilaccion]

Who am I? One in a million. What am I? Of shadows and stars. Where am I? In front of a branch unknowing that the choice determine the tragedies to follow. // Shorter than I ought to be, longer than I should.

[ventilaccion]

While I looked at flowers, at sprinkles from rushing water, at the colours of the sky, they were obsessed with the idea of success. Meanwhile I was completely captivated/consumed/enamoured in believing that the universe could be described with one single formula. 

Like that one character in movies - my head was constantly in the clouds. And like those characters, I was always somewhat out of touch with reality. And inevitably, I was separated from the others. Often I looked at them, and craved to be a part of the group. Yet, looking at them repulsed me. It was revolting to see them - like watching a crowd of lions digging their noses into the stomach of a panting zebra, ripping out the entrails (they eat the entrails first because most of the micronutrition they need are in those parts, I saw a documentary later on the lions in the wild and realized that perhaps we were always meant to suffer - like the zebra still breathing while blood and bowel gushes out from the wound in it’s stomach. And perhaps we tolerate less pain now, and are constantly afraid of the idea of pain. And perhaps death is not as intolerable an idea anymore to many because the extreme pain connected with death is no longer there). 

I wondered how it feels to be the zebra, with everyone crouched around you - a feast and you are at the center. 

I was horrified. I was fascinated.