Friday, December 4, 2009

12.04.09 | Envy of the Fowl

Oh how I envy them, those wing├Ęd creatures! How they flaunt their fair plumage in my face extravagantly, how they taunt my extra heavy limbs. Must they treat my poor soul so? If my heart were still here beating in this gaping cavity within my chest, it would jump out to them and ride away on their wings, only to be lost again.
So where had my heart gone? It vanished with my passion for magic, all my hope for a better life than this one. Ironically, a spell was conjured upon my heart, and it dissolved in false glory.
Ah, the freedom of the fowl—how I crave it, want it for myself! I stare, green-eyed, imagining their wings on my own back, lifting me higher and higher into the heavens, away from this cruel, harsh reality. But I soon drop back into the real world as a flurry of feathers is shoved underneath my nose to remind me of the futility and helplessness of my human body.

Monday, November 9, 2009

11.09.09 | The Phaeton of Death

Riding up and down the streets
Does the driver steer his horse;
In and out of alleyways
Does Death keep his destined course.

Turning corners big and small,
He looks forward and behind.
At every stop he welcomes
Spirits of varying kinds.

Some are young, and some ancient,
Others guilty for some crime.
All are being sent to be
Either tortured or divine.

The Phaeton so dark and drear
Was made of sable hawthorn,
By mischievous Death himself
On the day our Earth was born.

Death and Phaeton shall remain
As one, doing what they must.
They wait, counting our every breath,
For, what is Life without Death?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

10.17.09 | Anywhere Is

It was a wonderfully breathtaking experience, literally, with the sea wind blowing in my face, sifting through my hair, catching on my shirt as it would catch on a ship's mast. With my eyes shut and my arms extended, I stood there, on the edge of the cliff, listening to the wind whistle its melancholic tune and the violent waves crashing, crashing, crashing into the limestone beneath my feet.
A gull cried out somewhere overhead, reminding me of the reason I was there—to fly.
I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes. The gulls, the sailboats, the horizon, the sky. All was to be within my grasp momentarily. The sun glowed warmly, passionately, brighter than the shimmering waters that tried to imitate Apollo and tempt me to join them. I'd swam before, but I knew that it isn't as thrilling of an experience as flying would be. It never would be so.
I fixated my posture, readied myself for flight. With the strong ocean wind blowing, I nearly lost my balance, but I quickly regained it. Good thing I was still standing with both feet firm. If I had fallen without preparation, the aftermath would have been messy, but the oceans would have washed away the gore.
So Zeus was on my side that day. He wouldn't let me fall. Why would he? My soul was more confident than ever. There was nothing but triumph I could think of.
I closed my eyes again and took yet another deep breath. What was stalling me?
I imagined wings—invisible wings—sprouting from my back. I imagined them lifting me into the air, taking me to places I'd never seen nor heard of, places where there was nothing to worry about, unlike the cruel reality I had just escaped. Anywhere is better than home, I thought to myself. Anywhere is.
I fixated my posture, readied myself for flight. Wait—hadn't I already done so? But I had to make sure I was ready. Yes.
The gulls cried, Go, go, and I took a last deep breath.

And I jumped.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

10.03.09 | Clocks

There were faces on the walls. Numerous faces. They stared down at me, blind, deaf, and dumb, but their hands were ever busy, always moving, never resting. Each face sang its own solemn hymn, regardless of what other melodies were audible, but the amalgamation was not cacophonous.

Friday, June 26, 2009

06.26.09 | Armageddon

It all seems so unreal—people shouting, screaming, all trampling over one another and killing each other, intentionally, unintentionally. It is the battle of Armageddon. Outside my window, I see the Thiraku, the soldiers of the underworld, coming my way. I hop down from the window and hide behind the chair. From all the stories Grandmother had told me, I am old enough to infer that they are not people to mess with.
Come here, Grandmother’s voice echoes in my head. Come sit on my lap, Liezak. Grandmother shall tell you a story. A story about the gods. And of course, she also told me about the demons and ghouls. How they always lost to morality.
Grandmother had passed away last month, leaving me all by myself. I am only seven, and life had already been quite hard when she was still around. Now I have to stay alive and away from the Thiraku by myself. I’d recognized them instantly by their hooded cloaks that swept the floor as they glided. The sight was so terrifying, yet graceful at the same time.
I have to hide somewhere. This chair is not of a very big size, so I would be discovered rather easily. My eyes scan the room once, twice, thrice. I still couldn’t think of a good hiding place. Although the Thiraku do not make any footsteps, I could feel their heavy, dark presence nearing. The table is too low for me to hide under, and there is no other room in the entire cottage.
The pressure gets heavier and heavier. Suddenly the door is knocked down. My heart in my throat, I whip around just in time to see the Thiraku standing in the doorway, each of their faces emanating a different aura. One face looks strangely familiar, but before I could recognize who it was, my vision turns black. I see nothing. I’d lost my sight. Had morality finally lost to evil?
No, I hear a voice say. We finally win. A hiss. Then silence.