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Just a paragraph i wrote randomly! It was for a story that never came into being..

The strong musty smell of the room was lined with the faint tangy smell of sex. He stood in the dark silently observing the bed; the soft continuous rhythm of deep-breathing sounding loud in his ears. He was completely hidden other then the slight gleam of his yellowish eyes, and even those were but slits that no one who looked fleetingly about the room could have noticed. Not that that was a threat at all, for the two hearts that beat in union 5-feet from him, beat in a smooth steady way as one does only when one is in a deep sleep.

He approached them slowly, and in doing so he stepped out of the dark and into the beam of light flowing through the window. For a few seconds his grotesque features were visible to the world. His mouth was slightly open in anticipation for what was to come. His eyes reflected neither guilt nor hesitation, only lust. His nose flared and his eyes became wider still as he walked towards his pray. Indeed if anyone saw him now they would be terrified at the lack of humanity in his eyes. It was as if he had never experienced any human emotions, for he looked at his victims as pieces of meat; rag dolls to be torn.

Unable to stand properly he hunched as he crept across the room towards his target, trailing a long series of mud-marks across the expensive silk rug adorning the floor. As he got closer and closer he could hear the two hearts beat clearly; one beating a millisecond after the other, and all he wanted to do was make them stop. Standing like a statue at one side of the bed he looked down at the woman and grinned, an eerie smile, and then slowly he raised his hand and lashed forward.

.The Clouds were Black Today.

The clouds were black today. Generally she would think that meant that the laundry would fly away or little Emily would spill paint on the floor, but not today. Today she felt those clouds speaking to her; today she felt them telling her that it would be worse. Standing outside and staring at them for a while, she silently pleaded for them not to do this, but it was inevitable and she knew that. The day had come. She had expected it to come.

Looking down at the grass, she realized that even it looked darker than usual, she looked around her as the trees nearby rustled hauntingly and the sun seemed to dim.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Dropping her laundry basket on the floor she rushed inside and shut the door behind her. Taking a deep breath she walked into the living room where she knew he’d be watching TV. She stood at the door for a minute, silently watching him. There he was, feet propped up on the table, a bowl of popcorn in his hand and a violent movie on the screen. What a surprise. Thirty-five years old and he still acted like a child. No wonder he never blessed her with any grandchildren. Though with what the clouds were telling her, that in itself was a blessing. She walked up behind the sofa and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Honey..” she couldn’t even say his name.

“Mum,” he said shrugging her hand off, “I’m watching something. I have work later so lemme have a break okay.”

His eyes didn’t even shift from the screen.

Suddenly she felt her throat choke up. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that a mother’s love in unconditional and they would die to keep their children safe, but she couldn’t. All she could do is turn around and flee the room. She tripped on some shoes by the door, but even then she picked herself up and kept running. Faster and faster up the stairs she ran until she got to the attic and locked herself in it. If what she sensed was meant to happen, she would not witness it.

Haphazardly she rummaged around, throwing boxes and precious valuables as if they were scraps of paper. She looked and looked until she found it. There, in a little red box, wrapped up in tissue paper were the memories that she had tried to forget. There they were.

The pictures.

One by one she touched each one carefully, trying not to further ruin their tattered edges. There he was. Her sweet child. Playing on his bicycle; eating an ice-cream; kissing her on her birthday; being tweedle-dee in the school play. It was all here. Tears stung her eyes as the memories washed over her. Where had her sweet little boy gone? When had he morphed into the stranger in the living room?

She had tried so very hard to fix him. She had told him not to be in the wrong crowds in high school, she had grounded him when he got home past twelve, and she had even made him do chores around the house when she found drugs in his drawer. But when he came home one day with blood on his shirt she knew she had failed. There was no more to do, he would not change.

The second time he came home with blood on his clothes she begun to be afraid. Afraid of him and afraid of what he was doing; where he was getting heaps of money from. She was not a naive woman, and soon she realized that her son was an assassin. And he was not working for the FBI.

She tried to reason with him, but he firmly told her that this was his business. She tried to kick him out of the house but he threatened her. There was nothing she could do. Torn between the loving memories of her sweet baby boy and the hate for what she had created, she was prisoner in her own home.

She knew the time would come when the tables would turn on him. She just never really thought that that time would come so soon. When she thought about it, the time hadn’t come soon at all. She had been scrubbing her screwed-up son’s clothes for years now, praying that he would wake up on day and realize what he was doing with his life, my son, my sweet baby will go to hell.. she thought, tears spilling down her face.

Why couldn’t she have stopped him? She was his mother after all. She had tried and tried but he just didn’t listen. After the death of his father he had just changed, he was no longer her sweet loving son, but an unknown soul in the body of her child.

She had contemplated telling the police so many times, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And now, the time was here. They had found out, she was sure of it. Now they would come for him. And this time, she would not protect him.

She sat there, clutching the pictures for god knows how long when she heard the door open downstairs. The sound of heavy boots against the wood of the floor could be heard all the way in the attic, for the house was basically empty. Next she heard some noises, shouting, running, things breaking. The noises got louder and louder, and her whole world spun. Curling up in the corner she rested her head on her knees and shut her eyes. Still clutching on to the pictures for dear life, she forced herself to remember the past. It wasn’t her fault. She had done all she could. She was a good mother.

She didn’t want him to die. She had given birth to him after all. But for the first time in her life she had no wish to interfere in the course of events that she knew were happening.

He deserved to die.

Silent tears running down her cheeks she felt her heart stop as she heard a gun shot. She knew exactly who had died. Opening her eyes, she looked down into the picture she was holding. Finally it was over. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. No more blood to wash, no more secrets to keep, no more guilt. She could live again. Her son was dead, but in truth, he had died ages ago. On the day her beloved husband died, so had he.

She heard her name being called, and slowly she got up, her body no longer shaking as she walked towards the door.

Opening it, she faced the officer who looked at her suspiciously, “Ma’am, we have some questions to ask you, will you come down with us?” he said, but it was more like a statement than a question.

Taking a deep breath, she was surprised at how calm she felt. Everything would be fine now.

“Of course.”

She was sure of it.

Pairs

The world has been created in pairs. We all know this. Male and female, white and black. I guess I just never realized how deep this pattern goes.

And it goes deep.

Right down to our smallest particles. Electrons and protons, the north pole and the south pole. Our world is created because of this nature of things. If each negative particle wasn’t attracted to each positive particle the world as we knew it would fall apart. We would fall apart.

Saying that all things are in pairs has a much deeper meaning than it sounds. It makes you see how beautiful the system of the universe is. How completely in harmony. Look at the wings of a butterfly, the pumping of blood from one side of our body to the other. Never loosing control, never disrupting order. Look at the planets. Perfect harmony. They all know their jobs and they are all doing them in an orderly fashion.

Our body itself is perfectly symmetrical. And okay, maybe we haven’t found out about the pair that completes the heart, but some people say that that’s why we need another person. The pair to our heart is the heart of another. They may even be a more scientific answer that has no been discovered yet. It’s not even just physical, it’s emotional too. Each characteristic of a creature has a pair. Nice. Mean. Content. Miserable. Truthful. Liar. Believer. Disbeliever.

We are surrounded by pairs.

The words pair doesn’t even have to mean that these things are similar. They could be opposites. Just look at night and day, good and evil, the world and the hereafter, heaven and hell. Perfectly complimentary yet wholly unique. In fact, I would say that one would be incomplete without the other. For why would you need light if there was no darkness? What would be the point of good if there was no evil to oppose against? Why would we dream of angels if there were no devils?

And the beautiful part is that each is as important as the other. It may not always seem that way, but it is. The sun may seem grander to us in all its golden splendor, but does that make it more important than the modest moon, whose subtle shine is only visible in areas where there are no clouds? No. Each has its own place and importance, and both are at peace. It is this harmony that strikes me as dazzling.

Beauty in diversity.

If we look at ourselves like the sun and moon we will understand why it is not so important for the female to outshine the male, because each of us have our own place, and we all have talents that others don’t have. When it comes down to our roots we are supposed to be with our opposites, not those who are exactly like us. But not just opposites, complimentary opposites. Female and male. Not female and animal.

We all have our places- the male cannot love his children as much as the female can; she gave birth not him. It’s just not possible. And the female cannot be as content having a successful career and a load of money as she can having a wonderful stable family; it’s just not in her nature. If we all accepted our roles in the world we would be much happier and quite a bit more content too.

And honestly, isn’t that what we all really want?

.The Sad Story of Oppression.

I kind of like how crazy this one turned out..**

She was going to do it tonight. She was going to end it and she was going to feel good about it. Years of suppressed emotions where going to burst out in one big bang. No more being trodden on, no more abuse, she was finally going to be free. Yes, she was going to end it tonight.

Looking at herself in the mirror she picked up the gun and smiled, her white teeth gleaming eerily in the dimly lit room. Tapping her broken tooth with the barrel of the revolver, she smiled and spoke in a sultry voice, “Don’t worry my sweet, you shall be avenged tonight. She hurt you didn’t she? Threw me on the floor..” she giggled, not the sweet innocent giggle of a child, but the harsh chuckle of one who never knew true laughter. “We all know she doesn’t care about me, but she should’ve cared about you. She should have known I would make her pay.. you after all were my favourite. I told her, I said she had to find you but she didn’t.. sealed her own faith that bitch did..”

She trailed the weapon up to her deformed ear, “and you my lovely.. ripped my pearls right off you didn’t she?” and then down to her stomach, where several deep scars could be seen, “I shall avenge you all, my babies.”

She felt not a second of hesitation, for she had been living a tormented half-life for so long that it was impossible for her to see straight. “Driven to the edge, yet not strong enough to jump.. that’s what she says doesn’t she? Ha! Well, dear mother, lets see about that.”

At first she used to cry. At first each hit, each blow made her shiver. Each bloody eye and broken knuckle would have her weeping, tormented for days. Why me? Why does she hate me so? She would ask herself, unable to comprehend that her own mother didn’t love her at all. And so, at first she would take it, she would take each hit as a punishment for some unspoken evil that she had done, and she would try to please her mother even more. But, 15 years down the line, at a ripe age of 24, you could hardly expect her to still crave the affection of her sadistic mother.

No, the kind words and mother’s day cards had stopped long ago, yet she was still not strong enough to leave her side. Until now. They say everyone has a breaking point, a point where you just snap, and hers was here. Yet no one talks about what happens before; the pain, the agony, the suffering, and the suicide attempts.

Of course there had been suicide attempts. In fact there had been many, but each time the weapon of choice- be it a razor, a gun or a rope- had never gotten its sweet taste of blood. Each time her mother had stopped her with her sinister laugh and malicious words, “Ha! Going to kill yourself? You don’t have the guts. You can’t hurt yourself you’re too weak, my child.. too weak to hurt anybody, too useless.. and anyways, do you think God would want you? I don’t even want you! Why would he, a worthless thing like you. You know where you’ll end up? Down below that’s where.” It doesn’t matter that the woman was usually drunk when she said it.

My child. When her mother spoke it she made sure her strong loathing of what those words meant came across.

Once upon a time she had been a pretty girl, with green eyes and blonde hair. Now one would never associate any kind of beauty with her. She was beyond scarred, she was permanently disfigured; emotionally and physically. Irreparably damaged goods. Burns from scalding water had caused her face to be stretched uncomfortably, and on top of her white skin were marks of red and black. It was as if each blow was designed to decorate the canvas of her face. She had once deeply felt the loss of beauty, but no more. Now she would look in the mirror and hardly see her face, she had learned to ignore it. It didn’t matter anyway, because try as she might, she was unable to remember what she had looked like those many years ago, and there was not a picture in the depressing hole that was her home, to remind her of it.

Previously, she had been a smart girl, a girl full of wits and intelligence, but now her mind had corroded and all that was left were the psychotic wonderings of a repressed soul. The smartness had melted into sweet insanity, and the dreams had withered and died, all that was left now was the thirst for revenge fuelled by hate; pure, undiluted hate.

She remembered the first time her mother had come home and hit her. Mother’s newest boyfriend, if he could be called that, had just left, and the woman, as usual had drowned her sorrows in drugs and alcohol. But this night was different. This night when she came home, instead of welcoming her daughter’s help to get her into bed, she pushed her away. Mother pushed her so hard that she hit her head on the wall, and when she raised up her 9-year-old hand to press against the area of contact, it came away covered by a thick red liquid. As her eyes filled with fresh tears, her mother’s turned dark and cold. She had never been a particularly loving or attentive parent, but she had never been abusive either. Until that cold winter’s night when she came home from the bar, accidently threw her daughter across the room and felt nothing but satisfaction; for once she was the oppressor; the punisher, not the punished.

She remembered all this as she polished the gun with a cloth. “Oh yes mother liked it didn’t she? Liked feeling she was on top.. But my child,” she said, kissing the gun, “I’m sure she’ll like you even better.”

Getting up slowly she walked to the window and pulled the gun up to the glass. “Gleaming like a gem,” her eyes brightened in happiness, “I do believe you’re ready!”

Opening the door of the basement, she climbed the stairs to the living room. She stood in the doorway for a second, watching her mother’s sleeping form; even during rest she looked uneasy. Good. Walking over to her, she sat on the foot rest across her mother’s old tattered sofa. Had her mother loved her they might not be here, had she stood up to her mother she might have had a better life, but she was beyond thinking about what-ifs. She was beyond thinking about her life, if you could call it a life at all. She was the shell of the person she could have been, but who the fuck cared anyways? Not me, she thought, as she smiled a smile so cold that it almost matched the ones her mother plastered on her face everyday. Life is a bullet baby, pull the trigger and watch it fly! she thought, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Suddenly, she looked up, catching the reflection of her face in the mirror behind the sofa. My beautiful face.. her eyes became hard and distant. Leaning over her mother, she whispered, “I have guts mother. I shall be free.” Ever so slowly she leaned closer, until they were at eye-level, and then blew on her sleeping mother’s face.

The woman’s eyes opened instantly. Staring at her daughter for a moment a sad, knowing smile crossed her face. A smile so sad that any sane person would have had second thoughts about pulling the trigger, “Broken at last, my-”

But she wasn’t sane.

****

The next day the newspaper headlines would read: The Sad Story of Oppression- Oppressor and oppressed both found dead; a tale of murder and suicide.

.Colour.

Red. That was the colour he loved most; the red of his mothers lips as she kissed him goodnight. Then there were others. Bright yellow. Sky blue. Pink flowers. Orange fruits. Green trees. There was a time when he could remember seeing all the colours as they were; vibrant and full of life. He remembers sitting on the roof of their small house, staring at all the different shades as they merged together forming the landscape of the city. Of course, at that time they just looked like bright dots and squiggles to him, and yet he would stare at them all day, as children do, and delight in their presence as they danced before his eyes.

He does not remember seeing that much life in a very long time.

“Please sir, will you buy-” he was cut off. The man didn’t even look at him before shoving past. Looking around at the practically deserted street he wonders when his life became so dark. Somewhere along the line everything had transformed into shades of brown and black. Dead. He could no longer see the rich turquoise of the sea, let alone feel its soothing breeze on his face; the golden yellow brightness of the sun had turned into an enemy he was forced to hide from during the day, and even the sweet smell of the cherry-red roses he sold every afternoon were lost on him.

When did this happen? How long has it been?

‘Forever’ something whispers into his mind. Indeed it had been forever. As soon as the innocence of childhood wore off he saw what a harsh world it was and he realized how hard his parents worked just to keep from being evicted from their small two-room bungalow. He realized his life would be a constant struggle to make ends meet, just as theirs was. Suddenly, he had been taken out of the peaceful paradise he resided in, and instead was thrown into a world consisting of sharp oranges, dark blues, blood reds, and deceiving purples. And he had fought. Oh, how he had fought to change it back, but no matter how he tried, he knew too much; he had seen too much to be able see the world as he had perceived it before. But even that cold, sinister existence was better then the vacant, colourless one he lived in now. It had been so long since he had any amount of happiness in his life, that it was hard for him to believe he ever had any. The only memory of joy he had was the one where he was sitting on the roof, hypnotized by the psychedelic sky.

Sighing, he sits on the floor at the side of the street and puts the box with his few selling-items beside him. Looking at them closely, the dazzling colours of the assorted stationary look so bright beside the dull blue of his faded out jeans; they look so luminous to him that the colour almost blinds him and he has to look away. The colour was a sign of hope and there was no time for that in his life.

He leans his head against the cold brick wall behind him, and unconsciously starts rubbing one of the pens on the rough pavement, as if to wear off the colour. When had all the sharp corners and dark, menacing tones faded? When had the canvas of his life been smeared with the same shade of grey? He remembers all to well when it happened, yet he tries so hard to forget. But sometimes, just sometimes when he gets exhausted, his mind wonders to where he commands it not to go.

He remembers that they were both there, selling odd things that their parents had given them. They were both there, among the sharp jabbing colours, yet somehow, at that time the red didn’t seem so bloody, and the purple didn’t seem so deceiving. They were both there, but only one of them survived. They were there, involved in their sales and suddenly there was a car, a flash of the brightest yellow that he had ever seen, and then there was nothing. When he woke up and saw the tears and the despair, suddenly his life changed. There was no more colour, no more hope and nothing more to look forward to. The world had always been the darkest shades of grey, it had just been painted and disguised to look more appealing, but he knows the truth now, and he accepts it.

He knows he should go home, but he can’t find it within himself to get up. The floor is cold, yet he can barely feel it, he is numb except for the growing feeling of blackness shadowing over his heart. Closing his eyes he watches the small specks of glowing dots create patterns behind his eyelids, and smiles, hoping the glow will become bigger and bigger until it consumes him as it had consumed his brother. He imagines the glow lighting ablaze and devouring the whole world. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful end? The world ending in such astonishingly beautiful, yet tragic way? He feels a jab in his abdomen and waits patiently for the pain, the darkness, or the glow of intense light to take over his body, but alas it doesn’t. Instead he hears this stomach grumble in hunger. Frowning he places a hand over his empty stomach, willing it to keep quiet.

Be silent! I can not feed you; there is hardly enough money to take home.

He pushes himself off the ground and scraping up his assorted stationary he walks towards a car that has just stopped in front of a department store across the street. Leaning towards the window he sees a small girl and her older brother inside the car, apparently waiting for someone in the shop. He knocks on the window and gestures towards his stationary. Though the elder son pays him no heed, the little girl turns around and stares at him. She does this for several moments, her expression looking pensive as she frowns slightly, her dark hair making her look older then she is. Then suddenly her emerald-gold eyes seem to brighten with understanding and giving a little nod, she leans over in her seat and rummages around the back of the car. After a few seconds she looks up with an expression of triumph, and opening up the window she slips something through the crack to him. He stares, perplexed, at what appears to be a little red box of chocolates, for so long that it seemed the red had fused into is eyes. When he looks up he realises the car has sped away.

Opening the box, he picks up a piece, and as he unwraps it and pops it into his mouth he feels his world explode with taste and colour. It had been so long since he had eaten something with such rich flavour. He sighs and closes his eyes, wanting to savour the moment. A little girl, someone he had never met before, noticed that he was hungry and gave him something to eat. The sheer goodness of her act completely baffles him. All he knows is that this simple act made him feel warm inside, and suddenly the lively colours don’t hurt his eyes and the world doesn’t seem so grey.

He glances down at the colourful chocolate wrappers and looking at them one by one, he grins for the first time in ages as the colours jump back at him, each one opening a door within him that he had shut and bolted years ago. Opening up a red-wrapped chocolate, he pops to into his mouth, then gathering up his things, he starts walking in the direction of home.