Yuletude, 1941.

The sky was an endless stretch of inky blue as snow fluttered slowly and softly onto their cold red cheeks.  She closed her eyes, holding his woolen hand as they laid together side by side on the rose petaled snow. The night was quiet, absence of the songs and laughter of the Christmas season. Tall oak trees, dark and invisible stand silently as they listened to the rustle of the wind and their thumping hearts beneath tartan and wool. In this very moment, this very place, the world existed of just him and her, and the woods and the roses.

She leaned her head closer to him, listening to his slow breathes, watching the smoke exhale slowly and repeatedly as he slept beside her blissfully. The snow fluttered down, dancing waltz with the wind, shimmering ever so dimly in the moonlight. When tomorrow comes, today, tonight, this very moment shall cease to exist as he joins the forces of the Russian Army in a war that should have never happened. A war between politicians that have selfishly been dragged into her life, shattering her future, separating Him from Her. A war for a gain that would never amount to the dreams and hopes crushed of the millions dead in the cold Russian winter.

And yet…

She watched him. Lashes laced with snow on a face that she knew with conviction that she would never ever love anyone the same again. His face, angular and smooth, lacks the lines and creases of a wearier man that belong in an army.  He is still, a boy, with the same determination and virility and hope for his future. A boy who loves her with recklessness and an absence of thought as his heart take over his head every single time.  

The tranquility of tonight however, brings with it the comfort of an illusion. An illusion that the world and her country has never knew war. Whereby tomorrow’s arrival would not rob her of her heart and her soul as tonight, in this very place. The world exists, of him and her.

He opens his eyes to meet hers, an azure of blueness against her own hazel green. No words were needed as he stretched out his arms to bring her closer to his heart. To forever imprint Her into Him as they slept amidst the scent of the roses and the fluttering snow.

Yuletude (24/12/2007)

Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

She breathed in the cold dry air as snow fell slowly and evenly from a blue black sky- the same, as it never ever truely was. Christmas set on the blink of a stroke of the hour hand and everywhere she looked were dancing fairylights and warm rosy cheeked people trailing scarves and gloves singing Christmas into the air. She pushed her wheels on.

On and on, she pushed, into the quietness, into the night as darkness promises an abscence of colour, an abscence of warmth, an abscence of people. Stones and gravel crunched beneath, keeping a steady rhythm with her pants as she pushed harder. Tall trees stood like silent giants,invisible as they witness an old woman, frail and tiny pushing her wheelchair with all her might down the white snowy lane into the clearing.

And she found the place where he once laid. The year did no damage to the rose bushes that stood bare, laced snowy white in its branches as the wind played with the petals on the ground. She found solace in the place where she once grieved her loss, and peace. Where the world existed of him and her and no one else.

She gingerly edge herself off her wheelchair, stumbling into the rose petaled snow and closed her eyes and the world celebrating its yuletude is safely kept at bay for her as once again, he exist behind the darkness of her eyes.

Angel ( 27/2/2007)

She sat on the aged rosewood bench, enjoying the cooling freshness of a late windy November. Wrapped in a warm fuzzy cocoon of tartan and wool, she was quietly grateful for life as she watched Regents Park slowly turn into an oil painting of crimson and rouge. Autumn leaves fluttered in the breeze and the air was beautifully scented with mandarin blossoms and ash wood. A cup of hot chocolate mocha was all she needed now to turn this pristine moment into absolute bliss.

Her heart ached with bitter sweetness as she watched a young girl played on the park swing alone. Blonde ringlets swishing out of her tight pony tail, her gasps of laughter brought a smile to her face as she rocked in the winds. Time like all things left unnoticed, leaves us faster then we would have expected. 3 years have disappeared but awashed in such terrible grieve and misery then, it had all still felt like a second the day her life got drenched in black.

Arising from her reverie, she opened her eyes and realized that the dreadful bitterness in her core that had stayed resolutely intact since then had dissolved together with the time that had passed quickly. Memories were still etched deep but they were the ones that would bring her joy; a joy that made her grateful that she had been fortunate enough to have spent a chapter of her life with her, to have known a person so young yet so special that changed her life since her arrival till she left, instead of stubbornly grieving her loss. It would have been pointless and life had to move on.

She knew it would not be long now before she could allow herself the risk to fall in love again.

Standing up, she wrapped her tartan scarf tighter around her face and left, her heart a load lighter and an unseen angel hovering silently above in the evening skylight.

Slowly. ( 29/1/2007)

Her eyes spoke a hundred different stories, eched deeply in lines and creases across her paper thin skin. A prescence so unspeakably intriguing, The sterile white sheets and cotton blue pyjamas did nothing to blend her together with the rest of the nameless living dead laying silently around her in the large mohogany room. Hair flaxened white with age, the early morning light creeped slowly into the dark room and she awoke to the first warm glowing rays of spring.

Quietly watching the apple blossoms bloom in the melting snow, she laid still, listening to the beepings of machines her life now grew reliant of. A fiery anger laid dormant beneath her cool exterior and she wondered how long it would be before she turned into the silent empty soul that rested beside her. It had only been a week and the thought of spending her last days in this hollow empty room was unbearable. Unimaginable.

“They have all forgotten, we were young once…” she thought as grieve took its toll on her raging heart. Her life like everybody else, was once a fierce beautiful dream of freedom and laughter. Watching the nurses drift endlessly among the hundreds of beds chattering and laughing, she wondered how it had all gone so terribly wrong.

A tear slide down silently and she closed her eyes. Nearby, a young girl watched in curious silence, a bouquet in her hands

The Pissed is a Wonderful World ( 12/11/2007)

Tongue swollen to twice its size, mouth dryer than a nun’s pussy. Yep I am pissed alright. But pissed as I am,somehow I am able to find my way to my cousin’s com away from the cast iron grips of the hard partyers in the living room that is my uncles and aunts from being forced to drink yet another glass of second grade red wine.

The addled mind is an interesting perspective. The world is scrapped from the hues and promiscious shades that it posess incorrectly named hope by the uncynical and foolish dreamers to percieve what it really is- the dull, greyish non color of reality wrapped under its deceiving layers. The Pissed sees things for what it really is, all without the heavy undertow of despair. On the contrary, dry bitter humour serves as a condiment as oppose to terrible patronization or ignorance for acceptance to what life really is. With every swig of alcohol, pieces fall into place until you finally see the whole picture – without its decieving wrap.

You balance and disect life like a very intricate neurological vein, lifting and uncovering pieces lesser known and ventured. You get a better understanding of what the whole living deal is about. Despair, failures and disappointents could hit you like a truck with realization and you wldn’t feel a thing.

And Just like that, you don’t remember a thing the next day you wake up. Life continues on its trudge. Until the next time your grannie’s birtday comes up and your aunts and uncles see it as another opportunity to get pissed and bonded.

They say The Pissed is a world of confusion and madness.

clearly those fuckers have never got drunk before

Void ( 21/1/2007)

David…

***

She licked the blood off the knife, slowly and meaningfully, till it gleamed in the dusty orange spotlight. It tasted exhilaratingly sweet.

A sigh of satisfaction escaped from her plump red lips. Her wrath sated, she put on the kettle and made chamomile tea, humming as she went as the wretched girl stared back, slumped lifelessly across the kitchen table, the look of frozen horror forever imprinted on what used to be a beautiful, angelic face.

The shackles clanked as she tripped on the chains of the girl she had bounded her to while getting a cup from the wooden drawer.

She cursed and spat on her face.

A face, painstakingly and tenderly carved with a cleaver, criss crossing across her cheeks and forehead, like an artiste sweeping broad stroke after broad stroke onto a magnificent masterpiece.

She smiled with thinly concealed lust as she remembered the intoxicating high she had felt when her screams pierced her ears right from the very first cut-a singular long sleat running across her eyebrows right down to her chin.

The way her hands and legs thrashed to no avail on the iron shackles and cuffs that were bound onto her as she desperately tried to escape fed her animalistic lust.

With every slice on her perfect visage, the pain in her lifted a little, and she gnawed desperately on the pain reliever like a hungry dog to a bone, bringing the cleaver ever so deeply into the cheeks of the girl with every cut; feeling the euphoria in her core building up unbearably slowly as the girl screamed and begged her to stop, the blood spreading slowly across the table, onto her hands and blouse, splattering across the marbled floor.

The wretched girl’s screams finally brought her to a climax. Slashing her throat in one swift stroke, she ripped off her clothes and had her way with her, right there and then on the kitchen table. She stared into her clear glossy eyes that were dimming out of its light as she throbbed with sinful pleasure.

And all too quickly, it was quiet again. A petal fell slowly from the roses on the mantelpiece into the pool of blood on the floor. The cat sinking its claws onto the mice under the moonlight tonight outside her pavement wouldn’t be the only one to have finally caught her prey. And eat it whole.

Goddess (10/2/2007)

Her smooth honey golden locks shimmered luxuriously in the spotlights as bolts of flashlights blinded her. Tuning out her inner hysteria, she plumped up her lips and firmly pressed a smile on her face with rehearsed efficiency knowing full well she will wake up in the morning tomorrow on the cover of every major news bulletin.

Looking fabulous was not an option for her, but it had been a very long time since she gave a damn.

The endless seas of nameless, screaming adoring faces stretched before her endlessly, their screams and shouts filtering seamlessly into a single note buzz before finally switching back to the dead silence she had learnt to transfuse. One of the coping mechanisms compulsory she taught herself to protect her from feeling trapped in one delicious enticing nightmare.

She fought the rising urge of frustration beneath her cool veneer as she smiled and posed in her breath taking ocean blue gown that glittered and sparkled as the gentle breeze played with her diamond encrusted seams. It had started out a tiny pocket of tenaciousness, one she was able to ignore and control, but it had grew slowly with time and threatened to engulf her with the throbbing emptiness she felt deep in her core-one that she couldn’t turn a blind eye to no matter how she tried.

Why do I feel this way? She wondered. Everything on paper was perfect. She was the person every human being in the planet wanted to be, but with every success the feeling just got bigger and bigger and now it had stacked up into a formidable heap- blinding her successes in a flash with its illicitness.

Desperation was eating her up slowly and she knew it would soon be time before she loses her grip and trip up.

Smiling for one last time, she turned her back and walked back to the glossy limousine, looking every bit the porcelain goddess the world sees her to be.

Dreams ( 1/29/2007)

She sang into the quiet night, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance, the cold frosty wind playing with her long auburn hair. Smoke spiraled serenely in long slender rivets from her cigarette into the air before vanishing into the night.
 

You were right here with me this time last year.

She laughed bitterly; a single tear running down her cheek in a long black streak. She didn’t believe in dreams. Life has taught her well and she knew the rules of the game. Dreams were for other people, the ones who have choices in their paths and a roof over their heads.

In short, people who lived.

But he suddenly cam into her life one day, and with reeling speed he defied everything she believed in. Life, almost laughably, played in warm technicolor instead of the same shade of grey that she was accustomed to.

In her possession was a dream that everyone else had and for the first time in her life she didn’t know what to do about it.

She was scared.

There was so much more to fall when you genuinely cared.

But she had seen a living, breathing person reflected in his warm hazel eyes; the life he shared with her unselfishly, from the way he laughed warmly at everything she said, to the loving words that he poured into her ear, gave her reason after reason to believe, and eventually she did.

Foolishly. Life always has the final say. She knew this, but she had forgotten.

And in an almost predestined accident, he was gone.  

Wiping her tear away, she left the pier quietly, blending into the darkness of the alley before the sun shone and the world awoke to yet another day. 

Good morning.