The girl stared at the watch on her wrist, feeling uncomfortable.
It's okay, the boy said.
I'm scared, she said, of every passing second. I'm scared of the time. I'm scared of growing up...
I know, he said. And it's okay.
It's okay to be scared?
Of course.
Why?
Because, the boy said, his voice full of make-believe knowledge, it means you're alive.
What, the girl asked, what if I don't want to be? Dead you don't grow up.
I'm afraid it's not up to you.
The girl took the watch off and threw it on the floor, stepping on it. A million pieces scattered around.
I'm going to stop time, she said. You coming?
He stared at her, wide-eyed.
Hey, she said. You coming?
Coming, he uttered.
And they left, but the broken watch on the floor kept ticking.
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta 100 theme challenge. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta 100 theme challenge. Mostrar todas as mensagens
domingo, 1 de julho de 2012
36. Addiction
The clock ticked away, but I didn't mind.
Steady, steady, otherwise you'll lose it.
If you lack the patience, then don't even start it.
It's been like this since forever. Everyday I go out and collect.
There isn't any other way I'd survive, anyway. I have to do it every single day.
I wonder when I became such a monster.
Hey, won't you help me? Won't you help me pull my own strings?
Sometimes I ask them, but they're already too dead to reply. I could never risk asking a living person about it.
I'm ancient, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm wise. I'm just a common guy, doing my thing. Everyday, to survive.
I followed the guy through dark streets. I hid in the shadows and walked silently. He would never notice me, right? That was what I counted on.
It was painful, but delightful at the same time. I repeated this day over day, only the person in front of me changing, and with it the streets and places. Sometimes I'd be in the dark all night, sometimes I'd cross a park or walk the length of some rich looking avenue.
Either way it didn't change, not enough.
It's an addiction, yes. To drink the juice of a recently released soul... There is nothing quite like it. Sometimes I think, this will be my last, but it never is. My whole body starts to ache, my heart threatens to stop and my lungs feel like they're about to implode. With a dizzy head I always set off, looking for the next victim. Looking for my way out.
If you can't do it every night then don't start it. This isn't something you can quit of grow out of. You'll need a soul for each day, and sometimes two won't be enough. And you have to be ready to face death. Because if you're killing, death will know you too well and come after you.
So don't hold on to life much.
Even if I seem to be here since forever it's lot more like existing than living.
It can't be anyone. No. That does not work. Only the best of the best shall do. The ones with shiny auras, lived souls. A pure and innocent soul tastes like paper. It has to be a guilty soul, a soul that committed so many sins there's no right place for it in the world anymore. Or a soul that's suffered so much it can never be beautiful again.
But nothing is as delicious as a soul that went through a near death experience, but those are far too rare.
I finally found the right spot, an alley just ahead and jumped onto my target, subduing him.
As I dragged him, unconscious, I relinquished in the thought of what was to come.
He was a cheater and a thief, a con man. I knew this as I drank him, wholly, empty his body until it was nothing but a shell.
He wasn't dead, though, not yet. Just soulless. His eyes would never shine again. But that would be living the job incomplete. I knew better than that and stabbed the man, twice or thrice, through the heart.
His red blood disgusted and fascinated me at the same time. I tasted it and realized it had a faint connection to the soul.
I wondered about what that meant.
Maybe the soul and body aren't that divided. Maybe they start rubbing off one another.
Either way, they were both pretty delicious, though the blood was weaker.
I decided to change my habits.
Maybe I'd have to kill less.
Steady, steady, otherwise you'll lose it.
If you lack the patience, then don't even start it.
It's been like this since forever. Everyday I go out and collect.
There isn't any other way I'd survive, anyway. I have to do it every single day.
I wonder when I became such a monster.
Hey, won't you help me? Won't you help me pull my own strings?
Sometimes I ask them, but they're already too dead to reply. I could never risk asking a living person about it.
I'm ancient, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm wise. I'm just a common guy, doing my thing. Everyday, to survive.
I followed the guy through dark streets. I hid in the shadows and walked silently. He would never notice me, right? That was what I counted on.
It was painful, but delightful at the same time. I repeated this day over day, only the person in front of me changing, and with it the streets and places. Sometimes I'd be in the dark all night, sometimes I'd cross a park or walk the length of some rich looking avenue.
Either way it didn't change, not enough.
It's an addiction, yes. To drink the juice of a recently released soul... There is nothing quite like it. Sometimes I think, this will be my last, but it never is. My whole body starts to ache, my heart threatens to stop and my lungs feel like they're about to implode. With a dizzy head I always set off, looking for the next victim. Looking for my way out.
If you can't do it every night then don't start it. This isn't something you can quit of grow out of. You'll need a soul for each day, and sometimes two won't be enough. And you have to be ready to face death. Because if you're killing, death will know you too well and come after you.
So don't hold on to life much.
Even if I seem to be here since forever it's lot more like existing than living.
It can't be anyone. No. That does not work. Only the best of the best shall do. The ones with shiny auras, lived souls. A pure and innocent soul tastes like paper. It has to be a guilty soul, a soul that committed so many sins there's no right place for it in the world anymore. Or a soul that's suffered so much it can never be beautiful again.
But nothing is as delicious as a soul that went through a near death experience, but those are far too rare.
I finally found the right spot, an alley just ahead and jumped onto my target, subduing him.
As I dragged him, unconscious, I relinquished in the thought of what was to come.
He was a cheater and a thief, a con man. I knew this as I drank him, wholly, empty his body until it was nothing but a shell.
He wasn't dead, though, not yet. Just soulless. His eyes would never shine again. But that would be living the job incomplete. I knew better than that and stabbed the man, twice or thrice, through the heart.
His red blood disgusted and fascinated me at the same time. I tasted it and realized it had a faint connection to the soul.
I wondered about what that meant.
Maybe the soul and body aren't that divided. Maybe they start rubbing off one another.
Either way, they were both pretty delicious, though the blood was weaker.
I decided to change my habits.
Maybe I'd have to kill less.
domingo, 24 de junho de 2012
97. The Moon
The queen entered the dim lit room and made her way to the table. It was in a disarray, papers thrown everywhere and dust covering everything, but she didn't care. For a long time she had wanted to go there, and wasn't about to complain.
She sat on a dusty chair and crossed her legs, looking around. The room was empty except for the table and two chairs and surely no one had gone there for a long time. It did not matter, though. It was exactly what she had been looking for, as untidy as it may be.
She ran her finger over the edge of the wooden table. Outside it was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, but there it was cold and dark. She shivered and finally decided to light the candle she had brought with her.
The light projected long shadows of her and the little furniture present in the room. It was a peaceful sight for her. She shuffled through the papers, which were mostly bills and reports. The room had once been a lawyer's officer and all the documents were somewhat related to the Law.
She started to look in the drawers, curious. There were writing materials, more documents and forms, a few books related to the previous owner's profession and some random junk. The last drawer was locked, but she had the key - it was in the same chain as the one that opened the door.
There was nothing in the drawer, though. She figured there must have been once a weapon there, a gun of some kind, since that was the usual, but it was gone. No matter. She hadn't come to that room to find anything important. Only to be there and bask in the forgotten memories of the lawyer.
He hadn't been her lover. Nothing of the sort, actually. He had only been a friend, not a very close one, but a true one. She had known that all along, but she had never tried to get closer to him. She was afraid.
She was always afraid.
She liked being a queen because of that. She was protected at all times. Even if she wasn't a real queen and just a make-believe one, a dream queen, she was still guarded day and night by faithful employees and it made her feel safe. Even when she was inside there alone, the little building and room were surrounded by guards. No one would be able to harm her.
But there was no protection when it came to emotional matters. There she was alone, and that's why she had never got closer to the lawyer (or anyone else, for that matter). She might have fallen in love once or twice if she had allowed herself, and maybe even got married, but she couldn't let it happen.
Over the years she had carefully built a heavy fortress around her heart, that no one was able to tear down. The only time she would open its door were when something like this happened - when someone who she could have been close to died. Then she opened the door and cried for hours, huge tears of regret and sorrow. After that she'd close the door again and go on with life, like nothing had happened.
But this time, it wasn't happening. The door seemed to be blocked and there was no way she could open it. No tears fell for the lawyer. She eventually gave up and went home again to her make-believe palace.
She found someone on the way, a gentleman she knew quite well but whose name she could never remember. He greeted her, warmly, and invited her to tea. She accepted, of course, because it would be rude not to.
They found a pleasant coffee shop, sat outside and ordered the finest tea. The sun was beginning to set and the gentleman suggested that they stopped by near the beach to watch it. She agreed and they finished their delicious tea and left.
She felt uncomfortable. It was always hard for her to socialize, no matter how many times she'd train it. But there was something else. The fact that she had not cried was hurting her. She couldn't forget the dust covered office.
The gentleman took her arm and led her to a wonderful spot, with beautiful benches and a view to the sea. The sat down, watching the sun slowly set and she clutched the man's arm.
The face of her lawyer friend popped into her mind and suddenly the tears were there, falling from her eyes without a pause. The gentleman pulled her closer and hugged her and there she stood, crying her deceased friend in the arms of a man whose name she was unable to recall, while the sun gave way to the moon.
She sat on a dusty chair and crossed her legs, looking around. The room was empty except for the table and two chairs and surely no one had gone there for a long time. It did not matter, though. It was exactly what she had been looking for, as untidy as it may be.
She ran her finger over the edge of the wooden table. Outside it was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, but there it was cold and dark. She shivered and finally decided to light the candle she had brought with her.
The light projected long shadows of her and the little furniture present in the room. It was a peaceful sight for her. She shuffled through the papers, which were mostly bills and reports. The room had once been a lawyer's officer and all the documents were somewhat related to the Law.
She started to look in the drawers, curious. There were writing materials, more documents and forms, a few books related to the previous owner's profession and some random junk. The last drawer was locked, but she had the key - it was in the same chain as the one that opened the door.
There was nothing in the drawer, though. She figured there must have been once a weapon there, a gun of some kind, since that was the usual, but it was gone. No matter. She hadn't come to that room to find anything important. Only to be there and bask in the forgotten memories of the lawyer.
He hadn't been her lover. Nothing of the sort, actually. He had only been a friend, not a very close one, but a true one. She had known that all along, but she had never tried to get closer to him. She was afraid.
She was always afraid.
She liked being a queen because of that. She was protected at all times. Even if she wasn't a real queen and just a make-believe one, a dream queen, she was still guarded day and night by faithful employees and it made her feel safe. Even when she was inside there alone, the little building and room were surrounded by guards. No one would be able to harm her.
But there was no protection when it came to emotional matters. There she was alone, and that's why she had never got closer to the lawyer (or anyone else, for that matter). She might have fallen in love once or twice if she had allowed herself, and maybe even got married, but she couldn't let it happen.
Over the years she had carefully built a heavy fortress around her heart, that no one was able to tear down. The only time she would open its door were when something like this happened - when someone who she could have been close to died. Then she opened the door and cried for hours, huge tears of regret and sorrow. After that she'd close the door again and go on with life, like nothing had happened.
But this time, it wasn't happening. The door seemed to be blocked and there was no way she could open it. No tears fell for the lawyer. She eventually gave up and went home again to her make-believe palace.
She found someone on the way, a gentleman she knew quite well but whose name she could never remember. He greeted her, warmly, and invited her to tea. She accepted, of course, because it would be rude not to.
They found a pleasant coffee shop, sat outside and ordered the finest tea. The sun was beginning to set and the gentleman suggested that they stopped by near the beach to watch it. She agreed and they finished their delicious tea and left.
She felt uncomfortable. It was always hard for her to socialize, no matter how many times she'd train it. But there was something else. The fact that she had not cried was hurting her. She couldn't forget the dust covered office.
The gentleman took her arm and led her to a wonderful spot, with beautiful benches and a view to the sea. The sat down, watching the sun slowly set and she clutched the man's arm.
The face of her lawyer friend popped into her mind and suddenly the tears were there, falling from her eyes without a pause. The gentleman pulled her closer and hugged her and there she stood, crying her deceased friend in the arms of a man whose name she was unable to recall, while the sun gave way to the moon.
sexta-feira, 18 de maio de 2012
86. The Lovers
I.
How much is your kiss worth? I've got no gold bars, but I could make you a one-dollar bills green carpet, for you to tread on and walk straight into my arms.
I wonder if it's okay to keep dreaming like this.
II.
Life has always weighted us down and been hard to carry, heavy with thoughts and insecurities. But when we're together we can float freely above it all. So hold my hand and let's spin around like we were just kids because, truth be told, we haven't really grown much and we're probably much too young for all this thinking and fucking.
III.
Why are you so scared? You say you sometimes wake at night, certain that I'm lying dead next to you, but I never am, am I? You always find my skin warm with the blood running under it. And when you hug me I'll surely hug you back everytime.
The only thing that worries me is how I'm unable to tell if your eyes are light blue or gray.
IV.
We stay inside and hear the storm, the rain falling and the thunders roaring. We're by the fireplace, naked, because I confess I always loved to feel your skin against mine. And everything's just so perfect there is nothing I would change.
If the world was to end right now I wouldn't blame it, since this feels so much like a final chapter.
Mhm. Ugh. Não sei.
How much is your kiss worth? I've got no gold bars, but I could make you a one-dollar bills green carpet, for you to tread on and walk straight into my arms.
I wonder if it's okay to keep dreaming like this.
II.
Life has always weighted us down and been hard to carry, heavy with thoughts and insecurities. But when we're together we can float freely above it all. So hold my hand and let's spin around like we were just kids because, truth be told, we haven't really grown much and we're probably much too young for all this thinking and fucking.
III.
Why are you so scared? You say you sometimes wake at night, certain that I'm lying dead next to you, but I never am, am I? You always find my skin warm with the blood running under it. And when you hug me I'll surely hug you back everytime.
The only thing that worries me is how I'm unable to tell if your eyes are light blue or gray.
IV.
We stay inside and hear the storm, the rain falling and the thunders roaring. We're by the fireplace, naked, because I confess I always loved to feel your skin against mine. And everything's just so perfect there is nothing I would change.
If the world was to end right now I wouldn't blame it, since this feels so much like a final chapter.
Mhm. Ugh. Não sei.
terça-feira, 15 de maio de 2012
13. Fear
I'd like to be able to believe that we are special.
That we have the power to make the world move
slower
or maybe faster
or backwards.
It's not true, though, we're really nothing special.
And in ten years you won't even remember the way I say your name.
Probably.
So I'll hold your hand tight now,
while I'm still able to feel it.
That we have the power to make the world move
slower
or maybe faster
or backwards.
It's not true, though, we're really nothing special.
And in ten years you won't even remember the way I say your name.
Probably.
So I'll hold your hand tight now,
while I'm still able to feel it.
quarta-feira, 9 de maio de 2012
11. Pain
Her eyes were covered with stars.
She could see a galaxy stretching to her left, lights dancing and blurring the real world. It didn't matter if she closed one or both eyes, she could still see it. She kept rubbing her eyes, an useless attempt to drive the lights away, but there was nothing she could do. And she knew those stars all too well, and what they represented: a migraine was on the way, slowly making its way into the right side of her head.
She knew there were no pills in the house, so she simply lay in bed and waited for it to go away. The pain was intense, now, making her frown and shift around.
I'll be fine, she told herself, and wished there was someone else to make her believe that. But it was just her and the stars and the pain.
[corre o risco de ser tirado daqui e usado noutro lado]
She could see a galaxy stretching to her left, lights dancing and blurring the real world. It didn't matter if she closed one or both eyes, she could still see it. She kept rubbing her eyes, an useless attempt to drive the lights away, but there was nothing she could do. And she knew those stars all too well, and what they represented: a migraine was on the way, slowly making its way into the right side of her head.
She knew there were no pills in the house, so she simply lay in bed and waited for it to go away. The pain was intense, now, making her frown and shift around.
I'll be fine, she told herself, and wished there was someone else to make her believe that. But it was just her and the stars and the pain.
[corre o risco de ser tirado daqui e usado noutro lado]
34. Weakness
She has a neon purple jellyfish tattoo covering her back and I'm scared to hell of those creatures. So when she takes her shirt off with her back to me I just want to tell her to put it on again. But I don't. Instead I let her hold me in her arms and I rest my face against her chest and run my hand through her shoulders and arms, always avoiding her back. It's silly and irrational, and I know it, but I can't help it.
I wonder if she'll sting me someday.
I wonder if she'll sting me someday.
domingo, 22 de abril de 2012
2. Technology
My Little Robot
There's nothing I can do. I'll be forever trapped in this empty and dead country.
I keep telling myself that, but I can't bring myself to stop. I've been looking for a way out for days and days and I'm in the middle of nowhere. I wonder how much time I'll have before I go mad. All this silence is killing me. I just wish the damned thing would talk. Those chirps and grunts aren't enough; I need a living voice by my side.
It's dawn and the sun is breaking through a purpleish sky, an effect of all the junk on the air. The robot by my side turns off its flashlight and a red light flashes on its front. Oh great. Needing recharging again. Maybe I should just let the battery die and go on alone. It's not like I need it. The flashlight's useful and all and I've used the laser to open way before, but... It's still one of them. This little guy and his friends are the reason everyone is dead.
Everyone but me, that is.
It still haunts me, of course. I remember it all to well - the sudden blasts that made the earth shake under out feet, the screams and then the sudden silence when people started choking on air. I could feel it too, the change, the poison in the air, but only as a slight irritation. I coughed for a bit and then my body somehow adapted to it and I started breathing normally.
By then everyone was dead.
I wonder why I was the only one. What's so special about me? Why am I immune? I didn't want this. I'd rather have died with everyone else. The sight of everyone's dead bodies clings forever in my memory, just a distraction away. I must keep my brain busy at all times. The bodies I see during my journey keep trying to make me think about it, but I shall not. If I'm alive, I prefer to be sane.
I stop and get the robot into recharging mode. It's starting to charge less and less, probably because the sunlight keeps getting weaker. I sit by it and eat whatever I took from the last town we passed through: canned beans and two apples. I wish I knew a bit about robot-making... I'd remove the jet-pack that is mostly useless right now to help save some battery. Because the truth is, I've got used to this company. It's not the best, of course, and it still pains me a bit to look at it, but at least I'm not alone, not completely. I've always been afraid of solitude.
I notice a little W on its head and wonder what it stands for. As far as I know these robots are simple known as the Search&Destroy Squad, but maybe they had individual code names or something. It's funny, though. When I was younger I had a dog named Wazzer and he had a collar with a W just like this one. Wazzer, huh... I guess it's a good name as any for a robot. Besides, when I found it, I thought it was a dog. I was in a town with narrow streets and dark alleys, getting lost over and over again, when I saw something pass by, too small to be a human. I got excited - it could be another survivor! Even if it was only an animal, it was still a miracle.
When I saw it, I was furious. I tried to kick it and threw stuff at it, but it dodged it, hovering around. I wonder why it didn't kill me, if it was build only to destroy. There had been hundreds of them, sent in huge ships to the country we had a war with. And those tiny machines of destruction were able to melt everything on their way, provoking the wrath of the country, which sent bombs of deadly gas as a thank you. And thus everyone died. And now I'm alone.
Even though these robots are meant to be agressive, Wazzer is the most peaceful thing ever. He only used its laser on inanimated objects and never even tried to escape from my company since we got together. I wonder if it is repenting from its sins.
I try not think to hard about the robot's past. Since it is still here, it probably never left, but I don't know. It may had been out there killing people and tearing buildings apart, having come back for repairs. I keep hoping that's not the case.
I lie back with the sun warming my body and the soft humming coming from Wazzer's insides keeping me company. It's a day just like any other. As soon as the battery's charged, we're getting up and keep going. Until we find a way out or until we die. Until I die.
There's nothing I can do. I'll be forever trapped in this empty and dead country.
I keep telling myself that, but I can't bring myself to stop. I've been looking for a way out for days and days and I'm in the middle of nowhere. I wonder how much time I'll have before I go mad. All this silence is killing me. I just wish the damned thing would talk. Those chirps and grunts aren't enough; I need a living voice by my side.
It's dawn and the sun is breaking through a purpleish sky, an effect of all the junk on the air. The robot by my side turns off its flashlight and a red light flashes on its front. Oh great. Needing recharging again. Maybe I should just let the battery die and go on alone. It's not like I need it. The flashlight's useful and all and I've used the laser to open way before, but... It's still one of them. This little guy and his friends are the reason everyone is dead.
Everyone but me, that is.
It still haunts me, of course. I remember it all to well - the sudden blasts that made the earth shake under out feet, the screams and then the sudden silence when people started choking on air. I could feel it too, the change, the poison in the air, but only as a slight irritation. I coughed for a bit and then my body somehow adapted to it and I started breathing normally.
By then everyone was dead.
I wonder why I was the only one. What's so special about me? Why am I immune? I didn't want this. I'd rather have died with everyone else. The sight of everyone's dead bodies clings forever in my memory, just a distraction away. I must keep my brain busy at all times. The bodies I see during my journey keep trying to make me think about it, but I shall not. If I'm alive, I prefer to be sane.
I stop and get the robot into recharging mode. It's starting to charge less and less, probably because the sunlight keeps getting weaker. I sit by it and eat whatever I took from the last town we passed through: canned beans and two apples. I wish I knew a bit about robot-making... I'd remove the jet-pack that is mostly useless right now to help save some battery. Because the truth is, I've got used to this company. It's not the best, of course, and it still pains me a bit to look at it, but at least I'm not alone, not completely. I've always been afraid of solitude.
I notice a little W on its head and wonder what it stands for. As far as I know these robots are simple known as the Search&Destroy Squad, but maybe they had individual code names or something. It's funny, though. When I was younger I had a dog named Wazzer and he had a collar with a W just like this one. Wazzer, huh... I guess it's a good name as any for a robot. Besides, when I found it, I thought it was a dog. I was in a town with narrow streets and dark alleys, getting lost over and over again, when I saw something pass by, too small to be a human. I got excited - it could be another survivor! Even if it was only an animal, it was still a miracle.
When I saw it, I was furious. I tried to kick it and threw stuff at it, but it dodged it, hovering around. I wonder why it didn't kill me, if it was build only to destroy. There had been hundreds of them, sent in huge ships to the country we had a war with. And those tiny machines of destruction were able to melt everything on their way, provoking the wrath of the country, which sent bombs of deadly gas as a thank you. And thus everyone died. And now I'm alone.
Even though these robots are meant to be agressive, Wazzer is the most peaceful thing ever. He only used its laser on inanimated objects and never even tried to escape from my company since we got together. I wonder if it is repenting from its sins.
I try not think to hard about the robot's past. Since it is still here, it probably never left, but I don't know. It may had been out there killing people and tearing buildings apart, having come back for repairs. I keep hoping that's not the case.
I lie back with the sun warming my body and the soft humming coming from Wazzer's insides keeping me company. It's a day just like any other. As soon as the battery's charged, we're getting up and keep going. Until we find a way out or until we die. Until I die.
18. Lie
Her name is Evelynn but god forbid anyone calling her that, she's Eve for everyone and anyone. She can't stand the "lynn" part of her name (but then again, she can't stand much of herself). And Eve fits her well enough for she is definitely a sinner: gluttony, sloth, envy, pride, wrath, lust, greed, she's tried them all.
She's a liar most of all, lying with her tattoo covered skin and lifeless eyes hidden behind colourful contact lenses. She lies with all she's got because she doesn't know how not to do it, not when she hates herself, and all that makes her her, this much. She dyes her hair pink and green and blue and she shaves all her body hair, even her eyebrows are gone, and she pierces and scars her skin until not an inch is left that looks untouched. On her back there's a tattoo of a huge web, a colourful web of lies that she carefully built and that now entangles her.
There are things she sees that other people don't and she's quite aware of it. If it's schizophrenia or a cosmic mistake she doesn't know nor wants to find out. But she can see people's souls sometimes, when the light's bright enough (or dark enough, she can't tell), and she realized everyone's souls keep getting thinner until they disappear. She imagines the threads that compose people's souls are weaved into a web bigger than the one on her back, a giant invisible web of truth and lies.
She's noticed souls start fading away with every picture taken of their owner and so she became a photographic model. She does artistic nude and glamour but she can't see the line between art and pornography. That's alright, though, because she doesn't care. She simply stands, there, naked, while the man behind the camera flashes her soul away.
She hopes she won't be herself anymore someday.
She's a liar most of all, lying with her tattoo covered skin and lifeless eyes hidden behind colourful contact lenses. She lies with all she's got because she doesn't know how not to do it, not when she hates herself, and all that makes her her, this much. She dyes her hair pink and green and blue and she shaves all her body hair, even her eyebrows are gone, and she pierces and scars her skin until not an inch is left that looks untouched. On her back there's a tattoo of a huge web, a colourful web of lies that she carefully built and that now entangles her.
There are things she sees that other people don't and she's quite aware of it. If it's schizophrenia or a cosmic mistake she doesn't know nor wants to find out. But she can see people's souls sometimes, when the light's bright enough (or dark enough, she can't tell), and she realized everyone's souls keep getting thinner until they disappear. She imagines the threads that compose people's souls are weaved into a web bigger than the one on her back, a giant invisible web of truth and lies.
She's noticed souls start fading away with every picture taken of their owner and so she became a photographic model. She does artistic nude and glamour but she can't see the line between art and pornography. That's alright, though, because she doesn't care. She simply stands, there, naked, while the man behind the camera flashes her soul away.
She hopes she won't be herself anymore someday.
Subscrever:
Comentários (Atom)
