You smoke too much, he told me.
Oh, dear, I replied, I don't smoke nearly enough.
I lit another cigarette, the tenth since I've arrived (I count them for personal pleasure), and offer him a drag that he takes.
It's only so you won't at least smoke that bit, he said and I laughed.
We waited. The room's full of smoke, that lovely smoke from my cigarette that smelled just so delicious.
I could smoke until they lungs broke into tiny pieces.
When I laugh, it's the laugh of someone a lot older than me, tired from speaking. That's the gift of the smoke.
Please, stop it, he said.
I can't, I told him, there's no way my thirst will be satisfied with so little.
We waited until they came and told us we could leave. I laughed some more and coughed a bit, for effect. Then we left.
She died later that night, but they still told us we could leave.
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta English. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta English. Mostrar todas as mensagens
segunda-feira, 9 de julho de 2012
domingo, 1 de julho de 2012
48. Prisioner
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.
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.
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.
terça-feira, 10 de abril de 2012
A Fight
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. This development was quite annoying. He had no will whatsoever to fight, moreover if his opponent was simply a peasant girl with a dirty face carrying a sword almost bigger than her. But he had to, didn't he? He had to prove himself all the time, that was what it meant to be a worthy leader. And so he took out his sword which was thin and long and delicate and made the girl's dented one look almost ridiculous and noticed how she gripped the handle more firmly, looking him in the eyes. He realized she had pretty eyes, round and green, but he didn't care about that. A true leader would never let appearances get in his way.
The crowd was astonished. The girl had barged in with a fierce look in her eyes, demanding to duel him so she could avenge her older brother, probably killed by the troops. And, instead of letting the guards deal with it, he accepted. He said he didn't want his people to feel like he wasn't a fair ruler and thus he would deal with matters like that personally. His victory would certainly prove him as a rightful leader.
They went outside where they had more space, followed by everyone. He stood tall, looking around at his people and smiling confidently while the girl simply looked at him. And then, he attacked.
It was a swift strike, fast and elegant, directed at the girl's heart. But she blocked it with her sword, easily, and for a moment he could feel the heaviness of the blade and wondered about her strength. Such a little girl shouldn't be able to swing that around.
She took advantage of his sudden distraction, charging with all her might, only to hit empty space: he had dodged it on the last second with a fast movement. She lost her equilibrium and jumped back, while he attempted to hit her. They circled around, eyes locked on each other, both waiting for an opportunity to attack. He stepped ahead, bluffing. She didn't fall for it and used the chance to quickly get behind him, trying to hit him, but he rotated on himself and stepped back, creating a distance between them. She dashed forward, throwing her blade at him, and he deflected the attack; at the same time she shot her leg out and kicked him on the ribs, causing him to stagger. She continued her assault, mixing kicks with sword thrusts and making a minor cut on his arm. He realized she was indeed very strong, but he was faster, able to avoid her somewhat predictable attacks. He grabbed her ankle once when she tried to kick him and, although she was able to free it by force, her advantage was lost and he was already advancing, swinging his sword with an incredible speed. She hopped back and blocked his sword but was quickly out of breath. He scratched her chest and she switched to an offensive attitude. Her sword slashed the air with determination, hitting his once and almost knocking it off his hand. He held it firmly and concentrated on evading her swings which were even slower than before; but she threw herself forward, kicking him once again, and making a deeper cut on his other arm, which made him grit his teeth.
And then her energy seemed to dissipate. She lost her balance and was unable to get straight again so he was able to knock her down and disarm her. He rested the point of his sword on her throat.
"Any last words?," he asked, but something wasn't quite right. She didn't have the fierce look from before. She looked peaceful and tired, like someone about to go to sleep.
"When I was little," she said. "My uncle taught me how to find a very venomous snake that lives in this area. He taught me how to remove her venom and use it for antidotes. But I knew that wasn't the only use of it." She paused. "That sword was covered in it. A wonderful, deadly poison."
He touched his injuries. He was feeling quite dizzy and losing control of his movements... His sword fell from his hand and all his strength left him. He fell hopelessly on his knees.
A great leader, he was. The rightful leader.
The crowd was astonished. The girl had barged in with a fierce look in her eyes, demanding to duel him so she could avenge her older brother, probably killed by the troops. And, instead of letting the guards deal with it, he accepted. He said he didn't want his people to feel like he wasn't a fair ruler and thus he would deal with matters like that personally. His victory would certainly prove him as a rightful leader.
They went outside where they had more space, followed by everyone. He stood tall, looking around at his people and smiling confidently while the girl simply looked at him. And then, he attacked.
It was a swift strike, fast and elegant, directed at the girl's heart. But she blocked it with her sword, easily, and for a moment he could feel the heaviness of the blade and wondered about her strength. Such a little girl shouldn't be able to swing that around.
She took advantage of his sudden distraction, charging with all her might, only to hit empty space: he had dodged it on the last second with a fast movement. She lost her equilibrium and jumped back, while he attempted to hit her. They circled around, eyes locked on each other, both waiting for an opportunity to attack. He stepped ahead, bluffing. She didn't fall for it and used the chance to quickly get behind him, trying to hit him, but he rotated on himself and stepped back, creating a distance between them. She dashed forward, throwing her blade at him, and he deflected the attack; at the same time she shot her leg out and kicked him on the ribs, causing him to stagger. She continued her assault, mixing kicks with sword thrusts and making a minor cut on his arm. He realized she was indeed very strong, but he was faster, able to avoid her somewhat predictable attacks. He grabbed her ankle once when she tried to kick him and, although she was able to free it by force, her advantage was lost and he was already advancing, swinging his sword with an incredible speed. She hopped back and blocked his sword but was quickly out of breath. He scratched her chest and she switched to an offensive attitude. Her sword slashed the air with determination, hitting his once and almost knocking it off his hand. He held it firmly and concentrated on evading her swings which were even slower than before; but she threw herself forward, kicking him once again, and making a deeper cut on his other arm, which made him grit his teeth.
And then her energy seemed to dissipate. She lost her balance and was unable to get straight again so he was able to knock her down and disarm her. He rested the point of his sword on her throat.
"Any last words?," he asked, but something wasn't quite right. She didn't have the fierce look from before. She looked peaceful and tired, like someone about to go to sleep.
"When I was little," she said. "My uncle taught me how to find a very venomous snake that lives in this area. He taught me how to remove her venom and use it for antidotes. But I knew that wasn't the only use of it." She paused. "That sword was covered in it. A wonderful, deadly poison."
He touched his injuries. He was feeling quite dizzy and losing control of his movements... His sword fell from his hand and all his strength left him. He fell hopelessly on his knees.
A great leader, he was. The rightful leader.
quarta-feira, 31 de agosto de 2011
The Eight - Part Seven: Plain
If you're wondering why the fuck this is here, read part 5's intro, please. It's only three posts down :D
Longest one. I like Christopher.
Part Eight comes later, whenever later is. Maybe two years from now xD
I’ve realized, wanting something badly enough isn’t at all the way to get it. Fighting for it isn’t going to make it work, either.
You could say being one of them is hard but being me can be harder.
Because at least they belong. They all have something in common.
Me? I’m just Will’s best friend.
There’s nothing special about me.
I wish I could say I don’t look ordinary or that I can turn my head all the way around or that my knees bend backwards. But there’s nothing of the sort.
I’m just an regular teenage boy.
For some time I tried to make myself look different, so I’d stick out. So I’d belong with them. But my ordinary face only goes well with a shirt and jeans.
I was made to not be special. To drown in crowds and become easily invisible.
Sometimes I think, that’s got to be what’s up with me. I’m invisible.
Except that I don’t want to be invisible. I want to stand out. I want to be hated by everyone.
And, mainly, I want to be loved by her.
My dog greeted me when I got home. I live in the same block as Will so I hadn’t been alone for long.
The house was empty aside from us, as expected. My parents were out on a business trip.
I fed and walked my dog. I remembered about Seth while I was outside. I checked my cell phone for news but there was nothing. I texted him.
Thinking about Seth is one of the very few things that makes me glad I’m normal. I’d never want to be like him.
That dude is seriously fucked up.
I would never, ever, tell anyone this, but I’m pretty sure about it. That sister of his, and him… That isn’t a normal brother-sister relationship.
Not on his side, at least.
No one should be that crazy about a sibling.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the walls when AJ called. She was in one of her moods. That’s the history of her life – she goes from super happy to super irritated.
“Yo,” I say, picking up.
“Hey, Christopher,” she says with an ice-cold voice.
“What’s up? You don’t sound so good...”
“Your buddy Will just ditched me. I mean, he was really rude and then I hung up and he didn’t call me back! Does he even understand anything?”
For some people reason, they like to complain to me about Will.
“But that’s not all!,” she continues. “I called Cassie after that, and guess what? Seems she’s gotten herself some hot guy from Mang fucking Street! She’s at his house! I don’t even want to imagine what they’re doing! She kept giggling on the phone and I bet it wasn’t for me!”
I remain silent. My eyes start to get wet and I try to convince myself boys don’t cry.
AJ stops talking, too. She must’ve realized who she is talking to.
“So,” I say, at last, my voice almost failing me. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I’ll… I’ll just call Belladonna. See if there’s news about Seth. You don’t know anything, do you?”
“Uh uh.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear something. Yeah. Later.”
“Later.”
“I’m sorry, Christopher. Really.”
“Bye,” I say, and hang up.
I curl up in my bed and cry my fucking eyes out until my cell phone starts ringing again.
It’s two hours or so after AJ’s call and this time it’s my parents.
“Hello.”
“Chris, darling? Is that you?”
“Yup.”
“You sound strange…”
“I’m just tired from school. You need something?”
“Well, actually yes, sweety. Your grandma is in the hospital – nothing serious, just some routine tests. Could you go and pick her up? I hate the thought of her wandering alone at night…”
I sigh. My grandma is a health maniac, always doing every sort of medical exams, when she’s the healthiest woman over 60 I’ve ever met.
“Okay, I’ll go…”
“That’s my boy! It’ll only take a few minutes. Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was fine. When is grandma leaving the hospital?”
“In ten minutes or so, probably.”
“What? I should be half-way already! I’ll call you later! Bye!”
I hang up and run out of the house.
I get to the hospital just in time and walk towards it when its doors open and reveal Seth. He sees me right away. I sigh.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Seth.
He just creeps me out.
There’s something definitely off about him.
Maybe I don’t really like him.
“Christopher!”
“Seth! The fuck happened?!”
“Oh man. Sorry about that. It’s kind of a long story. You care to hear it?”
“Well, give me a second, I’m supposed to be picking my grandma. Let me check on her.”
I walk up to the reception, only to find out that my grandma’s exams were delayed and I’ll have to wait for more 15 to 20 minutes. I walk back outside, where Seth’s waiting.
“She’s late.”
“Let’s take a seat, then,” says Seth pointing to a nearby bench. “You hate hospitals, don’t you?”
“No, that’s Will.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
“Tell me your story, then.”
“Right. Okay. I know this is all going to sound really fucking weird but I swear it is the truth.”
“Go on.”
He goes. He explains the whole story to me, how he mysterious man from his dream stabbed his sister. In real life.
Didn’t I say this kid was fucked up?
He looks away when he finishes, appearing ashamed. And I know he is and I know why he is. But I’ll be damned if I’ll bring that up.
“Dude, that’s crazy. I’m glad Sekh’s alright. Must’ve been the scariest thing ever.”
“Yes,” he say, still not facing me. “It was.”
“But it’s alright now, isn’t it? So cheer up. Your sister will be up and about in no time.”
He grins and looks at me. “Thanks, man.”
“Just one thing. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I… Left my cell at home.”
“Whoa. Worst day ever for that.”
“Yup, I know. Mind texting the others? In case they’re wondering about me.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I’m heading to Belladonna’s now, so I guess you won’t have to tell her. You staying?”
“Yes, since my grandma’s not done yet…”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Forgot about that. I’m so fucked up…”
“I’ve noticed. You go ahead. Belladonna can probably cheer you up better than me.”
He nods. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. See you.”
He leaves without glancing back and I watch him going down the street.
I texted everyone and got some shocked replies. Nothing I wasn’t expecting.
I didn’t tell the whole story, though.
I don’t think Seth should tell it to anyone else, either.
Because that man from the dream… I may very well know who he is.
Seth’s conscience wouldn’t just let his biggest sin go by, would it?
Longest one. I like Christopher.
Part Eight comes later, whenever later is. Maybe two years from now xD
I’ve realized, wanting something badly enough isn’t at all the way to get it. Fighting for it isn’t going to make it work, either.
You could say being one of them is hard but being me can be harder.
Because at least they belong. They all have something in common.
Me? I’m just Will’s best friend.
There’s nothing special about me.
I wish I could say I don’t look ordinary or that I can turn my head all the way around or that my knees bend backwards. But there’s nothing of the sort.
I’m just an regular teenage boy.
For some time I tried to make myself look different, so I’d stick out. So I’d belong with them. But my ordinary face only goes well with a shirt and jeans.
I was made to not be special. To drown in crowds and become easily invisible.
Sometimes I think, that’s got to be what’s up with me. I’m invisible.
Except that I don’t want to be invisible. I want to stand out. I want to be hated by everyone.
And, mainly, I want to be loved by her.
My dog greeted me when I got home. I live in the same block as Will so I hadn’t been alone for long.
The house was empty aside from us, as expected. My parents were out on a business trip.
I fed and walked my dog. I remembered about Seth while I was outside. I checked my cell phone for news but there was nothing. I texted him.
Thinking about Seth is one of the very few things that makes me glad I’m normal. I’d never want to be like him.
That dude is seriously fucked up.
I would never, ever, tell anyone this, but I’m pretty sure about it. That sister of his, and him… That isn’t a normal brother-sister relationship.
Not on his side, at least.
No one should be that crazy about a sibling.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the walls when AJ called. She was in one of her moods. That’s the history of her life – she goes from super happy to super irritated.
“Yo,” I say, picking up.
“Hey, Christopher,” she says with an ice-cold voice.
“What’s up? You don’t sound so good...”
“Your buddy Will just ditched me. I mean, he was really rude and then I hung up and he didn’t call me back! Does he even understand anything?”
For some people reason, they like to complain to me about Will.
“But that’s not all!,” she continues. “I called Cassie after that, and guess what? Seems she’s gotten herself some hot guy from Mang fucking Street! She’s at his house! I don’t even want to imagine what they’re doing! She kept giggling on the phone and I bet it wasn’t for me!”
I remain silent. My eyes start to get wet and I try to convince myself boys don’t cry.
AJ stops talking, too. She must’ve realized who she is talking to.
“So,” I say, at last, my voice almost failing me. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I’ll… I’ll just call Belladonna. See if there’s news about Seth. You don’t know anything, do you?”
“Uh uh.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear something. Yeah. Later.”
“Later.”
“I’m sorry, Christopher. Really.”
“Bye,” I say, and hang up.
I curl up in my bed and cry my fucking eyes out until my cell phone starts ringing again.
It’s two hours or so after AJ’s call and this time it’s my parents.
“Hello.”
“Chris, darling? Is that you?”
“Yup.”
“You sound strange…”
“I’m just tired from school. You need something?”
“Well, actually yes, sweety. Your grandma is in the hospital – nothing serious, just some routine tests. Could you go and pick her up? I hate the thought of her wandering alone at night…”
I sigh. My grandma is a health maniac, always doing every sort of medical exams, when she’s the healthiest woman over 60 I’ve ever met.
“Okay, I’ll go…”
“That’s my boy! It’ll only take a few minutes. Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was fine. When is grandma leaving the hospital?”
“In ten minutes or so, probably.”
“What? I should be half-way already! I’ll call you later! Bye!”
I hang up and run out of the house.
I get to the hospital just in time and walk towards it when its doors open and reveal Seth. He sees me right away. I sigh.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Seth.
He just creeps me out.
There’s something definitely off about him.
Maybe I don’t really like him.
“Christopher!”
“Seth! The fuck happened?!”
“Oh man. Sorry about that. It’s kind of a long story. You care to hear it?”
“Well, give me a second, I’m supposed to be picking my grandma. Let me check on her.”
I walk up to the reception, only to find out that my grandma’s exams were delayed and I’ll have to wait for more 15 to 20 minutes. I walk back outside, where Seth’s waiting.
“She’s late.”
“Let’s take a seat, then,” says Seth pointing to a nearby bench. “You hate hospitals, don’t you?”
“No, that’s Will.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
“Tell me your story, then.”
“Right. Okay. I know this is all going to sound really fucking weird but I swear it is the truth.”
“Go on.”
He goes. He explains the whole story to me, how he mysterious man from his dream stabbed his sister. In real life.
Didn’t I say this kid was fucked up?
He looks away when he finishes, appearing ashamed. And I know he is and I know why he is. But I’ll be damned if I’ll bring that up.
“Dude, that’s crazy. I’m glad Sekh’s alright. Must’ve been the scariest thing ever.”
“Yes,” he say, still not facing me. “It was.”
“But it’s alright now, isn’t it? So cheer up. Your sister will be up and about in no time.”
He grins and looks at me. “Thanks, man.”
“Just one thing. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I… Left my cell at home.”
“Whoa. Worst day ever for that.”
“Yup, I know. Mind texting the others? In case they’re wondering about me.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I’m heading to Belladonna’s now, so I guess you won’t have to tell her. You staying?”
“Yes, since my grandma’s not done yet…”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Forgot about that. I’m so fucked up…”
“I’ve noticed. You go ahead. Belladonna can probably cheer you up better than me.”
He nods. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. See you.”
He leaves without glancing back and I watch him going down the street.
I texted everyone and got some shocked replies. Nothing I wasn’t expecting.
I didn’t tell the whole story, though.
I don’t think Seth should tell it to anyone else, either.
Because that man from the dream… I may very well know who he is.
Seth’s conscience wouldn’t just let his biggest sin go by, would it?
The Eight - Part Six: Still Unnamed, accepting suggestions :x
Got bored with this one, I must admit.
My mom comes pick me up at school, like always, and I get home rather quickly which isn’t good at all because now I’ll be dead bored. I drag myself up to my run where I indulge myself in my usual pleasures: cheesy novels and dietetic chocolate.
When I’m about to end my book, tears running down my face (yes, even though I find them cheesy, I do cry), my mom calls me from downstairs. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose then walk downstairs. In my place, it’s important to have the right attitude. Running to my mom would be incorrect here. Everything must be done calmly and almost beautifully.
“Yes?,” I say, when I get to the living room. Mom’s there and so is dad. They have a serious look on their faces but, truth be told, they always do.
“Sit down, Hester, please,” my dad says. I do as he says.
“There’s this letter for you,” my mom says, and hands me an envelope which doesn’t reveal a sender. I open it.
“Oh,” I say. “It’s a letter from godmother and godfather.”
“How nice of them to write,” my mom says.
Only my old-fashioned godparents would send a letter instead of phoning. I guess they’re afraid of disturbing us, or something. My mom has a strange telephone policy, always turning it off during meals and some parts of the day.
I read the letter, which is shorter than usual. I’m surprised when I end it.
“They want me to spend my Easter holidays with them.”
“They do?!,” my mom asks. “But we have plans with your aunt and cousin!”
Oh yes. My Horror Holidays with Polly Weiss.
“They say they’re eager to see me again and that they’ve prepared a room in their house for me. With a view to the river, it seems. And it’s spacious, too. Their daughter’s old room, they say.”
“Well… That would be a pity to waste,” my dad says. “But why did they tell us with such short notice?”
I glance again at the letter. “They didn’t. This letter is one month old. How come it only got here today?”
“A month old?! What’s wrong with the post office?! I’ll make sure to stop by tomorrow and complain about this!”
“Please, do calm down, darling,” says my dad. “It’s no use getting so irritated about this. What we have to do is decide on what to do regarding our holidays. But perhaps Hester should call her godparents first. They must be wondering why they never got a response.”
“Yes, you are right. I apologize. You do that, sweetie,” my mom tells me so I get up and walk to the phone. I try to contact my godparents but they don’t seem to be home. I tell my parents this and they urge me back to the couch.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to talk to them later and clarify this situation,” my mom says. “Also, I think it would be sad to waste such a magnificent opportunity to get to know your godparents better, even if it means postponing our plans with aunt Beth and Polly. I’m sure they will understand.”
My dad nods in agreement. I manage to utter a “Yes, I think I could benefit from staying with them some time”, because the truth is, I’m really happy about this. Anything, anything is better than spending time with Polly. Anything. And my godparents aren’t that bad. Last time I stopped by their dog had had puppies and it was a lot of fun.
I walk back to my room and text away the good news. It’s only when I pick up my cell phone that I remember about Seth and I worry about him for a bit, but not for long because I’m happy and I want to go back to my book’s protagonist’s happy ending.
My mom comes pick me up at school, like always, and I get home rather quickly which isn’t good at all because now I’ll be dead bored. I drag myself up to my run where I indulge myself in my usual pleasures: cheesy novels and dietetic chocolate.
When I’m about to end my book, tears running down my face (yes, even though I find them cheesy, I do cry), my mom calls me from downstairs. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose then walk downstairs. In my place, it’s important to have the right attitude. Running to my mom would be incorrect here. Everything must be done calmly and almost beautifully.
“Yes?,” I say, when I get to the living room. Mom’s there and so is dad. They have a serious look on their faces but, truth be told, they always do.
“Sit down, Hester, please,” my dad says. I do as he says.
“There’s this letter for you,” my mom says, and hands me an envelope which doesn’t reveal a sender. I open it.
“Oh,” I say. “It’s a letter from godmother and godfather.”
“How nice of them to write,” my mom says.
Only my old-fashioned godparents would send a letter instead of phoning. I guess they’re afraid of disturbing us, or something. My mom has a strange telephone policy, always turning it off during meals and some parts of the day.
I read the letter, which is shorter than usual. I’m surprised when I end it.
“They want me to spend my Easter holidays with them.”
“They do?!,” my mom asks. “But we have plans with your aunt and cousin!”
Oh yes. My Horror Holidays with Polly Weiss.
“They say they’re eager to see me again and that they’ve prepared a room in their house for me. With a view to the river, it seems. And it’s spacious, too. Their daughter’s old room, they say.”
“Well… That would be a pity to waste,” my dad says. “But why did they tell us with such short notice?”
I glance again at the letter. “They didn’t. This letter is one month old. How come it only got here today?”
“A month old?! What’s wrong with the post office?! I’ll make sure to stop by tomorrow and complain about this!”
“Please, do calm down, darling,” says my dad. “It’s no use getting so irritated about this. What we have to do is decide on what to do regarding our holidays. But perhaps Hester should call her godparents first. They must be wondering why they never got a response.”
“Yes, you are right. I apologize. You do that, sweetie,” my mom tells me so I get up and walk to the phone. I try to contact my godparents but they don’t seem to be home. I tell my parents this and they urge me back to the couch.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to talk to them later and clarify this situation,” my mom says. “Also, I think it would be sad to waste such a magnificent opportunity to get to know your godparents better, even if it means postponing our plans with aunt Beth and Polly. I’m sure they will understand.”
My dad nods in agreement. I manage to utter a “Yes, I think I could benefit from staying with them some time”, because the truth is, I’m really happy about this. Anything, anything is better than spending time with Polly. Anything. And my godparents aren’t that bad. Last time I stopped by their dog had had puppies and it was a lot of fun.
I walk back to my room and text away the good news. It’s only when I pick up my cell phone that I remember about Seth and I worry about him for a bit, but not for long because I’m happy and I want to go back to my book’s protagonist’s happy ending.
The Eight - Part Five: Melanin
Yes, I've gone back to writing my "The Eight" series. I don't really like my first four parts much but after re-reading them I realized how carefree they were. I wrote about what I felt like even if it was something I didn't understand. And that's alright because, even though I've grown, I still don't fully understand them. So this hopefully won't be much different. Also, writing in English is always hard for me, so expect lots of mistakes and since these texts weren't reviewed there'll be incoherences and too may adverbs. But I can't be bothered to check that now. Since the first four parts were written in American English, these new ones follow that. And that's all. I think.
After the meeting, me and Christopher stopped for a coffee and talked about the kind of things we always talk about. Everything was as usual. After that, we got in our bus, left on our stop and split up, each of us going home. Same as everyday.
So why do I get the feeling something’s weird today?!
I live on the third floor of an old building, by the road. It’s noisy, uncomfortable, and far from everything (except Christopher’s) but I’ve gotten fairly used to it. I live with my mom and older sister, who’s called Anne and perfectly normal. My parents divorced and I visit my dad every now and then. My family is pretty okay, though Anne is currently going through a rebel teenager phase. What I mean is, I’d be a pretty normal guy if I had some color. And, believe me, being like me isn’t nice: I have to be fully covered in clothing whenever exposed to the sun, so the heat really hurts during the Summer. Tanning is something that happens to other people.
I enter my building and lean against a wall, tired from walking. I suddenly remember Seth’s absence at the meeting today and I check my cell phone to see if there’s news from anyone, but there’s nothing. I wonder if I should text him. I must admit, Seth was never my closest friend and I’m afraid I’ll just be meddling in his life. I like Seth. I was just never able to fully understand him. Rage was never my thing… I never get out of control. When I punch some guy in the face it’s because I’m thinking very consciously that he deserves it for bad-mouthing Jesse and he’s a son of a bitch who’ll never do anything good in his life. And lately I’ve been punching a lot of guys in the face, and kicking some lower regions too. I guess you could say we’re at war.
I decide to go up and as soon as I open my apartment’s door I regret it. My sister is in underwear, eating some guy’s face in the middle of our corridor. She turns to me with some amazing rage.
“The fuck you doing here, you fucking brat?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure this is where I live. I could be mistaken, though. Should I try next door?”
Next door is our grandparents’ house. I was pretty sure Anne didn’t want them hearing about their granddaughter’s activities.
She walks up to me, standing tall over me. I can’t help being short. Sucks but you have to live with it.
“You bastard. You better not. I’ll kick you all over the place. Now just be a good boy and go to your room.”
“I don’t feel like it. I want to play Playstation 3 on the living room’s flat screen. Why don’t you go to your room?”
She shoots me one of those looks that mean I’ll hear about this and drags the poor guy, who’s done nothing but stare wide-eyed, to her room. I drop my stuff in my room and then get confortable on my favorite couch while my sister fakes exaggerated sounds, probably trying to drive me away from home.
AJ calls me after a while, which isn’t weird. She’s always calling everyone whenever she’s alone (meaning, without Jesse).
“Hi, AJ.”
“Yo. What’re you doing?”
“Nothing much. Wasting time. You?”
“I’m… What’s that sound in the back?!”
“Oh. That’s my sister.”
“Your… Sister?”
“Yeah… Oh! It’s not like that! She’s with some boyfriend or whatever!”
“Oh. Good. I mean. Not for you, I guess. Sorry, man.” She actually sounds relieved.
“Right. It’s no big deal. She’s just childish.”
“Uh-huh. Man, I’m so bored, I’m thinking about painting my toenails with Jesse’s polish.”
“Hahaha, go for it!”
“Oh, shut up!,” she becomes angry. That’s AJ alright. “I’m actually asking you to entertain me but guys really can’t take a hint, can you?”
“Uh… Sorry?”
“Fuck off!,” she says and hangs up. I stare at my cell phone in amazement. What the fuck. That girl is seriously disturbed. I turn my attention back to the game but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore my sister, so I get my headphones and shut the world off.
It’s just before dinner time, my sister’s boyfriend has left and my parents have came back, and I get a message from Jesse. She usually turns to me for advice, though I have no idea why. I don’t know what unites us. Maybe it’s the red hair. But she’s fun to be around and I’m always happy to help.
This time it’s something I know nothing about.
“Oh my god, help meeee, Will, please! Mr. Davidson is undergoing a divorce process! He’s leaving his wife! And that’s not all… He kinda may wanna marry me,” it reads.
“Kinda wanna marry you?”
“Yeah, you know. He asked me if I was up for it.”
“What did you say?!”
“What do you think I said?! Told him I was gonna think about it. Oh god, Will, what do I do?”
“What do you WANT to do?,” I ask but receive no reply. I’m seriously worried about her. That girl is too impulsive. I wonder if I should tell AJ but decide against it; she’d probably only get mad at Jesse for not telling her anything. Plus, she’s already mad at me. AJ is not an option here but, then again, no one else is. That’s probably why Jesse turns to me. Except that I can’t help her. I realize there’s not “something weird today”, like I had thought. Everything’s weird today. From Seth’s disappearance to this.
My parents call me to dinner and it’s only we’re halfway through it that my cell finally comes to life. It’s Jesse, of course.
“I want to do it.”
Oh, shit.
After the meeting, me and Christopher stopped for a coffee and talked about the kind of things we always talk about. Everything was as usual. After that, we got in our bus, left on our stop and split up, each of us going home. Same as everyday.
So why do I get the feeling something’s weird today?!
I live on the third floor of an old building, by the road. It’s noisy, uncomfortable, and far from everything (except Christopher’s) but I’ve gotten fairly used to it. I live with my mom and older sister, who’s called Anne and perfectly normal. My parents divorced and I visit my dad every now and then. My family is pretty okay, though Anne is currently going through a rebel teenager phase. What I mean is, I’d be a pretty normal guy if I had some color. And, believe me, being like me isn’t nice: I have to be fully covered in clothing whenever exposed to the sun, so the heat really hurts during the Summer. Tanning is something that happens to other people.
I enter my building and lean against a wall, tired from walking. I suddenly remember Seth’s absence at the meeting today and I check my cell phone to see if there’s news from anyone, but there’s nothing. I wonder if I should text him. I must admit, Seth was never my closest friend and I’m afraid I’ll just be meddling in his life. I like Seth. I was just never able to fully understand him. Rage was never my thing… I never get out of control. When I punch some guy in the face it’s because I’m thinking very consciously that he deserves it for bad-mouthing Jesse and he’s a son of a bitch who’ll never do anything good in his life. And lately I’ve been punching a lot of guys in the face, and kicking some lower regions too. I guess you could say we’re at war.
I decide to go up and as soon as I open my apartment’s door I regret it. My sister is in underwear, eating some guy’s face in the middle of our corridor. She turns to me with some amazing rage.
“The fuck you doing here, you fucking brat?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure this is where I live. I could be mistaken, though. Should I try next door?”
Next door is our grandparents’ house. I was pretty sure Anne didn’t want them hearing about their granddaughter’s activities.
She walks up to me, standing tall over me. I can’t help being short. Sucks but you have to live with it.
“You bastard. You better not. I’ll kick you all over the place. Now just be a good boy and go to your room.”
“I don’t feel like it. I want to play Playstation 3 on the living room’s flat screen. Why don’t you go to your room?”
She shoots me one of those looks that mean I’ll hear about this and drags the poor guy, who’s done nothing but stare wide-eyed, to her room. I drop my stuff in my room and then get confortable on my favorite couch while my sister fakes exaggerated sounds, probably trying to drive me away from home.
AJ calls me after a while, which isn’t weird. She’s always calling everyone whenever she’s alone (meaning, without Jesse).
“Hi, AJ.”
“Yo. What’re you doing?”
“Nothing much. Wasting time. You?”
“I’m… What’s that sound in the back?!”
“Oh. That’s my sister.”
“Your… Sister?”
“Yeah… Oh! It’s not like that! She’s with some boyfriend or whatever!”
“Oh. Good. I mean. Not for you, I guess. Sorry, man.” She actually sounds relieved.
“Right. It’s no big deal. She’s just childish.”
“Uh-huh. Man, I’m so bored, I’m thinking about painting my toenails with Jesse’s polish.”
“Hahaha, go for it!”
“Oh, shut up!,” she becomes angry. That’s AJ alright. “I’m actually asking you to entertain me but guys really can’t take a hint, can you?”
“Uh… Sorry?”
“Fuck off!,” she says and hangs up. I stare at my cell phone in amazement. What the fuck. That girl is seriously disturbed. I turn my attention back to the game but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore my sister, so I get my headphones and shut the world off.
It’s just before dinner time, my sister’s boyfriend has left and my parents have came back, and I get a message from Jesse. She usually turns to me for advice, though I have no idea why. I don’t know what unites us. Maybe it’s the red hair. But she’s fun to be around and I’m always happy to help.
This time it’s something I know nothing about.
“Oh my god, help meeee, Will, please! Mr. Davidson is undergoing a divorce process! He’s leaving his wife! And that’s not all… He kinda may wanna marry me,” it reads.
“Kinda wanna marry you?”
“Yeah, you know. He asked me if I was up for it.”
“What did you say?!”
“What do you think I said?! Told him I was gonna think about it. Oh god, Will, what do I do?”
“What do you WANT to do?,” I ask but receive no reply. I’m seriously worried about her. That girl is too impulsive. I wonder if I should tell AJ but decide against it; she’d probably only get mad at Jesse for not telling her anything. Plus, she’s already mad at me. AJ is not an option here but, then again, no one else is. That’s probably why Jesse turns to me. Except that I can’t help her. I realize there’s not “something weird today”, like I had thought. Everything’s weird today. From Seth’s disappearance to this.
My parents call me to dinner and it’s only we’re halfway through it that my cell finally comes to life. It’s Jesse, of course.
“I want to do it.”
Oh, shit.
quarta-feira, 30 de setembro de 2009
.1
Aaron got himself a new tattoo the day he met Claudia. It was simply colourful and futuristic, but it had a meaning to him. He got it to hide an older tattoo, a tiny little word on his belly. Someone he could never forget but couldn’t bear being with.
The person’s name had changed many times through time, like his own had, but the one he had written on his skin was the first he had known. The only one that was real to him, even though it wasn’t.
He didn’t cover it because he was angry or something. He just couldn’t stand looking at it day after day and having the rush of memories coming back. He had felt the sudden need to be free.
The next day, the day Claudia began working with him, he went to the tattoo shop and tattooed on his chest the only name that would never leave his mind, as good or as bad that could be.
Clarissa.
Não gosto muito e é provável que venha a ser alterado.
Preciso dum apelido pó gaijo, alguma ideia?
The person’s name had changed many times through time, like his own had, but the one he had written on his skin was the first he had known. The only one that was real to him, even though it wasn’t.
He didn’t cover it because he was angry or something. He just couldn’t stand looking at it day after day and having the rush of memories coming back. He had felt the sudden need to be free.
The next day, the day Claudia began working with him, he went to the tattoo shop and tattooed on his chest the only name that would never leave his mind, as good or as bad that could be.
Clarissa.
Não gosto muito e é provável que venha a ser alterado.
Preciso dum apelido pó gaijo, alguma ideia?
quarta-feira, 24 de junho de 2009
Nights
When I met her, she was 21 and lived only by night.
I remember she had beautiful eyes, but I can never recall what was their exact colour. Maybe a purplish gray or simply a pale blue. She told me how her eyes were so light the sunlight always hurted her, but she was not an albino. She was just fragile.
She told me how the only natural light she'd see was the twilight; after that the city lamps would turn on and the sky became a pitch-black and she went to sleep hours before dawn. She had to sleep a lot more than most people, she told me, but I can't recall why. Maybe she never said.
I liked her because she was intelligent. We talked about art and History while we walked through the city streets. I remember thinking she was too pretty, too fragile, too smart for our world. Walking with her felt strange and I found myself constantly touching her hand to make sure she was real.
I never asked her what she did for a living or who she lived with. To be honest, I didn't ask her anything personal. I left the city the next morning with the phone number of a girl I had spent the night talking to and knew nothing about, except for the fact that she liked Magritte and avoided the sunlight. I never called her.
I was in my late twenties. I actually thought that if I had ever married, it would've been to her. But as soon as I started wondering what'd say if I called her, I gave up on it.
A night, about three years after I met her, a famous photographer saw her and immediately considered her as the most beautiful woman in the world. They had a photoshoot and he made a public exposition of her pictures. People came from all around the world to see Louise Swain, the perfect girl. She was adored. I'd see her everywhere, for months: magazine covers, random advertises, television.
I didn't try to reach her. I still had the folded paper with her phone number in my desk drawer and I never took it out. Sometimes I'd read an interview where she'd tell how her parents died when she turned 19, leaving her a huge amount of money, and she had lived alone since then, or how her childhood best friend had once beaten her. Everything that I know about her past, I learned in those magazines.
No one would get tired of her. She was loved and wanted and envied. She was not a role model: she was the role model. Why, I didn't know. She never did a thing.
Almost an year after the photographer found her, someone else did. No one knows why Joshua Knaggs shot her, since he turned himself in right away. But the damage was done: Louise Swain was dead and the whole country mourned her death, sponsored by the national television.
I didn't cry when she died. I watched the images of her happy and alive on television and felt nothing at all. That was when I realized that that was not the woman I had met. That person on the television was a completely stranger. It was impossible to picture her discussing surrealism under the city lights on a deserted street.
The sad truth is that every time I look at Magritte's The Ignorant Fairy all I see is a woman with light eyes.
O narrador parece um homem ou mulher? :x
Era suposto ser um homem...
I remember she had beautiful eyes, but I can never recall what was their exact colour. Maybe a purplish gray or simply a pale blue. She told me how her eyes were so light the sunlight always hurted her, but she was not an albino. She was just fragile.
She told me how the only natural light she'd see was the twilight; after that the city lamps would turn on and the sky became a pitch-black and she went to sleep hours before dawn. She had to sleep a lot more than most people, she told me, but I can't recall why. Maybe she never said.
I liked her because she was intelligent. We talked about art and History while we walked through the city streets. I remember thinking she was too pretty, too fragile, too smart for our world. Walking with her felt strange and I found myself constantly touching her hand to make sure she was real.
I never asked her what she did for a living or who she lived with. To be honest, I didn't ask her anything personal. I left the city the next morning with the phone number of a girl I had spent the night talking to and knew nothing about, except for the fact that she liked Magritte and avoided the sunlight. I never called her.
I was in my late twenties. I actually thought that if I had ever married, it would've been to her. But as soon as I started wondering what'd say if I called her, I gave up on it.
A night, about three years after I met her, a famous photographer saw her and immediately considered her as the most beautiful woman in the world. They had a photoshoot and he made a public exposition of her pictures. People came from all around the world to see Louise Swain, the perfect girl. She was adored. I'd see her everywhere, for months: magazine covers, random advertises, television.
I didn't try to reach her. I still had the folded paper with her phone number in my desk drawer and I never took it out. Sometimes I'd read an interview where she'd tell how her parents died when she turned 19, leaving her a huge amount of money, and she had lived alone since then, or how her childhood best friend had once beaten her. Everything that I know about her past, I learned in those magazines.
No one would get tired of her. She was loved and wanted and envied. She was not a role model: she was the role model. Why, I didn't know. She never did a thing.
Almost an year after the photographer found her, someone else did. No one knows why Joshua Knaggs shot her, since he turned himself in right away. But the damage was done: Louise Swain was dead and the whole country mourned her death, sponsored by the national television.
I didn't cry when she died. I watched the images of her happy and alive on television and felt nothing at all. That was when I realized that that was not the woman I had met. That person on the television was a completely stranger. It was impossible to picture her discussing surrealism under the city lights on a deserted street.
The sad truth is that every time I look at Magritte's The Ignorant Fairy all I see is a woman with light eyes.
O narrador parece um homem ou mulher? :x
Era suposto ser um homem...
quinta-feira, 29 de janeiro de 2009
The Traveller
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?
Lorna didn't really like fairy tales but that was the first thing that popped into her mind when she looked at her face on the bathroom mirror. It'd been a long time since she had looked at herself like that. Most times she'd just see "flashes" of her face – she didn't bother to stare at it.
But that was a different night. For the first time in seven years, she had spent more than half an hour with one single person. It made her wonder how she looked like.
Lorna didn't care much about her face because she was ugly or something. She just didn't care. She had a very normal face, not ugly but not too pretty either, the kind of face you wouldn't notice in a crowd. Which was exactly what she wanted. So she didn't waste time examining it.
She had spent the last eleven years travelling and stayed in each place for about six months. She decided to start her trip in her own country, so she went to San Diego and Detroit and Chicago and Las Vegas and Washington D.C. and a little town (with a name she couldn't remember) in Wyoming. Then, the rest of the world: England, Ireland, Switzerland, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Australia, India, Russia… Sweden at the moment. When her parents died in a car crash, they left her a lot of money. She wouldn't have to work another day in her life. So she started travelling. She had already forgotten why she decided to do it, but she couldn't think about stopping. Not that she liked it. Actually, she was very tired of it. Every city looks the same when you've seem enough of them. People are all the same, everywhere.
The countryside and the suburbs were even worse, because there was less population she was forced to interact with people. And she was sick of it.
She got herself to know ever kind of person. In Las Vegas, she had the chance to meet lots of crazy players. She inserted herself in a surfing group in Brazil. She signed in theatre club in London. She joined a hippie community in the USA. She lived with an American Amish during a week; she couldn't stand it any longer. In Dublin, she became a member of a videogames house and volunteered in a hospital where she got to meet every kind of patient. In France, she took part in an alcohol rehabilitation program, even though she didn't even drink. While in Rome she enrolled in an art school. She liked that. Painting was nice. In Mexico she befriended some girls whose job was to dance in a disco and went there to get to know some of the costumers. In Detroit, she was part of a sort of a gang. In Washington D.C., she entered a wiccan cult club and when she was in San Diego she got in the vampyric community by pretending she was as crazy as them and was accepted in a House. In Finland she joined the gothic scene and the cybergothic in Germany. She was good at not being herself.
After long enough everyone was the same. People aren't that different from each other. There is always egocentric people, selfish people, boring people, annoyed people, angry people, evil people, sad people, dependent people, curious people, nice people, happy people, pathetic people, no matter what they dress like or believe in. And she was tired of it. After eleven years, she didn't believe she could find anyone different.
Lorna didn't speak a word of Swedish. English was her native language, of course, and she could do well on Spanish, French and German. So while she was in Sweden, she only went to a few shops, coffee shops and restaurants where she could be understood. It was in one of those coffee shops that she met George, who was from New York, just like her.
On Saturday evenings the café would crowd and often she was forced to share her table with someone she had never seen before nor understood. So she was surprised when a man asked her, in a perfect English, if he could sit with her. They soon realized their hometown was the same and that got them talking. George was a journalist and he was staying in Sweden for a week to write an article about an art festival that was going on is Stockholm.
Somehow, she didn't find the conversation boring. They had dinner in a nice restaurant downtown and it was already a bit late when they said goodbye.
Lorna always stayed in hotels. If you have money, hotels are the best choice: you have enough privacy and they clean and cook for you. The four-star hotel where she was staying at was an old building with green decoration.
The mirror in her bathroom didn't look young either. It was yellowish and had a lot of scratches and a few stains. But she could see her face perfectly, the face of a thirty-three-year-old woman who wasn't getting any younger. She saw that. Her skin wasn't as perfect as she it should be and there was something different in her eyes. She realized that she had the eyes of an old woman, of a person that had seen too much and is tired of the world.
Yet, she was young at heart. In her mind, she still was twenty-two and leaving home, one year after her parents' death, looking for a start-over. Oh yes. That was the reason. She remembered it. She wanted a new beginning. A new life. She had no idea. She didn't ever dream that the only thing she'd get would be a constant boredom towards the world around her. She never got what she wanted because – she realized, suddenly – she had been looking for it in the wrong way. The solution wasn't to try to find new circumstances. The solution was to learn to live with the ones she already knew. Because it's all the same all over the world. George had made her understand. He was a person as any other, but he managed to entertain her. Not because he was special. He just did.
She had been looking for the wrong thing. What she needed wasn't to find something different; she just needed to find interest in something, even if she had seen that something a million times before.
Three days later she left to Portland. George's e-mail was written on the back of her hand; she didn't have one, but she had promised him she'd create one so they could communicate. In those few days after they met, they had become almost friends. She didn't go to New York City with him because she felt that she didn't belong there anymore. But she had to live in the United States. That was her home.
She bought a nice flat with a pretty view to the city. She signed herself in painting classes. She made new friends, pretty normal people that knew how to have fun. She went back to her old job because she missed doing something.
She started her life again, after eleven almost wasted years.
quinta-feira, 8 de janeiro de 2009
The Eight - Part Four: A Midwinter Night’s Dream
I can hear my sister scream. She is screaming and screaming somewhere I can’t see.
Her voice seems to surround me, I have no idea where it comes from. Still, I try to look for her. I’m telling my right foot to move forward, but it doesn’t obey me. Maybe I don’t even have a right foot anymore. I don’t know. I can’t look down, up or sideways. And suddenly the screams stop and there’s a pool of blood in the floor far ahead in front of me.
And then I wake up.
It’s the fourth time I have this dream. It comes every Monday night (actually it’s already Tuesday) and when I wake up (every time the blood appears) it’s always 4h12 am. I don’t even have to look at the clock anymore.
I wake up shaking and sweating and crying. And hungry. So I get up, drink a cup of milk and take a short shower that also helps me relax. Then I go to bed and sleep peacefully until me alarm wakes me up.
You probably wonder why I don’t stay up until it’s past 4h12. Well, I tried it once. When my usual bedtime arrived (around 11h pm), I was really sleepy. I tried to fight it by staying in the living room watching television while my parents and little sister went to sleep. So when it was 4h12 I woke up in the sofa. I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep.
The weirdest thing about this dream isn’t the exact frequency of it. It’s the dream itself. It’s just too real. It doesn’t feel like a dream at all. Not even like a thought. To me it’s like watching a movie, because of my incapacity to move.
I wish I knew what it meant.
My parents always tried to look like they knew a lot of culture but were also a bit interested in “the dark side” of History. So they gave us the names of two of the most evil Egyptian gods: I am Seth, the god of destruction and violence, the one who killed Osiris; and my poor sister is Sekhmet, the goddess of war and vengeance.
Probably they had no idea how well the name suited me.
Today’s the morning after the dream and I’m not in a good mood. And everyone knows what I can do when I’m in a bad mood. I can’t even control it.
I can’t stop thinking about how much I hate my mother while I’m having breakfast with my family. She doesn’t stop complaining for a minute: it’s all my sister’s and my fault. What, I have no idea, because I’m ignoring her; but it is surely our fault.
Me and my sister walk to school. It’s winter and it’s cold, but it is a short walk. We talk. I’m still in a bad mood, but I try to ignore it. She doesn’t.
‘Come on, Seth. I know you. Why are you always moody on Tuesday morning?’
‘I’m not moody. I just didn’t sleep very well.’
‘That’s the same excuse you gave last week and the week before that.’
‘It’s not an excuse. Sometimes I don’t sleep too well. That’s it.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
My sister is thirteen. And smart as fuck.
We arrive school and we’re late. I hate being late. It drives me mad. So I’m really pissed off when I knock on and open my classroom’s door.
Too pissed off.
The trash can in front of me flies until it hits the wall. And Mrs. Thomson’s shirt is violently unbuttoned and thrown back, revealing a black bra maybe a bit too sexy for the occasion.
I bury my face in my hands and I’m thinking, ‘fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck---‘, when I hear it.
Sekhmet. Screaming.
And I run.
She was having P. E.. Or Phys Ed or whatever you call it. Physical Education. The gym is really near the entrance so she got there pretty fast. She started running. And she fainted. They tried to wake her up, she didn’t react to anything. They called an ambulance. She was unconscious for about two minutes; then she woke up. Screaming.
When I arrive there they are all around her, trying to calm her down and she’s saying, ‘There was a man and she had a knife but I don’t think she had a head, I mean, he had a voice and a body but it was too dark and I couldn’t see the head and the voice just came from everywhere but I knew it was his and it was so real, so real and he s---‘
‘It was all just a bad dream,’ her teacher interrupts, ‘don’t worry. The ambulance is coming.’ She looks at my sister’s chest and her face becomes a mask of horror. Everyone’s does. But my sister doesn’t notice it. Her eyes are closed. She has no idea that there is a growing stain of blood on her chest.
I run and kneel next to her. I kiss her forehead and she opens her eyes. ‘Seth,’ she whispers, ‘my chest. It hurts. Why?’
I tell her not to worry. I tell her everything’s alright.
The ambulance arrives and I go to the hospital with my little sister.
I wish there was anyone from The Eight at school at that hour, nut the all only have classes later.
Right now, I’m in the waiting room of the hospital, missing our meeting. I thought about texting them before it started, but I had left my mobile phone at home.
According to a doctor, my sister is going to be alright. Her wound, he says, was probably provoked by a stabbing. It is deep enough to damage the heart; but on the wrong side. He asks me what could have stabbed her and I tell him I don’t know.
My parents are here. According to my mother, it’s all my fault.
I know who stabbed my sister. A man from a dream. I don’t know how. But I’m sure of it. I just hope my dreams end now.
I want to know. I need to know. When, how and why does a dream stop being just a dream and starts being something else? Like reality?
But I know I’ll never get my answer.
Belladonna lives near the hospital. The meeting ended an hour ago, so I’m going to visit her. I can’t stay here. My mother pisses me off.
Her voice seems to surround me, I have no idea where it comes from. Still, I try to look for her. I’m telling my right foot to move forward, but it doesn’t obey me. Maybe I don’t even have a right foot anymore. I don’t know. I can’t look down, up or sideways. And suddenly the screams stop and there’s a pool of blood in the floor far ahead in front of me.
And then I wake up.
It’s the fourth time I have this dream. It comes every Monday night (actually it’s already Tuesday) and when I wake up (every time the blood appears) it’s always 4h12 am. I don’t even have to look at the clock anymore.
I wake up shaking and sweating and crying. And hungry. So I get up, drink a cup of milk and take a short shower that also helps me relax. Then I go to bed and sleep peacefully until me alarm wakes me up.
You probably wonder why I don’t stay up until it’s past 4h12. Well, I tried it once. When my usual bedtime arrived (around 11h pm), I was really sleepy. I tried to fight it by staying in the living room watching television while my parents and little sister went to sleep. So when it was 4h12 I woke up in the sofa. I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep.
The weirdest thing about this dream isn’t the exact frequency of it. It’s the dream itself. It’s just too real. It doesn’t feel like a dream at all. Not even like a thought. To me it’s like watching a movie, because of my incapacity to move.
I wish I knew what it meant.
My parents always tried to look like they knew a lot of culture but were also a bit interested in “the dark side” of History. So they gave us the names of two of the most evil Egyptian gods: I am Seth, the god of destruction and violence, the one who killed Osiris; and my poor sister is Sekhmet, the goddess of war and vengeance.
Probably they had no idea how well the name suited me.
Today’s the morning after the dream and I’m not in a good mood. And everyone knows what I can do when I’m in a bad mood. I can’t even control it.
I can’t stop thinking about how much I hate my mother while I’m having breakfast with my family. She doesn’t stop complaining for a minute: it’s all my sister’s and my fault. What, I have no idea, because I’m ignoring her; but it is surely our fault.
Me and my sister walk to school. It’s winter and it’s cold, but it is a short walk. We talk. I’m still in a bad mood, but I try to ignore it. She doesn’t.
‘Come on, Seth. I know you. Why are you always moody on Tuesday morning?’
‘I’m not moody. I just didn’t sleep very well.’
‘That’s the same excuse you gave last week and the week before that.’
‘It’s not an excuse. Sometimes I don’t sleep too well. That’s it.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
My sister is thirteen. And smart as fuck.
We arrive school and we’re late. I hate being late. It drives me mad. So I’m really pissed off when I knock on and open my classroom’s door.
Too pissed off.
The trash can in front of me flies until it hits the wall. And Mrs. Thomson’s shirt is violently unbuttoned and thrown back, revealing a black bra maybe a bit too sexy for the occasion.
I bury my face in my hands and I’m thinking, ‘fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck---‘, when I hear it.
Sekhmet. Screaming.
And I run.
She was having P. E.. Or Phys Ed or whatever you call it. Physical Education. The gym is really near the entrance so she got there pretty fast. She started running. And she fainted. They tried to wake her up, she didn’t react to anything. They called an ambulance. She was unconscious for about two minutes; then she woke up. Screaming.
When I arrive there they are all around her, trying to calm her down and she’s saying, ‘There was a man and she had a knife but I don’t think she had a head, I mean, he had a voice and a body but it was too dark and I couldn’t see the head and the voice just came from everywhere but I knew it was his and it was so real, so real and he s---‘
‘It was all just a bad dream,’ her teacher interrupts, ‘don’t worry. The ambulance is coming.’ She looks at my sister’s chest and her face becomes a mask of horror. Everyone’s does. But my sister doesn’t notice it. Her eyes are closed. She has no idea that there is a growing stain of blood on her chest.
I run and kneel next to her. I kiss her forehead and she opens her eyes. ‘Seth,’ she whispers, ‘my chest. It hurts. Why?’
I tell her not to worry. I tell her everything’s alright.
The ambulance arrives and I go to the hospital with my little sister.
I wish there was anyone from The Eight at school at that hour, nut the all only have classes later.
Right now, I’m in the waiting room of the hospital, missing our meeting. I thought about texting them before it started, but I had left my mobile phone at home.
According to a doctor, my sister is going to be alright. Her wound, he says, was probably provoked by a stabbing. It is deep enough to damage the heart; but on the wrong side. He asks me what could have stabbed her and I tell him I don’t know.
My parents are here. According to my mother, it’s all my fault.
I know who stabbed my sister. A man from a dream. I don’t know how. But I’m sure of it. I just hope my dreams end now.
I want to know. I need to know. When, how and why does a dream stop being just a dream and starts being something else? Like reality?
But I know I’ll never get my answer.
Belladonna lives near the hospital. The meeting ended an hour ago, so I’m going to visit her. I can’t stay here. My mother pisses me off.
sábado, 20 de dezembro de 2008
The Eight - Part Three: Not So Down To Earth
... Sucks.
‘Oh yes’, Hest nods and sighs, ‘with miss Perfect.’
‘But you never used to go on holidays with her’, I say.
‘True. But suddenly my parents realized that I have an amazing cousin and that I should hang out more with her instead of with “that group of freaks”. She’s a role model that I should be following.’
I nod and say, ‘Oh sure thing.’
‘So I guess you’re in need of plans to make her look like the evil one.’ Christopher smiles.
‘Evil one? Oh no, no, no! I just need plans to make myself look not as bad as she’s going to say I am.’
We all laugh, even Belladonna, and the floor disappears under me for a couple of seconds. It’s the first time I’ve laughed today. I haven’t been in a very good mood, I don’t really know why.
I land softly and as Hest if there is any way she won’t go.
‘I highly doubt that’, she answers, ‘my parents really want me to get along with my lovely cousin.’
‘You can always murder her while she sleeps.’ Will grins, his teeth only a bit lighter than his skin.
‘To look good,’ Belladonna says, ‘act exactly as she does. Wear cute skirts and no sneakers – or just discreet clothes if you can’t handle that style.’
‘I’m a bit overweighed for skirts.’ she notices our annoyed faces, ‘What? It’s true. But yes, I’m going to do that. From now on, I’m Saint Hest.’
We all bow stupidly and hear the church bells mark the five hours. The end of the meeting.
‘And it’s starting right now. But this will be more of a rehearsal. The big stage will be later.’
‘Good luck, dear.’
‘Yeah, good luck!’
‘I’ll walk home with you, Will’, I hear Christopher say.
‘Cassie? Will you be riding the 418?’ Belladonna asks and I nod. ‘Cool, me too.’, she says.
We are here waiting for the bus for about fifteen minute. Belladonna hadn’t said a word yet, she just looked at the floor, holding the pendent of the necklace her ex-girlfriend had given her. I wanted to ask her how she felt, if she was getting over it, if she had met someone new… But she really hadn’t given me an opportunity for it, she looks too far away from me.
The bus finally arrives and we get in. Belladonna leaves in the first stop, the only words shared between us being a bye, see you tomorrow.
The bus stops for the second time at another high school and a boy I’ve never seen before sits next to me, even though there are more free seats and I look like a freak with my Barbie-blonde dyed dreadlocks and shiny blue eye contacts.
But that’s not the weirdest thing. The weirdest thing is that he starts talking. He says, ‘Damn this fucking bus, always late. I’m Devin, by the way.’
What a clever way to present yourself.
‘Uh, I’m Cassie.’
‘So you go to Elmanor High School, over there?’
‘Oh no. Fitzmark High School.’
‘Ah, cool. For two years I begged my parents to let me go to that school, but they never allowed me.’
‘Why did you want to go?’
‘It just seemed cool. I had no friends, I wanted to start over new.’
‘Oh… I see… Sorry, this is my stop…’, I say and get up.
‘It’s mine too. Let’s go.’
We leave the bus together. I can’t stop wondering how came we had never met before.
He looks at me.
‘So, where do you live?’
I point at the block of apartments on the other side of the street. ‘Right there.’
‘Oh. I live in Mang Street.’
Mang Street. Where all the rich people live. Huge houses and cars. What did he say about not having friends? The must fall at his feet.
‘Maybe you know who my sister is, Melanie Laurence’, he says.
Oh yes. That rich bitch that slept with every fucking guy over eighteen and spread not so nice rumours about her brother. Now I understand the no friends thingy.
But damn, he is cute.
I nod and he asks me if I want to come over.
An inside voice is screaming NO NO NO as I nod and follow him through the streets to a huge modern house.
My parents don’t care about how late I arrive home. They have no control over me.
Devin’s room is all in black and green. He has such amazing and expensive things, it’s incredible.
It was something I had never had access to.
And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t one of the reasons why I liked him.
And he didn’t make fun of me for levitating every time I giggled.
‘Oh yes’, Hest nods and sighs, ‘with miss Perfect.’
‘But you never used to go on holidays with her’, I say.
‘True. But suddenly my parents realized that I have an amazing cousin and that I should hang out more with her instead of with “that group of freaks”. She’s a role model that I should be following.’
I nod and say, ‘Oh sure thing.’
‘So I guess you’re in need of plans to make her look like the evil one.’ Christopher smiles.
‘Evil one? Oh no, no, no! I just need plans to make myself look not as bad as she’s going to say I am.’
We all laugh, even Belladonna, and the floor disappears under me for a couple of seconds. It’s the first time I’ve laughed today. I haven’t been in a very good mood, I don’t really know why.
I land softly and as Hest if there is any way she won’t go.
‘I highly doubt that’, she answers, ‘my parents really want me to get along with my lovely cousin.’
‘You can always murder her while she sleeps.’ Will grins, his teeth only a bit lighter than his skin.
‘To look good,’ Belladonna says, ‘act exactly as she does. Wear cute skirts and no sneakers – or just discreet clothes if you can’t handle that style.’
‘I’m a bit overweighed for skirts.’ she notices our annoyed faces, ‘What? It’s true. But yes, I’m going to do that. From now on, I’m Saint Hest.’
We all bow stupidly and hear the church bells mark the five hours. The end of the meeting.
‘And it’s starting right now. But this will be more of a rehearsal. The big stage will be later.’
‘Good luck, dear.’
‘Yeah, good luck!’
‘I’ll walk home with you, Will’, I hear Christopher say.
‘Cassie? Will you be riding the 418?’ Belladonna asks and I nod. ‘Cool, me too.’, she says.
We are here waiting for the bus for about fifteen minute. Belladonna hadn’t said a word yet, she just looked at the floor, holding the pendent of the necklace her ex-girlfriend had given her. I wanted to ask her how she felt, if she was getting over it, if she had met someone new… But she really hadn’t given me an opportunity for it, she looks too far away from me.
The bus finally arrives and we get in. Belladonna leaves in the first stop, the only words shared between us being a bye, see you tomorrow.
The bus stops for the second time at another high school and a boy I’ve never seen before sits next to me, even though there are more free seats and I look like a freak with my Barbie-blonde dyed dreadlocks and shiny blue eye contacts.
But that’s not the weirdest thing. The weirdest thing is that he starts talking. He says, ‘Damn this fucking bus, always late. I’m Devin, by the way.’
What a clever way to present yourself.
‘Uh, I’m Cassie.’
‘So you go to Elmanor High School, over there?’
‘Oh no. Fitzmark High School.’
‘Ah, cool. For two years I begged my parents to let me go to that school, but they never allowed me.’
‘Why did you want to go?’
‘It just seemed cool. I had no friends, I wanted to start over new.’
‘Oh… I see… Sorry, this is my stop…’, I say and get up.
‘It’s mine too. Let’s go.’
We leave the bus together. I can’t stop wondering how came we had never met before.
He looks at me.
‘So, where do you live?’
I point at the block of apartments on the other side of the street. ‘Right there.’
‘Oh. I live in Mang Street.’
Mang Street. Where all the rich people live. Huge houses and cars. What did he say about not having friends? The must fall at his feet.
‘Maybe you know who my sister is, Melanie Laurence’, he says.
Oh yes. That rich bitch that slept with every fucking guy over eighteen and spread not so nice rumours about her brother. Now I understand the no friends thingy.
But damn, he is cute.
I nod and he asks me if I want to come over.
An inside voice is screaming NO NO NO as I nod and follow him through the streets to a huge modern house.
My parents don’t care about how late I arrive home. They have no control over me.
Devin’s room is all in black and green. He has such amazing and expensive things, it’s incredible.
It was something I had never had access to.
And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t one of the reasons why I liked him.
And he didn’t make fun of me for levitating every time I giggled.
sexta-feira, 19 de dezembro de 2008
The Eight - Part Two: Since The Orphanage
[twice the size, half the quality]
My theory is, to understand who someone is, you have to understand who that person was.
Maybe that doesn’t apply to the eight of us, but it does for most people.
I was left in the orphanage when I was a few months old with a piece of paper that said I had been born on May 15th 1991 and that my name was Jessica Foster. Which I hate. So it’s Jesse to you, please.
I had a normal orphanage life until the day of my third birthday when a girl about my age came to the orphanage. No name, no date of birth. But the ladies in the orphanage looked at her eyes, one light orangish brown and the other green and named her Amber Jade. Where the Elliott came from, I don’t know.
We became best friends soon after she arrived. When I was nine a couple came to look at us all and maybe adopt someone. They chose. I must admit, I was the prettiest girl there, with my straight red hair and huge green eyes.
Come on, otherwise I would never be going out with Mr. Davidson. I bet every straight girl and gay guy in my school fantasizes about him. He’s just too hot. But it doesn’t matter right now.
So Mr. and Mrs. Harris wanted to adopt me, but I told them no. I wasn’t going anywhere without AJ.
I was forced to spend afternoons and weekends with them for a month until they finally decided to adopt both of us.
I bet they truly regret it.
We start going to a new school. It was okay for me, but not for AJ. In the beginning they’d stare confusedly at her until she told them it was the eyes that made her look weird. It’s insane the amount of people that would notice something strange about her but couldn’t see what it was. The different eyes.
It wasn’t long until they started seeing her as a freak. Me, I was fine, surrounded by giggling girls. The kind of girls who’d give odd looks if AJ came around.
We met Cassie when we were about 13. She was new in our class and she had to choose where to sit, she sat next to AJ. They became almost instantaneous friends, and through AJ also I got the chance to befriend her.
There was a reason why Cassie chose the seat next to AJ’s, but we only found about it later. She was always seen as freak because when she’d get too happy, she’d levitate a bit, staying about 30cm above the floor. It was super cute.
That same year, we started having Maths with both Will and Christopher. They already were best friends. We liked them immediately, especially because they were away from everybody: people made fun of Will for being albino.
For a couple years, it was just us five. The Freaks.
But I hadn’t become completely uncool, I still had my other friends. And it was through them that I met another outcast.
So there was this girl with short dark hair and greyish eyes, super thin, that would sit alone on the entrance benches during the breaks. No one sat near her. It was strange, seeing her all alone.
And then I noticed my friends looking oddly at her and getting really quickly out of the way every time she’d pass near us. I watched this for two or three days until I asked them what was up with the girl.
They gave me surprised looks with wide-opened eyes and replied something like ‘Don’t you know?! She’s a…,’ they made horrified and disgusted faces ‘… she’s a lesbo!’
I must have made one of those you’re-all-so-stupid faces. Well, they were stupid. Still are. ‘So, that’s it? You act like she has any contagious disease.’
‘Of course! What if she falls in love with one of us?’ More terrified faces and even a few squeals.
‘It’s not like that. You don’t fall in love with every guy that crosses your path – okay, you do, but that’s not what’s normal – so why would she fall in love with any of you? I’m going to talk to her.’
I felt their eyes on my back while I walked up to the girl. She was so relieved to have someone talking to her, she was really nice. Her name was Belladonna. She became immediately part of our group, but I lost my popular friends. What a pity.
We were six for three years.
Then Polly Weiss and her cousin came into scene.
Me and AJ, we’d known Polly for years. She’d left the orphanage about seven months before us and was about our age. She’s the kind of person adults love and most people her age (except the cool ones) hate – always ready to go tell the adults the shit we’ve done.
Like me sharing the bed with our Maths teacher.
I keep falling into that subject. Oh well. I’ll talk about it later. Maybe.
And by the way, it’s not because of the grades. I do feel something for him. Lust or love, I don’t know.
So Polly Weiss came to our school. And class. She and her adoptive cousin, Hester Hester. Everyone would always giggle at her name. Even though they weren’t really relatives, they were a bit alike, both with blonde hair and huge blue eyes. But Polly had an amazing body while Hester was (and is) a bit fat, the kind of fat that makes people cute and childish and not exactly ugly.
Polly quickly became really popular while Hester stayed in the background. She was very shy and didn’t actually try to get along with other people. During breaks she’d just walk around alone. Some people would even make fun of her for being a bit fat (everyone here is perfectly fit). Cassie got annoyed by it so she got Hester to integrate or group. And, I must admit, Hest is the best of us. She’s really sweet and always ready to help.
Some time after we met Hest, we got in a fight. We were waiting outside school for our buses to arrive and suddenly a group of guys that didn’t look very nice started picking on us. They threw stuff at her and even punched Christopher for trying to stop them while some girls pulled our hair and scratched our arms with their long nails. We could take the girls, but as soon as the guys saw them walking away from us, they kicked up all to the floor. When a guy with horrible teeth was about to slap me, we heard someone shouting.
‘Hey, men, what’s the problem?’
Everyone looked and we saw a tall guy with crossed arms staring at the people who had attacked us, who were at that moment sharing looks that said ‘let’s get rid of this idiot’.
But suddenly they weren’t there anymore. They had been magically (that’s what I thought) thrown to the floor with the stuff they had thrown at us. The guy standing gave them a disapproving look and shrugged. ‘Well, you didn’t answer...’
He walked away but we got immediately on our foot and followed him. We all thanked and greeted him and asked him to become a part of our group. I remember thinking he had awesome powers and envying him.
He was Seth, the boy no one wanted to see enraged.
We’ve been the Eight since then. Yeah, we do call ourselves that. It makes us feel more important. Or maybe not that much. Whatever. Names don’t matter.
The most amazing thing is that we remain friends no matter what. And I always think about that when I do shit.
Especially when I’m with Mr. Davidson. It’s my biggest sin, if you believe in that type of things. But they don’t mind it, whether it is because of the sex or the grades. But I don’t think they’d believe it was love. Not saying that it is. I’m more into getting laid with the hottest teacher, get proof of that and then breaking up with him when Polly Weiss and everyone finds out.
But I haven’t broken up with him yet.
My theory is, to understand who someone is, you have to understand who that person was.
Maybe that doesn’t apply to the eight of us, but it does for most people.
I was left in the orphanage when I was a few months old with a piece of paper that said I had been born on May 15th 1991 and that my name was Jessica Foster. Which I hate. So it’s Jesse to you, please.
I had a normal orphanage life until the day of my third birthday when a girl about my age came to the orphanage. No name, no date of birth. But the ladies in the orphanage looked at her eyes, one light orangish brown and the other green and named her Amber Jade. Where the Elliott came from, I don’t know.
We became best friends soon after she arrived. When I was nine a couple came to look at us all and maybe adopt someone. They chose. I must admit, I was the prettiest girl there, with my straight red hair and huge green eyes.
Come on, otherwise I would never be going out with Mr. Davidson. I bet every straight girl and gay guy in my school fantasizes about him. He’s just too hot. But it doesn’t matter right now.
So Mr. and Mrs. Harris wanted to adopt me, but I told them no. I wasn’t going anywhere without AJ.
I was forced to spend afternoons and weekends with them for a month until they finally decided to adopt both of us.
I bet they truly regret it.
We start going to a new school. It was okay for me, but not for AJ. In the beginning they’d stare confusedly at her until she told them it was the eyes that made her look weird. It’s insane the amount of people that would notice something strange about her but couldn’t see what it was. The different eyes.
It wasn’t long until they started seeing her as a freak. Me, I was fine, surrounded by giggling girls. The kind of girls who’d give odd looks if AJ came around.
We met Cassie when we were about 13. She was new in our class and she had to choose where to sit, she sat next to AJ. They became almost instantaneous friends, and through AJ also I got the chance to befriend her.
There was a reason why Cassie chose the seat next to AJ’s, but we only found about it later. She was always seen as freak because when she’d get too happy, she’d levitate a bit, staying about 30cm above the floor. It was super cute.
That same year, we started having Maths with both Will and Christopher. They already were best friends. We liked them immediately, especially because they were away from everybody: people made fun of Will for being albino.
For a couple years, it was just us five. The Freaks.
But I hadn’t become completely uncool, I still had my other friends. And it was through them that I met another outcast.
So there was this girl with short dark hair and greyish eyes, super thin, that would sit alone on the entrance benches during the breaks. No one sat near her. It was strange, seeing her all alone.
And then I noticed my friends looking oddly at her and getting really quickly out of the way every time she’d pass near us. I watched this for two or three days until I asked them what was up with the girl.
They gave me surprised looks with wide-opened eyes and replied something like ‘Don’t you know?! She’s a…,’ they made horrified and disgusted faces ‘… she’s a lesbo!’
I must have made one of those you’re-all-so-stupid faces. Well, they were stupid. Still are. ‘So, that’s it? You act like she has any contagious disease.’
‘Of course! What if she falls in love with one of us?’ More terrified faces and even a few squeals.
‘It’s not like that. You don’t fall in love with every guy that crosses your path – okay, you do, but that’s not what’s normal – so why would she fall in love with any of you? I’m going to talk to her.’
I felt their eyes on my back while I walked up to the girl. She was so relieved to have someone talking to her, she was really nice. Her name was Belladonna. She became immediately part of our group, but I lost my popular friends. What a pity.
We were six for three years.
Then Polly Weiss and her cousin came into scene.
Me and AJ, we’d known Polly for years. She’d left the orphanage about seven months before us and was about our age. She’s the kind of person adults love and most people her age (except the cool ones) hate – always ready to go tell the adults the shit we’ve done.
Like me sharing the bed with our Maths teacher.
I keep falling into that subject. Oh well. I’ll talk about it later. Maybe.
And by the way, it’s not because of the grades. I do feel something for him. Lust or love, I don’t know.
So Polly Weiss came to our school. And class. She and her adoptive cousin, Hester Hester. Everyone would always giggle at her name. Even though they weren’t really relatives, they were a bit alike, both with blonde hair and huge blue eyes. But Polly had an amazing body while Hester was (and is) a bit fat, the kind of fat that makes people cute and childish and not exactly ugly.
Polly quickly became really popular while Hester stayed in the background. She was very shy and didn’t actually try to get along with other people. During breaks she’d just walk around alone. Some people would even make fun of her for being a bit fat (everyone here is perfectly fit). Cassie got annoyed by it so she got Hester to integrate or group. And, I must admit, Hest is the best of us. She’s really sweet and always ready to help.
Some time after we met Hest, we got in a fight. We were waiting outside school for our buses to arrive and suddenly a group of guys that didn’t look very nice started picking on us. They threw stuff at her and even punched Christopher for trying to stop them while some girls pulled our hair and scratched our arms with their long nails. We could take the girls, but as soon as the guys saw them walking away from us, they kicked up all to the floor. When a guy with horrible teeth was about to slap me, we heard someone shouting.
‘Hey, men, what’s the problem?’
Everyone looked and we saw a tall guy with crossed arms staring at the people who had attacked us, who were at that moment sharing looks that said ‘let’s get rid of this idiot’.
But suddenly they weren’t there anymore. They had been magically (that’s what I thought) thrown to the floor with the stuff they had thrown at us. The guy standing gave them a disapproving look and shrugged. ‘Well, you didn’t answer...’
He walked away but we got immediately on our foot and followed him. We all thanked and greeted him and asked him to become a part of our group. I remember thinking he had awesome powers and envying him.
He was Seth, the boy no one wanted to see enraged.
We’ve been the Eight since then. Yeah, we do call ourselves that. It makes us feel more important. Or maybe not that much. Whatever. Names don’t matter.
The most amazing thing is that we remain friends no matter what. And I always think about that when I do shit.
Especially when I’m with Mr. Davidson. It’s my biggest sin, if you believe in that type of things. But they don’t mind it, whether it is because of the sex or the grades. But I don’t think they’d believe it was love. Not saying that it is. I’m more into getting laid with the hottest teacher, get proof of that and then breaking up with him when Polly Weiss and everyone finds out.
But I haven’t broken up with him yet.
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