Lion Heart

I always believed that there is just a little more of everything. That nothing is over. Not even when you just can’t get up. Even when you feel weak, helpless, tired, & even restrained by your own limitations.
There is always more. A secret fountain of eternal youth that explodes. Like a sun, burning endlessly.
It is you who choose to ignore it. To make yourself feel weak and believe it.
But what is weakness?!
An ill mind?
A withered body?
No. Just a forsaken soul. A spilled water off your fountain. Wasted and forgotten. But not useless. It keeps your core burning. Just for you to live. If you think that is a living.
“So what is strength?!” A voice whispered
It is a tree standing straight against the harshest of winds. The ocean waves throwing boats in the air dancing. A rigidly flexible concoction of physical and mental fortitude. Held together by your soul, burning like a core of a young star. Eternal.

It is a genuine smile after a bad day. A wild laugh after feeling so sad.
It’s a woman giving up a lot for her loved ones. A man prepared to die so another could live.
A teacher never getting bored no matter how many times he has to repeat that simple math equation because you can’t get it yet. A doctor pressing your chest one more time, for the millionth time, despite the smell of his burning muscles and bones.

But most of all, it’s kindness that you show when everything and everyone around you deserve anything but kindness.

That my friend is strength.

The purifying element

I was standing in front of my workplace resting my back against the wall, my left hand busy with the cup of tea that I’m taking all my time to appreciate its greatness.
My earphones are tucked perfectly in my ears, letting no noise interrupt the serenity of the music played.
I felt the music touch each and every corner of my mind; enlightening me, healing the pieces damaged by all the wrong in this life, proving that all man-made impurities can be cleansed by the immaculate man-made art.

Those longitudinal waves that transmit in billions of varieties of compressions and rarefactions, a geeky but undeniably impressive physics, dispersing all black from the roots of my subconscious.
A simple complexity with perfection that lies in the paradox of its state.

My face was smiling out of control- smile that only few can understand.
Although I was in the middle of the city, surrounded by all the artificial lights and much less nature, I can swear that I could feel an ocean’s breeze all over me. A chill that shook me down to the tiniest of my cells.

Many people passed me by and looked at me wondering why the smile. No. I guess they were wondering ‘how’ the smile. How the smile in a world filled with imitation of happiness and fake laughter. A world were only few can sense the purity around them and appreciate it; few who can ride the wings of freedom towards the distant sun.

Broken pencil

A hand and a pencil. 2 elements that link on a piece of paper to draw letters made of lines and dots in straight and curvy fashions. Putting the letters together or away from each other to form infinite number of words.
The words arrange indefinitely to form sentences. The sentences run lines long, connect or disconnect to each other. And as the soul descends, the words turn from meaningless lines and dots to purposeful pictures that transcend through space and time.
It’s all about how the hand moves, how the pencil runs and draws, and how the soul channels through each and every word.
But for now, my pencil is broken.

Pencil with broken lead. Image shot 2006. Exact date unknown.


“Once upon a time, an unknown time that no one has ever identified! Because no one has ever come to fully understand what time is all about. Because it’s mindblowing how we might own something in the grasp of our hands and in a blink of an eye, we lose it! Who is that “second” to step barbarically and pull whatever we had away, declaring that it’s no longer ours? Nevertheless, we still underestimate time, we waste it like we have plenty of it, like it’s standing on our side. We’re always rushing to collect things, that we tend to overlook crucials for trivials. Then, unfortunately, we come to realize it too late. Because we can’t unfold a wave and rewatch it embrace the hard rocks in attempt to mitigate them. We can’t unblink to make great use of time when we’re with the ones we love.
Time has always been an enigma that has driven many people crazy. There are those who have spent their entire lives trying to go back in time to save the day or move forward to skip it. They have paid their entire lives as a cost in exchange for an abstract issue that they thought would drag happiness to their feet. But, time, instead, was deceitful enough to take their lives away like a devious magician would do, smoothly, to the wallet of his volunteer.”


“Stop. For a while, take a look around you. Have a moment to observe everything. Imagine that it all stopped. Even the arms of your watch. Even time.

Imagine that you can have this moment once in a lifetime, where time actually stops and you get to observe everything still. Is it exciting or terrifying?! The wind no longer moans, the bird no longer sings, you can swear that this eagle in the air was flying in a speed that your eyes couldn’t point it.
You start to walk searching for someone, or something that you don’t know what. You’re confused. Your mind cannot react or understand, but will shortly adopt it.

You move forward between people who don’t even breath. Like the people of Pompei under the ashes of mount Vesuvius.

Your constant wish came true. The time stopped. But why can’t your fingers stop tremoring? Why are you heavy-breathing? Why is your heart racing? Why are your knees shaking? Why can’t you stand as tall and straight as when time was pouring right out of your lap into the void?! Why are you meandering so dejectedly?!!
Now you walk among people who are quiescent as stones. Some smiling, some frowning, others galloping. They all have one thing in common, they too wish that time stops. To enjoy the moment, to skip the moment, or to catch the moment.
However, the moment will still slip away. It will not wait for you to catch it, or him to enjoy it, or them to skip it. It’s always moving on. And it’ll frustrate you how you can’t stop it for ecstasy or skip it for woe. You will detest how fast it goes and how sometimes it runs out of your league. Then you’ll realize that even as you fall behind, you only can try to keep up.”

Cowritten with “” – Lina…


Ardent Leap

He’s hearing a lot of vague voices. Voices he feels familiar with but cannot tell which is whose. He tried to focus and turned around strenuously, but he could see nothing. It’s all misty and not a single person was spotted. He couldn’t find the source or the direction of the voices around him.

His eyes’ sheen failed as if hypnotized. He started to walk slowly; his legs were heavy. He kept this slow pace until he had spotted a fading light. He tried to dash forward to catch up with it but with every step he took he felt the ground refusing to let go of his legs. He felt the power he’s exerting to lift his leg off the ground to step forward. It kept getting harder to move; his legs were slowly rooted to the ground and thousands of hands holding on his back keeping him still.
He fell to his knees, feeling helpless and despair started to take over his heart. The light started to fade fast, and darkness crawled just as quickly.
Still rooted to his place almost engulfed by this sinister atmosphere, he knew there is no way he can move up from this. His voice was stuck in his throat and cannot escape but his eyes were focused on the fading light; yearning to grasp it that his eyes refused to shut. His hand moved against his weakness up towards the light.

A while later an orotund voice called his name, very clear that he could feel it hit the numbed chambers of his heart. As if suddenly all the voices resonated and were no longer confusing. Everything stopped, the darkness halted, the light no longer faded. He felt the darkness that was filling him no more.

The luster in his eyes twinkled like a young star. The darkness burned rapidly as if light rays were hunting each and every particle of nothingness to fill it. He suddenly could feel his weakness no more. He felt his dense but light presence in everything around him. He stood up, the ground could no longer root him actually barely holding his presence; it was wrinkling; it almost pulverized underneath his feet.
A wind arose from his core sweeping the mist away. It was clearer than the cloudless skies.

The light was still there. And he was no less yearning than he initially was. But now he was going for it. He knew he could grasp it. Hold it in his bare hands.
He dashed forward and started running towards it. With every step he felt a hand break. Feeling less weight on his back until he broke free of his confinement.
He reached the end of the cliff but the light still away. One more step, one more hardship to breakthrough, one more wall to shatter to pieces, to reach his light, his dream.
He leaped off the ledge. His eyes still fixed on the light as it was brightest now, his arm extended, and his hand ready to grab the light.


Desperate Thoughts

He’s still absent minded for the 3rd day. It’s a harsh realization; For someone to recognize he has been everything he hated. Everything he blamed other for having, or not having.
After 3 days of which he was completely lost in his own self, lost behind the walls he built to prevent everyone to get it. Lost because he forgot that it wasn’t him who knew the way inside. Lost because of how selfish he was and how he took the only person who knows him better than himself for granted.

The feelings were a mix of sadness, rage, despair. All of which towards himself. All of which toward this “thing” that thought it was a human. A human, who mistook every silence for an acceptance. A human who proved to be as superficial as many have claimed.

It’s a little too late now. Too late for a realization. When the hurt is done and the heart is broken, it’s really a little too late for just a realization and an apology. The end of the line, where the damage needs more than just “I’m sorry” or “I love you” to be mended. Where the courage is needed most, not to apologize, but to wait patiently. Where the hope is needed most wishing everything to be fine one more time. Getting one more chance to make up everything that was made down.

Days that passed like decades. Slow. Dull. Aching. Days where sleeping felt tiresome, and waking felt painful. The food was tasteless, the water wasn’t anymore quenching. His eyes saw gray, as his ears could no longer hear but her voice raging through pain. And the pain channeled through each and every of his veins. Excruciating enough to make him feel weightless as his body betrays him to the floor. He couldn’t get up. He felt the weight she boulders over his chest.
This time he couldn’t take away the pain. He couldn’t un-break her heart. And the rivers ran in tears. Tears of regret. Tears of anger and sadness. Tears enough to flood their world or heal it.

The realization wasn’t what he thought it was. It wasn’t that now he knew how inhuman he is. How every thing was a mistake. How Every word he said was painful, and every word he couldn’t see through was death-singing. He realized how much he loves her, how much he holds for her despite every mistake he has done. How much far he’s willing to go for her sake. How many people he’s willing to turn his back to to actually see her smile once again.


Ink Rust

Even his pen got dull. He ran out of words and could not write no more. He sat down staring at his notebook that held every piece he wrote. Every art he artistically made. Even the ones he never considered fit to meet the light and chose to bury in this frozen tomb.

But this tomb isn’t as dark as it seems to be. No. It’s special to his heart. Every line holds little portions of his soul carved in letters. Every time he goes through them he feels nourished. He feels the power of every word written even if it was spelled wrong or even expunged.  It definitely crossed his mind for a purpose. It had a meaning to fulfill, just in some other line.

Why did this pen rust? Why can’t it run as smooth as it always did??! Questions that run through his head every time he picks the pen and fails to write a single word that would delineate how he feels. He keeps staring at the white blank page for several hours with no single words written.
It feels like a prison. A soul prison; where it can’t cast off what it needs to show. But that isn’t actually what matters. Not that it’s actually stalled and impaired to show off itself. No. There is more to this. How this soul desires emancipation. How it fights for what it needs. Not to survive but to thrive.

But this soul cannot be compelled to put depict in letters. For what it is is recherche to most of those who go through its letters. Only because even this soul is not immaculate.
And in the end he chooses to just close the notebook and go on. Close it and wait for his pen to call. Wait for his pen to run smooth again. Wait for his soul to be released from its confinement.


Silver Curse

A loud laugh echoed back and forth through the black walls of the mountain. A laugh that was still present along those black walls after he dematerialized in thin air.

Jean studied physics of all aspects. He’s cynical, egoist, and careless. He wasn’t tall, neither short. He’s got fair skin and dark black long hair that fell randomly across his face. His hair covered his dark brown eyes that were lazy but deep.
Jean believed in alchemy but didn’t care much about it for life was much simpler than that in his eyes. At least until that day came.

Senna, the girl he loved, was his classmate for so many years. She was the one person he trusted and felt great around. The bond between them was so strong to be broken by ordinary life routine. And true was that. Everybody failed to understand how those 2 were so connected that they don’t even need to speak their minds out loud.
The way their eyes sheen when they walk together made everything around them seem darker. The joy in his voice when they spoke, the warmth of his aura that could be felt miles away when he stood around her. It was all so different from his cold, quiet nature and lazy subduing eye.

His heart was stone cold, harsh, and unyielding that he wouldn’t blink if the world was set on fire. But when she’s around, everybody could swear that this solid shell that covered his heart would melt as if hit by dragon’s fire.

Senna knew about this nature, and only she knows how hard is dealing with Jean for it wasn’t an easy task to get close to him. She always felt safe around him, she felt his sweetness and warmth in every action, every smile, every bar of chocolate, and every flower. He seemed to always match a flower with her cloth every day. Senna was 100% sure she wouldn’t speak a word of what she’s going to pick, and yet he always got to match it up. And even that proved how deeply and strongly connected were they.

Senna had to wait for him every day for more few minutes while he gets her those flowers, for she loved how his hands would thread through her long red brown hair leaving the flower between its threads.
That day, Jean got to their meeting point and didn’t find Senna standing as she always did. He waited for an hour in a calm demeanor. He wasn’t the patient type but he’d wait forever for her sake.
Jean felt distressed for a second and was hit by a wind that gave him a bad feeling. He rushed to her house. As he did he found the hearse already moving away. Jean was stunned and couldn’t move a toe, the flower fell from his hand and already felt dead too.

Jean never thought that the day he’ll have to wear the black mournful tuxedo in her funeral would come; Sadness filled his heart and his eyes flowed sadness in tears. It never crossed his mind that there is more in life than ‘ordinary routine’.
Her death was a sudden, and it stunned him to no limit. It was hard to realize the simple truth; that in a second she was gone. He went to her apartment for he needed to linger among their memories lying in each and every corner.
Her room was as neat as it forever was, her sillage still lingered as if she was still sleeping in her bed. She had a corner in her room that held each and every flower he got her. Flowers of all colors that he saw them all grey and dead.
A flash back hit his mind upon looking anywhere in the apartment. A rush of memories ran down his mind and body along with a chill that was mournful rather than cold.
He stood there for some time in silence. Few minutes later, he turned and pulled the door to closure slowly his hair covering his eyes and few tear drops that weren’t apparent until they flowed down his cheeks. He walked away and disappeared.

He went far away refusing to let go of Senna; choosing the path of magic to take. He knew magic was real but was never sure if it could bring Senna back.
His brown eyes were determined rather than vacant; determined to defy death. He sought a sorceress far at the mountains. It wasn’t easy to find her or the place, but he needed a point from where he could start the path he knew would be full of trickery and no guarantee that it will prosper.

He entered the mountain that wasn’t dark due to absence of light, but rather due to absence of life. He walked on for several hours down a corridor that seemed to be getting narrower and colder as he walked on. It was getting more difficult to move and breathe, but he endured and pushed himself forth but in a slower pace.
After a few hour of difficult saunter, the corridor opened into a large hall with walls lined on both sides by ominous looking statues of ugly gargoyles. At the very end of the hall he found the sorceress.
She was seated on a throne of black granite. Her pose was relaxed and careless; one slender leg crossed over the other beneath a flowing robe of dark black material that seemed to flow gently as a calm stream of water. She had one elegant hand threading through the long smooth tresses of her silvery hair like star light. He knew at once she was expecting him beforehand; it was evident from the way her silver eyes shot him and the smirk that curled her soft lips.
She was a breathtaking sight to behold, but there was a haunting aura around her that sent a haunting chill down his spine. But that failed to impress him and before she could start her welcoming greeting his riposte stunned her. He seemed impatient but calm. She couldn’t see the details of his face clearly for it was dark and his hair covered most of his face. He asked her to teach him magic. A moment of silence took over the dimly lit room. Jean waited for an answer in a silent steady stance with his arms crossed.
Finally she blinked and rejected granting him apprenticeship. He didn’t say more, turned his back, and began to walk away. “Wait” she whispered in a cold-queen-voice and 2 books landed by his feet; Ancient magic & Necromancy.
He picked up the books and left. The fact that she knew which books he needed didn’t impress him either. No more words were exchanged.

It took him a year to read the books; getting familiar with the rules, conjuring, and rituals. It took him another to master the art described in them before he could start experimenting.
He spent a week searching for a safe secluded spot to carry out what he planned. He didn’t yet know the magnitude of what he was about to do.
Jean looked at the mirror for he needed to see his own face one last time before starting this. He was just a little bit pale, his brown eyes still as determined and deep, his black hair still covering some of his features. He pushed it away to take a precise look for a moment; he still looked young as he always did.
The place he was searching for soon was not a problem. He conjured a secret scroll that held a map to a mountain that wasn’t located on any other map.
The rituals of the conjuring exhausted him for the terms were extreme; he had to draw 3 interconnecting pentagrams with his blood from a fresh wound. Normally, a non-deadly wound wouldn’t be fresh and bleed for the time needed to draw all 3 pentagrams together. The wound had to be inflected with a conjured dagger that infuses the sorcerer’s mana* into the wound to prevent its closure. And of course, the dagger had its own rituals.

He headed to the mountain in the map and he knew for such a place to exist without people knowing about it, it had to be protected and hidden by a magical barrier. The map showed the presence of a door that can permit access to the mountain without the barrier being broken. It requires a skilled magician to find it with ease; where a good one is well aware of most, if not all, of the magic spells and can easily predict the door’s exact location. Jean wasn’t yet that much of a good magician, but rather a smart one. He knew that for a door to exist it must have relatively less mana infused into it than the entire barrier. Thus finding the door wasn’t a hard task except for the walking along the mountain’s diameter.
Beyond that door, it was much darker, neither colder nor warmer but was definitely different. He looked at the mountain: It was elemental black and had few visible cracks that were filled with something Jean couldn’t tell was snow or silver by just looking at it. He looked at the skies, but it felt to be beneath him not above.
It was still dark regardless of the full moon that seemed larger than usual. He walked carefully and stridden. There were no signs of life except for countless trees and plants that were relatively tall. There were different types of plants, species of which he knew nothing of. The plants and the trees’ branches moved against the wind with ease. The movement seemed so intimidating but regardless of how it felt he seemed calm. His eyes were rigid; there was no mark of hesitation in them as if challenging the trees and plants to try harder. The trees seemed to accept the challenge set by his brown, glimmery, abyssal eyes. Suddenly, he felt watched and haunted by eyes he couldn’t see. He stood shaky for a moment but it was soon all gone as the image of Senna hit his mind.
He lurched. The mountain appeared to move away and he was not getting anywhere closer. He stopped for a moment and felt as if hypnotized. He cut himself and did feel the pain; it proved he’s awake. However, the blood drops flied upwards. He threw a small knife forward targeting a tree, and as the knife left his hand it was no longer visible. Few seconds later he heard the knife piercing a tree trunk but couldn’t actually tell from where. He turned to the right but it felt like it’s his left. He stopped. Some seconds later he started to notice how everything is actually inverted. Or felt inverted. He could see the moon beneath him, but was sure he looked up. Up was down; down was up; front was back; back was front. That explained how the mountain could be moving away.
Jean remembered then about a spell of such nature that messes with person’s perception making it one of the hardest mazes ever made and not ‘actually’ made. He read about it and knew how to break the magic within it. To go through it eyes must be closed and not opened under any condition, and the path shall be shown in blindness.
Few minutes later the path was clearest and a route appeared to him that was especially made to avoid the spells put to protect the mountain. He walked in a quick pace, missing the full moon would only cause him to wait for another lunar cycle.

He entered the mountain. It was hugely vacant. It was dark and cold. The walls, however, appeared clearly black and felt as smooth as silk when touched. The ground was routed too with short black pillars on the sides of the paved way arrayed in an arbitrary fashion. There were other tower-size pillars reaching the walls of the mountain.
In the center there was a black isle, surrounded by shiny liquid silver that was the only source of light. As he approached, another black pillar started to grow towards the isle making a bridge. As he stepped on the pillar and started walking, the stillness and coolness of the silver beneath him sent an anxious chill down his toes. He shivered, but walked steadily.
The isle wasn’t big. Only flat and vacant till the moment he landed on it. Part of it started to elevate slowly and shed its black colour turning silver. As it did, Jean felt overwhelmingness that he couldn’t tell its source or nature. Few seconds later the shedding and elevation stopped. It was a silver table; very shiny metallic silver with 4 sharp edges. It was cold, and that was apparent from the air around it that seemed to freeze and fall. It had a special charm that he almost forgot why he was there.
Almost instantly, he opened his eyes widely. A small book appeared in his left palm; a book he conjured to manipulate and conjure magic. It was prodigy that a magician of his age to make such a creation. Especially that it was the first of its kind.
The book was palm-size, navy blue in color, with 3 incomplete red thin circles with their openings not aligned, and a short sword at the top of the book not touching any of the circles. The 3 circles indicated life, death, and what between them; a medium where he could contact the afterlife. The air around him shifted, a little bit vigorously that it was clearly visible whirls. The circles on the book rotated  till their opening met downwards. The short sword fell down to pierce all 3 circles.  The book opened in what seemed random pattern but it was actually obeying his will. The whirls got even faster. His hair started to fly randomly around where his eyes were now easily seen. He started the incantations and as he did the whirls’ sped and magnitude increased that particles of the liquid silver started to levitate and slowly amalgamate with the whirls around him. A small rift seemed to open only slightly to permit voice passage. A growling voice spoke in a vague tongue. No words were understood. Jean cried “I command you. By the power descended from my ancestors upon me. The power I thrived to cause what I want to be. A power deeper than the ocean and berserk-er than the waves of the sea. Return who was, is, and will forever be for me.” The whirls turned to a tornado. The silver coalesced within the air was now revolving rapidly around his right hand and all over his hair and head. The gate closed as the silver touched him; His hands, hair, and eyes were all turned to silver now.

On the table before him appeared Senna; in a black dress laying on her back. The conjured book disappeared. He intended to move quickly but couldn’t. He halted for a moment; his hair was now silver threads thus felt heavier. He couldn’t feel his hands, only a cold metal sensation. He moved regardless. He wanted to cry of happiness, but his silver eyes were dry. Jean started to shake Senna to wake her up.  She woke up but didn’t recognize him at all. Her eyes felt charmed and absent.  She didn’t speak a word, just stood up and started walking out of the mountain. Jean tried to grasp her hand but he didn’t feel it. His left hand being a vessel for the conjured book hence proved futile. She didn’t react to the cold metal sensation of his silver hand either. She kept walking until she was no longer visible.

He stood mesmerized. A smirk took over his lips followed by a loud laugh that echoed through the mountain’s wall. The book in his left hand reappeared and opened in the same fashion, creating a complex ripple that he disappeared within.


Mana: It’s the magician source of energy used to manipulate or create magic.

Please comment with positives and negatives you find in this story for I’d like to move forward and have a feedback from a readers view…Thanks all ^^

Faint-Crystal Aura

Some souls linger aimlessly around us. Those are lost souls, trapped between the 2 realms waiting to be freed and cross to the other side where they can finally rest peacefully. Those souls can no longer see humans or fine details of the world as we see them unless they’re wrapped in a relatively great amount of aura (energy). They usually cling to the positive aura for it alleviates their painless ail. Humans, however, can not feel these souls’ presence whatsoever.

She woke up sometime before sunrise so fond of the clouds she couldn’t miss them satiating the skies just before they get pierced vigorously, one by one, by the sunlight. She then lazily sips her coffee before starting her daily routine as everyone else does, only that she starts everyday with an enormous aura that is impossible to neglect.

One lost soul, lurking not so far from where she lives, noticed a great aura moving away, leaving behind traces of warmth the soul desired forever. It had the ultimate urge to follow but couldn’t; fearing to lose its trace by the end of the day. It decided to stop the aimless roam and to wait in front of the door for that warmth until the aura returns.

The soul waited for a long time that felt null to a soul soaring betwixt realms. Eagerly it observed and finally traces of aura started to reemerge from afar, getting closer, but not bigger The soul was baffled enough to mistake it until its source showed leaving no doubt that this was the aura from before; too precise yet dimmer. It was dazzled by how can such great aura be lost that easily but decided to wait regardless of the paradoxical sensation.

She stepped into her house, jaded by the daily act; the vivid smile that barely portrays her pretty face, but is never lost. Slowly her aura started to regenerate vigorously and that was felt instantly by the soul standing out there still stunned. Now the faint aura is getting as intense as it was.
She started writing, and the soul wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the amount of aura being transferred through her pen down the paper.
It was strong enough that even the soul was able to read what was written clearly; the words shone gold, as bright as Sirius* in a moonless night.

Reading through her words, it was no longer a lost soul and was sure to cling to that aura till its final time. This time it decided to follow the aura to find out what caused it to diminish. And so it waited in a cold night of December that didn’t feel cold, under a sky half lit by the glow of the moon that was covered by the fully sated clouds.

The next morning she woke up, same lazy girl with the same cup of coffee. Fenced by incredibly sheen aura, she checked how people admired her new story, knowing nothing about her new invisible, insensible, intangible, yet existent fan.
She took her coat and expected rain for the sun rays couldn’t pierce the dense clouds and walked to work as she usually does.

The soul followed her, knowing nothing of what it’s following but trying to focus on even the slightest fluctuations in the aura. It did flicker occasionally; every now and then a portion would disintegrate from the bright orb.
Every broken portion grew into an even bigger, but never brighter, aura in a different spot.
Soon enough the aura was depleted again and was wispy that the soul found it hard to follow. However, it’s insatiable crave for the warmth of that aura made it as clear as dim as it had become, and that made the soul crave more to see the face of the person with this ominous aura.

Back at the house, shortly after she entered, the soul felt the aura regenerate so fast. It was astonishing how dim it was few minutes ago and declining, and how in a flash rapidly reforming.
The soul stood in amazement of how much energy is being built up so fast: all drained from a small book. A book that wasn’t visible before as it didn’t emit so much energy as it did now as it lay between her arms to be perceived by her beautiful heart and mind rendering her aura more vital.

She was reading her favorite book, her best friend and greatest treasure, but most of all, her reason to fight back everyday’s asperity.

At this point the soul wished only if it could see that person whom it blindly fell in love with. It was time already to leave this void that felt too warm for the emptiness it was.

 Suddenly, the sky cracked, and started to rain insanely as if a river was running through it. The drops fell so fast and nigh; not the bit amalgamating to fill even the tiniest pit.

She ran out to her balcony in haste to enjoy the sky’s cry…it was definitely a cry. Rain drops landed on her face, filled with so much energy that the soul could easily see, finally revealing every single detail of her pretty face.

The soul started to weep, unlike the sky’s, tears of happiness, as it ascended being grateful that there is still someone who can not just change how the living feels, but even the dead.girl-walking-in-snow-wallpapers_31928_1280x800

*Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky.

Soul Dissonance

The night was darkest, it satisfied him for he hated the light most. The pleasure was promptly lost and his mind was fixed, which is usual of him, but the problem was the point of fixation.

He never thought that the shadow, the doppelgänger, could even partially affect who he is, or at the moment who he was. The harsh realization raised an inner dissonance, and that shadow was augmented enough to fight furiously for its existence or what it’s fighting for.
Its existence didn’t affect his presence or alter control over his mind, but his attitude was in a great extent shifted. Needless to mention that this shadow was rather negative, but only to every surrounding.

At first it was chaotic to feel so overtaken by something that wasn’t identifiable for some good time, or actually for a whole life time. The reaction was berserk from both sides; this disturbance malfunctioned and stalled everything and ever thought that was in his mind or within himself. It was closest to a battle between 2 soldiers who would end up killing each other for no reason known to themselves. And yes he failed to actually see what that shadow was fighting for, and so did the shadow.

Soon the dissonance progressed, and perception between what’s real and what’s not started to grow cryptic. This is when he felt most vulnerable and needed help most. However, the ego was strong enough to deny this fact. He sat in silence and couldn’t even breathe, as if entombed by the enormous cold conjured from deep within himself.

A while later he started to doubt himself and realized that he needs a hand to overcome his shadow, but in a flash the doubt was shattered at the moment he remembered that the shadow is a part of himself. Only then he became keen to stop fighting it away and start embracing it.

His straight posture was nearly lost; the tides between him and his phantasm, now his phantasm, changed as he demanded understanding, and the shadow grew tempestuous. Shortly, the soul got withered, the state of dissonance was timeless and it took an infinite loop, especially with both of them being considerate and fixed on not losing to the other.

It was over the time he realized what his phantasm was actually fighting for. It was enough to know it wasn’t the same cause he was standing to. This truth pierced his heart but no pain was felt. It was queer to him, and he said no word waiting for his phantasm to say its word.
Acting unusually dispirited, it spoke slowly of what’s significant to it and actually stood for nothing but him, regardless of how negatively it acted.

This made it clear that this endless argument was going nowhere towards resolve, but only towards frustration and uncertainty to everyone who passes through it. He opened his eyes slowly, eyes that once glistered, now vacant. He got up trying to retain a straight posture, but it was a hard task on his sapped body.
The vacant eyes can now see deeper, and the withered body can now move steeper, but the bright soul was now broken. Now his final resolve was to create this visage that would hold everything  as he retains the balance that was disrupted. Now lost standing in the middle between the misconceiving world and his dissonant soul. Emiya Kiritsugu