Maze
Did he just see light at the end of the tunnel? Or was he hallucinating? It was probably more of the latter.
He had already gone for days without sustenance, and his mortal body was slowly wasting away. No matter how powerful he was spiritually, under the bounds of the mortal body, he was just like everyone else, susceptible to pain and death. He was already hearing voices in his head, whispering things that he dare not repeat to save his own soul. Already driven to the very edge of desperation, he had begun to despair.
But he had saw light! Perhaps it could be the end of the maze...at long last! Maybe he was hallucinating, but he couldn't care less anymore. Grasping that thin whisper of hope, however slim it was, he began to make his way in the direction of the light again, not knowing where it would lead him to.......
Memories
It brings back wonderful memories every time I see a set of No. 1. And today was no different. Along with my other fellow PCs and friends, I was invited to the wedding dinner of my Boss to be his sword-bearers.
In the midst of preparations, I thought back to those army days. I wouldn't say all of us had fun, but certainly we did learn some lessons that couldn't be taught in the classroom, and in explicably, lasting friendships are also forged. We hadn't gathered ever since we had ORDed, or perhaps that may be me only, what with us being busy with work and school. As I was fixing the faux gold buttons upon the pristine white uniform, I was reminded of the last time that I wore the No. 1. And that was for our graduation parade, where everyone of us was so excited that no words could ever describe it. There was a sense of bubbling excitment in the air, and everyone could feel it. Finally, our nine to ten months of efforts were going to pay off. We were going to see the fruits of our labour.
Fast forward to two years on. It seemed so distant in the past and if I haven't had drawn that No.1 from SAFTI MI, perhaps these memories wouldn't come back at all. They would just stay locked at the back of my consciousness. It seemed so different from the lives that we are leading now.
And for that brief period of time when we gathered, we had fun again. Through the few rehearsals we had for our sword drill, it felt like being back in army again. Almost. Because half the time, we were talking and laughing, throwing discipline and caution to the wind. At least three-quarters of us were civilians already. Does it matter now? In the future it might, but not at that time and place.
It was heartwarming to see the smiles and hear the laughter of everyone. To see everyone poking fun and insulting one another with such grace. It certainly was a practiced art form. And most importantly of all, it certaintly lightened up my heart to see Boss in such a state of bliss with his new bride, Ivy. Good luck to the both of you, my friends. May the Gods smile on you always.
Your servant
Aristocrat
Thirst
"Not again," he thought.
He was bleeding again, having accidentally cut his finger. This was not the first, and it would not be the last either. He looked on with morbid fascination as it continued to bleed profusely. Though it was not a big cut, it ran quite deep, and he could feel the flap of skin if he moved his thumb around. He was dripping blood all over the counter and he should try to stop the bleeding immediately. But no, he continued to let it bleed, feeling the sensation of pain in his thumb. He was oblivious to the rest of the world as he stared at the blood. It was deep red in colour.
Thoughts of how it would taste ran through his mind. Slowly he lifted it up to his mouth and gave his bloodied thumb a lick.
Ooh, the taste of his own blood sent shivers down his spine. It was electrifying. It tasted like rust, yet there was another indescribable taste to it. He just couldn't find the words for it. The blood that he had licked travelled down his oseophagus, into his stomach, awakening something that had been lying dormant. Something stirred inside him.
Suddenly, it dawned upon him that he was still at work, and many pairs of eyes were now fixated upon him. With a flush of embarrassment, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he quickly began to get back to work. Soon, that incident was driven away from his consciousness, like the others.......
Mortality. It is always very frightening to you humans, isn't it? The fear of the unknown, the fear of losing everything that you have and perhaps the fear of being judged by another entity. When a mortal passes from this world into the next, he may think that he has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Perhaps not all mortals, from what my experience tells me. For there are some out there who yearns to pass from this world to be with their God.
Whatever it is, I have learnt that people fear Death one way or another. As for me, curiously I don't. I don't fear Death that is. I am not afraid to lose anything. When it comes, it will come, to claim those close to my bosom. Am I afraid of losing them? I have no idea at all. None whatsover. I don't yearn to be put to the test as well.
But for myself, I have accepted Death. No longer do I do things to avoid it. At times, one might even be seen as embracing it. Some call it recklessness or stupidity. Call it whatever you desire then. I am not bothered at all by your thoughts. Not anymore. Perhaps Death's embrace would even be seen as a welcome relief compared to the pain of life. But I'll never yield to that path willingly. It is a coward's path, and a coward I am not.
What am I rambling about? Maybe it's all gibberish. In any case, I am worn out and to sleep I shall turn to.
Your servant
Aristocrat
An Unfinished Fairytale
My heart is still weary, heavy from the recent events that have happened. Calamities have befall me, and I am in no shape to take them up. Each day, sleep continues to elude me and the food has lost its taste. No matter how delicious, how ravenous I may be, I still couldn't be bothered to bring a piece of grub to my orifice. I know I must, but yet, spiritus quidem promptus est, caro vero infirma. The spirit is willing, but the flesh, ever, is weak.
Bit by bit, I allow each shred of humanity to fly to the wind, to disperse it along the sandy dunes of the desert. I am hollowed out and wearied, hollowed out, for trusting too much and being too naive. As I have mentioned before, words are but physical constructs, and no one, not even an immortal, could have predict what was going to happen in the future. Perhaps I would be like the Hollows in Bleach, waiting for a Death God to come and claim me, to cleanse me of my sins and bring me with them.
I had a story unfinished. A fairytale if you will. I started writing on it not too long ago. Or was it very long ago? I couldn't really remember. Time doesn't seem like what it is anymore. I put in many hours, thinking about the characters, the necessary twist in the story and of course, the happy ending. Which fairytale doesn't end happily ever after?
But I realised there are some that didn't. In the end, that many hours of labour was all put to naught. It was to have been a gift, not so many months from now, perhaps somewhere around nine months from today? A fairytale, a gift that would take me a year to prepare and write.
I dreamt of her yet again.
She asking me, "Wanna play minesweeper?"
Such a lovely smile, such a lovely face. Oh, it just fills me with pain, the distance between me and here.
But Fate, fickle mistress as she is, had me played left right and centre. I didn't realise I was taking her bait at all until the hook was wrenched forcefully from the lips, leaving it all bloodied, and I was thrown into the pail. I understand now, Mistress. All this happens for a reason. One day perhaps, I'll live again. But for now, I'll be contented to just lick my wounds, and press on, a foolish moth being attracted to the fire, knowing that it had burnt it before, yet, stubbornly it persists.
A moth. Beautiful in its ugliness, however short a life it leads.
Your servant
Aristocrat
Siren
Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta'en -
By whom, know I not; 'lack! am I of twain -
And as a crux - cede I my words -
Fro my heart wilt thou ne'er
Have I been 'sooth sinsyne.
Be left without - come!
Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
Ryking for thee;
"List and heed", thou say'st
Wistful, whistful -
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis -
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!
Mayhap lured by the scent of lote -
'Od! - the foetid - eft hie back I mote;
For what I did my soul atrounced,
How I wish for thee again,
O! do believe me, 'twasn't a frounce.
Will I give thee it: Troth.
Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
Ryking for thee;
"List and heed", thou say'st
Wistful, whistful -
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis -
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!
-Words By Raymond
Music By Theatre of Tragedy
My Familiar
Many a sleepless nights have passed since the luna had began to wax. I have already lost count of the number of times that I lie awake at night, staring blankly at the ceiling above. with the slow whirring of the fan in the background. I know that I should be sleeping soundly, for I am deadbeat. Both physically and mentally.
At times, physical exhaustion threatens to overtake me, but I managed to keep it at bay so far. Perhaps now, it has become a game of who would emerge victorious. I have nothing to lose. Some days, at the crack of dawn, I am still awake, lying there, fully conscious. I know that this is common, for some mortals are nocturnal too. But the problem is I wake early too. Few are the days that I have slept past noon already. Sleep. It is becoming a foreign word to me.
Perhaps it has to do with life. I never know that food, however wonderful and delicious it may be, could possess the ability to lose its colour and taste. Whatever I consume now doesn't really matter.
It seems like there is a black hole somewhere, sucking in everything, as if this landscape has lost its colour. What happened? Since when has it become monochrome again? Perhaps this may all be for the best. In darkness, one finds comfort again. This familiar embrace of hers, so cold and unfeeling to the touch.
"Welcome back my child..."
Drunken Stupor
How are you today my reader? Fine I hope? I'm currenty satiated with bourbon and coke, so pardon me if I sound a bit off to you. My mind is not in the right place at the moment. Where is it at? Oh, that I really have no idea, wandering off somewhere in the lost planes I think. It likes to travel to such places, where there are no worries. Nobody at all. What one can see is just the neverending horizons of grassy land, where every blow of the wind sends the long grass tumbling again. How it can tumble, I do not know ha... Try asking the grass maybe. Sometimes they talk to me you know? It's really more of whisperings, like the wind delving through the treetops over yonder, but you have to prick your ears to be able to listen to them.
I can see the incredulous look on your face. Ha, I could have told you more, but then you wouldn't have believed me anyway? Who does nowadays? Trust is now a rare commodity in the market, with exorbitant prices to boot...
Trust, mighty hard to find nowdays...
Harbour
She was a very vivacious girl, petite and cute in all sort of ways. She had ravenshot hair that was the the talk of the town. With all these qualities, she had no lack of suitors. Every guy in town was queuing up at her door, waiting for their chances to ask her out. But she wasn't that sort of girl. Although her looks might tell people otherwise, in fact, deep down inside, she was actually very sweet and demure. As a cliche goes, looks might be deceiving.
And though she had no lack of suitors, she was already very happy with her current boyfriend. She had no more regrets, what mattered was that they were happy together. Who cares about what the world thinks? If she had to please everyone, well, that would be a difficult job. There were just so many people wanting to be pleased. She thougt, what mattered most was that she was happy to be doing what she was doing, or rather being with him. Nothing else mattered. It was the happiest time of their lives.
Until recently. Not a few weeks ago, did she started to doubt herself. To doubt whether was this the right choice that she made. Her feelings for him were no longer the same, no matter what she said.
"Do you still have feelings for me, dear?" he asked.
"Yes I do silly. Don't be so sensitive." she retorted back.
"You sure?"
"Yes la..." came the noncommital reply.
Now she wasn't so sure. Her attitude was changing, and as sure as hell, he had noticed it. But she lacked courage to confront the problem. And so she wallowed in denial...
********
It had been a happy one month for him. He had the most enjoyable time of his life, even if they didn't spend enough quality time together. What mattered to him was that she, his darling angel and muse, was by his side. Hovering beside him, watching over him.
Tough as guys were, they still needed their loved ones to mother and care over them. To shower them with love that they need, to stand behind them. To come out of their shells when they need to. Such was the embrace of a loved one. She was his safety harbour, to hide with when troubles seemed too daunting for him, and he wouldn't even admit it, he thought with chargrin.
But the port authority had made some changes to the rules and regulations that he didn't know about. No longer did he feel comfortable about harbouring there. It was as if he landed at some foreign land, not at his port of call. Did he arrived at the wrong port? It seemed right to him.
Where was the welcome party? Where was everyone? The port was desolated, reminding him of a morgue. Shivers travelled down his spine. This wasn't right. Something had changed during the course of two weeks when he was away. And he didn't know what. It wasn't even his problem.
Now, she was so cold to him, devoid of emotions. It was like coming back to a stranger. He didn't know her anymore. And he had no idea what happened either. It was his worst fear come true. Perhaps it was karma.
Shedding all pretense of manhood, he broke down on the dock and cried, helpless like a newborn baby, for the world he had once had abandoned him, and left him in the shadows with nary an explanation...
Of morphemes and syntax
Words.
They mean nothing. Lies and scorn they are. Physical contructs that neither holds any weight nor bounds any mortals to what they say. One has learnt from hard experience that many say one thing, yet mean another. Lies, whether what they humans called white or whatsoever, are still lies. And now, one wouldn't attach much weight and importance to words at all, after all they are hollow, pretty to look at on the outside while inside, it may be rotten to the core, crawling with maggots. Much like what mortals look on the outside, isn't it? What a coincidence...
And to think that we tend to build beautiful images out of such morphological constructs, of love and beauty, of life after death, of defeating death itself. It seems to feel that we are building castles in the air isn't it? One big hypocrisy we are living, we wordsmiths of this world...
Then, what is the use of such castles in the air at all? If only that in the end, they would get smashed to smithereens and be dissolved into thin air, wouldn't all our efforts go to waste? Speaking of such destruction simply pains me so. Even now, could you, dear reader, hold what I say to be true? Would I simply be bounded by what I said?
The answer is a simple no...never. But I choose to be bounded by what I say, for that is who I am and what I am. Without that, I would simply be without substance, an empty husk...
Your servant
Aristocrat
It
It has lived in the dark recesses for who knows how many godforsaken years, silently doing its job in the background, never basking in the importance of its job. For many years, it didn't have any wants. Its' only motivation was to do its job well, to ensure its survival in the dark battlefield. Pray that it never stop, for to stop was to invite the scythes of Death to come aglinting. For many years, it just did whatever it was told to do, showing complete subservience.
But, recently, of what cause it didn't know, it began to have desires. To have wants. Maybe one could say that it was gaining self-awareness. Slowly, it became aware of its surroundings and the multitude of sentient beings around it. And there was one presence that stood out from it all. A colourful thread amidst the sepia landscape. Bit by bit, it began to grow attached to that presence.
It knows it was wrong, for to do its job well, it should be free of all earthly entanglements. But the pull was too great. It began to pine, to yearn for the presence. The presence had shown itself before, and it found the presence greatly comforting and soothing. But now, the presence was gone! It had no idea where the presence went, only that it may be it who drove the presence away.
And now, woe to it! For it had became too dependent on the presence that it could not function as a whole without it. With every beat, it screams out loud for the presence to return, to return so that they could be together again, to be as a whole. And never to part.
Death Revisited
Different stages in life. Birth, maturity and death. Of these three, the last interests me the most. I find it most fascinating, as I have mentioned it earlier. For the first two, they hold no mystery, no veil covered over it, for countless mortals have been through it.
But it's different for Death! Tell me, who has been through that stage and yet lived to tell about it? Yes yes, pun intended or not, I really do not care, but you do get what I mean, do you reader? This subject is simply fascinating and amazing. Imagine what lies beyond it, is it hell or heaven? Or is it just nothing at all? Where do mortals go in their afterlives? Is there really such a thing as afterlife? Or do the mortals' essence simply evaporate into thin air, never again to be seen.
Perhaps it is just the agnostic in me speaking. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, when I'm at a traffic junction, I would wonder what is the feeling like to stand in front of an oncoming bus flying at full speed. Would I fly as well? How would I feel? As if I'm floating like what my beloved said? Or would I be crippled for the rest of my life?
Such macabre thoughts I have. How disturbing.
Your servant
Aristocrat
Blessed Be
Two pivotal emotions in a mortal's life. Happiness and sadness. When could they ever live without them? Was there ever a moment where one was not sad and not happy at all? Perhaps you have experienced it reader, but they are few and far in between. But these two pivotal emotions tend to have different emphasis to mortals, or so I have seen thus far in my short lifespan.
Mortals, a species that tend to take things for granted until they lose it. And happiness no doubt about it, gets the same treatment as well. I have seldom seen a person that goes about counting his or her blessings for each day. Rather, what one sees or hears are complains about this and that.They tend to take note more of moments of dissatisfaction or unhappiness or sadness rather than moments of happiness.
However, it may be that such moments of happiness, of delirious pleasure, are but private moments. Not to be shared with the general domain, but to be kept, like private shows, and enclosed in your celebral organ. Happy moments that you have shared with your lover, with your family. With my beloved especially.
Whatever it may be, I think I would start counting my blessings soon.
Your servant
Aristocrat
