day two: a disturbed tulips (writes)
a disturbed tulip production
she writes
for fozzie_loves_me, rated pg
Transition
He moves from one place to another, as quick as possible, as stealthily as possible. He doesn’t know what the other place is, but he thinks that he knows his destination pretty well.
He can feel the vibes radiating from the room, it was not as cold and inhumanly like the previous room. He closes his eyes; the room feels like it’s in a shade of bright red. He opens his eyes; the room is in that violent shade of purple again.
He closes his eyes, and let his instinct carry him to the next room.
It is quiet, this room. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, because he’s afraid that something will happen. Perhaps the darkness will engulf him and he will be swallowed in the sea of black and nothings.
He turns around.
He doesn’t want to make that transition, not now.
Hate
When you picked yourself up again, after you fell, the brain sent out mixed signals. One way you were supposed to not be down, the other you were supposed to feel down for falling. The human heart functioned in the same way.
You used your head; you believed in doing things the logical way. Those online personality tests which you’d done showed you as a logical person - the kind that were most likely to succeed in life as engineers, accountants and those exact professions.
But when it came to hate, you tried too hard not to use your heart. You tried to stay within the course, not to veer off to some weird place but you found yourself being turned into someone who couldn’t think.
You hated. Even though you were not supposed to; even though you knew that hate would not help matters.
Something’s gotta give, and this time is your rationality.
Thnks fr th mmrs.
Acceptance
Sean was already awake (Did he sleep?) when his alarm clock screeched at 6.00am. His eyes felt like they had sand under the lids, no matter how much he rubbed them. In fact, that made matters worse which pulled him to the sink to wash. He managed to brush his teeth without swallowing toothpaste but he managed to nick himself while shaving. (Hurts so badly, it really hurts.) Was this how Jeanine felt when she was assaulted? (Coming to terms with it, baby.) The wait was excruciating, now, and without Jeanine to hold his hands, he felt lonely.
Was Mom going to come back? He felt like a six-year-old now, waiting patiently for someone dearest to him. One was more than enough. Sometimes God heard your prayers and let the other come back to you.
He wanted to visit Jeanine. He had been meaning to bring Jeanine back to Illinois but there seemed to be an urgency now to get things done. His son was gratefully safe in the boarding school thousand of miles away, though the thought of him ached.
His family was torn apart, just like that.
Neverland
“Do you believe in Neverland?”
“You mean like Peter Pan and Wendy?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him. Escapism. The word sounded profound enough, but the meaning was basically something a preschool child would understand.
Trying to get away from all this.
(He pulled the brakes.)
“You looked terrible, you looked aged.”
“I’m… breaking free.”
Somehow, an allusion to a Disney movie had never felt more appropriate.
“How so?”
“I’m feeling myself again.”
“Younger?”
“Yeah. Never grow old. Never never never ever.”
“I’m worried.”
“Why?”
“You looked like you’re dying.”
“Perhaps it’s the best for us.”
Kill
Your legs felt like rubber as you staggered on the road. The rest of them had long fled, the smell of copper-tinged blood was strong and the howl of the police siren drained adrenaline.
Addicts generalised. You took the easy way out. Drugs, drugs and drugs. Everyone left you, because they found you different. People changed, you said. But if you took a closer look you would realise that only you had changed.
Run on.
It educated you, I’m sure. The pursuit of the police on your heels taught you something right?
Never regret.
The word “never” was too prevalent in your dictionary. That was why you stumbled now.
Ouch.
When the sun rose over the Thames, where were you?
Start
Let the angels commit.
It’s your mind over matter now.
Nothing matters. It’s bliss.
You might wonder how heaven looks like. Is it really white? Is it really fluffy with all the clouds? Is that really glorious food and comfortable beds up there?
You guess, you would know now.
Start.
Jump over the step.
“Welcome to heaven.”
This story is an original fiction, comprising of six drabbles. They surround Sean, this guy who had a wife (who died from an armed robbery) and later went into robbery himself. He died, thankfully, before killing someone. (I wrote the first drabble last year and added the other five drabbles yesterday. Hope you will like it.)
Oh, and as a treat here's an album which accompanies this short story: PHILLIP GLASS - SOLO PIANO. It's a piano instrumental album, and I think the melody really fits this story.
And as a clue to my identity, my username is adapted from a bounty hunter book. I forgot to give you a clue yesterday, so there's one more clue.
I hate the letter "A" and we're almost similar. (in what ways?)
she writes
for fozzie_loves_me, rated pg
Transition
He moves from one place to another, as quick as possible, as stealthily as possible. He doesn’t know what the other place is, but he thinks that he knows his destination pretty well.
He can feel the vibes radiating from the room, it was not as cold and inhumanly like the previous room. He closes his eyes; the room feels like it’s in a shade of bright red. He opens his eyes; the room is in that violent shade of purple again.
He closes his eyes, and let his instinct carry him to the next room.
It is quiet, this room. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, because he’s afraid that something will happen. Perhaps the darkness will engulf him and he will be swallowed in the sea of black and nothings.
He turns around.
He doesn’t want to make that transition, not now.
Hate
When you picked yourself up again, after you fell, the brain sent out mixed signals. One way you were supposed to not be down, the other you were supposed to feel down for falling. The human heart functioned in the same way.
You used your head; you believed in doing things the logical way. Those online personality tests which you’d done showed you as a logical person - the kind that were most likely to succeed in life as engineers, accountants and those exact professions.
But when it came to hate, you tried too hard not to use your heart. You tried to stay within the course, not to veer off to some weird place but you found yourself being turned into someone who couldn’t think.
You hated. Even though you were not supposed to; even though you knew that hate would not help matters.
Something’s gotta give, and this time is your rationality.
Thnks fr th mmrs.
Acceptance
Sean was already awake (Did he sleep?) when his alarm clock screeched at 6.00am. His eyes felt like they had sand under the lids, no matter how much he rubbed them. In fact, that made matters worse which pulled him to the sink to wash. He managed to brush his teeth without swallowing toothpaste but he managed to nick himself while shaving. (Hurts so badly, it really hurts.) Was this how Jeanine felt when she was assaulted? (Coming to terms with it, baby.) The wait was excruciating, now, and without Jeanine to hold his hands, he felt lonely.
Was Mom going to come back? He felt like a six-year-old now, waiting patiently for someone dearest to him. One was more than enough. Sometimes God heard your prayers and let the other come back to you.
He wanted to visit Jeanine. He had been meaning to bring Jeanine back to Illinois but there seemed to be an urgency now to get things done. His son was gratefully safe in the boarding school thousand of miles away, though the thought of him ached.
His family was torn apart, just like that.
Neverland
“Do you believe in Neverland?”
“You mean like Peter Pan and Wendy?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him. Escapism. The word sounded profound enough, but the meaning was basically something a preschool child would understand.
Trying to get away from all this.
(He pulled the brakes.)
“You looked terrible, you looked aged.”
“I’m… breaking free.”
Somehow, an allusion to a Disney movie had never felt more appropriate.
“How so?”
“I’m feeling myself again.”
“Younger?”
“Yeah. Never grow old. Never never never ever.”
“I’m worried.”
“Why?”
“You looked like you’re dying.”
“Perhaps it’s the best for us.”
Kill
Your legs felt like rubber as you staggered on the road. The rest of them had long fled, the smell of copper-tinged blood was strong and the howl of the police siren drained adrenaline.
Addicts generalised. You took the easy way out. Drugs, drugs and drugs. Everyone left you, because they found you different. People changed, you said. But if you took a closer look you would realise that only you had changed.
Run on.
It educated you, I’m sure. The pursuit of the police on your heels taught you something right?
Never regret.
The word “never” was too prevalent in your dictionary. That was why you stumbled now.
Ouch.
When the sun rose over the Thames, where were you?
Start
Let the angels commit.
It’s your mind over matter now.
Nothing matters. It’s bliss.
You might wonder how heaven looks like. Is it really white? Is it really fluffy with all the clouds? Is that really glorious food and comfortable beds up there?
You guess, you would know now.
Start.
Jump over the step.
“Welcome to heaven.”
This story is an original fiction, comprising of six drabbles. They surround Sean, this guy who had a wife (who died from an armed robbery) and later went into robbery himself. He died, thankfully, before killing someone. (I wrote the first drabble last year and added the other five drabbles yesterday. Hope you will like it.)
Oh, and as a treat here's an album which accompanies this short story: PHILLIP GLASS - SOLO PIANO. It's a piano instrumental album, and I think the melody really fits this story.
And as a clue to my identity, my username is adapted from a bounty hunter book. I forgot to give you a clue yesterday, so there's one more clue.
I hate the letter "A" and we're almost similar. (in what ways?)