So, this is the 102nd post ever on this blog.
The 100th post was the Atlantica.
Woo! Yeah! This would be so cool and memorable if anyone ever read this!
I love you, Rabbia! Besides, you're the only one who read these things anyway...
I love you so much...
Dare I say that I didn't think this blog would hold until now....
And dare I say, from the first post there is, I can even see where I started from. And here I am. Doesn't feel like that much change but nevertheless
100 posts reached! Yay!
Sep 3, 2014
Tattered dreams, Old clarity
"Do this anymore and you're asking for hell," the man in black said with a threatening voice, his face hidden by the car window, slightly lowered down only to uncover his spectacled eyes. The eyes behind those glasses were old and worn but they are still full of vitality and a keen sense of instincts has flared more than anyone in them. They left scars that cannot be seen by the eyes alone.
"That's exactly what I'm doing, old man. I'm looking for Hell. He hasn't been answering these days, so I come knocking up on his door, just telling him I'm still alive," a voice beneath the blanket of rain came from the alley opposite the car. Through the hammering of the rain, the voice still hold its volume and a sinister grin appears with the sentences, a mirth that hasn't been unleashed but held on so tightly, the air vibrates. "Why don't you go up to that big old place and wait for me. I'll be your undertaker soon enough. Old. Man."
The eyes in the car stared long and hard in the blank space where the voice originated from. He looked on as if waiting for the inevatable to occur but the happenings are far from his days. The eyes took on a menacing glare, a lion ready to pounce on his prey without any mercy. But this prey, it had something special. His preys are always helpless and by the time they realize he has his teeth around their throats, they begged for life and refused to die. But a prey is a prey, one way or the other. The teeth do not unclench when blood clench his thirst.
The rain fell down on the tin roofs, the sounds enveloped anything but anyone who walked by can feel the tingly sensation in the air. Two mighty beings are on their edge, their swords ready to be sheathed in seconds and the fight enveloped soon will tell who will be the conquer of the other. Neither side wants to be defeated and both seem ready to die to fight for his cause. The subjugation of the other.
"Last warning. You do that one more time and I'll-"
"Kill me? You know it doesn't work that way, old man."
"Do you mind if an old man wants to finish his sentences once in a while?"
"Of course. I'd give you an apology but I'm all out of it, since you're the one who took them all anyways."
"Stay down. And maybe this whole place will give you another chance to live."
The window rolled up and two lights punctured through the veil of rain. An engine roared and the car disappeared down the road. There was no numbered plate, and the model was absolutely non-existent. That car was wrought from the it's rightful owners and it stayed there like an old pair of socks. Anybody who saw it would shy away, making way for it, knowing who the owner is and the power he holds. But that power will be taken over, one way or the other. This day or the next.
The sinister smile in the alley turned into a grimace of tightly coiled whip, readied to the fullest extent to be released. It leaves a good enough bad vibe to the whole place that anyone would avoid it. In the dark, a tattered and worned rag of clothes started to move. It tried to stand but it's thin legs tripped and the face end feel down in a heap. An arm appeared, pushing the body up. It trembles, trying to push against it's own weight. It managed to get to its knees when the body suddenly hunched up and heaved. The remains of food in it's belly was gone in an instant. It pushed more with it's frail legs, trying it's hardest to stand it's tallest, to stand ready.
"I'll be damned if something like you or this place takes me over. I'd go to hell and come back with souvenirs to give out to you guys first," it said with a shaking voice. It wiped his mouth with an already dirty rag, as the rain poured down it's face. A black eye peered through the filthy long hair. The area around it was swollen. The colour of the eye was deep brown, and bags of unslept nights weighed it down. There was fire in it, a fire that has burned as long as it has breathed on this earth. It wasn't large but it was fierce enough to burn whoever gets too close to douse it out. Even the world would feel it's wrath one day.
It smiled, remembering one fine night when the same old man came up to it, in a corner. After certain events, it would be the most ironic in this scene. The same old man who had threatened him far worse than death, had used to comfort him. A filthy piece of rag and a bundle of loose muscles was what the old man tried to give life to. He succeeded but what came forth from the womb was not what the old man intended to be. He came to it's ears and said those words that left a permanent scar on it's tired and still beating heart.
"One day, Hell does not come up to you. It will be too scared of you to get close. When that happens, you're the one who will chase it down. One day, you will look for Hell."
It's shoulders shook while pieces of laughter got up to his throat, trying to escape. The sheer craziness seeped out of those eyes and the whole scene stared at it, either with pity or outright repulse. It clutched its face, trying to stop the insanity and hold down his minds to it's roots. The shoulders heaved once but this time, nothing came out. There was nothing to get out anymore. Only emptiness and a burning feeling, making crisps of the mind that it's feeding on, remain. The rags and clothes tried to stand upright, but even in that endeavor it failed. Suddenly, that burning feeling gave off a familiar smell. A keen and lofty smell that filled it's nose. It knew how to be angry.
"You haven't seen the last of me," it whispered to the world. "Hell belongs to me."
With that, the rain poured even harder than before. The tattered piece of rags and clothes disappeared behind the curtain. Walking with a defeated aura, but looking forward for another fight. It would not give up, even when the world batter him down. It would stand, and look forward.
"That's exactly what I'm doing, old man. I'm looking for Hell. He hasn't been answering these days, so I come knocking up on his door, just telling him I'm still alive," a voice beneath the blanket of rain came from the alley opposite the car. Through the hammering of the rain, the voice still hold its volume and a sinister grin appears with the sentences, a mirth that hasn't been unleashed but held on so tightly, the air vibrates. "Why don't you go up to that big old place and wait for me. I'll be your undertaker soon enough. Old. Man."
The eyes in the car stared long and hard in the blank space where the voice originated from. He looked on as if waiting for the inevatable to occur but the happenings are far from his days. The eyes took on a menacing glare, a lion ready to pounce on his prey without any mercy. But this prey, it had something special. His preys are always helpless and by the time they realize he has his teeth around their throats, they begged for life and refused to die. But a prey is a prey, one way or the other. The teeth do not unclench when blood clench his thirst.
The rain fell down on the tin roofs, the sounds enveloped anything but anyone who walked by can feel the tingly sensation in the air. Two mighty beings are on their edge, their swords ready to be sheathed in seconds and the fight enveloped soon will tell who will be the conquer of the other. Neither side wants to be defeated and both seem ready to die to fight for his cause. The subjugation of the other.
"Last warning. You do that one more time and I'll-"
"Kill me? You know it doesn't work that way, old man."
"Do you mind if an old man wants to finish his sentences once in a while?"
"Of course. I'd give you an apology but I'm all out of it, since you're the one who took them all anyways."
"Stay down. And maybe this whole place will give you another chance to live."
The window rolled up and two lights punctured through the veil of rain. An engine roared and the car disappeared down the road. There was no numbered plate, and the model was absolutely non-existent. That car was wrought from the it's rightful owners and it stayed there like an old pair of socks. Anybody who saw it would shy away, making way for it, knowing who the owner is and the power he holds. But that power will be taken over, one way or the other. This day or the next.
The sinister smile in the alley turned into a grimace of tightly coiled whip, readied to the fullest extent to be released. It leaves a good enough bad vibe to the whole place that anyone would avoid it. In the dark, a tattered and worned rag of clothes started to move. It tried to stand but it's thin legs tripped and the face end feel down in a heap. An arm appeared, pushing the body up. It trembles, trying to push against it's own weight. It managed to get to its knees when the body suddenly hunched up and heaved. The remains of food in it's belly was gone in an instant. It pushed more with it's frail legs, trying it's hardest to stand it's tallest, to stand ready.
"I'll be damned if something like you or this place takes me over. I'd go to hell and come back with souvenirs to give out to you guys first," it said with a shaking voice. It wiped his mouth with an already dirty rag, as the rain poured down it's face. A black eye peered through the filthy long hair. The area around it was swollen. The colour of the eye was deep brown, and bags of unslept nights weighed it down. There was fire in it, a fire that has burned as long as it has breathed on this earth. It wasn't large but it was fierce enough to burn whoever gets too close to douse it out. Even the world would feel it's wrath one day.
It smiled, remembering one fine night when the same old man came up to it, in a corner. After certain events, it would be the most ironic in this scene. The same old man who had threatened him far worse than death, had used to comfort him. A filthy piece of rag and a bundle of loose muscles was what the old man tried to give life to. He succeeded but what came forth from the womb was not what the old man intended to be. He came to it's ears and said those words that left a permanent scar on it's tired and still beating heart.
"One day, Hell does not come up to you. It will be too scared of you to get close. When that happens, you're the one who will chase it down. One day, you will look for Hell."
It's shoulders shook while pieces of laughter got up to his throat, trying to escape. The sheer craziness seeped out of those eyes and the whole scene stared at it, either with pity or outright repulse. It clutched its face, trying to stop the insanity and hold down his minds to it's roots. The shoulders heaved once but this time, nothing came out. There was nothing to get out anymore. Only emptiness and a burning feeling, making crisps of the mind that it's feeding on, remain. The rags and clothes tried to stand upright, but even in that endeavor it failed. Suddenly, that burning feeling gave off a familiar smell. A keen and lofty smell that filled it's nose. It knew how to be angry.
"You haven't seen the last of me," it whispered to the world. "Hell belongs to me."
With that, the rain poured even harder than before. The tattered piece of rags and clothes disappeared behind the curtain. Walking with a defeated aura, but looking forward for another fight. It would not give up, even when the world batter him down. It would stand, and look forward.
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