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Silver Lining or Stood Behind the Line?

Many people put themselves forward, getting themselves out there, which I’m sure is great for a while at minimum. However what about those people who are overlooked. The ones who stand back and let the others move forward. Letting them push their way through the mud, to become nailed into the soil. Whilst little old them keep ploughing through each day hoping encouragement will come their way. But when they don’t get it, they’re just that little bit more lost in the place they thought had the impossibility of being reality. The reality which of course is the hyperreality in which we all now live.

So we assume standing behind the line is for the best.

So many times you could run, jump, hide and scream those silent noises nobody hears no matter how loud the volume of your self-intoxicating scream may be. No matter how much blood rushes to your brain in a panic, because you feel like time is running out.       So you just stand, blur out and sit. Whilst the emotions transition into the statue you’ve always avoided being. Then it hits you. Point blank square in the face. How can you run away from being something, you already are?

Sat in the corner, wishing you could be the one to surprise and make people feel strength through courage. Walking tall, with notes flying high and harmonies smiling.

When someone believes in you, you believe. Forced out of the corner, with faith in yourself. Because they are there. They taught you to only rely on yourself. So when they can’t be there, you will be okay. Except when they aren’t around as much you forget a little bit. Sit back and wait for your break, rather than going to grab it yourself. Then you realise by doing so, you go against what that one person taught you. Be brave. Question everything. Be honest.

They were the only person to show you your true worth. Bringing it back when it was at risk of being lost. They don’t waste  their time on worthless people. Just because you may not see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. To make yourself proud is actually making the one person who you want to make the proudest, proud.

I won’t let you down.

Forever Unfinished

Sometimes, it’s not what happens, or what’s said about it, it’s how each person perceives the happenings. Have you ever told a story so many times, just because you can’t quite make sense of it. Everybody has already heard it, but still, they listen. The end always remains unfinished. Yet every time you tell the story, you feel a tiny bit closer to the end. Well this time, I’m determined to get there.

One day, will be the day I find all the answers I need. Until that day, I’m going to have to sit back and watch the game unfold. Sometime ago, someone very important in my life told me, ‘If you can’t win the game, don’t bother playing it’. However, maybe some games are worth watching. Just to observe who has the warmest of all smiles, when they have the most properties within monopoly, compared to who always had the ace from the start of chase the ace.

Back to the Start

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Running. Running so fast that your heart tightens and can’t keep count of it’s own beat. Slamming each foot on the ground. Unable to see the possibility of ever being able to stand still. Maybe one day I will stand still. Maybe one day I’ll get to see why the end result is so typical of one of those stupid stories. You know, those stories about some sad person, with a huge amount of baggage. They get everything they want. Everything they could ever need, because obviously, they don’t need much to be happy, as that’s just the way the story always goes. But no. Not for me. It’s all taken away. Looks like I’m just going to have to tell the same different story. Again, and again. Oh, and over again.

Penny For Your Thoughts?

d8216701687168b0f656b37e29fe2638Don’t you think it’s crazy how we all live our lives, telling stories about our past and then listen to others tell their’s. Even though you’re not really listening and nobody really cares if the person they are speaking too is even paying attention in the first place.

I say ‘telling stories’ because the things we say are never really true. We unconsciously change our memories, which then become stories. We write our own past after living our future. If our own eyes can deceive us, imagine what our brains change. If you want to tell a story, get someone else to tell it. You never know, it might be even more fun…

War of the Ghosts:

One night two young men from Egulac went down to the river to hunt seals and while they were there it became foggy and calm. Then they heard war-cries, and they thought: “Maybe this is a war-party”. They escaped to the shore, and hid behind a log. Now canoes came up, and they heard the noise of paddles, and saw one canoe coming up to them. There were five men in the canoe, and they said:

“What do you think? We wish to take you along. We are going up the river to make war on the people.”

One of the young men said, “I have no arrows.”

“Arrows are in the canoe,” they said.

“I will not go along. I might be killed. My relatives do not know where I have gone. But you,” he said, turning to the other, “may go with them.”

So one of the young men went, but the other returned home.

And the warriors went on up the river to a town on the other side of Kalama. The people came down to the water and they began to fight, and many were killed. But presently the young man heard one of the warriors say, “Quick, let us go home: that Indian has been hit.” Now he thought: “Oh, they are ghosts.” He did not feel sick, but they said he had been shot.

So the canoes went back to Egulac and the young man went ashore to his house and made a fire. And he told everybody and said: “Behold I accompanied the ghosts, and we went to fight. Many of our fellows were killed, and many of those who attacked us were killed. They said I was hit, and I did not feel sick.”

He told it all, and then he became quiet. When the sun rose he fell down. Something black came out of his mouth. His face became contorted. The people jumped up and cried.

He was dead.

Read the story again, what does it mean to you?

Read the story again, what does it now mean to you?

Changes every time right?

The Glass which Once Glittered

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Current Date: 16th April 2048

Swiping her hand, beep, Lily’s window bursts open. Fresh air caresses her face, as she glances at the beating heart of the sky shining down, through the glittering glass dome, onto her skin.

“Lily, breakfast is on the table!”, Dad shouts from the kitchen.

“Coming!”, Lily shouts.

But then she mutters to herself, “Every morning it’s the same, I don’t understand why he is still rushing, when nobody can leave until the same time anyway”.

“Lily!”, he shouts again.

Running down the stairs, she walks through the kitchen to the dining room. At the table are her Mom and Dad, all gleaming with optimism for a new day. Breakfast is always their favourite time, when they forget, and just smile. Prince, bounding into the kitchen, smudges muddy paw prints over the pristine white floor, drooling everywhere in response to the strong smoky smell of bacon rashers. Whimpering at Lily’s feet under the table, she picks up the rasher. Glancing at her parents to see if they are observing her, she slowly lowers it beneath the surface to be grabbed and gobbled. Wagging his tail, Prince skips off into the living room. Lily laughs.

But laughter is a permanent reminder of what she lost. As soon as the smile forms, it’s wiped away. Everyone moves on in their own ways and own times, however sometimes moving on is never an option, but a permanent scar of the loss. That’s the way it is in this version of living anyway.  Another day of everyone doing the same job, making the cameras used for your own self-destruction, implanting the thought readers and scanning eyes to extract the memories.

Another day over. Lily swipes her hand, beep, unlocking her home, the camera moves towards her movement. She steps inside. The door sounds once more, three high pitched beeps, this time, then slams shut, stabbing through the silence of the outside world. Today should be the day when Amber’s 30th birthday celebrations happen. The whole family should be smiling. Lily has gone about her day like every other, however now as she sits at the white grand piano in the dining room, the clock hits 19:43. The fluency of her playing stops dead. Tears roll down her pale cheeks. She stares outside, seeing Amber hide, using her as protection.

They were twelve. Suddenly whilst screaming with excitement they both pelted away from their Dad. Amber shoves Lily into their Dad’s target. Amber, stumbling, comes crashing to the ground, where both Lily and their Dad fall flat over her. Hysterically laughing, they look up to the glittering glass dome, pointing to the clouds. As they fade away Lily mourns. Stiff with grief, then she slowly but surely walks up the stairs to sit in Amber’s room, which remains untouched. Lily does this every year at the same time. She sits in the corner on the floor as her eyes move around the room. She hears rustling. So she attempts to stand up despite the grief. Spotting the window is open, she goes over to close it, puzzled with amazement. Whispering to herself, “But that’s impossible. Nobody can open the window without Amber”.

Walking across the room, paper crunches. She looks down, to find a dust ridden letter with her name on, written in Amber’s writing, sitting beneath her right foot. Picking up the envelope, she goes cold with shock. Lily tears open the fragile paper. As she opens it out, she pauses, feeling the sensation of being watched, she takes a glimpse outside, where two men at least six foot five stood, facing the house in black, expensive suits with glasses hiding their identity. She turns away in panic slipping out of sight and crawls to the other side. As if being pulled back, she attempts to look back. She crawls back to the window to peak out from the bottom. The two men were gone – disappeared from sight. With a huge sigh of relief, Lily looks at the letter, smiles and begins to read.

16th April 2035

 Lily,

If you’re reading this, I know you’re hurting. I am too. Remember how we always said, just because something isn’t said, doesn’t mean it isn’t thought? Dad used to repeat that odd phrase. Well that odd phrase applies now. Just because you can’t see or hear me, doesn’t mean I’m not here. You won’t have a lot of time to read this, so I must ignore everything I want to say, and push on with the important things.

We all live a lie. I mean, everyone tells lies at some point, whether to protect someone else or to protect themselves. But nothing is what we have been led to believe. Our death dates are based on when we lie, ‘They’ decide when we die. I walk around with the knowledge no one knows. (Although if you’re reading this, I guess I am no longer walking around). I walked past all of these innocent people, who go about their daily routines in our city, grabbing a coffee before work, looking down at their phones, before they begin another day. Nobody knows the truth. If people looked up and looked around, I wonder if they would rationalise the goings on. Notice the people who always stare. I did. I can’t explain the details, you have to work it out yourself. Otherwise I put you in more danger than you already are. You’re running out of time. Permanent is not the word used in this life-style. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Always a timer – never a rest. Remember this.

Growing up, we were told that home isn’t just a roof over your head and a place to sleep, it’s where you feel safe and loved. Safety is not even a term which can be used anymore. No one is safe. ‘They’ will strike. Always look behind your shoulder. If ‘They’ve’ seen you, ‘They’ are coming. Run. Go to the place where Nan & Granddad used to take us on holiday. You will be safe there. Begin there. I can’t name it, in-case ‘They’ are watching. There is a photograph under my pillow – you’ll recognise the place from that.

Look after yourself. I love you my little Lily- remember when I used to call you that?

I still do…

Again, you won’t realise why this important right now but before I go remember; Behind every law is a ruler, behind every ruler is an idea or belief, resulting in successful catastrophe or beautiful harmony.

Tread Silently. x

A Shattered Continuation

*Glass shattering* Tammy awakens with shock, with the intake of the sharp air piercing her lungs, like a pin to a balloon. With every exhale deflating her body, draining her white. She calms. Slowly and silently she climbs out of comfort to search what should be already known, however something feels different, something feels as if everything had changed. Is it possible to be looking at something that still remains the same, yet you know that it is far from the truth?

There she goes – shivering. Eyes as wide as they could be. Afraid to miss even the tiniest of details to give away a hint of the goings on. Tammy is stood, frozen before the bathroom door. It’s been 10 minutes since the shattering. She pushes the door with one finger, almost facing the opposite way. A few steps in and she views the newly smashed mirror broken – yet still held in place.

“How? This is not possible. Is it? It can’t be? I mean… what?” As Tammy speaks out for her comfort she attempts to touch the mirror. Hands grab hers, smothering shards of glass into her flesh. She screams out, no screams are heard. The silent screams are as empty as the blood in her hands. Tammy desperately launches for the door, as she runs the lights on the walls go out one by one as she passes. Down the stone stairs, through the dining room, out of the front door. She slams the door, holding onto the handle, despite forcing the glass further into her body, she kneels. Panting for breath, eyes clammed shut.

She lets go, steps down from the wooden steps which lead to this historic home. She turns around, open her eyes into this new bewildering black void of darkness – being her new way of life. She looks back at the house, which she can see as clear as day, hence why the frustration is pressing down on her thoughts, almost as if turning them to dust. She looks to the bathroom window. Staring. Into her eyes, a black figure, with a morphed face – smiling – as if happy in misery. Fading away, leaving the eyes. Tammy begins to walk away into the darkness – feeling that burning desire of eyes on her. Faster and faster she walks. Running as being chased, when in fact nothing was behind her. She was already traveling towards it, without the light, how could she know. She sees her family home in the distance, surrounded in the blackness. Sprinting up the path, towards the door, bursting in. Everything is the same, the television in the corner, the stone fire in the middle of the wall, the red sofas opposite the fire, with the arm chair facing the window.

Relief.

Her Mom (she automatically assumed) must have been playing the piano in the dining room, as she could hear a beautiful melody coming from that direction. She walks through, with her eyes smiling. No piano. No sign of life. Stood in the doorway between the dining room and the lounge, she turns. She turns into the corridor before the bathroom door from the house where she had run from. She observes her clean, unbroken skin on her palms. Stood in the very place, she had finally managed to escape from.

“No. I just. How?”

*Glass shattering*

 

Forever Searching

Thousands of soldiers, squirming around. Rushed off their feet as though their lives depended on it. Striding with pride, despite much pain, independent identities were never forgotten. The characteristic required to be soldier were always put first.

A smudged black glass sky, a dingy grey sea and colourless sand. Black, grey and drained of colour. A place where the sun should be seeping into your bones, lighting the sky with hope and the fillings the clouds with smiles, your left with just the cold, hard, solid floor.

Oxygen taken away, taken over by smoke. People out to destroy anything in sight – from unwanted belongings to the living, breathing luxuries involved in life. Injured men. Bodies lying, perishing – bewildered in the pure black void of smoke. This place was no man’s land, although very much alive, as if the Earth itself was crying from its core and kicking out in pain.

Soldiers stood in the vintage white bandstand and respectfully sang on behalf of all those lost. For the friends, comrades or the ones who had no hope to help. To the one’s who could be no longer helped. The ferris wheel – known for its joy – still active. A merry-go-round – known for it’s fun – slowly spinning. This place was supposed to be filled full of life – whereas as now this place is just a somewhere where lifeless bodies are left to be washed away. No respect. No help. Forever waiting for their frozen pain-stricken faces to be put to rest, eyes wide open – yet just owned by an empty shell. Waiting for someone to come along and say “Sweet Dreams”.

Clarity is far from simplicity.

 

I pushed open the door and walked into the coffee shop. Yet again, another hour of screaming silence, whilst I sit by – watching everyone else creating memories, as I carry on with my definition of normality. I buy my coffee, and find a seat. I almost feel guilty for taking up a table of four, when I am only one. People don’t notice me – yet I feel as though all eyes on me – with piercing glances hitting me from every direction. You would think they would bounce right off and not seap into skin. But they do. I wonder when I’ll be accepted by someone the way I watch everyone else live the way I dream of. At the end again. Empty cup. Empty heart.