Shards of precious shiny things look beautiful even in a rioted mess. The bits and pieces of shattered glass illuminated the bare ground with its reflected shine and beautiful it was. I looked into those shattered, glittering eyes and felt so attached and yet pained at seeing them. After all, shattered eyes only give piercing looks and could hurt one if touched. The sight of the beautiful mess belied the sharp edges that jut out of each glass piece. The yellow sunlight assured everyone with warmth and colour that dilutes the gaze from the shimmering ground.
Hollow eyes. Broken inside. He wasn't the hero-to-be. He was just another guy who watched too many girls falling for good guys kind of fairy tales. He didn't know that life wasn't half as wonderful, pretty, perfect as movies promote. In a movie, 10 years is but a minute away. in 10 years, nothing changes, maybe the moustache, maybe the applied wrinkles but truthfully, a movie is never an adaptation in its pinnacle.
The man was young and brimming. He was the best of them all, but, perhaps, being alone at the top might not be the prized outcome anyone wants. The lack of challenge is stark and the openness to criticism damning. Must we all strive so hard towards such a tasteless outcome? He weaved a sword that ran down his waist and extended a long way out, and despite its lean and long built, it was indestructible, just as the man was. They were the living legends of their time.
A deep ponder into the world was a certainty for anyone who was as intellectual as he was skilled in all things mundane. He made swordplay look extraordinary and made anything done, reading a book, telling a joke, into a thing that is desired. But then again, when we look deep into this world, what are we fighting for? The survival of sloths? The queue to nothingness? The love that is fleecing as it is fleeting? A wrong step or should I say, a misrun of secular thought, and the nothingness that suddenly alerts the nimble...
There was no sound, no wind, no movement and no feelings in the air. No one was at this place.. alive. A sea of red seemed to have flooded the town, leaving it bloodied and so foul that it would warn anyone that the town could bear no one. The smell was revolting and the emptiness and nothingness was arrestingly cold. Days passed, and still, no wind, no birds, and nothing moved.
I wasn't one of those people who had loving parents. I wasn't one of those who looked for jobs to find answers rather than question. I had a guardian who took me in as a virtual orphan. I had freedom, love, care and things that i need and don't need. I was lucky nonetheless. It has been years since I visited my hometown. I miss her. I miss the smiles. I dreamt of them and I am on my way to Yamei.
The old man who loved me as his own had a funky smell. Old people smell, is what me and Zack called it. He was the most gentle human being on Earth, and he cared more than anyone, including girls, could. He had his...
Your heart is cold. Your breath is warm, your body is made of blood that is red but i only felt the cold, cold ice that is your heart. Burnt with apathy, sickened with mockery and beaten in entirety, your scaly hand still haunts the skin of my sweaty right palm.
The nursery rhyme occasionally plays out in the marketplace. The familiar old radio ekes out what's left of its batteries through jarring sounds, pauses and the occasional nursery rhyme that goes " dum, ta, dum" and drones off.. The shops aligned together was a bustling lot and no one could tell about its checkered past. A boy with a blade that was so big it could eclipse the sun walked into its precinct. A worn out radio on the table of a shop selling ice drinks played out happy tunes that hold no hint of sorrow and the boy was just stoic. He listened to the tunes that go "dum, ta, dum" which drones off and he remembered happier times that were once a reality.. Were they?
It wasn't the same town that the boy could relate t...
The night was dark and stars were out. The crescent was so bright it illuminated the dark canvas around it. The numerous flickering embers danced around the moon and at the same time, there was a campfire outside a tent somewhere which bore a languishing flame that eked out warmth as if forced to as it was too little for comfort. Everyone shivered and huddled around the flame and their gazes set on the burning mess in front of them. None dared to set eyes on the trees as too many stories have been told about the trees around them being the pontagonists of horror and shapes of all evil seem to converge with every tree and every branch linked together. Between moments, cold wind blew into the campsite and into their faces as they faced a wind hell bent on grabbing every item off the site and hurling them into the oblivion of darkness amidst the horrifying entities amidst the trees.
In this world, pretense is a word brimming with irony. We associate it with fake and negativity but on the other hand, we behave as 'professionals' in front of others, pretend to be brave in the face of adversity and other positive outlooks that do not pull at the heart strings. Somehow, pretentious is bad whereas being professional is good and then we go and admire actors who pretend their entire lives away.
Why is this world so self-contradicting? We believe in theories, but theories are seldom right. We believe in love, but love is a non-existent yay nay. We believe in god but he is never physically there. And we condemn others who share the same mentality as us for reasons beyond my understanding. Reasons so absurd you just don't want to repeat it out because you sound foolish even by saying it out loud.
This girl wore a mental mask in a mental world. Everyone was faceless in this world. She wore a good heart but wasn't popular. The girls who were popular had colours to their fa...
You give yourself away like you are a machine till your innocence bleeds out. After which, you look in the mirror and all you see is a shrivelled prune, not the fairy tale you had imagined, not the love that resonates for ages to come. This is a consequence of a crowd follower, a person scared of loneliness, decisions, futility that is, sadly, inevitable. Loving oneself never seemed so tough till i met your kind.
Death cannot be dealt with an ace. Death is just death. Your soul leaves your cacoon and you become part of the Earth you exploit. I know its tough to realise the insignificance not only of us, but of the entire human race and that it is tough to reconcile with the fact that we are just living on borrowed time, but its a truth of life. Recognition is only fleeting, for attention never lingers indefinitely. The only truth you can give yourself is to be yourself. Consequences are a certainty that slaps us in the face for we are the sum of our actions..
Cloud never knew true love. He never knew about the kind of love that wasn't already experienced by the muggles in the sea of muggles. He could love someone, and maybe be loved back, but he never had the type of love where he would give up everything for, his pride, his will, his gut, his life. Well, he would risk his life for anyone honourable and, perhaps, that has, in a way, diluted his sense of importance that would, otherwise, be kept only for the ones who matter more than the others.
Love is not a type of control and order humans are comfortable and secure with. It is often as flickering as a dancing ember, meandering as a river valley and fickle as the emotions of an adolescent.
Cloud could love a person, such as Tifa, but this kind of love is a mutual intertwine of responsibility, loyalty and friendship. Romance could only pepper a bowl of emotions and the machine that dictates a person's choice. Thus, even as he loved, he felt like he had a broken heart. It was never enoug...
The things that mattered so much in the past doesn't seem to matter anymore. Things that i take pride in seem to be covered by piles and piles of lies, deceit, hate and the normalcy towards attitudes enabling this situation is appalling. No longer is the simple heart prized as in an old fairy tale, it is now an era of deception to distract us from what is important, which is living a good life, not a wealthy one, not a glamourous one, but a self-fulfilling one.
Why can't people of different personalities be treated the same way as people of different religion? Society and its ethics are now the sleazes of infamy. Deception is king in a world of greed. Or so governments, institutions that my country holds dear tells me. The technologies reaped are never going to be equally shared, and a reality of a jarring class divergence is really just a providence pending.
Love is scarce in this world. I still neglect some warm love because exploitation of anything beautiful or anyone wonderful i...
He had no wings. He wore no smile. His feet were feet and his shine was dull. He was not the picturesque illusion people put them out as. He was just a person of a pure heart, a kind heart and a loving soul. His smile had been eroded away by the apathy the world shares with him but his heart remained a resolute tank that would not falter. Or it seems that way..
The man with blue eyes wore a tattered crimson cloak not for a warm cuddle, but for, surprisingly, the a tinge of mystery. You could see that he was a jovial guy when he was himself, because of the things he did. He took the little moments of sweet normalcy and added spice to it with a slick touch. His hands wore jet black gloves which went great with a thick bandanna wrapped around his forehead bearing a shade of brown. A rugged thug, typical yet easy on the eyes.
"We give you a bang for your buck, mister, monsieur, mystico," smarted the bald patched man with a smile, and a tummy to go with a full face. The beads of fortune, the...