arnia
Wild beauty.
If I tame the mess
Then I will also destroy
The flowers
Books, folders, journals, page upon page of diagrams, drawings, words words words… As she scanned through them, gazing with an empty feeling in her chest, her eyes began to blur. The lines faded, the words scrambled, revealing themselves to her as what they truly were: meaningless.
New gameplan: no gameplan.
His hands shook, his body trembling with an instant cold disgust as he awoke and saw the consequences of sleep upon his unrestrained body. His fingertips relinquished their grip upon the blade and it dropped to the floor beside the lifeless body slumped against the wall.
When he was achild he remembered a wrinkled woman telling him the lines on his skin could tell the story of his life. Now they were coatedi in the hot, dark lifeblood of someone else.
Still shaking he turned to examine his surroundings.. and looked into the blinking red eye of a camera.
Why do we waste our efforts, our energy and our passion on money, merchandise, material items?
The air that we breathe
The relationships we weave
The earth under our feet
The beautiful people we meet
The sky up above
The comforting feeling of love
There are so many priceless goods far more worthy our admiration, attention and time.
She watched him from the doorway, a satisfied smile curling her lips, her eyes twinkling with cruelty.
He scrubbed his fingernails with shaking hands, his insides twisting and squirming under her scrutiny. The bile in his throat stung, his eyes watered and he swallowed hard. But he couldn't swallow the guilt he knew would now never leave him. Looking up at her in the mirror, his voice trembled slightly as he whispered, "You… you won't say a word?"
She smirked mercilessly, her lipstick the colour of the blood now swirling down the drain. "My lips are sealed, darling."
The king sat upon his ornate, glittering throne with a long dining table before him, covered in more food than a peasant in the poor village could hope to see his whole lifetime. Bowls of tropical fruits, stacks of freshly baked bread, pots of steaming stew, plates of delicious sweets and a giant whole pig with a rosy ripe apple in it’s mouth. He was surrounded by several voluptuous women with jewels around their necks – his many mistresses. Before his table, gold and silver trinkets galore glistened, spilling across the floor, boasting his great fortune.
And outside the window a little boy with wide, hungry eyes, clutching at his rags and shivering in the winter cold, licked his lips.
“How’s my little accomplice?” he grinned. I could smell the whisky on his breath - top shelf no doubt; we could afford it. Drunk again, clearly he suspected nothing, but why would he? I played my role so well; his sweet little accessory with all my brain and beauty seemingly at his command. But now I had what I wanted, there was no need to keep my partner in crime.
“Come ‘ere,” he slurred, pulling me to him on the sofa, smothering my face with his stench. I curled my arms behind him, unsheathing the knife from my sleeve. His tongue moved from my mouth to my neck and his hands fumbled beneath my skirt. “We’re rich baby,” he murmured.
Just as his fingers pushed their way inside me, I thrust the knife towards him. I felt blood from his mouth on my skin as he choked. Twisting the knife a little more, I smiled triumphantly. “No baby, I’M rich.”
Who is that girl with the bright face and the confident smile looking at me from the mirror?
She’s powerful; her strength set firmly in her delicate jawline. She’s fun; her energy curved on her lips and filling the dimples around her mouth. She’s clever; all her knowledge stitched into the faint lines on her forehead. She’s beautiful.
That cannot be me. That confident, powerful, clever, fun and beautiful girl?
I stare at her and doubt fills her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, washing away her self-assurance.
Year after year he watched the children play, the lovers meet in secret, the elderly huddle together for warmth. Sometimes they touched his rough exterior, tracing the lines of his giant body in wonder. He saw all and knew all. When the cold, lifeless machines came he trembled and cried at their angry sound and felt the pain down to his very core as he fell. Years later, one child who had played beneath him, remembered. She gazed up at the sky and thought of the wise old soul who had previously stood watch over them all.