Soft Stars in the Night Sky

They lay on the floor of the forest just outside the small village. They were silent and simply admiring the soft, twinkling stars in the night sky. The sound of the wind and their breathing, in time, was the only noise that broke the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. It was the dead of night, and the village slept. Among the sleeping, and importantly so, were Laramie and Loren. The people they were staying with, in the village. Had they been aware of the other two’s absence, a commotion would have been created. Laramie did not like his sister to be out of the house after dusk; he was scared of her being taken advantage of by the Orlesian peasantry. This, in all honestly, was not a conjecture without evidence. It was well known that an unsuspecting woman or two had received an unwelcomed grope here and there as well as something more. It was not the portrayal of a civilised society the Orlesian royalty wished to give, but it was reality and nothing would ever change that. The only solace to take from it was that this little village was on the frontier, no foreign envoy would ever have the misfortune to see.

Tonight though, the village would not bother either of these two. They were free to enjoy each other’s company in utter seclusion. Free from prying eyes and judgemental glances. It had been a mini scandal in the village whenever they had discovered one of its inhabitants had become entangled with an elf; a Dalish elf no less. Such men were to be feared and loathed; the Dalish were barbarians - they were not compatible with the Orlesian way of life. Thankfully, this girl was not like every other Orlesian. She was a dreamer, with wanderlust in her eyes and the desire for adventure in her bones. That was why the Dale had been so drawn to her; she stood out among the tired and dead faces of the villagers. She offered him so much more than mere companionship, she was someone he spent time with and someone to talk to – she really listened to him whenever he told her stories of his past life as a Warden. Though she almost always said at the end of his stories, “I’d rather stay alive than live like that.” Such words stayed with the elf, perhaps she wasn’t all that different, but it made her difference all the more subtle and all the more appealing.

The elf slowly slid his hand across the ground and took one of her fingers between his index and thumb finger and gently played with it; rubbing his thumb over it. The red-headed girl looked over at him and offered a sheepish smile. The elf returned her smile. She was never one to accept signs of affection straight off, they always seemed to embarrass her and the elf found it endearing, another little thing to like about her. She was cute. He shuffled over towards her. He placed her head onto his shoulder and continued stroking her finger before gentling gripping her hand in his. Still not a sound was uttered between the two of them as they silently admired the stars above them. The elf was an admirer of the stars. He had been taught by his clan that they were the remnants of the great battle between Elgar’nan and his father, the sun. The stars were the remnants of the life blood and the elf thought that that made them all the more beautiful and astonishing.

He was thankful for the chance to have some down time and the ability to merely look and appreciate the stars. He hadn’t been able to do so in quite some time as he was constantly moving from place to place in an attempt to lose his pursuers. He had not told the Orlesian girl of this, he was scared that she and her brother would try and cash in on the reward for the bounty on his head. It was a source of intense paranoia for the Dale, but this girl had proven herself to be someone he could trust, he felt like it was only fair that she know that at some stage he was going to leave her. He had grown fond of her and held a deep rooted affection for her too; it would not be easy for him to simply up and leave as he had done all the times before. But unlike those times, the elf had not gotten himself romantically involved with one of his keepers. This made his situation all the more unusual and difficult.

He took a deep breath and turned the girl’s face up to look at him.

“I’ll have to leave you one day, Val.” He whispered.

“No you won’t.” She replied, her voice filled with defiance.

“Yes...Yes I will.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Jolich. Why would you ever have to leave? Don’t you like it here? I’ll leave with you.”

“No...No, it’s not that.”

“What is it then? Don’t you like Loren or Laramie?”

Jolich took in a deep breath, ready to admit to her his darkest secret, and one he did not like to admit. “I’m on the run, Val.” He finally admitted, his voice cracking, “people are looking for me... I did some things to help the Wardens back in Ferelden.”

“It’s in the past.”

“But people want me to be thrown away, locked up.”

“I’d never turn you in.” Once again the defiance entered her voice, stronger than ever as she gripped his hand firmly, but reassuringly.

Jolich’s lips began to quiver at her kindness. “Val...The price of my head.”

“I don’t care, I’d never hurt you, Chérie.” She looked straight into his eyes. Hers were filled with such sincerity and genuine concern that Jolich had to look away, tears forming in his eyes. He had not expected such a response from her, he had expected her to be reviled by it, not want to be anywhere near him, but there she was; closer than ever.

He felt her place her had on his cheek and she gently turned his face over to look at her in the eyes again. It was an intense gaze and Jolich could feel her moving her body over his, her leg positioned itself between his and one of her hands slipped underneath his shirt and drew soft circles on his stomach. She moved in to place a soft, passionate kiss on his lips.

“Say you won’t leave, Jolich.” She said.

Jolich placed another kiss on her lips and wrapped his arms around her, pretending he never heard the question.

Window and a Door

A Window and a Door

A Short Story by Joshua McCallan

Crack! The whip struck the young girl’s back; she bit down on her lip, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of hearing her whimper. Another Crack! She bit down harder on her lip; drawing blood. Every day for the past week, this torture had been happening. There was a woman, too. The young girl feared her the most: whatever sadism the man threw at her, the women would double, perhaps even triple in intensity. A third crack; this was harder than before and the young girl screeched in agony. Salty tears strolled down her cherub face. The man cackled; clearly enjoying the sound of pain that had escaped from his victim’s lips. However a fourth crack never came – normally after she made a sound, she was punished for making a noise. Instead a claustrophobic silence descended over the room. The child was unable to feel her wounds as her hands were shackled. All she was able to do was try and bring her ragged breathing under control. She blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. A soft whimper made its way from her mouth and she sighed almost inaudibly.

There was a wet noise from behind, and the child had to stop herself from retching. She did not want to bring about anymore torture than before it was necessary. She kept trying to slow down her breathing: she thought that if she managed to keep it controlled, the pain wouldn’t be as pronounced. She did not know why these people were doing this to her – she had long since given up trying to find an explanation for it. Each day the torture got worse and lasted longer. Her limbs ached and the flesh was cracked and broken. When the torture had caused a huge cut that had drawn blood, the torture normally ended for a few days, and even though things were still bleak for her, she naively believed that things had changed, that the torture would stop and that she would be allowed a normal childhood. Allowed to make friends and to graze her own knees. This was a quixotic thought, as this was never the case – whenever the wounds had sufficiently healed, the routine of pain would continue and the bleakness of her situation would darken once again.

She took a deep breath in and held it for as long as possible, before letting it out heavily. It seemed to go unnoticed, so she did it again, and again. Her body began to slow down its trembling, before eventually stopping. Her eyes, though still wet, stopped creating tears. The pain in her back dulled, and eventually numbed. She was as calm as she could be while she was in that shackled device. Her arms had gone numb from being positioned above her head in such a way for so long, and her feet ached from being stationary. She could barely feel her legs – though such a sensation had stopped bothering her after a few days. It was best not to concentrate on the problems she was facing; instead she would focus on her mind. She would create little sketches in her head to bring herself out of the world of fire and brimstone. She pictured herself as a strong warrior, protecting the innocent of the world from injustice and torture. People respected her – admired her; lauded her. She was the greatest hero of them all. Never would she be beaten. It caused a little smile to appear on her face; though it was a bitter one at that.

She allowed her eyes to glance out of the window. She was in the cellar of her house, so all she could see was the blueness of the sky. She ached to be out there, to be among other children of her age. It caused a hole in her heart to be isolated in such a way – and that didn’t include the torture. She wanted friends, she wanted to be able to leave the house whenever she wanted and come back whenever she wanted – she wanted most of all to have some form of affection displayed to her. She knew that if she ever got out of this situation, she would be a person that would be difficult to get to know and almost certainly bitter.

These people had destroyed her in every little way possible and she hated them for it; loathed them. She would have given anything to have an opportunity to do something to them, but as it were, she was stuck here – chained to the roof, waiting for these people to whip her again. Though she was enjoying the little reprieve she was experiencing. She took the time to stare at the sky and get lost in imagination.

However she was drawn from her dreaming by another crack. Unprepared for it, the young girl screamed even louder than before and whimpered heavily. There was a paroxysm of pain. The two people laughed uproariously. They shared a private joke, one the girl couldn’t hear, all she could hear was the sound of her incessant whimpering. The tears once again made their way down her face. She was in a cycle that she was desperate to break from. She sobbed and coughed, she was trying to not let them control her: it would just give them an excuse to hit her an extra time. A fifth crack. This time the girl slumped a little, her legs finally giving out – all the strength to fight and stand against these people had finally been sapped from her. Her eyelids closed slightly. They flickered and she only caught glimpses of the cloudy, grey sky.

“She’s going,” the man said.

The women grunted, “We’ll have to give her a reason to stay awake, won’t we?”

The man laughed in response. “What have you in mind?”

There was no response from the women. This caused the girl to feel even more terror. She did not know what to expect from her, but she knew it could only be worse than everything she had previously experienced. Perhaps they meant to kill her. That would have been preferable to the girl. The thought of death was a pleasing one; anything to have this pain ended would have been a victory in her eyes. She was bright enough to know that death was not what this couple had in mind – they were far too vicious for that. They enjoyed the tortured screams she emitted. It seemed to spur them on; give them recognition – let them know that they were doing a good job. What kind of people where they? Why would they do this? The pain from the previous hit had partially blinded her vision, she couldn’t anything see in front of her. She couldn’t wipe away the tears either to clear her vision: everything was hazy and difficult to focus on.

The man walked around to her face. He stared at her with dark eyes. He cupped her face in his hands and placed a surprisingly soft kiss onto her forehead.

“It’s okay, dear.” He said, almost soothingly.

Her head lolled into his palm. Her breathing was shallow. She was close to sleep, if it could have been called sleep – it was pain induced and she knew when she awoke, the pain would still be there – though perhaps worse than before.

The man continued to smile at her; continued to cup her face. She was lulled into a false sense of security. Her mind drugged on pain let her believe that this was the end of the torture. They had finally realised the wrongness of their ways.

No.

The girl was wrong. And oh, how wrong she was.

Her eyes jolted open and her head shot back as she felt the back of her shirt being lifted. The man’s eyes were no longer soft: they were filled with hatred and contempt. The little girl was panicked, unsure of what to make of her shirt being lifted. She soon found out.

She felt an enormous burning sensation in her back. She screamed louder and longer than she ever had done before. She felt the women carving something grotesque into her back. It felt like there was one thousand read hot pokers singeing her skin in rapid movements. She had never felt pain like this before. She tried to her best to stop herself from whimpering, but she couldn’t. Her entire body moved quickly to try and avoid the carving tool. The man held her down, forcing her to stay still. She wanted to beg for them to stop, beg for them to let her die. Beg for anything she didn’t care what, just as long as this pain stopped.

And stop it did... For a brief moment.

In that moment, she was able to feel the copious amount of blood dripping down her back – it was as if her new cuts were a waterfall and the blood the water. There was a deep throbbing sensation in her back. Her mind was now alert and screaming at her—begging her—to avoid whatever it was that caused that pain. She knew she couldn’t take much more of it. She had barely managed to stay conscious during that onslaught. She didn’t understand why her abuse had gotten this far – why had they suddenly decided now was the time to carve into her back? Did they want her to view these scars as gifts? Maybe they were ‘gifts’. Regardless of her parents’ logic behind it, she didn’t want to think about what would happen whenever it continued... if it continued.

Which it did.

The tool was plunged back into her skin. It was becoming more and more obvious that they had no intention of killing her this day as the blade did not go deep enough into her skin, though deep enough to remove flesh – enough to permanently scar her back. The women fastidiously removed the upper layer of the flesh; seemingly unmoved by the girl’s screams. Just as the women finished, she twisted the blade, just to give the girl one more final explosion of pain before it ended. The girl’s entire body arched forward. A soundless scream was echoing from her mouth. Pain and terror were etched across her face. Her legs twisted in on themselves and she threw up before falling into unconsciousness.

*

The girl awoke to find herself lying face down on her bed. Her entire back throbbed and ached. Her mouth was parched and her lips chapped. She was unaware of how long she had been out for, but she guessed that it had been a few days at least. She could feel some rudimentary bandages on her back. When she turned her head to get a look at them, she noticed that they had not been changed since she had been given them originally. She tried to being herself into a sitting posture, but it was impossible. The pain was heightened whenever she tried to move her body into any position other than the one she was currently in. So she lay there and thought about what to do. If this was the beginning of torture that involved carving her flesh, she figured that she would not last long. One such experience was enough to let her know that she was not able to cope with it, let alone umpteen times. Though, she was pleased with herself for handling it for so long – a small victory. She guessed that not many twelve year olds would be able to put up with such an experience for more than a moment.

She had nearly fallen asleep whenever she heard the voices of her two masters. They were hushed and quick, they assumed she was still unconscious, but were not taking any chances in case she could hear them – thankfully, she could.

“...coming around in two weeks,” the man said.

“Two weeks? Fuckin’ hell – are you sure she’ll be able to do anything then?” The women replied.

“She’ll have to be able. I’m not the one who carved into her back.”

“Fuck you! You whipped her like there was no tomorrow,” the women retorted, her voice showing the world just how annoyed she was at the man’s comment, “besides; we both know that it had to be done. You don’t want a slave that disobeys her master, do you? Besides, she’s broke now.”

The man grunted in agreement. “Either way, we’re getting a pretty sum for the whore. Certainly worth birthing her, eh?”

The women cackled and a wet noise came from the other room.

The girl’s eyes were a-wide with horror. So their torture had borne a purpose – she was to be sold off to some man as a slave. They were going to reap the benefits of her suffering. Thousands of scenarios ran through her head. What if the master she was being sold to was worse than her parents? What if he beat her more viciously than her parents? What if he was buying her so she could be killed by hounds? What if he made her do... grown-up things to him? Though what if he treats me well? She thought. It was certainly a possibility, but she knew that a life of a slave was one that was simply less than ideal. No matter how hard she tried to find a positive in being separated from her parents, she simply could not. She certainly did not want to be a slave, but what choice did she have? There was no way she could even try and persuade her parents to keep her here as their slave. What would be the point? There was no money in that. She had no idea of what to do when another idea entered her head. It was risky, and it terrified her hugely, but it seemed to be the only way to avoid her fate.

Escape.

Yes.

As soon as she was able to walk again, she would get herself out of here. She knew it would have to be attempted whenever it was dark and when her parents were sleeping. That would give her an advantage of getting out of the house before they were aware of her being gone and that might give her the lead she needed to get out of the country. But where would she go? She would have to stow away on a ship – she simply did not have the money to pay for a voyage and Ship Captains were only compassionate up to a point. The Free Territories she figured would the best place for her to go to. She had heard her parents say that if they were ever caught that any one of the City States in the Territories would be a good place to hide – no one really cared what your past was. So it was perfect for her.

She was not pernickety about which City State she got to, as long as she got to one. It didn’t matter to her, as long as there was an ocean and a river between her and her family, she did not care.

She smiled a little. She now had some dream to look forward too. For the first time in a long time, the girl had hope. Hope in the future – it was still a bleak future, but considerably less bleak than it had been five minutes prior.

*

The two weeks passed slowly, and the girl had carefully formulated a plan to bring her to freedom. She would escape in the early hours of the morning and lock the door as she left which would give her more time to get out of the slum in which she lived. She had a vague idea of where the docks were, but that was merely a formality now. She still had to get out of the house first. That was the cornerstone of her plan, if she could not get out of the house; nothing else had any chance of happening. She had no help – this was entirely up to herself. It was a severe form of self-help. She was excited; on edge. But for the two weeks, she had had to try her very best to act as normal – to give her parents little in the way of any indication of her plans to escape. They hadn’t changed at all, really – the only difference was that she had been allowed to recover for those two weeks. She assumed it was because of the buyer – he clearly did not want physically damaged goods.

She waited for the morning with baited breath. Whatever belongings she had were wrapped up inside a makeshift backpack. She was ready for the night when it came. She did not know what to expect onboard a ship, but at this point and time anything was better than the shambles she called a room.

She bit her nails, she slept, she ran through the plan in her head – she did anything to avoid idle waiting.

The early dawn came and with it, a clear teal sky. She was aching to go. She waited until her parents were in bed before she rose. She took the backpack and slung it over her back. As it touched her back, she hissed slightly. It was still sensitive to touch and would probably forever be sensitive to touch. She tiptoed towards the door and opened it slightly; just enough so that she would be able to fit through – her door squeaked whenever it was opened entirely.

She continued her cautious walk into the kitchen and took a knife that was lying on the table. She moved into the living room—which led to the front door—she could barely contain her anticipation of open air. She carefully opened the door and took a step outside, however, her side nudged a glass on the table beside the door, and the glass fell and shattered. The girl’s entire stomach lurched forward and anxiety tinged her face.

She saw and heard her parents’ bedroom door open. Her father looked at her, and anger contorted his scarred face.

“You stop right there, you bitch!” He snarled.

She didn’t think twice, she jumped through the door and slammed it shut. She jammed the knife in the hinge and twisted it onto its side: meaning it would take longer for them to be able to open the door – giving her the valuable time she needed.

The girl sprinted from the slum. She sprinted towards the sounds of gulls in the early morning sun. Oh, what lovely sounds they were – the sounds of freedom.

A meditation

A Meditation
A vignette

My heart beats slowly, my breath in, is shallow. A wave of calmness washes over my body and soul, allowing the past to seep into my brain like an infection. Faces of the past greet me anew, actions of old as fresh as the day the occurred. Feelings experienced return, as profound as before. Calmness

The memories fade, leaving nothing. Thoughts of the present now enter, feelings for friends, for enemies, for lovers. Feelings of current regrets, current inaction are like a cancer, feeding on my doubt, my inhibition of my dreams. My mind clouds, leaving only nothing but darkness, emptiness, blackness.

In this darkness, a light pierces. A light of a pureness unheard of. A light of serenity, and in this light, I accept my doubts, my weaknesses, I turn them into strengths. I realise my failed dreams lead to new dreams, better dreams. A new sense of hope touches, caresses my body. Gently colouring my positivity, feeding it. Belief.

My heart beats again, my breath out is deep. All is still, and I awake.

Unending Sorrow

Unending Sorrow
A Short Story

“Which of you is it going to be?” the masked gunman asked. “I’m not going to ask again!”

His gun moving slowly over each of the people’s heads they’d picked. Mine...Another person’s...My best friend’s...I wince at the thought of them shooting her, or any of us for that matter, but they had made a good offer...Kill one of us and they’ll leave, killing no one else, they claim to be men of their word...I hope they are...

“Move, move!” Men with guns running around, rounding the school children up like lambs to the slaughter, they had no hope, the first years crying...Most of us were crying, you don’t imagine that such a thing would happen in this country, the thought of the terrorists attacking the School in Russia was still fresh enough in people’s minds...But no, not here, surely not

Time passed...Slowly...

10 minutes moved into hours...6 hours in, the gunmen are getting antsy, they want out...But they want to show they’re serious...They talk amongst themselves...The leader decides something and everyone agrees. They begin shouting, asking for volunteers. No one volunteers. The begin moving down the section were the oldest students are...Where I belong. They pick people...My friends...God don’t let them pick me. The pick the person right in front of me, I let out an explosive sigh, what a mistake...”...and you.” He says. Fuck. Just my luck.

We’re marching down a corridor that I’ve been down many times, chatting to my friends, laughing, having fun. No I’m walking down it wondering if I’m going to get a bullet in the head, knowing that one of us is going to die, it’s not the thought of death that scares me, it’s the thought of someone dying for me, I can’t handle that...If given the opportunity to volunteer, I’ll volunteer. Well, I hope I will...

They untie us, a sign of their sincerity, such an odd display. One girl begins crying, screaming for God to save her...God isn’t in this room, God left us long ago...Another person begins to console her, all the men but their leader leave...He takes his pistol out, and crouches down to the girls level and whispers something in her ear...She calms down...Maybe we’ll get out of this alive, all of us...

“I would like a volunteer to save the school, you will die but you will save everyone else...You have my word.”

The option I said I’d volunteer for...I didn’t...I’m ashamed of myself...I said I’d do it...Why won’t I volunteer? I’m not scared of death...Or at least I thought I wasn’t...But now that the it’s staring me in the face I realise, I am scared. I’m a kid again; those nightmares of death and decay come flooding back...What if there isn’t anything after this? No, there isn’t anything...Maybe that’s why I’m scared...

“One of you better come forward, or I will simply kill all of you,” he says in a voice that betrays nothing, why does he find this so easy?

We started to get frantic, people looking at each other, eyes begging for someone to offer themselves up, a selfishness that requires no forgiveness, none of us want to die, but none of us wants all of us to die, we’re simply waiting for someone to offer themselves up, but if everyone waits, how can we all survive this. We can’t, it’s as simple as that...I look at my best friend, she’s the only one who’s really calm...Her eyes sooth me, their aqua-greenness gives off auras of calm...It’s...Helping...

“Which of you is it going to be?” the masked gunman asks. “I’m not going to ask again!”

I looked at my best friend, and nodded, her face turned into a grimace, she’s realised what I’m about to suggest.

“It’s going to be me,” she said beating me to it.

“W-what? No!” I tried to say, but nothing came out but a muffled cough.

Everyone else sighs, they can’t help it; and I don’t hold it against them. They’re going to live...But part of me is going to die if I let her take this bullet...

“No, shoot me instead.” I said, with defiance coursing through my voice.

She merely looked over at me, disappointment in her eyes. That caused me to feel unbearable pain, but I couldn’t simply watch her die, I had to be the one to do it, she doesn’t deserve this...She’s got so much to live for. I know she’s doing this simply because she doesn’t want anyone to die in her stead, but I’m the same...I can’t let her do this...

The gunman sighed, obviously getting worried about wasting time, the police were close to making a move.

“Right, which of you two is it going to be?” He asked, agitated.

“Me.” I said, adamantly. I looked at her, she was too shocked by my decision to do anything else.

“Right.”

He lowered the gun to my head...Time slowed...All images of my youth began to come streaming towards me...My fifth birthday, the excitement I felt as I opened the gifts...Christmas aged sixteen, as I finally got my laptop that I’d be waiting for. School...Days gone by came flooding in, exams...friends...teachers...her...Images of times her and I shared came back, and I was glad that they were my last thoughts...I hoped she’d live a good life...A life I’d spared for her, though I didn’t think she owed me a damn thing, this was my debt to her paid.

The gunman’s finger slowly closed around the trigger, I was prepared to die...It was going to be over soon, all this worrying about dying had been wasted, it wasn’t going to be so bad. I began counting down...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

”No!” I heard her scream as she pushed me with all her might. I opened my eyes as I fell sideways; she was in line to be shot...No! No, damn you! I’m meant to die, not you!

The gunman didn’t notice, and didn’t attempt to turn the gun on me; he simply continued pulling the trigger. He fired...And I screamed...I felt the phantom bullet go into my chest, and cried, with such anguish...I cried, and jumped forward. I cradled her body, please be alive...Don’t be dead, don’t be dead. Don’t die...Please...

I titled her face upwards, shutting out the sounds from both inside and outside the room, it seemed the police had finally decided to put an end to this...Bastards...Didn’t save her...Didn’t save everyone...They’ll call her an “acceptable loss”, her death isn’t acceptable, nothing about this is acceptable.

I looked down at her face...its pale now...So much of what made her, her, is gone...Her happy eyes, her smile...it’s gone, forever.

The tears began streaming down my face...

“Why...? Why did you do it?” I cried. “I was meant to die here, not you!”

The tears flew off my cheeks, and fell onto her bloodstained neck. I, for some reason, expected this to have some sort of effect on her...The desperation had set in, and holding her in my arms, I knew I could do nothing...I longed for her comments...Just some idea that this was a dream.

“Please don’t be dead...” I sobbed silently into her ear, “you can’t be dead...We’ve so much more left to do together...”

I knew nothing I could say would bring her back. I...I have no idea why I kept asking her to not be dead, I knew it wouldn’t work, but total emotional loss is something that cannot be explained...I was a babbling fool, but at that moment in time, that’s all I could be.

I gently set her body down, and wiped the tears from my eyes, the gunshots had stopped, and I wanted to know what was happening. Had they killed the terrorists? Or was this nightmare only going to get worse.

A soldier walked in, rifle in hand, he quickly looked around the room, before resting his eyes on her body. His body dropped, and his eyes softened. He knew he’d been too late, but he had no words to even try to console me; the only other person in the room. So instead, he took off his helmet and gently placed it on the table next to me. He slowly sat beside me, and put his arm around my shoulder.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, with me crying almost unbearably. Finally he turned his head towards me and asked:

“Tell me about her...”

Of Bricks and Keys

"Friend" is an odd word, a word which can take the form of several meanings. From an acquantince, to a good friend, to a trust worthy friend, to a best friend. And while I've stated that you can have a "trust worthy friend", all friendships are based on trust. They shape and take form; they are malleable. But they are always fragile. One bad word, one sarcastic comment taken wrongly, saying something in the heat of the moment, all these can send a once gleaming, a shining example of a good friendship crashing down.

And then what happens? We grovel, we beg, we say we'd do anything to gain that friendship back. And we hope that the person who we have offended, is not blinded by pride and will accept our pleas. And if they do, we are glad to have their friendship back. But it's never the same. The trust on which it was based has been destroyed; wiped out, smashed. We are stuck at the bottom, re-building the friendship, one brick at a time, sometimes half a brick at a time. It's like the labourers of Ancient Egypt, having been whipped, beaten and abused, just finished a pyramid, and then said pyramid falls; causing them to rebuild it, brick by brick. And a Pyramid is made up of over 1.5 Million bricks.

But, a friendship is made up of much more bricks than a Pyramid. It's filled with more complex patterns and shapes. A place with more locked doors, and to open them doors we need a key, or to reach a higher door, more bricks. And these bricks and keys represent trust. Without trust a friendship is as worthless as a wet towel. It's a vain a shallow friendship, barely allowed the name of a friendship. These acquaintances are the kind of people who view people as nothing, and friendships as nothing more than trivialities. But, fortunately these people are few and far between and I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting one.

And while so far, all I've done is rant about how friendships can fail, I will now move onto friendships which have stood the tests of time. I am still in contact with 3 people from my primary school, I have known them altogether for over 30 years, and while we don't talk as much, we still do and that's the best thing. But since moving to St.Louis, I have made some new brilliant friends, and despite knowing the best of them for only 4 years, and I can honestly say, they know me best. They know almost everything about me. And for me to allow someone to get that close, says alot about this person, and I'm grateful for them. Without them, I can honestly say I'd be in an even darker place.

Another person who gets a shout, is someone I met online, yes yes, here come the trumpets for that fact, and to be honest, she is easily one of my greatest, if not the greatest of my friends. I love her dearly, and the fact that I can't actually talk to her face-to-face kills me. And to think that friendship started because of a friend request over Facebook. It still amazes me how life manages to bring the right people together.

And with that, I finish this blog.

Peace and Anarchy, folks.

I see now...

This is a short story, about a man in a chair looking back on his life.

---

As I sit here, and look out at this barren landscape, I realise how much I’ve missed out on. My sheer naiveté of other people, of feelings, of myself…Of love… has left me dejected and lonesome, but while I was growing up, I considered intimacy a bad thing; a foolish move, I believed that being close to someone was weakness.

I see now how stupid I was, as the days went on, then weeks, then months, then years. I saw one by one, my friends, of whom I was never more than an occasional “drinking buddy”, fall in love, and be happy…I never believed in love…I only saw it as mere lust and jealously, and the fear of being alone.

I see now how stupid I was, how selfish I was. As people who I thought only cared about me, because they thought it was the “right thing to do”, or out of boredom, turned against me, and started avoiding me, that was when that whole in this thing I never understood began. And the pain was just unbearable, whenever that hole opened, it would stay open, and never close.

I see now, they genuinely cared for me, maybe even loved me…My own fear pushed them away, pushed me away…I thought this was best for them, maybe it was…Maybe I’ll never know, but I know now it certainly wasn’t best for me…When I realised they cared for me, sincerely, the hole in that place tore even more, and once again I felt that unbearable pain.

I see now that my family did want what was best for me, and my arrogance, my sheer unbearable arrogance pushed them away, and caused them to despise me, to openly say I wasn’t a family member, I thought once again, that this was good for them, good for me. And I see now that for a while it was good for me, and whenever my mother tried to tell me how much she loved me before she died, and my selfishness refused to believe it, to believe her, it made me feel good, but when she died, knowing I didn’t love her, it once again tore that place I can’t describe, and this time the pain was worse than both times before, this once was sheer agony, a crescendo of pain.

I see now, that this was the point in my life, were I secretly knew I was doomed to be lonely, and I tried to move on in my life. I moved onto the streets of the city, I drunk, I snorted, I injected, I did everything, I slept with a different hooker every night, but it never made me happy, it made me feel even more empty, it ripped that place almost in two, with nothing but a thread hanging on, a voice was begging me to stop; I wouldn’t listen. No, this was my path. I was forced to walk this path, at the time I blamed my upbringing…Now I blame myself.

I see now that with this revelation of my past mistakes, that this tore that place, and left it barren and utterly irreversible. I see now that this barren landscape that I am staring into…Is…Or perhaps more applicable…was…my heart…

Erm...

As the title says, I have not blogged in over a month and I'm not sure whether or not this is a good or a bad thing, as no one has complained about it. Ha. Ha. Ha, yes, I see we are all smiling nervously now and looking away. Well, fine. Maybe you haven't missed me. But, I sure have missed typing out my blogs. It's such fun.

But, since I haven't blogged here, some things have happened. Here is a short list:

• Lost my iPod.
• Found my iPod.
• Played at the school concert with Rock Band.
• Played at the school concert with Folkestra.
• Recorded with Folkestra twice.
• Put a piece of recorded material on my iPod.
• Refallen in love with Faunts.
• Found out I like re-reading Harry Potter books.
• Bought a new game.
• Converted to Zen Buddhism.
• Barely handed in my Chemistry Coursework on time

This is just the jist of it and I can't be arsed to type everything out. And Ryan, my grammar wasn't abhorrant! WAS IT?! WAS IT?!

Peace and anarchy, folks. ;D