After my recognition of the woman that was next to me, and the excruciating pain I was feeling subsided, everything went dark. I felt my body getting cold, and my heart slowly coming to a standstill...
After which I found myself standing up, completely naked. I felt the carpet on my bare feet, an always-so-pleasant feeling. The carpet was a dark shade of red, and the room, no, hall, was decorated in a baroque-style, with lots of golden ornaments and dark woods. It wasn't even a hall, there were rows of chairs, in an arch around a stage... It simply was a theater. I looked around, and found myself in the back of the theater, in front of the 2 enormous ebony doors. I pulled the 2 brass rings that served as doorhandles, but the massive door wouldn't move. "Fuck..."
"Please, no cursing in the house of the lord!" I heard a booming voice roar behind me. I quickly turned around, and saw a man sitting on the edge of the stage. He was wearing a black suit, combined with a thin, white tie. He had longish hair, and a scruffy beard... Well, you could barely call it a beard anyways.
"Where the hell am I?" I agitatedly yelled.
"Well, hell's not the right answer."
"Then what is this place?" I slowly started moving towards the man.
"This is a place of the arts, a place of worship, a place of music. We all know you like music." I approached row 5.
"... How do you know me? Who are you?"
"What's with all the questions? This isn't Jeopardy! Hah! No? Not funny? Okay. Well, you can call me - yeah, just take a seat over there -..."
I stared at the man's scruffy face as I sat down on one of the red, velvet chairs. "What was I saying? Oh yeah, you can call me whatever you like. I like to refer to myself as 'The Writer' or just simply 'Kylian'. You asked me how I knew you? I created you. I took my pen and a piece of paper, and made you."
"... How did I get here?"
"I decided you'd go here." The Writer grinned at me, as he swung his legs unto the stage and stood up.
"This is my home, this is my church, this is the truth: The theater, home of all thoughts, home of everything that makes life worth living. This is where I made you up. All of you: your height, the color of your eyes, how you enjoy the feeling of your feet on this carpet, even your very own thoughts. This, my friend, is my imagination."
He theatrically opened up his arms, but I wasn't even interested anymore, I just wanted to get out of this place. "I know you're not comfortable, but I have yet to decide what I'm going to do with you. Heaven? Hell? You know what, let's ask my friends."
I heard sounds coming from the back of the theater, and I looked behind me. The doors I had just so desperately tried to open, opened. 4 people came out. "Who are they?" I asked the man.
"As I said; my friends, my cowriters. Let me introduce to you: Hannah, Zosha, Daniel and Joram. We're the masters of your universe, we decide what happens to you and the people around you. Now that I think of it, we also decided that you'd die."
"But why would you be so cruel?"
"I just figured it'd make a good opening of a story."
How could this man be so mean? Why did I have to be part of this story? He didn't give me time to think about it. "So, guys, what do you think I should do with this guy?"
"This guy died ages ago, why are you still writing about his past and even his afterlife? There should be better ways to express yourself." the blonde-haired girl said.
"Yeah, you should let him go already!" one of the guys exclaimed. They all seemed to agree: I wasn't going to go anywhere, I'd just disappear. Apparently I was just a figment of someone's imagination, part of a story, and that meant I wasn't relevant anymore. I saw the man looking at me and I could see the sadness in his eyes.
"Well, you heard them, my friend, I think that will be all then."
And then there was nothing. Except for music: The writer would honor me by posting some relevant song. I could finally rest.
-----
Well, as he expected of me;
In Memoriam,
My Character.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
8
“Thank you, Irving,” she faintly whispered as she closed the door behind me.
What an intriguing offer. A lifetime supply of medicine and free sexual satisfaction from the blue-eyed maid in exchange for the “disappearance” of the famous mr. Detective, who happened to be quite a nuisance to him as well. He had never been a lascivious person, but he always craved more medicine, like the tiny lad in the supermarket hungrily reaching out for the out-of-reach sugar canes. He actually really liked sugar canes, and he liked the colour red. It was his favourite. He also enjoyed teaching small rodents a wide scale of impressive acrobatic tricks until they could no longer survive in the wild due to their newfound obsession with the mid-air region, but he abhorred the colour red.
In order to fend off his hatred for sugar canes, he took a metro. It was not very crowded today, with only the few obligatory passengers rarely not encountered in a suburban metro sitting on the blemished seats. He took place next to an Asian woman who was sternly looking through the glass on her right, and paid no attention to her new neighbour. With a deep rumble, the world outside began to move.
He took out the file on mr. Detective that he had neatly tucked away in his oversized overcoat and read some words. It appeared the detective had done close to nothing to obtain any kind of respect or honour in any form, except for one major roundup of a federal drugs syndicate, earning him the “legendary” status. His colleagues described him as pretentious and proud, and also as smelly, demanding and tall. Most importantly, he always urged his assistant to get him donuts without sprinkles, because he had the deepest suspicion that the colourful fragments might suffocate him. The dismissal of his assistant had been because of the fatal mistake of bringing the detective a sprinkled donut, which he had only noticed after taking a big bite. Hm.
It didn’t matter. He would soon have to go to sleep, for sleeping is a general phenomenon that occurs throughout all layers of society. A few years ago, Irving had been shocked to learn this and had quickly taken a mouthful of pills and a striped sugar cane to calm his nerves. On top of this all, he decided the detective would soon be dead.
He took a small photograph of his target in hands and studied it closely. Then he took a bit of stuffing from his seat between thumb and index finger and smelled it. He glanced around to avoid detection by any witnesses and proceeded by inserting the stuffing into his mouth. The taste was a bit unsavoury. He continued reading the file while munching away. To his greatest surprise he discovered that the detective had recently acquired the need of an extra assistant. Curiously eyeing the picture of said assistant made him chuckle. She looked exactly like his neighbour.
What an intriguing offer. A lifetime supply of medicine and free sexual satisfaction from the blue-eyed maid in exchange for the “disappearance” of the famous mr. Detective, who happened to be quite a nuisance to him as well. He had never been a lascivious person, but he always craved more medicine, like the tiny lad in the supermarket hungrily reaching out for the out-of-reach sugar canes. He actually really liked sugar canes, and he liked the colour red. It was his favourite. He also enjoyed teaching small rodents a wide scale of impressive acrobatic tricks until they could no longer survive in the wild due to their newfound obsession with the mid-air region, but he abhorred the colour red.
In order to fend off his hatred for sugar canes, he took a metro. It was not very crowded today, with only the few obligatory passengers rarely not encountered in a suburban metro sitting on the blemished seats. He took place next to an Asian woman who was sternly looking through the glass on her right, and paid no attention to her new neighbour. With a deep rumble, the world outside began to move.
He took out the file on mr. Detective that he had neatly tucked away in his oversized overcoat and read some words. It appeared the detective had done close to nothing to obtain any kind of respect or honour in any form, except for one major roundup of a federal drugs syndicate, earning him the “legendary” status. His colleagues described him as pretentious and proud, and also as smelly, demanding and tall. Most importantly, he always urged his assistant to get him donuts without sprinkles, because he had the deepest suspicion that the colourful fragments might suffocate him. The dismissal of his assistant had been because of the fatal mistake of bringing the detective a sprinkled donut, which he had only noticed after taking a big bite. Hm.
It didn’t matter. He would soon have to go to sleep, for sleeping is a general phenomenon that occurs throughout all layers of society. A few years ago, Irving had been shocked to learn this and had quickly taken a mouthful of pills and a striped sugar cane to calm his nerves. On top of this all, he decided the detective would soon be dead.
He took a small photograph of his target in hands and studied it closely. Then he took a bit of stuffing from his seat between thumb and index finger and smelled it. He glanced around to avoid detection by any witnesses and proceeded by inserting the stuffing into his mouth. The taste was a bit unsavoury. He continued reading the file while munching away. To his greatest surprise he discovered that the detective had recently acquired the need of an extra assistant. Curiously eyeing the picture of said assistant made him chuckle. She looked exactly like his neighbour.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
VII
The front door always made a squeaky little sound when it opened. The ramshackled edifice was hidden behind the posh buildings of the never sleeping city. No one ever bothered coming here, if they even knew of its existence. So how come there was actually someone visiting this place, at 5am? Because of the addictive effect.
For the first time in weeks, the door had a reason to make its recognizable sound. A girl, hidden behind her sumptuous blonde hair, entered. "he took the offer", she said to the hazy bloke in the corner. He rose up from his stool with an absent grin. As he disappeared behind the dusty curtain in the back, she took a deep breath. She seemed to be rather comfortable in this dump. She obviously knew her way here, even though she appeared to be an innocent young lady with those beaming blue eyes.
After the guy had found what he was looking for, he handed her the flask. If the drugs weren't making his hands shake, something else was. Perhaps the presence of this natural beauty made his knees weak, or maybe he's hiding something. The only thing that's for sure is that he got suspiciously flustered while handing her that flask. She noticed his nerves, but decided not to say anything. You don't mess with people from this neighborhood.
And while she walked out the door, he stood there, filling the room with his hysterical laughter. If this guy wasn't evil itself, he had to be lunatic.
Part VI: Sweet memories...
I'm a tad late, and I'm not really bringing anything new to the table, but fuck it! :D
------------------------------------------
Recap: I'm fucking dying.
Her blue, almond-shaped eyes morphed into an abyss of memories and thoughts. Now I reckon that the old life-flashing-before-ones-eyes cliché is actually true. I'm going in deeper and deeper, and childhood memories are coming back to me.
I'm 8 years old, and it's quite sunny and warm, even hot, here in Spain. We're on a holiday, my parents and I. My mom and dad are busy doing some cultural stuff at some castle, it's probably boring. For my agegroup, anyways. I decided to stay at the caravan, and my parents even allowed it! The 'next-door' caravan is inhabited by another dutch family, with whom my parents are on the epic castle-trip with. Except for their daughter though, who shared my opinion and decided to stay at the 'camp' as well. As I sit around, playing around with my gameboy, in the corner of my eye I can see her walking towards me. She's also 8, and she makes me feel something I haven't experience before... As I see her skipping towards me, I'm starting to feel anxious. I decide to continue playing, but at one point she's standing behind me. "POKEMON!" she yells frantically, naming the game that I'm playing, and I understand that I can't ignore her anymore. I try and look over my shoulder, and she takes advantage of the situation. She quickly kisses me on the lips, leaving me perplexed, albeit happy.
She's laughing merrily, and skips back to her own caravan. Her long, blonde hair is bouncing with every step, and before entering her 'home' she looks back over to me, smiling like only kids can, and her perfectly sparkling blue eyes make me feel happy inside.
The next day though, the caravan next to ours was gone. I immediately ran to my parents, screaming "WHERE IS SHE?". They simply answered that her parents had left, their vacation was over.
I never saw her again, my first love dissapeared forever...
Now the beautiful woman next to me leans over to me, and her blonde hair brushes my nose, slightly tickling me. She brings her face close to my right ear and whispers...
"Pokemon..."
------------------------------------------
Recap: I'm fucking dying.
Her blue, almond-shaped eyes morphed into an abyss of memories and thoughts. Now I reckon that the old life-flashing-before-ones-eyes cliché is actually true. I'm going in deeper and deeper, and childhood memories are coming back to me.
I'm 8 years old, and it's quite sunny and warm, even hot, here in Spain. We're on a holiday, my parents and I. My mom and dad are busy doing some cultural stuff at some castle, it's probably boring. For my agegroup, anyways. I decided to stay at the caravan, and my parents even allowed it! The 'next-door' caravan is inhabited by another dutch family, with whom my parents are on the epic castle-trip with. Except for their daughter though, who shared my opinion and decided to stay at the 'camp' as well. As I sit around, playing around with my gameboy, in the corner of my eye I can see her walking towards me. She's also 8, and she makes me feel something I haven't experience before... As I see her skipping towards me, I'm starting to feel anxious. I decide to continue playing, but at one point she's standing behind me. "POKEMON!" she yells frantically, naming the game that I'm playing, and I understand that I can't ignore her anymore. I try and look over my shoulder, and she takes advantage of the situation. She quickly kisses me on the lips, leaving me perplexed, albeit happy.
She's laughing merrily, and skips back to her own caravan. Her long, blonde hair is bouncing with every step, and before entering her 'home' she looks back over to me, smiling like only kids can, and her perfectly sparkling blue eyes make me feel happy inside.
The next day though, the caravan next to ours was gone. I immediately ran to my parents, screaming "WHERE IS SHE?". They simply answered that her parents had left, their vacation was over.
I never saw her again, my first love dissapeared forever...
Now the beautiful woman next to me leans over to me, and her blonde hair brushes my nose, slightly tickling me. She brings her face close to my right ear and whispers...
"Pokemon..."
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