On the Way of the Wind (poem)

A breeze comes this way.
It will leave in time.
As strong as it may,
It will fade in time.

Is a breeze a storm
Disguising itself?
Is this breeze a storm
To consume my self?

For now it is calm,
But how long 'till not?
A graceful embalm
To a strong life caught.
It engulfs the mind,
Captures the body.
Stuck in this dark bind,
Destroys my body.

And yet I remain.
Broken. Forsaken.
Who is there to blame
For form misshapen?

All this from a breeze
That feels immortal.
It blows with such ease...
Is it immoral?
What a fool I am
For thinking such things!
What a fool I am
For not spreading wings!

Now this breeze, or storm,
Will carry me far!
Until the bright morn
Banishes the dark!

In due time it comes,
But until then, wait.

A breeze comes this way.
It will leave in time.
As strong as it may,
It will fade in time.

-Zero

For the Love of Sophia

      She bore a striking resemblance to a past love of mine, who was the one that never broke my heart. If it wasn't for Freud, I might have thought the lookalike would be the same. Her hair looked smooth and was golden brown in color. Unlike my ex-love, her hair was easily long enough to reach her belly button. Similarly to her, the stranger wore glasses and thick eyelashes. The last time I saw the original, her eyes had lost that sparkle in them. The copy still had it, but her eyes were a little darker. I thought it fitting and complementary to her thick black eyelashes.

      When I came across the lookalike, I was sitting on the bus. I was on my way to work, or at least to my office. There was a novel I intended on studying that day, but I was too distracted. I was too focused on the beautiful impostor. I contemplated the entire day about the girl who had dared intrude on my memories.

      I had to meet her.

      For several weeks, I attempted to see her without success. I became almost absolutely furious with the copycat. How dare she tempt me so and then vanish! She may have shared the appearance of my angelic lover, but she shared not the beautiful personality. She rejected me, I think, and avoided me as well! Eventually, she did come into sight again. I engaged in an active pursuit of the lookalike.

      “Excuse me, miss, but I was wondering if I could get your name. You remind me so dearly of an old friend of mine.” I said to her politely in a pathetic attempt to engage her in conversation. Luckily, she took pity on me and removed the masking scarf from her face, revealing to me her youth. She could be no older than eighteen, and no younger than fifteen. Her beauty was just as aged as my past lover's was.

      “Sophia.” She replied with a voice of pure innocence and gentle care. There could be no doubt in my mind. She was my lover reborn. My past lover, Sophia, who was lost to me when our short relationship ended.

      “You share her name, Miss Sophia. Are you certain you have never before gazed upon my face?” I questioned her with hope in the impossible. She shook her head.

      “Yes, sir. I'm sorry. Have you been looking for her long?” She replied as socially expected. Her voice soothed my throbbing heart. I shook my head in reply.

      “I have wished to return to her ever since I left her safe arms, but the passage of time is not so kind. Where are you off to?” I said with a sigh filled with the regret of being. Her feet shifted nervously as the bus came to a halt. She looked out of the window at the world beyond our traveling place of existence. She thought for a moment like my dear Sophia used to.

      “To school.” She replied hesitantly without once glancing back at me. I wondered what she might be doing at a school.

      “What is it that you do there?” I asked, disregarding her appearance of youth. She gave me a look of surprise that told me that the answer was far too obvious to be spoken. There was a dreadful silence between us. She pushed the button to signal that she wished to escape the quick traveling place of existence, and to escape me. I stood up beside her.

      “May I escort you there, for old time's sake?” I offered as the bus rolled to a halt. She looked over at me and shook her head.

      “I'm sorry, but the passage of time is not so kind.” She told me as she stepped off of the bus, leaving me to the machinations of time.

-Zero

A Mansion of Separation

      The stench was almost too much to handle for the young creature who had just come across it. The poor thing hadn't found the source of the smell yet. She covered her gentle and small nose. It was far too used to the soft scents of perfumes imposed on her since long before birth.

      The scene she would find would be a wretched thing indeed. Blood of a dark red color would stain and grow on the three walls of the hidden room. Blood was the paint as the owner had run out of funds, but not of family. Thus, it was but a small price to pay for appropriately painted walls. It was the way of their people to sacrifice that which gives them pleasure for luxury. She would also find that the blood is not the source of the stench.

      Out of a blind curiosity, our little creature began to search for that which was the horror to her heart. She had small shoulders, a flat stomach, and a tiny waist. She would have been bigger if she did not feel guilty when satisfying her hunger. It was such a waste of beauty.

      The building she wandered was large, luxurious, and lonely. The ceiling was easily high enough to fit someone twice her size under it. It was supported by stone Greek pillars that reduced her to an insignificant ant in comparison. The floor was solid marble and polished to the point that it formed such a perfect mirror that the room seemed to double in size. The walls, seemingly made of red velvet, were home to various paintings of exquisite artistic and monetary value. They had not been properly admired since their purchase.

      The halls were grand but empty. If our daring heroine were to speak a single word, her voice would be carried throughout the mansion and back to her. “Anyone there?” She called out in ignorance of the master's dreaded condition. When her still oblivious voice returned to her, she shivered as if Death himself had replied. She continued through the house, searching for the source of the stench that she dreaded so much. She would find it, but not before discovering its reason.

      Many rooms were dark and empty. Perhaps if the master was not so lonely, then he would have had reason to fill the voids of his home. Instead, he preferred to retreating to his hidden room, where he could hide from the mirrors of art, or at least attempt to hide.

      Our heroine came across a lit and filled room at last. It was the tenth room of the seemingly infinite hallway that was engulfed in a perfectly concealing darkness. It barely held the wretched stench, but she was drawn into it regardless.

      The toys of a small girl littered the tenth room. The simple, but large nonetheless, pink walls trapped the innocence of its late inhabitant within the room. Tears came to the eyes of our heroine when she saw the princess tower that she herself had in her own childhood. This sadness was quickly turned to rage when she remembered the story of the late little girl.

She left the room in search for the master. A small toy princess was in her tight grasp as she walked into the seemingly infinite darkness of the hallway. She had not a clue where he might have been hiding, but she was determined to win that game of hide and seek. She would, in a way, but sometimes the pursuit of truth leads to dreadful discoveries.

      A great amount of time passed before she realized that the hallway had led her back into the grand room where she began. She felt discouraged by this seemingly circular goose chase, but she soon laid her eyes upon the staircase that lead into the whispering depths of the empty mansion. She descended into darkness on a mission she considered holy. But for far too long people have justified evil by claiming it was willed to happen by the eternal creator. 

      The wretched stench grew in strength with every angry step she took. She wished to exact retribution on the master for what he had done to his kin. For all the dark thoughts that ran though her mind, she could not come to conceive a reason for the atrocities that he had committed. They seemed, to her, far from her conscious mind, when truly they were good friends with it. When it came to others, her dark motives seemed to disappear. When others were at fault, she was perfect.

      She stumbled through the cold dark until she found a light source. With the click of a button, the flashlight came to life and illuminated a small area ahead of her. The electric torch fit in her hand with great ease. She attempted to know what lay in the quiet darkness, but the light kept scaring it out of sight. Grey walls were all she found, except for the deafening silence of the great reaper. Chills covered her body as the air began to cool. She hastened her steps, but knew not where to go. The smell became more unbearable as she rushed to the source. She gazed over her shoulder for just a moment. A ghostly blue aura faded from her sight. Her heart froze with fright, while her feet forgot to.

      She turned her head to see a glimpse of a grey barrier right before impact. Her nose cracked and deformed against the dry wall. She fell to the ground clutching her nose in pain. The flashlight and the princess toy rolled away and out of her reach. The light found itself shining on the girl's feet. 

      Her gentle nose, which had never known wretched smells, became broken, a shattered remnant of the illusion of goodness. Blood, fresh and almost sweet in scent, poured from it. It engulfed her hands and streamed into her open mouth. She tried to spit it all out, but she could not. She was forced to swallow some of it. She wished desperately to stop the bleeding, but all of her previous tactics were proven unbearably painful for our heroine.

      It was with great determination that she remained silent, but she would break. Her howls of pain were enough to send chills down any human's spine, and it would have if she was not alone with the reaper. She rolled to and fro on the bloodied cement until her tear-filled eyes came across the light. She reached for it with a red hand. The air was as cold as death and when she grabbed the flashlight, a ghostly blue skeletal hand seized her outstretched arm. For a moment, it was all she could see. Then she recollected herself and tried to teat her arm free. A freezing laughter filled her mind as she struggled. It quickened her heart and threw her into a frenzy for freedom. The ghostly hand released her and faded from sight. Where was her anger now? It has gotten her so far, so close.

      As if to aid her, the spectre hand reappeared and pulled a hidden lever for the girl. She had gone far enough on her own. A mechanical sound filled the empty house as the wall she had broken nose on became a door to the hidden room. The end was near.

      With the flashlight in hand, our heroine gave light to the grave scene left behind for none to find. The walls were stained with blood and seemed to ooze it. But this was mild in comparison to what else lay in the room. From the ceiling hovered the head of a baby. It hung in the air like a light-bulb and almost seemed to serve the same purpose. The eyes had been gouged out and the blood dripped down from the sockets onto the freshly decomposed face of the once-human baby. From where the neck had been, crimson drops occasionally fell onto the hair of the little girl who stood upright. Her jaw had been violently torn off and her eyes were also taken from her. Her head was tilted to the left as if limp, unlike the rest of her body, which was in the same fresh state of decomposition as the decapitated baby head. Maggots crawled through her face and gladly occupied her eye sockets as if to replace the balls that would have been there in life.

      Her dress was tattered and torn. It seemed to be yellow in color initially, but it was near impossible to tell with all of the blood on it. It was made clear to our heroine how the corpse was remaining upright. A hook, hung from the ceiling, was punctured through the little girl's heart, preventing her from touching the ground until her skeleton fell apart.

      Perhaps the most wretched sight to our heroine was what lay beneath the children corpses. An evil smile was stretched across the master's decomposed face. He seemed together at first, which probably angered our heroine even more. But worse was to come.

      A ghostly blue aura began to fill the room. The baby's head glowed. The cry of a newborn overwhelmed the ears of our heroine. Its mouth mimicked the haunting sounds. The one with the broken nose tried to escape, but the wall closed her in the room. Childish music played slowly as the little girl's body was gradually reanimated. The right hand outstretched itself and tried to seize the trapped creature, but was unable to. Her sick and twisted voice filled the room, overpowering the cries of the baby. 

      “Why won't you play with me?”

      The little girl's jaw came into our heroine's sight and violently hopped towards her. She hit it away from her, but it, in all its decomposed beauty, would not give up its pursuit. Finally, it forced its way onto her lap and up her chest. It rubbed its maggot-filled chin against her own still lively one. Vomit rushed up to our heroine's lips. She held it back for a moment, but soon painted the master's bare legs green with her stomach contents. The detached jaw fell away from her and the little girl's body went limp again. The terrifying cry of the baby turned to an even more horrifying silence. The ghostly blue glow became a ghastly darkness. In a state of hurt and horror, our heroine waited to act. But our spectre would wait for no mortal's useless actions.

      “Welcome back, my dear.” The manly, but gentle, voice of the master echoed through the room. The glow return but formed a cloaked figure across from the living one. No face was visible, but a skeletal hand lifted itself and pointed at her. She turned and repeatedly hit on the wall as a poor attempt to escape. The wall refused to allow her out. The grave of her family will also be her own.

      The master rose to his feet and towered over our heroine. “Time for bed, my love.” He said to her, reached out for her hand. She cried out for help as her corpse husband extended his grip further and further until his hands were wrapped around her neck. He did not squeeze at first, out of love for her.

      But then she forced him to. She was sick of suffering from the knowledge of what she had done. The process was short in relation to the time since she had left her home. When it was done, her body fell limp and the ghostly blue figure put its arm through her. Death took her soul in his grasp and tore it away from her. The suffering that befell her family was now hers as well. Some would call it fair. After all, they were her victims.

-Zero

The Life of A Lonely One (Story Poem)

“Shush, shush, be quiet, there's danger afoot.
It seeks to destroy you and control me.
It lies just over the hills and the trees.
Its beak bites harder than teeth have bitten.
Shush, shush, be quiet, and lie your head low.”

One said to Two upon hearing the crow,
The bird that had dared ally with evil.
It flew above their heads and then the hills.
One slowly poked its head out, finds no bill.

“Is the evil gone, dearest brother One?
It sounds as if done, but not forgotten.
Can I please forget the visions witnessed?
Those times when once we had friends are quite missed,
So I ask again, is the evil gone?”

Two's voice was not of fear, but of yearning.
The brothers had been alone for decades,
And their loneliness was turning them mad.

“Shush, shush, be quiet, the jealous crow comes!”
Warned One to his brother in answering.

The jealous crow flew above, clattering
Due to its shivering from its cold heart.

“Brother, why did the crow take up that art?
Is evil innate to such a creature?”
Two questioned his knowing brother One, who
Had studied the world quite extensively.

“No, there is a story behind its choice,
A story that I believe you should know,
But we must find a place to hide away
For it will sweep us up if we are seen.
So come with me, dearest brother, and hide.”

And thus they both went down the rabbit's hole
Where the darkness consumed them and hid them.

“Oh such vibrant darkness there is down here!
How might we see if the crow has come near?
Surely it will slip through the shadows and
Come up from behind to devour us!
There seems to be no escape from evil!”

Two could not find trust to put in darkness,
But his clever brother One trusted full.

“Shush, shush, be quiet, you act like a fool.
Do you not understand the truth in black?
It is true that the crow too is dark night,
But it is not his color that turned him
But rather the jealousy in his heart
Did the deed that now plagues those below him.”
Explained One to Two, quite carefully said.

“We are safe here?” Two questioned his brother.

“Indeed we are.” One answered the younger.

“Then recount the dark story of the crow.”

One nodded in reply and inhaled deep.

“It happened many years before you did,
And even before I too came to be.
It was when the crow was young and still pure.
It had been spending time with the Raven.
It is his cousin, or perhaps brother.
The Raven was much bigger then as well,
And quite revered for his strength and wisdom.
He was the King of the sky, and still is,
But his kin, the crow, lacked such great glory.
He flew in the same skies, but none noticed.
The crow too was graceful and passionate.
Often he could be found flying with strength,
And he commonly revealed his wisdom,
Which sometimes surpassed that of the Raven.
Still none recognized his abilities,
And all continued their Raven worship.

Remember, brother Two, life is not fair.
Thus, no matter how hard that poor crow tried,
And no matter how much he did achieve,
None noticed except for the worried snake.

'You appear ill.' The slithering snake said.

'I deserve the fame and glory, not him!
He is lesser than I, except for sheen!'
Did the crow reply with deep jealousy.

'Do temper yourself, dearest friend of mine.
I see your evil. It brews deep within,
Seeks to corrupt you, seeks to destroy you.
Please do not let it succeed, friend of mine.'

The slithering snake's tongue spoke of sights seen,
And nightmares that became reality.
But alas, the jealous crow did not hear,
For it was busy plotting its revenge.
Thus the snake did leave to warn the Raven
Of the evil that had taken the crow.
But the jealous crow saw his direction,
And promptly caught him with his sharp talons,
And before the snake could scream out for help,
His head was bitten off of his body.
The crow devoured the slithering snake,
In mere moments, and then he ceased to be.
That was the beginning of the murders
In which the crow took an evil pleasure.
The Raven did his best to stop the crow,
But he refused to commit evil too.
Thus the crow roams and does as he pleases.”

One finally finished his prolonged tale.
The crow cawed from high up above the pair,
Scaring Two quite efficiently, it did.
One was sympathetic, but not afraid.
He smiled instead, amused by Two's quick fear.

“Relax, relax, dear brother. We are safe.
The crow may caw but never enter here.
Its wings are restrained by the rabbit's hole,
And flying is its greatest advantage.
Down here it is robbed from the evil crow;
Thus we are safe for we may outrun him,
And disappear further into the hole,
Where he is far to large to dare enter.”

And thus Two calmed himself and dared relax.
There was silence between them for some time,
But then it seemed that the crow had vanished.
Thus one lead his brother out of the hole
And they wandered through the dangerous woods,
Until they reached the high up Raven's roost,
Where they would be safe from the evil crow.
Once there, they found that everyone had left.
One sat down in the defeat he suffered.

“They have left without me, my dear brother.”
One muttered to Two, who sat beside him.

“Where did they go off to?” Two questioned One.

One let out a great sigh that shook Two's core.
The sigh carried such power over Two,
That the sigh seemed to be that of a god
Yet only affected his brother Two.

“They have left without me.” He repeated.
“They are gone to a world beyond this one,
Carried away by the Great Raven's wings,
To a world so absolutely perfect.
It is a world without any evil,
A world where the crow can follow us not.
It is what some people call Paradise.”

Two listened to One with his eyes closed shut.
He was imagining One's Paradise,
Which was a world of colors and people,
A world where loneliness did not exist.
This world was ideal, but fictional.
Thus only the Great Raven could provide
Passage to such a world, by his great wings.
But if One truly wished to enter it,
All he had to do was donate himself
To the great evil that flew through the skies.
But he was afraid and would not do so.

Thus he spent his life wandering the land,
Completely alone with his illusions.

-Zero

Wanderer's Journal #25

       I was in reality when the light faded away. It was morning. The sunlight had broken through the dusty dark blue blinds that had dared attempt to keep it out and away from my eyes. But nothing could keep the sun from dawning in that wretched world. I hated it so deeply. It took her away from me. Life required it to live, but I was dead with it in the sky.

       The waking life that so many held dear became the very bane of my existence. I spent all the days I could hidden in my dark room, having covered the window with even more material. Sometimes I would forget to eat and drink. I was in utter torment. When I did leave my room to satisfy my natural needs, my family would bombard me with questions that I couldn't bear to answer. They knew nothing of my true life. They knew nothing of my world. Eventually they stopped asking, but I was making no recovery. Sleep refused to come to me most nights. The nights that it did were dreamless.

       I was separated from my love, my world, and my reality. The more time that passed, the more spiteful I became. Those who were of the waking world were fools who could only convince themselves that they were happy. They knew nothing of happiness. I hated all that was out of my control, whether it be the rising sun or the color of the blinds. Regular people seemed to deal so well with their pathetic position in the world. That world was objective first and foremost. My world was subjective to me and objective to all else. I missed my home. I missed Marie-Lynn.

       I hated the waking-world more then than I do now. Awake, I was like every other person, a faceless number in the end. But asleep, I would enter my world where I was god. In my world, I was space and time. I was the ultimate creator. But in the waking-world, I was the created. I was that which is subjected to the rules of space and time. I was pathetic.

       It was in the darkness of my room when I first began to discover another way to enter my world. It was nothing compared to the real thing, but it was all I had. I filled page after page with long descriptions of the various wonders of the infinite world. I wrote about the great pyramids that make those at Giza look minuscule. I wrote about the many moons that lay just beyond the horizon. I wrote about how the sun rotated around the spherical land that I often remained on. I did mathematical calculations (after inventing them of course) to determine both the distance of the dream-sun and the speed in which it travelled. I established 'laws of physics' for the world, each of them incredibly easy to disobey. I created a species of humanoids to take care of the world while I was away. I made them in my image so that, even without Marie-Lynn around, I would not be alone. I made a list of their varied characteristics so that they would be different from another.

       Months in reality passed and I kept at my writing. My family was more than happy to hear my voice and saw, through a crack in my door, the project that I was working on. In the months that had passed, I had written the bulk of the people's literature down. Often the poems were praises of me (and therefore were appreciated, but ignored) and the novels told stories of love and war. Inevitably, they had been influenced by my love for Marie-Lynn, who I could only reference to in my writings.

       On our third paper run, my mother (with her nasally voice) suggested that I try to publish what I had been writing. I immediately rejected the idea, but with time it became a way to possibly say something to Marie-Lynn. I hadn't heard from her or seen her since the event with the blinding light in my own world. Once decided on publishing, I began to search through the thousands of papers and stories for one that might invite her back to me. After some time, I found one of the novels written by my people. Its title was “The Wanderer's Wife”. The story closely mirrored ours, but it was the ideal way for things to happen. I read through it and made sure that people of the waking-world would be able to understand it. I made a few minor changes, added a short preface, and put a dedication page in. “For my dearest Marie-Lynn. Until we dream again.” It read.

       The process was long and I received far too many rejection letters, but eventually the novel was published under my name. In the first month, only twelve copies were sold. I became doubtful that Marie-Lynn would ever see it, so I gave up waiting and returned to my room. I wrote more and more about my world, ignorant of any and all events of the waking-world. I still couldn't dream, but this was a nice substitute.

       I was unaware of the novel's success until there was a knock that I did not recognize on my bedroom door. It was soft and unsure. I finished the thought on the paper and slowly made my way to the rectangular piece of wood. I grabbed the metal doorknob, turned it, and pulled.

       The first thing I saw was a copy of the novel.

       “Hi Jesse.”

-Zero