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A vessel of hate - that's what I am. I cursed this world for everything it had done to me, and sevenfold more when it showed me I could do nothing against it. Powerless, I resolved to desolate it from without: God. I would find and drench him in cold hatred.
Decades of searching led me to the Forbidden Corridor. God, an old lady, sat motionless as I entered the hall. I accused her of crimes against her creations; she responded with a flick of her eyelashes. It dawned on me: it was never her; merely misguided men parading her name.
Once, the wind challenged the sun to strip a man of his coat. The sun obliged, but asked the wind to try it first. The wind blew with all its might, but the man held tight onto his coat as the cold air rushed past him. With a smirk on its face, the sun sent forth its rays, letting the man drench himself in sweat - and eventually, forcing him to take off his coat.
Sometimes, brute force is not the answer. Bluntness has its merits (a few), but try to think of solutions that are less damaging yet equally effective.
Remember the sun and wind story?
Sadness is just like the sun. It creeps slowly into your life. It coats you in layers of its essence, forcing you to strip off and drop your guard.
Without fortitude, you will be at your most vulnerable. You are thirsty. In the same way you long for an ice-cold bottle of Gatorade when the sun makes you break a sweat, sadness makes you long for company, approval, and appreciation.
And when it comes from the wrong source, disaster will strike.
The question is, how do you protect yourself AND keep your sanity?
Haku could have been a deadly spellcaster. [Almost] No one else could form seals with just one hand. Aside from that, he had three elements at his disposal - wind, water, and unbreakable ice. Imagine him double-casting two spells (using one hand each). Probably a wind tunnel to immobilize the enemy, rapidly followed by a water dragon. Then a frigid damsel as the water dragon makes contact with the foe, encasing him in an ice dragon. A shattering spell could come next; as the icy shards fly in the air, a wind vortex would create a renamon-esque diamond storm.
The trainees would descend upon me like a swarm of bees. "Sir, orders complied with, sir!," they shouted in earnest. My passive scanners would activate, instantly detecting any point on their person that was worthy of my criticism.
Short / Tied Hair?
No Facial Hair?
Closed Top Button?
Clean and Ironed Clothes?
No dangling anything?
45 Degree Angle between feet?
Shoelaces hidden from view?
Super shiny shoes?
Wearing the correct color of socks?
Was the line delivered correctly? In a resonant voice? With conviction?
I haven't cried for quite a long time, I think. I didn't cry in Japan. Well, I did, once, because I willed myself to. That's the kind of person I am. People would say (or post a status that says) that boys don't cry, only real men do. Well, maybe I'm just a boy.
Weakness. I've been weak for most of my life. Up until now, I'm physically weak, socially weak, emotionally weak, and mentally (in terms of determination and single-mindedness) weak. To be strong is to eliminate any show of emotion. To be emotionless is to be invulnerable.
She told me she'd be by my side, however this turns out. But instead of feeling reassured, my shields shot up. A part of me identified her as a threat, and no matter how hard I tried to overcome my own defenses, they would not let me reconfigure. I told myself over and over to get up, fix myself, use recover, cast time lapse - every skill and spell I knew that might bring me back the metastable state I was in some time ago. Futile. It was inevitable - metastability itself was a nasty thing. Just one grain for an avalanche.
Another mild spell. Dysthymia. Without anywhere to go, I retreat into myself.
The room I made in my mind had eight walls. I often sat on the mat right there, dead center. It was a perfect place for meditation, and for listening to the rest of "me." They were quite silent now, my other selves. "I" had assumed dominance less than ten years ago, since everyone else was on the verge of collapsing.
This time, however, I sat with the eastern wall on my back, arms around my knees. I, too, was crumbling. Another "me" had to be born, soon.
Mother had warned me about September. She'd say it was a vulnerable month for us, but I didn't really pay her advice much heed.
I know I should be scientific about this, but fuck that shit. Things have been going bad for the past few days, and it's slowly getting at me. Mother must've been right.
And vulnerability was definitely not just a physical threat. I was being attacked from emotional, social, and mental arenas. This time, my defenses weren't enough to successfully ward off the enemy without getting damaged.
Something's wrong with me, my heart, my mind and memory.
The priestesses of Melan were truly formidable. It took Jenai a month to recover from the silence spell - one that a measly novice had cast. And by recover, I mean it took him a month to utter another sound - and not without difficulty.
These days were utterly humiliating for him. He had never been a friend of silence. Wherever he was, gaiety and celebration trailed, like shadows cast in endless daylight. Without words, Jenai had quickly deflated in all ways possible.
I asked the local shaman to commune with the spirits for his sake, but they have yet to descend.
I looked at my reflection as intensely as I could. I studied him, his features, his emotions. For a moment, it felt like I was staring at a real person, and he was staring right back as intently. It scared me, the way his eyes seemed to pierce into my soul and engulf me in a cloud of darkness. I pull away my gaze, and remind myself he's not real.
"Am I not?," a voice called out in reply. It was my own, spoken from another mouth, whispered into my ear. I froze as familiar arms wrapped around from behind.
I'm on a rush. I think I skipped one of my September entries already so I can't miss out in this one. I'm on my way to my review. I haven't been taking this seriously, though I know I should. Probably i hate all that implied pressure that's been cast down on me.
Damn, in going to be late again. I wasn't like this before. I always came early, like five to ten minutes before the time. Now, I'm always late. At times, I'm terribly late - late enough that had I been in my former self, I would've died of shame.
I don't like my course, but it was my hand that decided to put it on the paper. It was my decision to pursue it. Chemical engineering. I had no idea what a chemical engineering did for a living. What I knew was that it had chem and engineering in it. Chemistry - this was something I liked. I always brewed potions from household stuff when I was a kid. Shampoo, lotion, efficascent oil, a marble, and many other stuff put together in a bottle. Engineering - this was something I didn't know the definition of, but I knew it sounded cool.
You might feel the painful hours
As silence sings a lullaby
Oh lie inside a cell of flowers
Azure reminders of the sky
Go linger in the walkway
Living in the past like it's reality
There are phantoms screaming
Seeking out your refuge
On the benches painted green
Under the small tree
Burn this field, oh greater powers
It shall be my sweet funeral pyre
You tie my hands inside this tower
Of silence, where death will consume me
Returning to that office
Of old rifles, broken swords, and accusations
A dead rose lies in the center of attention
All its petals brown from bleeding out its story
You scream out tears to say you're sorry
Just two more weeks. This is gonna be a hell of a ride. Things are so fast-paced, I'm unsure I'll be able to keep up.
Anyway, I just watched episode 23 of Shingeki no Kyojin. I guess the author deliberately made everyone realize that it was Annie all along - from the looks of the titan to her impressive fighting ability, it was as if he was telling us all along, "it's her." For some reason, even if I know she killed lots of enemies, I felt sad for her. Maybe because she got trapped after trying to help.
Annie realized too late that she had walked right into the trap, set by one of her better acquaintances from the training camp. For some crazy reason, she didn't feel any special ire toward him - only a calm sort of respect, mixed with a tiny amount of resignation. She was impressed at his tact; no doubt, Annie had underestimated him. Satisfaction flooded her veins, more than anything else. A worthy opponent had come to unmask her, and she decided: reveal herself she will. Her ace - the needlepoint ring she wore - was glistening, as if ready to be bathed in blood.
I can feel the two folds of my tummy. It's a fairly new feeling. It's as if I'm being told to jog. To move my butt away from this couch. And stop staring at this monitor for hours on end.
I barely see any middle-aged adult who doesn't have a bulging stomach, be it a moderate or big one. I think 90% of the people I know would definitely end up having one, and it doesn't seem much of a big deal. But I think while we're young, we should try integrating tummy-reducing activities into our weekly routines.
I remembered two names: Paul and Kimberly. Even then, it's only Paul who I actually have memories of. In that two, three months I spent in kindergarten, he had been my first (ever) and best buddy. We got our stars and "very good" marks together. We talked about lots of stuff. I think he had tried singing some native songs, none of which I could recognize. After all, I had spent the previous three years of my life in Australia.
In a way, I guess it was sad that I went on to grade 1 in the second quarter.
Yanahime had grown up madly believing that attention was everything. She'd snap some pouty, catty, and duckface selfies for everyone's eyes. The approval would feed the fires inside of her. Of course, later on, she had to give a better show. So she'd have one of her duckface boy-friends tag along. They'd do some provocative poses, the followers would scream approval, and the cycle would go on. One day, however, after posting an almost-nude selfie, there was not one like, comment, or share. Not one. She was shocked, furious, and broken, wondering what part of her was wrong...
I could see the craters and scars, the same ones I saw on her less than a score ago. I had asked her back then how she got them, but she didn't really say. Now I know.
It's regrettable, how quickly I plunged into this sorry state. It started from above, and the stress must have caused it. I didn't pay it heed, though. That was both my strength and weakness. I could ignore some things many others I knew couldn't, and it made me dauntless; at the same time, it pushed me away from treatment and aid I needed.
I'm feeling drained, but I didn't really use up my physical and mental resources today. Neither did I take a bath in the lukewarm springs of emotional melancholy. I don't understand. Perhaps I could put forward a handful of hypotheses, but not one would fit.
That aside, I think I found out (or maybe confirmed?) something about someone, but when I think of it, my mind tries to push it away. Like, it's telling me to stop thinking about it. And it gets my heart beating fast, and I get dizzy, and I just want to fall asleep and dream.
If I were him, I could figuratively die of shame. Submitting a photograph taken by someone else, posing as if it was your own, and actually winning a prize for it - in my opinion, going up that stage to claim it would feel like standing naked in front of everyone (and I'm not a nudist). And to find out that he even submitted the same picture to another contest recently. There was definitely no remorse the first time it happened. And I wonder if there would have been any had the secret been safe in the dark for all eternity.
Anjeal had been charming all her life, and she knew it. Given the need, she could wield her looks like a katana sharpened by blood. At other times, she'd go on the defensive, wearing her beauty and innocence as armor. Most of the time, though, she pushed away the fact from her mind, and pretended hard not to know the effect she had on people, both men and women.
I watched her from afar, silently admiring her smile. Another flock of boys, and even girls, swarmed her; she treated them civilly, but I knew they would never reach her heart.
He went inside the hut, and saw her motionless and devoid of color. Her father wept silently beside the cot - the same place where the now-dead girl had been born a dozen years earlier. The wizened man stepped toward the two, whispering into the father's ear, "I can bring her back, but it won't be now." Hope blazed in the father's eyes, and he asked the man to do it. The ancient one touched his palm to the girl's forehead, and a brilliant crimson light flared. He sighed, knowing she'd return to a time where he didn't exist yet.
I thought it was Adrian, but it wasn't. It was Adrienne.
I saw you crying in the dark field, God knows why... Adrienne... I think she used you. She used you up.
But before she did, I saw Adrian use her first. He burnt her, burnt her out.
So, I guess... It's no surprise that this time, you used me. You used me up.
I'd love to find another one to wear, another shirt that's mine to tear. But, no matter how huge I'd make my wardrobe, it wouldn't erase it. The fact that you used me, used me up.
I've got so much I want to do - some out of necessity, others for fun. Why is it always that there's never enough time to do everything?
Time is a resource we will never have enough of. Curse all those minutes I spent idle, waiting for time to pass by. But I guess idling and doing nothing is still an integral part of life we must all accept; obviously, everyone needs to sleep, to rest, to pause and take time to recover.
And sleep. Oh sleep. Beloved sleep. When will you return to me? Tuck me to bed, embrace me.
I wanted to sprint forward like a madman, even if I was carrying this huge, heavy backpack. I imagined it slipping seamlessly off me as my arms turn into wings and I turn into a raven.
A burst of energy was coursing through me; from which source, I could not pinpoint. If I had been tasked to assassinate someone, I might actually have done it. Azarath Metrion Zinthos. Quick as that, he'd be caught up in a web of darkness, and it wouldn't even take a sliver off my mana. I wanted to crush him, this non-existent, unfortunate target.
I would've highly appreciated Armin if this was the past. Now, it's only Mikasa (and Annie) who impress me. Well, if I think about it, it's not the first time I've loved the strong and ruthless characters. I chose Nakago and Mewtwo above the rest. And it was especially satisfying when everyone teamed up against them, but still couldn't beat them.
I'm not sure why, but I'm liking Annie more and more. She's already killed off a lot of the cast, spreading destruction everywhere, but I still feel for her. Maybe because she's a lone wolf willing to sacrifice everything.
A blank sheet of paper. He had no answers for it, nor did he have excuses for himself. Surely, he was bound to be judged for the outcome of this test, which was certainly going to be terrible.
He knew there would be celebrations from some. A manic sort of delight often rocked an audience witnessing the downfall of a man, more so when everything clearly points to the fact that they've bested him. A few others would cringe at the sight, though, and wonder what high wind blew to send him down.
Oh, why are we afraid to fall?
I know it's cliche, but, will you wake me up tomorrow? It's October, that's why.
October. Sky. Vanilla. Mini-stop. Look. Listen. Crossroads. Traffic. Internet. Social media. Septum. Draco. Meteor. Invoke. Reagents. Limit. At infinity. Milk tea. Hakka. Moon. Selenium. Six. Jeagerjacques. Eren. Titan. Satellite. TV. Cathode Ray. Deflection. Beam. Toothpaste. Rheology. Newtonian. Gravity. Ascension. Lotus. Crossed. Star. Blackfire. Deception. Opal. October.
And there. I made a closed loop of words, each related to the next in some way I imagined.
By the way, I watched the cockroach die. It struggled from the chemical, by which MOA I don't know.
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