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What don’t you like about me?

Well…you’re ugly.

Oops. Rewind.

There were days when I have humongous doubts regarding the logic behind the world’s nomenclature of people. Take a man who doesn’t like sports, who enjoys chick flicks and isn’t afraid to cry. Piece these facts together and you get yourself another fag. Because someone is American, it automatically makes him an idiot. Because a person is an octogenarian, you should watch the amount of space between you because that person is obviously incapable of performing any hygienic act.

And just because I enjoy black on my closet and eyelids, am pale, and very dark-haired, I am automatically classified a member of the Addam’s Family. I wouldn’t have mind, really.

If only they didn’t hold such catalog against the career option of kindergarten teaching.

I guess goth is a better tag to wear than psychopath any day. Just imagine the onerous life of Dr. Seuss! But I also want to teach little kids so my life’s really worse; don’t even want to think about the number of rejections I got from all the schools who think I don’t look right for the job.

So…do I get the job?” [Smile.]

Miss, um, Stahley, um, you have very good credentials, impeccable background.

[Smile. And try hard to ignore the big BUT coming next.]

But there’s one thing. You see, the image you’re projecting does not really sync with the school’s philosophy.“ [Translation: I don’t like your false eyelashes and pencil-thin eyebrows. And you could try to update your color palette…aren’t you too old for pigtails?]

The bitch.

Do a little paraphrasing and you get the same scenario in all the school’s I’ve applied for–it’s as if they can already imagine me teaching the kids how to sing, “Satan loves you this I know…”!

Well, except Little Me, that is.

Miss Lynch, the gargantuan head teacher, gave me my shortest interview to date.

Why should I accept you?” Then the devil (or M. Jackson) chose that moment to reveal a great truth to me, so I answered: “Because you see your younger self in me, and you know I could actually be good.

Static.

Then she belched. “Idiot. Be here first thing in the morning. No uniforms. Wear something you would normally wear to meet kids. Except yellow. It blinds me.

Here’s a secret: I think she really hates kids. But yeah, I got accepted for my first teaching job ever. So the gal will forever hold a spot in my book.

Now fast forward to my first day, breaktime. Let’s skip the part where I introduce myself to the kids and worse, to the others (a.k.a Adults), and all the singing in between. It wasn’t as bad as the fast forwarding implies. I rather enjoyed how things played out.

Until Johnny, the devil’s child, happened.

I was supposed to get some me time (like normal adults who just spent almost an entire hour with kids do) while the kids play outside when I felt something poking the back of my thighs.

Oh, hi there.” It was the kid with the obnoxious spectacles, the one with chains on it. “Johnny, right? Is there any problem?

You shouldn’t have gone here.

Static.

I’m sorry but I don’t think I know what you mean, Johnny.

Stop teaching here.

You don’t like me teaching you?

No, I just don’t like you.” Static. “Me and the others.

Oh.

More static.

So…the other kids asked you to approach me, huh?

They said I shouldn’t do it because you’ll get angry.

Even more static.

Are you?

Combustion.

No, Johnny. I’m not angry with you nor with your friends. Hey, I’m curious…

[In which you enter the first two sentences of this saga.]

***

Missing Kid

Whoa–this guy can WRITE!

It was the second set of words I told myself last December 2011 when I came upon his blog. The first set was rather unintelligible. He expressed his ideas with humor, wrote intelligently, and with an uncanny mix of cynicism and sanguinity. Needless to say, I was hooked. And I was amazed by the number of people engaged in an entertaining and clever dialogue in the comments section.

I had no idea what WordPress is before that, nor did I have any know-how in blogging. I was just surfing the net; bored with Facebook egotism, and yet vowing to eat a plastic fork before I touch a single textbook during that Christmas break. So I continued mutilating the mouse, and through a series of unfortunately forgotten web pages, I clicked a link to his post. When I saw the possibilities blogging could do, I wanted in.

So I signed up right then. I explored how WordPress works, and I found it surprisingly easy; surprising since I always consider myself computer-dumb. But then, anything is relatively easy when you want it enough.

I didn’t write anything until April the next year, though. The reason is simple: I felt insecure about my writing.

It was the last semester in my four years of college, and during those four years I never really wrote anything other than those related to my field of study. I kept a journal but it was a requirement, and by that point I grew to hate any word with the prefix require-. So I burned that journal as soon as I’m done with that certain subject.

SHORT VERSION: College sapped the creative writing worm in me.

LONG VERSION: Back in high school, I was actually part of the school paper. Years before that, in my sixth grade, there was a line saying “I want to be a writer someday,” under my photo in the yearbook (I should have written something more practical but you know how idiotic sixth-graders are). I grew up loving books, and with it grew the love for writing. As what is often the case, they were almost inseparable. I almost forgot that love when I studied Nursing. Maybe because the course took up most of my time and energy, maybe there were lots of distractions (believe it or not, I was a normal person with a social and, uhurm, love life). Maybe I just used up most of the rest of my time hogging my sleeping nook. Whatever the reasons were, I stopped writing–the kind that’s done just for the mere love of it.

I don’t claim to be good at anything other than eating, but being out of practice for something in about four years could make you apprehensive to start again. But during April last year, a new graduate stuck in her mom’s house with a head full of ideas and a pocket full of dust, I can’t even start my exploration of the real world.

Before I knew it, boredom became the anthem of my life (well that and frustration, confusion, ubiquitous angst/what-is-my-place-in-this-world drama, et cetera, et cetera and so forth).

The Scream - HiNaD version

Choosing between mutilating my carotid artery with a nail clipper and humiliating myself by writing my first ever blog post on my actual birthday, I chose the latter.

Thus, in a way, HiNaD became my twin.

It was an idiotic move, I know. Who else but an idiot would pick the same birthday as himself for his blog? I could have celebrated two birthdays in a year and get double the greetings to satisfy my ego. But instead I chose to deny myself the privilege. Oh well, I blame the genes. I didn’t become an idiot by myself, you know.

Anyway, it was real fun from there on.

I have grown not only as a blogger, but as a writer and person indeed.  I wrote stuff I would normally not dare write about [my] family, my real life friends, and my country–one quite droll, the other rather serious. I wrote about the difficulty of being good, and made fun of old timers, calling them Satan in disguise.  I learned that every Homo Sapiens has hypocrite blood.  I encountered rude bloggers a.k.a trolls, and dissected their rudeness while mentioning a four-letter word ten times in a post. Even then, there were times that I couldn’t care less and just posted something stubbornly silly.

I also wrote about how it’s much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings, and how I thought I was mentally disturbed.  I discovered that professional doctors really believe happiness IS a disease (I KNOW, RIGHT?!). Then I tried to answer the question “Who am I?” and failed miserably. So instead I wrote about something I don’t know how to categorize

But before all that, there was this mediocre stick man comic with a rather nice story to tell. Speaking of storytelling, *blushes* I rather wrote lots of them short/very short stories, my babies. For a collection–TotWK–I collaborated with Landix, a wonderful artist, bless him. I didn’t even realize I can write “horror” effortlessly until someone pointed it out here in HiNaD, bwaha!

And oh, yes! I discovered I rather like ‘em Goths. That and a lot of other very amazeballs stuff.

Wow, I did write lots considering I was practically on a hiatus for about four (?) months last year (I was preparing for the licensure exams). Looking back and reading those pieces/attempts-to-make-sense by my mind, I still find myself believing in almost exactly the same truths. Hmm, it’s a wonderful feeling, come to think of it…

(Oh geez, my head’s getting bloated with the awesomeness of Me again. Good thing I only review my blogging achievements once a year, haha!)

All of those things mentioned are wonderful, rewarding stuff–enough to make me continue doing this bloggy thing for as long as I could. But the BESTEST part of it all was/is/would still be meeting you.

Yes, YOU. ;)

It started with a drawing.

Sonja's A Child WIthin. Check it out here: http://sixglassesofwater.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/a-child-within/

Sonja’s A Child WIthin.

Check out Sonja’s work here.

Actually, no. It wasn’t even a drawing but a few squiggly lines. But someone loved those squiggly lines, loved them very much, and it was the best thing that happened to them. Because of it, they were given life.

They became Mistyr Dovclothe.

Oh, she wasn’t called Mistyr Dovclothe then. Nobody knows her name before she became Mistyr. But it must have been a happy name, for that was what she was. The first memories she ever had was being loved. That is enough to make anyone happy. She laughed a lot then, too. The littlest things fascinate her. Her life was simple–you know, being made up of an assortment of squiggly lines–but it was filled with wonder, adventure, appreciation, and–you guessed it–love.

Eventually she grew up.

She begun to meet the folks adults already know well. She hoped and expected for the best, then she met Disappointment; a cold and whiny lady, that Dis was. She looked at the people around her and the amazing lives they led. She reached out for she wanted to touch, to be a part of their lives. But then she met Rejection. Where Dis was cold and whiny, Rej didn’t even talk to her. The best she got was a fleeting glance before he turned his gaze, plunking her back in the ignore corner.

But they didn’t stop her from seeing the beauty around her, for it was still there no matter how obscure it has become. She strived hard to find and to create beauty, for some time after meeting Dis and Rej, or maybe in-between, she unknowingly equated beauty with love.

She misses Love. Sometimes she asks herself ‘Where did L go?’ ‘Have I wandered too far that L can never reach me now?’

She wanted to find L, and so she created beauty.

She became Beauty.

Then something took change. She saw Rej less and less, and began meeting new folks. It was Admiration she often saw. At first she thought she has found L at last, for L and Ad looked very much alike. Time passed. And she discovered they have never been the same.

By this time, she and Dis have become close acquaintances. Hanging out with Dis often, she shared more. She gave more of herself to the cold, whiny Dis that eventually she started to become like her.

It was then that she met Failure. She never liked Failure though. Fai always makes her feel that everything is wrong and nothing will ever be right again. She tried her best to avoid Fai and sometimes she succeeds. Sometimes.

I’m not sure when it happened (maybe somewhere between all these things?), but she found The Hall of Mirrors. She had never really looked at herself before. She looked at her reflection, yes, but always as a glimpse. Never too deeply.  Never questioning.

In The Hall of Mirrors, she looked at herself for the first time.

She saw Mistyr Dovclothe staring back at her. Mistyr Dovclothe is beautiful. She is very hard; made up of many different layers–dark shadows, and light ones, and sharp lines, and delicate curves, and much, much more.

Mistyr Dovclothe is a work of art.

But sometimes, sometimes she misses those squiggly lines.

In a familiar town called Normullsy, there lived a boy named Poppatu. Poppatu grew big and strong, with arms and legs that’s lean and long. Of the things in his body that grew and grew, his forehead turned out to be the longest of all.

 

With five feet long of magnificent lobe, his head stood out from the rest of the world. Like a big, red pustule on the face of a queen, Poppatu could so easily be seen. And this little fact he wouldn’t have mind, if to his harmless, long forehead the people had been kind.

But mocked, and jeered, and with rotten eggs thrown, of that quite long forehead Poppatu want to get rid. Whatever he did though it so stubbornly stuck. Poppatu wished he had different luck.

Hurt and wishing he’d never been born, Poppatu resolved to leave ‘em all. He packed some clothes, some bacon and milk, and one moonless night in that town he left.

The next day the town awoke, attacked by a fleet from the sea led by a horrifying king. Before noon the whole town was sieged. All the people face a bitter end, it seemed.

But there is hope left, for the king of the fleet said their lives would be spared if, and only if, they could present to him a sight so rare that he haven’t seen or even to think of he didn’t dare.

And so at once to Poppatu’s house, the mayor went, bringing the rest of the town. “Hurray we’re safe!” they thought with glee, only to find that of Poppatu or his forehead there was none.

So the normal town of Normullsy – so usual, so practical, with not an icky bit of weird – had nothing to present to the horrifying king. “Off with their heads!” was the last shout they heard. Woman and child, men young and old, on that bright, sunny noon met their end, ‘twas told.

And Poppatu, that lonely old boy, with five feet of weirdness atop of his head, could have saved from doom a normal town whole, if only they have not made him feel so very small.

But now Poppatu’s gone with his forehead tall; even I do not know where he is or if he lives at all. And I wish there is more to this sorry tale, than death and fools, and rejection and pain.

Hulloo! How are you all loonies doing? Bad? I’m elated to hear that! I really would want to see how badly you are doing right now; there’d be no better feel-good stuff than knowing I’ve been luckier than one or two people. I feast on your pains, I do.

I would really say more if not for the fact that I’m a prisoner right now and I only have a few minutes to escape to the blog-o-world. So I’d leave this ‘lil cheery story of a pig instead (since I realized almost all the stories I post here can be classified as, uh, I’m still looking for a better than word than gloomy but I think that’ll have to do for now).

Remember though that happiness is NOW a disease. And the sun is really made of cheese.

See you on December 18. ;)

***

Once upon the early days of Time, a very interesting creature was born, one of the firsts among his kind. He was named after the god who had just crossed the sky on the very second of his birth, Apollo was.

But Apollo is a pig.

There would not have been any use of the “but” if not for his contempt of the minute detail of being a pig; he laments how very unfair it was to be given the chance to exist but only having the sole purpose of dying to fulfill the bacon desires of us who comfortably sits higher on the food chain, and in his own grunts, how he was merely “born to die”.

This minor fact of worldwide unfairness was such a blow to the young Apollo – before, he sings, oh yes, his grunts indeed have a melody (if a bit grotesque for the unfamiliar ear), he brushes the legs of the same boy who feeds him day-noon-night like a cat welcoming you upon coming home if she’s in a good mood, only better (since Apollo is always in a good mood…well, was), he even tries to play tag with the chicks in the barn who never have enough IQ to realize that he’s only trying to play and not to swallow them whole (yes, they’re dumb but have enough vanity to think that those lower appendages really are “feet” and not back scratchers) – cheerful, charming, always playful. That was our Apollo.

Now, it would seem that the smile would be forever gone from the pig’s face.

Apollo, this time the god, heard the cries of his namesake one boiling day near the bacon season. The whole city was filled with the sound of butchers sharpening their knives, but above it all he heard the lone, unmistakable cries of a lamenting pig. Apollo (still the god), who really was the curiousest if not the brightest among them Olympians, resolved to see what the matter was all about.

Hullo.

“Oh, hello, Apollo. It’s nice to see you.”

It doesn’t show on your face, pig friend.

“I’m sorry.”

You are? For what?

“For not looking nice.”

Err…okay.

“So why have you come to see me?”

Well, you sounded like you’re crying.”

“Pigs don’t cry. Pigs grunt.”

Oh.

“I was grunting because I was sad.”

I see, but why?

“I hate being a pig. My life is useless – born, fed, die. How would you like that, god Apollo? Three words defining your whole life?”

Hmm. Born, fed, die. I don’t see why that’s such a bad concept at all! In fact, that’s the greatest way anyone could ever live – no pains, no hassles, no sufferings. Just get out of your mum’s body, indulge, and die. We all die anyway. Yes, even us Olympians, but don’t tell! Bah, I really don’t see what’s so bad about that. Oh, I would sing jubilations if I were you, pig.

“Well I know I used to. But I don’t see the use now. They want me to eat, not to sing, after all.”

Bah, I hate singing! People always expect me to sing. Stupid, stupid people. Singing is for ladies. I am Apollo, most manly among the gods, and I won’t sing for a seaweed-smelling nymph. Or two. But you, you who are expected to do nothing but eat and sleep all day, and you’re complaining? That’s the thing about involving yourself with society. You’re almost convincing me you’re as stupid as them people, pig.

“Manly among gods, sir Apollo, you really think I am in a very enviable position right now?”

Why, yes! Silly pig.

“Would you think it would be fine for anyone to, let’s say, switch places with me?”

Any day, pig. Any day.

“Could you…would you do it, like, now? Right now?”

Of course! Jeez, and they say asses are stupid…

Poof!

And so after that one cheerful conversation in the early days of Time, Apollo the god was known to be the patron of songs, cheeriness, youth, and playfulness amongst other charming stuff. On the other hoof, the pig creature was to be known as a creature of utter contentment for all that’s left of time.

Well, unless you don’t feed him, that is.

And come bacon season, too.

When pigs sing…

When things go right…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…sometimes, they also go wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Click: Apollo the Pig does exist!)

As a child, I’ve always wished to become invisible.

Back then, life was so much simpler. For starters, I knew what I wanted most in the world – flying, beauty, invisibility. The Big 3. I specifically wanted to fly Peter Pan-style, at will and with no wings; I found them to be awfully bothersome.

Yet half my brain’s already rational in that age, so I decided to stick with planes and parachutes instead. Beauty would be the simplest to achieve, I thought. Or so said my mother. But one gets to know it really takes so much more than just growing up. Still, it remained achievable.

I was almost completely happy with these knowledge until I pondered on how to achieve invisibility. In my young mind, the idea was already impossible.

And we know impossible dreams are the hardest to put to sleep.

Like every normal phenomenon, high school came. I still wasn’t able to achieve any of my dreams – the fastest transport I got myself into was a ship, not a plane; I look at the mirror and see not beauty but only me; I haven’t heard of any existing invisibility cloaks except in Harry Potter land.

Of course, other things happened, too. I got my first kiss, formed a few great friendships, made a boy cry through sheer brute, and got scholarships from three different universities.

But there wasn’t a single one of The Big 3.

Life goes on and I joined one university and picked a course I never really wanted because I was smart but stupid. Y’all know college, it’s just high school but you get to say and even do fuck a lot without landing yourself once in detention. I’m just making that up but it could be true.

Now really, what’s cool in that phase was that I got 2 out of my 3 big dreams: I traveled on a plane thrice (disappointing, actually. It’s much like a bus ride), and discovered people are incredibly great liars in college – well that or I could be somehow beautiful.

Those two are big things to someone who still dreams of flying some nights and who used to be an ugly duckling. Big, I tell you.

That P thing some people got in high school? No, not pain and poor self – esteem.

Popularity.

Yeah, well, I think I got it on that phase.

So Number 1-Flying, check. 2-Beauty, check. 3-Invisibility, dream on.

Worse, I thought I was at that point attracting the spotlight towards myself. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel about it, so I did nothing.

I also found myself involved with too many things – love, graduation, break-ups, job hunting, getting broke, partying, family feuds and reconciliations, rejection, job acceptance – you know the list.

Then I think I either really made it big, or I really screwed it up.

You see, I met a really good man. His name is John. Where could you go wrong with a John? It’s such a good name. One of Jesus’ apostles is a John. So was the previous pope. And not to mention Mr. John–ny Depp. See? Anyone that’s a John–ny couldn’t be anything bad.

So I married him.

Everything started like a fairytale – the wedding, the honeymoon (think of Little Mermaid, X-rated version), even the first two years. I felt like I’m living the ultimate dream. I felt like a star.

Then I got pregnant. Twins. I was stunned. I was overjoyed – our love bore fruit! I was depressed – I’m going to be a whale! But really, I think I was happy. I’m sure John was happy back then, too. People from everywhere congratulated us, even that supposed to be childhood neighbor I really could not remember. But things such as Facebook do exist, you know.

In short, I may have felt a sort of a star whilst in college, but that time? I’m a supernova, albeit a supernova with a super waistline.

And after nine months of whaling, I got to see my little angels. Really, I thought I was in heaven. Then we took the babies home. It was all so much fun if you consider not having enough sleep, getting out of the house increasingly less, not having enough time for yourself your sort of fun.

Bitching mother, yes I am.

Truth is I loved my two angels so much I’m fine with all that. I’ve passed on the “supernova” title to both of them anyway. They earned it from managing the seemingly impossible feat of squeezing themselves out of a hole the size of my vagina.

I’d love them more than all the Johns in the world, even. Even MY John. That’s not to say he would do the same, you know? I mean, I dunno if he really could love them babies more than me. That could only be true if he still loves me.

The fact is I don’t know. He doesn’t tell. He doesn’t show. He thinks I don’t know about Cynthia, or Katie, or Eva. The honest to fucking goodness is that I knew about them bitches for a long time now.

And I don’t think he knows that.

Well I prefer to believe that anyway than to think he does know but just couldn’t care.

Oh, and the twins are going to day-care next month. I’m going to have my hands fuller by that time. Yes, that’s really possible. I have to make several preparations for everything to work, yes. At least if not for me, then for them.

But it will work. Things do have their own way of working out if you ask me. Sometimes they even work out too well than how you wanted.

See, I just realized how I’m already living my third “impossible” dream.

Invisibility.

I know I should have been more careful what to wish for.

But I wasn’t.

And at this time? The word could even decide to end, and I still wouldn’t care less.

I wish.

He was standing in the woods, alone, staring at the young white moon for hours, thinking of the same one thing before he called out her name.

“Artemis.”

She appeared, sitting on a rock, like she has been there all along. In her arms was a fawn, suckling on her left breast like it knew she was its mother. And she believed she was. Is.

What do you want?

“I want to join The Guardians.”

You are a man.

“I want to dedicate my life to protecting what belongs to nature. Life. I could do that while being a man.”

Come here.

With the slightest touch, he felt the tip of her fingers brushing his lids. He closed them. Then he saw himself suckling on Artemis’ right breast, much like a child having his first taste of his mother’s milk. He saw that as he sucked, the milk turned into blood, and his form also transformed. By the time he was fed, he saw himself turned into a woman – a very beautiful, if somehow forlorn, woman.

Are you prepared to do that?

He opened his eyes and found himself unable to answer. He just looked at her, at the fawn in her arms; still suckling, and he wondered if it, too, would change.

He then bowed, took a step back. He was not seen ever again in that part of the woods.

The fawn, who really was the god Apollo, asked her twin, “What did you show him, love?”

She looked at the moon, thinking, and was silent for a second. Or it could be minutes. Or hours. Maybe even years.

Finally, she said, “I showed him what no man would never willingly do.

“Which was?”

To be transformed into something he will always see only as second best.

 

 

Of Cupid was newly polished. As it was the 14th, he set out to use it at once. First, he shot the man sitting alone on the bench in a park.
“No one’s sitting lonely on my day, I say!”
Then he saw a girl jogging in the path passing the bench. He aimed, and with god-like accuracy released his arrow.
In the exact same moment, the girl tripped. Fortunately, her boyfriend caught up in time to help her up. Then he saw a man on a bench looking at him as they passed.

It was love at first sight.

(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)

***

In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.

Not that they prefer it any other way.

They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.

For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.

In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.

This is tradition.

This is fact.

Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.

As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.

The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.

Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!

Ah, thanks, Leirum.

So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.

It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.

Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?

Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.

Our lifetime?

Indeed.

She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?

With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.

Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.

Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.

They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.

The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.

I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.

You just don’t change do you, giant?

Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.

All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.

What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.

Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.

Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.

Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.

Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?

True as we are, brother.

She agrees?

You really think I know?

They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.

Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.

Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.

You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.

Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.

Silence.

Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?

Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.

Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.

Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.

You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”

Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.

The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.

Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?

I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.

Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.

Lovely. How about you, young man?

The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.

All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…

The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.

What are you folks drinking?

Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.

Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.

All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.

The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.

Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.

Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.

Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.

I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.

Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.

The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?

We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.

Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.

Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.

A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.

Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.

The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.

Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.

It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.

Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.

Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.

Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?

Huh?

I mean how’d you end up here?

Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?

Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.

How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”

Silence, once again broken by Leirum.

Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.

Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.

Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.

How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.

I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.

Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.

Good night.

And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.

When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.

Drinking.

Waiting.

You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.

Aye.

But unknowingly. Unwillingly.

That’s how it must work, brother.

Aye.

Silence.

I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.

Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.

Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.

You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.

Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.

Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.

She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.

For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.

 

What do you see when you close your eyes?

I see nothing.

Yet I see everything.

Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.

At least I think I do.

But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.

Will you look at me?

I know you need it, too.

Thanks.

You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.

Escape…you like that, eh?

I know. I know.

Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.

I wonder now.

In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?

Just wondering.

She entered the hall and, as always, all eyes were instantly upon her.

Most of those pairs were filled with raw lust, some with pure hatred, while others have what you can call that half-pitying, half-condescending look. And she was aware of all these, yet still did not betray any real emotion and acted as what her father expected of her – proud, graceful, and exceedingly superficial. For a thousand and one years she has done perfectly all that was demanded of her and she was not about to falter now. She laughed, and drank, and charmed all the men, and yes, even the women in the great hall. And as the night was about to end, she stood at once upon the boom of her father’s voice.

Faster than lightning bolts, all the other ladies disappeared, leaving her alone with the men to perform the last ritual.

This was expected, for this has happened every time her family gathers for a celebration. She stood in all her glorious nakedness in the center of the room as her cousins, uncles, nephews, and brothers fed upon her – relishing all that they could of her inexhaustible love essences. They fed ravenously as she made sure to look as one in complete ecstasy until her father voiced out his satisfaction. Then, as had happened with all the revelries for the past thousand years, all the men in the room formed a ring and watched with frenzied anticipation as her father, in all his kingly majesty, approached her to take the final feeding that will satisfy the desire he pleasurably formed all night. Thunder roared and lightning flashed as he ravished on her daughter, and when at last he reached full consummation, resulting in lightning sparks that seemed to turn the night sky to day, he marveled once again at his pure genius for creating her. Then one by one, all in less time to complete a mortal blink, they were all gone.

All except she, the world’s foremost symbol of love, who at that moment would have given everything to be anything but.

She garbed her shame and started towards the deepest dungeons, all the time maintaining the ever composed, proud, and insurmountably beautiful face. She did not once change her pace until she arrived on their chamber doors, opened it, and at last found herself looking at the man, the only man, who aroused in her the purest of love. The worlds of both men and gods looked at his face with repulsion, distrust, and contempt. But she who knows real love and genuine beauty takes one look at him, and only then could she find it possible to reveal her true form. If all beings, from monsters to gods, could not deny that she is Beauty and Love in one when they look at her, would have been blinded with sheer admiration when they see her reveal her truest, purest form in the comforting warmth of the man she loves.

Hush, hush, love…we’re together now,” consoled the fire god Hephaestus, as his broken wife shed all her life’s pretenses in his arms.

Let me tell you a story.

This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.

Why?

***

He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.

Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.

Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.

And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.

There, his heart met The Question.

Why?

And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.

Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?

The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.

Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.

Still is.

And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.

For all of them will take part in the event.

The Event.

That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.

The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.

But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.

And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.

The Question.

***

So that’s the story.

It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.

Why?

Why, I think you know.


“Final Kiss” by Landix (Click to view full image)

Now, now you heard it,

Tales most far from sweet,

Her music gentle, clear,

Yet each note hides a tear,

From Great West to Far East,

Rough North, Treach’rous South,

Where songs begin, nurtured,

Melody she sings to you now.

You may or may not believe,

She only speaketh what she sees;

No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,

The Wind simply exists -

To collect mem’ries long forgotten,

Tales without her would’bin lost,

An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,

To Time, waiting on his post.

But End still lies in slumber,

The World sees not his face,

But you, m’dear, have met him,

Now you must leave this place.

So hold my hand now, don’t fear,

For I am only Death,

To other worlds we’ll venture,

A new tale you must set.”

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There are people you notice, and there are those whom backgrounds just tend to swallow. Perhaps if in one particular background a crime took place in which you happened to bear witness, then asked by the authorities to describe in full detail what you have seen, you would unintentionally left out these people from your …

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This gallery contains 1 photo.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us. -Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962), Demian I stand here in the balcony and weep, not for any cause, woes, and hurts noble but for mine and mine alone. The one time I …

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