Gift, part 9

The eyes locked at him.
Walking, walking. Dripping, dripping.
I stand asleep.
There's no one awake at night.
Small blobs formed on the floor, red so dark it seemed false.
Sometimes I dream strange things. I guess everyone does. But do they dream as often as... daily?
That was a piece of advice you were given. Yet, this happens.
He smiled upon the possibilities of what could happen. There were so many possible places to start the incision. All that flesh standing right there, innocently waiting to be tore up. The soft touch of human skin... Slowly opening a path for the blade... The initial moments in which the only sign of entrance is the shy spot of blood that forms around. Like a crowd observing curiously as their neighbor's home gets demolished.
I've dreamt of bad things before. As everyone at least once did. You see, bad things are when it feels real and you wake up soaked in sweat, scared, with the heart exploding. Those times in which you get desperate and can't really rationalize anymore. Even if you know it is a dream, can you... Face it?
Together, always. Somehow.
The blade going up in an arc. The walls painted. A rushed brush that leaves imperfect marks. Like lollipops. Red and decided. Flowing downwards. His hand shaked, the corridor seemed unending. Yet the bedroom was just a few steps ahead. The screams exploded in his head, all those fancy sounds and the painting. He held back the need to laugh. A deranged smile tainted the face, almost as if his head tried to turn inside out through the mouth. From his hand to the floor, it fell in chunks that burst on the floor, something between solid and liquid.
Like, sometimes you feel like you are really going to die. How close have you ever been to death? Have you ever looked it in the eyes and felt it doesn't give a shit about you?
Sometimes it is good to watch how far can things go.
There he was.
But don't worry about that. Things are always the same, until you need 'em to be the same, don't you think?
Let things go until the limits. It is important to show enemies that no matter how close they get to victory, they will never achieve it.
The trail of blood was now a continuous line with thicker parts. The hand raised in the air and went down slowly. The edge walked through the chest, yet it barely touched it. He wondered how could it start. His eyes were barely visible now obscured by a grin that looked painful to bear.
I hear footsteps when I sleep. I hear they walking in the corridor. Talking. It is too easy to let hours of rest go.
Sometimes they just do not have what it takes to take the leap of faith.
That little boy, holding his breath in surprise when he woke up to that scrawny figure holding a deformed knife above him. Right above his eyes. The blade went down just as much as to poke the eyeball. That mouth opened with no sound coming, that was even better than screaming. Even better. The body trying to move when it was too late, the stiff muscles, somehow trying to get away from the bed. So young. Poked to death in a vile frenzy.
It has been like that for as long as I remember...
Or do they?
He needed it. The frenzy. The feeling of overpowering someone. Assaulting them when they are most fragile. Bleeding their bodies dry. His eye blinked fast. The arm suddenly swung up prepared to rip that one to shreds.
I wonder if, someday, when I need to wake up because my life depended on that, will that change?
Impressive. He really made it this far. How obnoxious of him.
His hand delved into nowhere. There was just darkness ahead of him. Wondering where did the human go, he took his hand close to the chest. It all started to feel weird. His mind tried to understand but his need to cut flesh couldn't allow reason. Like a spoiled child that had the favorite toy taken away, he screamed. What seemed to be a small hand entered through his mouth. He couldn't see it, but he also couldn't close his mouth anymore. Trying to let the air pass exclusively through the nose, he moved back to the door.
Have you ever wondered about the things that happen when you sleep? If perhaps the darkness came alive?
Too easy.
It felt like a sledgehammer had just hit his cheeks from inside. A painful blow that later took him back inside the room. Suddenly, he could close his mouth once again, but half his face seemed to be crumbling. Blood flowed through his cheeks as he stood up. He finally realized what had he just done. But it was too late. Dizzy, he walked back to the door, mumbling words that begged for forgiveness. The vision blurred. Something looked at him curiously. After three steps backwards, he fell.
I know this might be silly, but, what if, right?
How long can you last?
With the vision recovered, he saw the figure in the darkness watching him. He tried to get back up, but it was futile. His pants were getting strangely wet. It turned reddish. The eyes now stared close by, he tried not to look at them but fingers forced his eyes open. And somehow inside those eyes he saw a tiny hand, entering through a mouth. The hand became thinner and thinner, as it went deeper. The walls were moving, beating. Suddenly, spikes sprung around the arm, making small holes in those walls. And it went like that all the way down. When it ended, he realized. But consciousness was something he had not anymore. And blood soaked the floor.
Like right now, there's this old bony corpse right at my bedroom's door.


–Just what the fuck is going on?!
–Do not worry, he cannot harm you anymore.
–Who is he?!
–He was... Some other entity that took notice of you.
–Of me?! Why?!
–You know why. Remember what she told you at the elevator?
He gasped. Was it there? There was light inside the elevator, he couldn't be there.
–Exactly. That was a lame trick. I knew there was something wrong. You acted strange.
–So it is true, you're just, using me somehow.
–That does not make me justice. I see it as a deal. Your energy moves me, and I bring you company.
–I don't need no company.
–Oh, really? You seem to forget what passed through your head all these years.
–I can be ok by myself.
–That is not over the table now. Also, you purposely forget how you are always uncomfortable in the presence of your fellow... Humans.
–Not always, I have the circle!
–You had it! But they got their own lives! And you get angry because you are a spoiled child, you wanted more of them! I can give you more!
–More?! You bring me undead smiley spirits as company! I don't NEED IT!
Knocks on the door.
–Are you okay? What is going on?!
Parents...


His parents were worried about him. But he did not know any way to end that. They didn't talk too much, just the ordinary. There seemed to be way too many things to think and that made his head hurt. There was she, but she was dating another guy now and he had to take her out of his head. There were things he had to study, yet it seemed that the university would go on a strike. There was... Daven. And some of his friends already stated that there seemed to be an abyss around him, no one could come close by.
He looked at the ceiling all Saturday. Until the night came and with it, something more to trouble his thoughts.
–Smiley spirit?
–What?!
He turned over to see who bothered him.
She looked sad. Yet the forced smile on her face was still present.

At least... we got cicadas

Sleeping? Sleeping is hard.
I'm still working on part 9, it's a bit hard to find the right sequence of events to describe what comes next.
Too many stupid ideas going through my head. Thought that coming back to my city would make things get better but it seems it got worse.
We'll work that out. Somehow.

Do you remember the stars?

–Hello there.
–...

I walk through the cliff, the lake stays always visible down there. There's the hanging tree. The collector hasn't still taken the bodies. Dozens of bodies hanging on those heavy branches. A tree that looks dead but has never ever shown any sign of weakness. It's alive, holding death.
The bodies float through the lake, only visible if one pays enough attention. It scares to realize there's hundreds of bodies down there, a death without air, just water inside your lungs. The place is silent.
Some bodies lie mangled down the cliff, the final jump once can undertake. The leg bones rising through every other bone inside their bodies.
This place looks gruesome after the happenings. But it is a very beautiful and calm place. Perhaps that's why they chose here.
I watch the few ones that walk around, choosing their destinies. Choosing how to go away. Deciding whether that is the only option. I cannot judge them. Live your lives. For as long as that takes.
I like it here sometimes.
I feel someone coming closer. But I don't bother looking who is it. Even because I know who is it.

–What are you doing here?
–Just looking around.
–Here?
–Why not?
–Just look around. It's blatantly obvious why not.
–I feel like staying here for now.
–All these people feel the same way...
–Listen, I know it's not my time, and I don't feel like these people. I don't exactly know how do I feel. I just want to stay here.
–That's good to hear. I can see in you the same aura I see in the boys and girls that come here daily. But your eyes are different.
–That's irrelevant. You see, I avoided sadness and explicit melancholy for a long time. I just want to... "enjoy" that moment. No motivational messages, no rise and shine, no resilience. Just, take what has been given. And let time do its trick.
–Thought you were taking it fine that way.
–Thought that too. As it can be seen, didn't work so well.
–Well, enjoy the moment. If what you want is to find the melancholy that lies outside and see some kind of resonance with you, my best guess is that this is the place.

He gets up, using hands and legs.

–If there is anything I can help, you know where to look for. I gotta get the work done, look for the place with the highest body count.
–Dully noted.

This is not a place you fight back. Not somewhere you can end up by accident. There's no way in that is not by choice. And there's nothing inside for you, nothing you have to strive for.
I am aware this is not my place. But it seems right to spend some time in here.
Sometimes I will feel like I really wanted company. To just lie on the grass and watch the stars. This place is beautiful, but you can't drag people inside. That would be dishonest.
Some come, few go.

If I stare at the stars long enough, will my eyes shine too?
I feel sad.
This is sad.
And that's all there is for now.
No anger, no revenge, no fighting back.
Just me and this vast space that screams silence at the top of its lungs.
It feels good.

Those topics that make us wanna kill

Just passing by to make sure you know that I'd like to see you all into pieces.

Burn.

Gift, part 8

Up.
And down.
Like every single thing in life.
Sometimes people do things without questioning. He separated those moments into two groups, the group of those who do these things unconsciously, and the ones who do it because they cannot control their urges. The latter caused a hostile reaction on him. They looked like weak people and not very trustworthy, since they could not even control such things.
They were controlled by their emotions.
That was also one of the reasons he felt so angry at himself. All the times he did not control those basic parts of being human brought an extra piece to this fortress of anger he silently built inside.
But that is how life goes. Although aware of the need of letting things go, it wasn't done. The past was always there, maiming whatever he could reach up.
Rising.
And falling.
Whenever he came to realize the things he did, he felt uneasy. But it just felt so unreasonable to stop doing such things. Perhaps sometimes following reason was too much to bear.
The mirror stood there, back to back. Oftenly he would look at it, face consciousness about what seemed to be going on, and then wonder if the mirror could do anything that wasn't just a mimic of his acts.
The voice was familiar.
Ascend.
Descend.
One and a half hours had already passed. And there he was, inside that box of metal. Going once again all the way into the sixth floor.
He felt ridiculous. Why did he keep on doing such things? He remembered many of the useless activities he engaged. Always with some lame excuse, perhaps too afraid to stop and admit it had no point.
After all that time, the metallic box seemed to be getting tired. Sometimes the travel would take dozens of seconds, sometimes it felt like a jump, as if it used its last breath in order to achieve its goal. But it could be just the effects of long exposition to stupidity.
He stared at the other him beyong the mirror. Expecting some sort of clue, some sort of surprise. That which would change how the cards were played.
But there seemed to be no cards on the table.
Every single detail, the marks on the skin, the hair, the darkened surroundings of those eyes indicating that sleeping wasn't a very encouraged activity...
Those black eyes curiously looking back at his.
Sixth floor...
The door opened to an entailing light.
Normally lights turned on after you left the elevator. Motion sensors could not sense people inside it.
Before he turned to press the buttons and wander some more, a dashing body made its way in.


–Just keep the door closed.
–Sure...
–Closed at all times.
–Why?
–It is better that way.
She was speaking quickly, and quietly. Those last words were more like whispers.
His heart still pounded because of the surprise. He wondered why did she took so long, and why did it have to be in such a bizarre fashion.
All the lights inside the elevator were functioning. Every detail of that scarred face came to life. The places in which the blade did not slice gently protruded outwards. The pale skin deformed in small patches to accomodate that bizarre smile.
Somehow it still gave him shivers. But deep down there was this thought forcing itself as the dominant leader of the pack, saying that it was safe because she could be trusted.
–I suppose it is clear enough now.
She was strangely close.
–What for?
–Answers, remember?
–Answers...
–The answers you wanted yesterday.
–So, what is it? Are you guys spying my friends? There is a roster of things like you keeping tabs on them?
–Not that much. There are some more "things" like me, scattered around. Not too oftenly we bring some information to it. But it does not need us so much, darkness can watch by itself.
–Then did Daven tell you about my friends?
–I have seen some of them. Also, stop calling it Daven.
–So what do I call it?
Moving backwards, she looked confused. After a strange sigh, she came back.
–Daven, then. I haven't talked to it for some good days, it doesn't need us.
–Then we are back to the other question, did Daven give you that information?
–Yes. It gave me some of your background before the day we met. It did not look like it took too long to gather that data.
–Did Daven disappear as of lately because it is going after my friends?
–I don't think so.
He wondered. Maybe she just said that thing the day before to keep the topic, maybe she did not really know much about his friends. But it felt weird. So weird he had to hold his forehead with the right hand and close eyes, as if that made him concentrate enough to clarify thoughts.
Eyes closed.
All those times it said "Hello, boy".
The realization hit him like a truck, it was just a bunch of the things in his thoughts. Daven was inside whenever it wanted, as it seemed. It did not need to keep on watching over those people.
–I kind of wonder... Am I mad already?
–What do you mean?
–It lives inside my head.
–Daven?
–Daven.
She seemed surprised.
–Do you have any way to control it?
–None that I know about.
–Maybe it doesn't get access to everything.
–I can't tell.
–But that was to be expected.
–Why?
–It feeds on you. Therefore it gets to be closer and closer, and has to control its source.
–Feeds?
–Yes, never felt very, very tired for no reason?
–I...
He remembered all the times he felt so tired and just thought that it felt so because of the few hours of sleep between days. That could be just the lack of bedtime, couldn't it? It was the most logical answer.
–I did...
–And even though you barely sleep more than half of the recommended hours, some days you are feeling awesome, while in others it doesn't matter how much you sleep or with how much quality?
–Yes...
–That is because it is taking most of its energy from you. People normally don't last this long. It found one great feeder.
–So, it, Daven, is just, using me?
–Perhaps ever since you were a child.
–Where did it come from?
–Is that important?
–Of course it is, I need to know how can I fight back!
–Fight back?
–I don't want to feed it anymore.
–Well, that is one big problem. I am not sure humans fight back. Also, these things have some sort of interest in keeping their sources safe. Some thing in you is used to bring energy to it. Moreover, it is already known that a great feeder lies around.
–So, there are other... Davens...
–You can say so.
–And you, came with it.
–Yes, I did.
–Do you feed on me too?
His head felt dizzy. She was barely holding him now.
–Just a little. I get most of my energy from other ways.
–I'm not sure what to say.
–There is more. But you do not look good enough to hear it.
–I guess I need to sleep.
–You probably do.
She hugged him.
–Now, make sure it remains oblivious to this night.
–I'll try.
He stood against the corner, trying to understand what was going on.
She pressed the button back to the third floor.
Outside, the elevator pit was shrouded in pitch black darkness.


Sometimes people start to question reality. That is a part of being conscious. He wondered if he had gone truly mad. For some reason, now he just wanted to spend some time with his close friends. The humans that accompanied him during a big part of his life. He just wanted to be with them now, and forget all that nonsense.
But he also felt too weak to do anything like that. Whatever truck had hit him, it went for a critical strike. Her face caused a strange sensation now, something between the good feelings of having company in harsh times of sleep deprivation, and betrayal.
But the bed felt comfortable.
And a few dozen minutes later, he was fast asleep.
She left the bedroom, a bloodstained knife firmly held in one of her hands.
The open curtains showed the night outside. If he could look at it, and focus his eyes, he would notice that some specific branches weren't that bent anymore.
Whatever smiled from above them, now hid at the living room.
As soon as she left, it started moving.
A blade so grossly tortured by time and activity that it didn't even look like a cutting tool anymore. There were stains everywhere over its slender form.
The blade swinged in a diagonal arc, as if it cut an invisible body.
It was so eager for this moment. It was hard to control the anxiety, so the blade would swing for a few more times, some of which it stopped to praise what that would mean soon.
He slept beyond the quiet steps.
It smiled.