Gripping

I wonder if the results would be worth the fight. It's true that most journeys are greater than their destinations, but are some efforts a sign of naivety?
I still haven't fully grasped the fact that we're adults now. Hell, I can't bear to accept I'm an adult.
Is it worth the trials, to lit candles that feel as cold as indifference, or to fight while under an illusion of frosts while the world lives on its dim heat? Am I fighting for something or for the past version of something? Is it the memory of old that reigns over me?
And is there any way of bearing this knowledge other than going head on? Do I need the scars to know the size of a fight? Or is it that I've only known one way of doing it, and never got to research the alternatives?
Does it really feel this good or is it a craving of what's long lost? And how could I face the fact of it being lost? I've counted all the times I've thought about using the vile coin in order to keep you nearby, all the things I could do to help, or at least try. It amounts to much, but it has been under control for all these years. You don't need this kind of help, but it feels like it's the biggest punch I can pack.


Have I, after all, not learnt anything?

Bleak void

He rushed inside.
At first it seemed like just another post-stroll return, but right after calmly opening the door (as always, no stress on unlocking the door), he simply bolted into the room.
It was uncanny. Barely having a glimpse on his face, one could notice he was beyond startled. What sort of ghosts roam around the block at 11 a.m.? With lots of passersby and cars showing up constantly.
Following through a corridor into another room, he could be found scavenging through the drawers.
— What the hell is going on?
These words found deaf ears. He kept on digging through the items, to no avail, then opening the next one.
— Where is it?
He muttered to himself. Angry at those pesky drawers that hid his treasure.
As his hands moved into the next knob, he found the drawer locked. Not by any locks or lack of key, but by a hand that helt it firmly. Only then had he noticed someone stood by his side.
— So, what the hell is this?
— Where is it?
He asked louder, yet in the same despair. It was as if a shadow had replaced me. His eyes didn't focus anywhere.
— Where is what?
He pulled harder, but it wouldn't budge.
— It won't open for as long as you act like that.
— I just need my chains.
— What?!
— My chains, where are my chains?!
The hands left the knob alone. But were still tense. Had he raised 'em a little, that'd probably meant a threat. But those eyes couldn't fight.
— I know where they are...
He noticed my presence.
— ...But why do you need 'em?
The eyes had focused by then. Slowly that confusion seemed to fade away, only to bring in something more daunting. His face trembled in a blend of sadness and fury.
— I... I don't know...
— Well you seemed to know just a while ago.
— They are mine, why does it matter to you?
— Well, as long as this place's peace seems tainted by your behavior, it matters a lot.
— I'm doing this for the better!
— So you know, then.
Fury seemed to be overtaking sadness.
— I need it. It's mine.
— That's fine, now you just gotta say why do you need it. You've been walking unchained for quite a long time. Why is it necessary now?
He gazed at me. Undeterred.
— So...? Why is it?
That moment felt like an awkward game of who stares angrier.
But victory was defined the moment he imploded. Instead of a slow fade, his face changed to a full-blown moroseness. A stream formed by the left eye.
— It's okay. I knew something was off...
— It's not okay...
He started. Words ceased as a solemn minute of silence.
— I was walking today... And I was feeling a bit weird... Because we couldn't gather people... No matter what event happens... People don't seem to bother...
Sentences were intertwined with brief sulking moments.
— And I think that's okay... Because everyone's got their lives... But it feels a bit like... Like...
Now both eyes formed streams.
— Nobody cares anymore... But I can't do anything about it... And that's okay...
— It is. Now, I know you wanted to gather everyone just like the old days, but, as time goes by, paths change. I'm aware you know this, and I'm glad.
— Yes...
Something still didn't fit.
— But... Why the chain?
— I... I was feeling frustrated. I've been feeling frustrated for some time...
The eyes now seemed to be facing an abyss.
— I was walking... Around the block... There was this man passing by me... And I felt...
The abyss got deeper.
— I heard... That voice... It told me to punch his face...
Engulfing light even above itself.
— And, that was okay... Because it's just a voice...
Bleak void.
— But I felt like it... The voice made me happy... Like when you think about doing something you like... It brings pleasure... Seemed reasonable.
— I see now...
— I need the chain.
— As much as that sounds sane, I must decline to help. Bearing them won't do you any good.
— It will do others good!
— I'm not letting you chained for life.
— Neither can you fix me.
— If it ain't broken, it needs no fix.
— But I don't wanna hurt people!
— Then don't.
He left the discussion, demolished. It wasn't the expected outcome, it could be seen in his eyes. He felt disheartened. Even the help that could come from this house, turned absent.


There's no need in justifying my reasons. I'm not leaving him to the chains. Though I might be proven wrong in the future, I'm still betting on my senses. He will find a way, the voices should never command one's will. Nor should one's beliefs be smeared by a period of frustration.