Incoming

Perhaps the forces of magic are at work?
I don't know. Magic was long ago banned from this world. The mere relation to it already justifies muder, it not worse. Who knows how it works nowadays...
As much as I understand his reasons to ban it, as much as I understand how the belief of magic hurt him, you've gotta agree on me that it was a weak move.
It was a move out of despair.
Yes, but now we have the power to fight back, there's no more room for despair.
And your point is?
We must bring magic back.
You do know, however, that the fact that he banished magic, doesn't mean magic simply stopped to exist?
Of course!
Then, what exactly is it that we must do?
We must make him believe again.
Oh...
Then he'll see that this time around, he can achieve something bigger.
...I'm out.
WHAT?!
That's stupid. You're going to get us killed. You know he hates magic nowadays.
But he's not the same person he was when he faced those girls.
Are you sure?
Hm...?
How can you make such an affirmation?
He learned to fight back, he's even learning to insist after a frustrating loss!
He IS, and will always BE a child.
Just because you want to.
It's not what I want!
Then help him.
Help?
Well, facing disaster only makes us grow stronger.
Nonsense.
He's our goddamn leader. He can handle it. The problem is that, you, and pretty much everyone, always accepted things as they were, and never acted as if he was wrong!
He won't change.
YOU WON'T CHANGE!
I WON'T CHANGE?!
No, because you seem to accept the fact that he will always be running from what he fears. And killing innocent people out of fear. And smashing dreams and feelings, hunting those who aren't afraid. Just because he doesn't feel like he can handle the damage.
...
Even though you and I know, heck, even he knows, he can handle as much damage as there can be in this world.
You think you know pain, don't you?
I don't?
Do you know how does it feel to get hurt and you don't even know where did it come from? To be completely lost?
Of course I do. That's the situation we are at the moment. And actually, you do know where "it's coming from". But you pretend you don't. It's easier to be in misery, right?
...
I'm out. I'll go find a way to save you all from this stupid disaster.


Can I sleep now?

A strange grace

It's kinda funny. Some days I feel so good when I walk around the city, well, more like wandering. There's no real place to go, you just go to the next place that looks pretty.
These times my head goes boom, characters fighting and screaming and playing poker and loud music... that's normal, right? Well if it ain't, then that's a good insanity I guess.
Feels good. Gotta enjoy those warm moments because when the night comes, the thoughts come. At least this time it's really over. Let's just focus on what's ahead. Sooner or later another she will show up. Wish I could ask people to wander around with me, it would be nice.

A change of heart

Heh, que sensação ridícula.
A gente vai passando de trator em cima de tudo, sem se importar se realmente estamos fazendo o que devíamos ou só machucando a nós mesmos no processo. Porque foi assim que nos ensinaram que tinha de ser. Na verdade eu não sei quem ensinou, não sei se foi ensinado ou se foi só algo que eu puxei de algum desenho ou filme que vi, no longo processo de formação de alguma coisa. Isso valeria como ensinamento? Quer dizer, algo que passamos a nós mesmos é algo ensinado?
No fim das contas deu pra fazer quase tudo nesse final de semestre maluco, falta só um pedaço mas dá tanto medo. Não saber é assustador. Talvez porque eu dê importância demais a coisas que eu não devia dar importância, mas... mas é importante. Era um dos objetivos, então deveria ser tratado como importante. Não sei o que realmente deveria ter importância, pra falar a verdade, se você analisar friamente, nada na vida tem muita importância. Quer dizer, não é algo intrínseco das coisas. É um valor atríbuido por nossa mente.
O que não quer dizer que as coisas não sejam importantes, mas a importância varia para cada pessoa. Eu tinha decidido que a prioridade seria me formar, então posso considerar que esse último pedaço complexo seja importante. Talvez essa lógica não seja tão falha.
Só queria não sentir tanto medo. Medo de errar é foda. É um dos medos mais sem lógica já criados por nossas mentes, não é algo cabível, pois a falha possui muitas formas e não temos como processar todas elas, logo não fazemos nada pois ainda (e sempre) estaremos processando todas as formas de errar. É como um medo de tudo.
Mas não, eu não vou parar por isso, uma das últimas leis criadas é "se você tem medo de algo, é esse algo que você deveria enfrentar". Então eu sigo em frente. Devo estar errando horrores mas vamos passando, só não pode parar. É como... estar perdido no escuro. Você não sabe onde, nem com quem ou o que você está. Então saia batendo, alguma hora você descobre onde está, e ao mesmo tempo tem a chance de derrubar aqueles que estão na escuridão para te parar.
Sei lá, é tudo meio besta mas é o que tem servido atualmente. Quando esse semestre acabar a gente continua, certo?
Por pior que sejam os resultados, a mudança é positiva.
Quando acabar, eu vou ter muito medo de tentar me relacionar com outras pessoas, mas é o preço. Vai ser um desastre, vai doer como o inferno, mas alguma hora vai acontecer algo que vai fazer tudo valer a pena. Não faz muito sentido mas é nisso que vou me forçar a acreditar. Em algum lugar por ae vai ter uma garota que faça valer a pena, e eu vou fazer a minha parte.
Obviamente, ela vai ter que ter paciência, não posso dizer que "sofri demais e por isso não confio mais em ninguém", isso é desculpa para os chorões, o que posso dizer é que sempre tive problemas em confiar nas pessoas e isso inclui a mim também. Portanto é um processo complicado e que pra muita gente não vale a pena o esforço. Mas pra ela vai valer, só preciso de uma não é?
A primeira etapa é pensar que relacionamentos podem dar certo.
A segunda é acreditar que a primeira também vale pra mim.
Ao mesmo tempo tenho que aprender a perdoar e arranjar uma forma parar de amplificar essa raiva que eu sinto de tanta coisa. O ideal seria diminuir, mas parar de amplificar já é um ótimo passo.
Vamos ver se dá pra terminar esse ano com pelo menos metade dos pontos previstos.


Pensar nisso te deixa tonto, é quase como se fosse a coisa mais exaustiva do mundo compartilhar esse tipo de pensamento.
Deve ser porque você ainda se importa demais com o que os outros vão achar de você.

Come out swinging

Tem vezes que eu solto o taco de baseball. Já não consigo mais rebater, já estou de joelhos e não sei direito o porquê de estar tentando desde o começo. Não sei. Não tenho mais forças pra erguer o taco pra voltar pra briga, mas ainda assim não solto.
Isso é coragem, ou é burrice?


—Drop the bat kid.
He dropped the bat, that voice was the only thing that seemed remotely close. The world vanished with every passing second. It was over. He didn't want to let it go, but it wasn't much of an option anymore. For better, for worse, it was over.

The hulking figure positioned itself at his side. Right leg a bit backwards, arms stretched. Whatever came unto him, would have to pass through it first. It could be said that using that bat to crush their skulls was merely symbolic, as it didn't need anything more than its muscular fists to do the job. But it had the bat. And it would use the bat until no one else dared to step towards his master.


—I don't know what's going on. What I do know, is that in a few seconds, the rooms you guys are inside are going to complete darkness, and you won't be alone. I don't know what, where or when they are going to attack. But I'll be here, do. Not. Give. Up.
—But what do we do?
—Get ready.
—R-ready?!
—You heard him, prepare yourself.
—It's happening. Now.
—Where are they coming from?!
—I don't know, I can't see from the screens!
—What do we do...?
—Just swing the bat. Swing it for your life, don't stop swinging. RUN!
...
—DO NOT STOP HITTING!

It backfires

É engraçado como a vontade de lutar cresce conforme o desastre se aproxima.

Também é curioso ver como você se sente afastado de qualquer pessoa.

Don't give up, but also do not wish for what you're not sure. Probabilities stack against it, whomever she gets to be.

A strange pattern

Weird dreams, weird dreams everywhere...
I have found a strange way of making it through fear during the weekend. It seems stupid I guess, but it worked. It's pretty simple, every time your mind focus on those ugly faces you're afraid of (in my case, the weird smiley ones), think how it must feel horrible for them to always be alone at night because people are afraid of them.
I developed compassion for gross characters and urban legends. Haha, damn...
On another note, it seems I have found out that forgiving myself is even harder than forgiving others. But that will come later.
Really not in the mood for writing any stories, but since I've promised myself to do it, here we go...


—When will daddy come home?
—He'll be home soon, sweetie.
That's the story of Adam, a little boy around seven or eight years old. It's almost ten hours, past meridiem. He should already be sleeping, as you may see, but a strange dream woke him up from his daily 9 p.m. sleep.
He still didn't tell his mother about it, though. His mind still processes the ideas. Sometimes when you are too afraid you get confused whether should you cry or not.
So for a while he just sits with his teddy bear at the sofa, close to his mother. She watches television, obliviously. Though somewhere down there, something feels weird, Adam doesn't wake up like that. "I want to see daddy", that's all he said. Perhaps weren't it for the program devouring her attention, she would be seriously worried about the situation.
Commercial break, she hugs her son and plays with his hair. He just holds his teddy bear, oh, its name is Mr. Pops by the way. Why did it receive its name is not the point right now. And by holding I mean keeping it close for dear life.
—Adam, would you like some warm milk?
—No...
His voice comes frail.
—I can put chocolate in it.
They look at each other in the eyes. She sees a dim light in her son's eyes.
—Okay.
It's still Adam, after all. And as if the enchantments of the television just vanished, she goes to the kitchen, planning what to do, starting to worry a bit more about what woke him up.
Not much after, she comes back from kitchen, a glass of warm milk with chocolate in it. A masterwork of motherly cuisine, I'd say.
He lets Mr. Pops go, keeping him by his side and grabbing the glass with both hands.
—So sweetie, did you have a bad dream?
A sip of milk.
—U-hu.
—Oh, sweetie, you know mommy and daddy told you nothing in your dreams could hurt you, right?
Another sip.
—And you always have Mr. Pops to make you company too, he wouldn't let anything harm you — his mother continued.
A large gulp this time. She kept looking at him with that face that seemed to be the perfect breed between a smile and a worried face.
—But it was a bad bad dream...
He spoke that with marks of milk around his mouth. Somewhat hard to take someone serious with those on their faces...
—You want to talk about it?
Adam looked at his mother. Perhaps the processing was over, because almost instantaneously, tears started rolling down his cheeks. She grabbed him closer.
—Don't worry sweetie, mommy is here, 'kay? You don't need to be afraid.
He finished drinking his milk.
—I know mommy, but I wanted daddy to be here.
—He must be coming home already, daddy's work ends around ten hours, remember?
—U-hu...
—So he'll be home soon. We can wait him here, you can watch TV with mommy until you sleep again.
—I just don't want to die.
These last words came stronger than everything else he had said that night. He spoke in a serious manner, it didn't even feel like his voice. That hit her like a truck.
—Adam, that's not going to happen. Don't... don't worry about it. We told you already that dreams are just dreams, even the bad ones.
She looked at his eyes, they were fixed at her. This time almost as if angry with her.
—I just wanted daddy to be here...
—I told you he must be almost home now — she made huge efforts now to keep her voice calm.
—...not the thing that wears daddy.
—What?! Adam, what did you dream? I told you dreams are just dreams, perhaps you got too impressed with some movie you watched.
—You know it's coming to kill us.
She opened her mouth, but no sound made its way. She wasn't prepared for such a change of mood.
They were so dragged by that conversation that the footsteps outside weren't noticed.
Now the key had entered the keyhole. It started to turn...

Who chooses who?

Fucking hell.
So, which chains did we get anyway?
Only the best, master!
Here, we have the Chains of the Tyrant, for those who force their dream into reality upon those who can't fight back. A bright blue with strange dark patterns in it. It is a strong one, who is keeping?
I'll have it.
You sure? These are pretty powerful and quite hard to wear. I thought someone to the likes of Hanitarian would want it.
You know he would never fight by our side. I can take it.
Well, if you insist.
Let's see, there's the Masterwork of Innocence, made by no one else than the master artisan, as an homage to the boy who sacrificed himself for the dreams of others to come true. I dare say only one of us has the right to get ahold of this one.
Sure we do, bring here the boy who waits at the stairs.

...

Uhm, hi sir.
Here you go boy, you will be the wearer of this one chain.
It looks pretty expensive.
You don't know the price it took to be made, kid.
Can I really have it?
If not you, then no one. Here, the clear green with shiny white gold marks is yours.
Well, thank you!
Next, the Destroyer. Perhaps the only chain that physically defies its bearer, they say the blood red spikes were colored by the blood of a thousand soldiers who dared to wear it. Physical strength at the cost of physical resistance for the one who believes to be able to handle the gray chains.
I don't believe I can handle, I just can.
Oh, I'm sure you do, Helz, you are.
Hehe, the only one of us who would be able to carry the weight I suppose — everyone around watched the hulky demon grab the chains and move back, watching solemnly above the heads of his fellows.
Let's see, I have one very special just around here...
...
Oh, the Guidance of Angels... — a strange silence hauled the area — ...well, you see... — some eyes faced him in confusion. A mess of anger and/or surprise — ...it is, I can explain...
You better be doing it soon.
I do understand that you all aren't much in harmony with them. Each one of you, for your own reasons. And I know both the name and the white color, with these golden writings, remind you of such reasons. But do not be fooled, these are here for a reason... it is said, that one of the strongest angels carried these with himself. And even though he questioned much of its existance, he never left behind those he promised to protect. I believe that is what is infused within these chains.
What if it's not?
WHAT IF, THAT'S JUST ANOTHER TRAP?! — a creature with a deformed face rose among the crowd. There were marks of burning all over his body, but the face was the worst, at some points it looked as if there was still some sort of acid dripping.
Well, I...
...
I suppose it's your turn now, master.
I see — he made his way to the core of the discussion right after. As always, all demons just stood and watched. For some reason, his presence always had this sort of reaction, perhaps it was because he didn't act much.
I trust this man, so you all could try just a bit.
Well, you could be the bearer of it, master!
Yeah! You're loyal and you won't burn to death in case it's all lies.
No one's burning, and the chain of loyalty does not belong to me — he looked back at his trail, no one dared close the path. There, not that far away, the four-legged creature watched, shyly. He stared at it, and it understood. As a dog that finally sees its owner after a long wait, it ran, sometimes clumsily hitting those around. It stood near its master, head inclined downwards. He put the chain around its neck, in a way not to be too tight, and also not too loose. It howled. — I believe no one here has an objection.
...
The Revenge.
It's mine.
Take it easy — the acid demon grabbed it, in a way, it felt like it was made for him. The mixture of green and orange, both in its most diseased appearance, made a chain that felt weak, poisonous, yet very powerful.
I guess that's it.
Well, seems like.
Nope, there's still one there!
No, there ain't no more chains that could be useful to you. These are the only special infused chains.
Lying to us, old man? — once again, things seemed to get worse.
I'm not lying when I say the useful ones are those.
Then... WHAT. IS. THAT. LAST. ONE. THERE?

...

I can't believe it.
The chains of hatred...
Master... — it felt just as they were back to that silent night. Watching the stars as The Sound of Silence played in his head.


Can we just fuckin' break it?
Or by asking it this way I have already set fate to zero?