Witch

“People go around mourning the death of God; it's the death of sssin that bothers me. Without ssin, people aren't people any more, they're just ssoul-less sheep.” 
― John Updike, The Widows of Eastwick

“Once upon a time there was a lady. She had no children, and no happiness either. And at first she cried for a long time, but then she became wicked...” 

― Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita

When the stars fade out. And the snakes begin to fall from the sky. And your parents don’t remember your face. Or what the purpose of  the human race is. Race for what? 

The brilliant roundness of the only planet that gave and could ever give us a heartbeat becomes the burden we must all carry. The sky – the blue curse we won’t escape.

When music never plays again. When wine turns into water.
You can’t remember your own daughter.
The laughter  is never heard anymore and if it is, it doesn't bring joy.
An annoying ringing reminding us of our naïve existence.

When the soundtrack to your life becomes the crying of your wife.
All hells break loose, blood instead of orange juice.
The rings of fire surround the liars. The circle of doom in every room.
Suicide becomes a self-help method and the geography of arteries and veins is taught at church.
Death is your religion.
Because no one wants to be here.
Everyone wants to be the first to go.

Your courage to live is your weakness.
Your insistent  desire for balance is your flaw.
The last tiny remaining hope is worth about as much as a needle.
Which is sold on every street corner.

This is the moment she will shine. With her heart of mould and her glass half broken, looking on the dark side. Envy and lust and sloth - her royal companions.
This is the world where she will be the queen because she can’t live any other way.
Her hellish ways are frowned upon no more, truly rotten to the core but beautiful as the sting of heartbreak or the surgical incision of a knife. Which are basically the same thing.
Until then she’ll have to conceal her true nature…

Morning Glory

"The world always seems brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before."
- Neil Gaiman


It was 8 am and she hadn't slept all night. Decisions came easily this morning: she arrived home, locked the door and decided to sleep naked. Clothes felt like too much of a burden...much like everything else. There was a scab on her foot, which she tore off painfully and squeezed until there was a shiny red bead of blood. She dried it off and the blood appeared again. It kept bleeding long after it was entertaining. However it didn't seem to bother her. In fact, nothing did. There was a simple, peaceful and almost levitating feel to every thought in her mind. It was unusual. It felt good. Then she realized this was due to the complete lack of sleep. Also she had sushi around midnight which were now presumably rotting in her stomach. Disgusting. For the hundredth time she solemnly promised to attempt vegetarianism again, before realizing how dumb 'promising to attempt' something is.
The clear mind meant that she could focus on one thing at a time and solve problems in a much more productive manner. There was a blissful satisfaction caused by working out even the most insignificant things. This was very refreshing in the light of the usual vortex of worry, mind numbing guilt and disappointment.

She always wanted to write stories of fiction but soon realized that they would all end up to be about her...She was selfishly in love with her own unrealized potential. It made her feel special, like a tortured genius who could achieve so much, but refused to... because...say 'there’s no faith in society' or 'the conditions aren't right' or 'no one will understand or appreciate, so why waste my time'. Of course all of this was bollocks but it was a beautiful illusion, one she often fell into on her daydream journeys.

Somewhere along the way she stopped referring to herself in the third person...suddenly there was a glitch in the easiness of the morning, like a dark rain cloud floating above me. I tell myself that nothing feels happy...obviously! Happiness is a ridiculous thing to strive towards. Success, actual goals, academic achievements, professional development, a rich husband, annual holidays in Palma de Mallorca...these are things to seek in life. Or so I'm told. But I cherish my ability to imagine and reflect, even if it's the only thing I'm good at. There's an island of philosophers. They lay on the beach all day in their long white bed sheets and eat grapes all day, arguing about whether people are born inherently good or bad...or maybe neutral, a blank piece of paper. The eternal question which determines which form of government we deserve...this is their job. To eat grapes and decide our fate. And the common folk feed the pigs and milk the cows and fuck in the sheds and drink until they forget how ordinary they are. I'm not sure which one I am yet. I want to be the philosopher but I act like the commoner. The common people can of course do big things in great numbers, every revolution in history has proven that to us. Maybe there's a lot more shades in the spectrum. There definitely is. I should stop looking at the world in black and white...she decided.

This is the point where she forgot where her point was and realized that there were downsides to this breeziness of thought caused by lack of sleep. So, I will sleep.