Falling

With a smile, I push off the edge of the bridge, plummeting straight down into the rocks below. I can hear exhilarated screaming, and soon realise it’s me, my voice being carried up by the wind. My eyes stay open despite the sting of rushing air; I want to see it all. The world blurring past me, the ground rising to meet me, the bridge moving away, as if not wanting anything more to do with me. I feel my body cutting through the air, scattering the molecules, making them envelope me as I feel them run up my sides, from a singular point on my head. I am an arrow heading straight down. Gravity pulling me towards it gleefully, glad of the great prize it has captured, eager to share it with the earth that grows ever nearer.

And then, with a jerk, I stop, just inches over the ground. Before the bungee rope thrusts me upwards, I’m just able to reach down and touch one of the outcropping stones.

I’m pulled up, removed from Gravity’s grasp. I don’t have time to wonder how disappointed it must be, as the crowd claps and pats me on the back, congratulating me on my first jump. I nod and smile, then look at my instructor, who is beaming with pride. “Again.”

His smile falters for only a second. Surely such a thrill would be enough experienced only once? I can almost hear him think it. But then he nods, and announces it. Everyone looks at me as if I must be insane, or a thrill junkie, or just plain daring, but I ignore them and climb over the ledge once more.

This time, I don’t scream. I don’t even keep my eyes open. I simply feel myself falling. Enjoy the sensation of being completely out of control. There is nothing I can do. Nothing I want to do. I hear the air whispering in my ears, imagine those rocks growing closer and closer, almost anticipate what it would feel like if the rope snapped and I came crashing down with the full force of the momentum I’ve been gaining all the way.

But then I feel the jerk of the rope once more.

I’m almost disappointed.

Howl at the moon in desperate plea
without preamble or fear, beg to be free
Want the chains broken, the ropes to be cut
Want to escape but don’t know from what~

Head for the ocean (the moon’s domain after all)
Stand on a cliff and get ready to fall
High tide or low, either way, be crushed
But on the way down, God what a rush…

Maybe that’s where salvation lies
the lowest of low (so why aim for the skies?)
Those who managed to fly on tattered wings are famous but rare
Doesn’t seem to be a solid foundation for castles in air~

However this all began with the moon
a beautiful orb with no light of its own
A beacon of hope for those lost in the black
that maybe one day they’ll make it back

(Where?) To the skies where all truly belong
Tattered wings are wings still so go on, be strong
If even an inch you can get off the ground
Keep going higher, forget the way down

(Why?) There are castles up there and they all await
Who needs foundations for our own Heaven’s gate?
And even if you keep trying and never make it at all
At least you’ll get to feel the rush of the fall~

She lays in bed, an arm by her side, the other lightly draped over her stomach. Her eyes stare without seeing at the ceiling, until it all goes dark and she remembers to blink. Thoughts drift through her head, but nothing of substance, of meaning. Random insignificant memories, snippets of songs, images that hold no importance whatsoever and so simply float along as she watches, waiting for something to grab onto and allow her mind to explore fully. But nothing comes.

She wonders wryly whether she has run out of anything meaningful to think. To say. To feel.

Movements are slow. It takes her ages to get up so she can do what she has to do. Longer still to get them done. The marrow of her bones drawn out and replaced with molten lead, it seems. She fears staying still too long; she can feel roots right at the nerve-endings of her skin, waiting for her to forget so they can grow and embed her.. where?

Anywhere, anywhere, just let her keep still. A shrub with leaden core, what a specimen she’d make.

The haze caused by the heated weather seems to be reflected within— a mist covering her emotions. She knows they’re there, but a dim outline is all she can see. She can’t feel properly because of it, either. Her emotions are reaching out a hand through the haze yet she can only feel the slightest brush of fingertips.

Everything is so… Nothing. Only those who’ve felt this before know what it means. Everything feels so nothing.

She lays on her back in bed, an arm by her side, the other lightly draped over her stomach. Her eyes stare without seeing at the ceiling, until it all goes dark and she remembers to blink. Her hair grows rapidly, forming bark, growing leaves, wrapping around the headboard. Her fingertips extend as branches and run down to the floor, taking root. Her spinal cord grows shoots from between her vertebrae and punctures through the mattress, entwining with the bed frame. She was still too long.

Her eyes stare without seeing at the ceiling, until it all goes dark. This time… she doesn’t blink.

Take me with you

Taut,

are the strings that bind us

knit so close yet stretched so far apart; tapestry

extending across oceans. Deserts.
Merciless, this distance
etched into the fabrics of our hearts and throbbing painfully
Where are you going? Where are you now?
I miss you. Stitch yourself closer? Or,
travel if you must, but do not let the string break
Have your adventure, but let there be slack between
your knot and mine, entangling around us, tying us together
Our perfect connection, no matter the miles, is bitter yet sweet
Undeniably, however, I need you near me. Please.

The Catalyst

“I am an Events Catalyst. When I’m around, things… happen. Faster. With more consistency.”

You meet her eyes, but she looks away, choosing not to elaborate quite yet. She’s sitting across from you in a leather chair a tad too big for her, her legs tucked beneath her thighs and hidden by the folds of her crimson red cloak. Little Red Riding Hood, you think, and can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself.

Her eyes dart back to you. She smiles wryly. “I know what you’re thinking. My cloak does resemble that of a famous fairy tale character.”

You look at her in surprise and she lets out a small laugh. “I read people, darling,” she explains. “Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Besides, you’re not the first person to make the comparison.”

“So…”

“Why the get-up?”

“Yes.”

“This is a Catalyst’s uniform. The red represents what we do. Red is passion, red is chaos, red is love, red is blood. Red can mean energy, or more rarely, a calm of sorts. We catalysts have no control over what we instigate into being. It could be any of the above, or something else entirely. We wear red to symbolise that.”

“And what is it that you do, exactly? What is an ‘Events Catalyst’, in more detail?”

“We are human, mostly normal, simply born with the special capability to make things happen. We’re everywhere. We come into people’s lives at a crucial time – usually a transition of some sort – and our presence triggers a chain reaction of events. Some are good, some ill, but ultimately we bring a person to where they’re meant to be, and once we’ve taught them what they need to know… We fade away.”

“Fade away? And how do these ‘events’ affect you?” You’re more intrigued than ever. You begin to look back on your life to see if you’ve ever come across a Catalyst yourself.

“I’m not really sure how that one works myself. Something happens, or something changes in the dynamic, or both… And we fade away into the background. Still somewhat present, but never in the same way as before. Our purpose in their life is over. For the time being, at least. So it becomes time to move on.”

She stops, taking out a cigarette case from her trouser pocket. As she lights up, she glances at you questioningly, silently asking if you mind.

“Not at all,” you shake your head to her, and she closes her eyes to take a long drag.

“We’re allowed one vice, to help us handle the environments in which we work. This is mine.”

You can’t help but mention that smoking kills, surprised at your daring. “We’re all going to die someday, darling. If in my case it’s sooner rather than later, then all the better.”

You aren’t sure whether or not she’s joking.

Later, as you look over your notes, you realise she never did answer how she was affected by it all. You run the interview back in your head.

Well… Not directly.

Let the wind attack your face and tear at your hair, its high-pitched screams whistling in your ears.

Watch the world rush past you, on your sides, simultaneously rising up to meet you as you move towards it down below.

Don’t worry about hitting the ground. For now, you’re flying.

Feel the adrenaline rush through every blood vessel in your body, heading straight for your brain till you’re heady, drunk from it.

Remember to breathe between each scream of excitement and exhilaration. Gulp in the air, testing the nectar of each particle.

Free-fall.

Crash and Burn

Carve out my insides and leave me bare
for the vultures to consume
Let them claw, rip, peck and tear
until there’s nothing left to exhume

Crush my bones beneath your heels
till I am but a pile of dust
This movie’s over, end of the reel
I surrender myself to the Reaper’s trust

My broken armour should remain where it lies
dented metal, dried blood and all
It’s this soldier’s time to die
and my armour shall serve as a reminder:
Even those who stand strongest-
crawl on hands and knees longest-
break down at last.
And even saviours, “Angels”…
…eventually fall. 

Dancing around the elephant in the room

Your eyes do not lie. Nor do your lips or fingers, really, but they aren’t exactly telling the truth either. Minute twisting of everyday words. “I’m fine” in every variation yet none of them quite touching upon the sadness and lost look in your eyes.

They meet mine as well as they can. They know what I see and they know I know that, too. Pleadings to please just let it go till you’re ready to reveal… What? Whatever it is. And so I blink once, slow, to let you know I understand. And so you change subjects, blatantly ignore questions you don’t want to answer and we play the game till you’re ready to speak.
Ahh. That game. How well I know it. How much I loathe it and how easily I can slip back into it now, despite having been on both sides and hating each. I never thought I’d have to play it with you.
But like it or not, here it is. The only thing to do at this point is ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach the longer this lasts. The pain at you shutting me out. Yet I’ve done it often enough, to you, to other people. Why shouldn’t you bear that right?

…Patience always has been my hardest virtue, but I know you too well to push. I know you too well to deny you this.
So we dance. And all I know is you’re the one leading.

Psychotic

Watch yourself. Be careful now.
The anger’s building up again…
You can’t see it yet I fear,
but the beast is rising from its den
and this pen will become my sharp weapon

But forget writing curses, I’ll draw blood,
then drag you rough across the mud,
my face expressionless, eyes cold as ice
If you don’t heed my warning, pay the price
Bites ravaging your helpless skin
as I relish in
one of the deadly sins:

Wrath

Destruction is its path
The mood never lasts,
but once it’s over, too late
the damage is wholly done
The memory will haunt you,
there’s no cleaning that slate,
So before you see something you can’t forget,
darling, I suggest you run

Yes, please turn back before I react
and these walls c r a c k
and the monster I hold within attacks
with its heart of black…
Because there’s no controlling it once it’s out
Merciless, so have no doubt
this thing’s thirsting for blood to spout and
there’s venom dripping from its mouth.
Silent yet deadly,
demonic,
chaotic.
Don’t get me angry.
Because I get psychotic.