Merry Christmas

"Merry Mousie Christmas" by ~jaxxblackfox on deviantART

" - Merry Christmas - " by ~darkredrose on deviantART

I'm "special"

"What do you mean you're special? Of course you're special to me," she said as her beautiful, innocent eyes met mine. Her gaze was pure, trying to dive into my soul, to unlock the mystery hidden behind my unfathomable face.

"Well, yeah.. but that's not what I meant," I said, nearly stammering, struggling to get my point across.

"Hmm?" she prompted gently, her right eyebrow raised. Her chin rested on her gentle hands. Sweet smile. My heart ached. The pressure. The beating of my heart. The thunder roaring in my mind. The pounding at my temples. The blood rushing to my cheeks, making me blush.

"I'm.. different," I mumbled, nearly inaudible.

"I know. I love you, and I respect you. And I'm ready to listen. I'm willing to wait, as long as it takes for you to gather your words, and for you to tell me what it is you want to tell me," she said as she reached her left hand out, offering to me.

I heard something break. I think it sounded like my heart.

"You know, I really treasure you," I spoke with difficulty.

She smiled back at me. "I love you dear..."

"Honestly..." I began. I've got to own up - better now than later.

A frown began to form on her forehead.

"I... I... " I couldn't bring myself to say it.

She just kept quiet. Tears started to well at her eyes, threatening to fall. Raindrops begin to drip - drip, drip, drip on the roof.

"I don't love you, not the way you love me," I blurted.

Thunder roared, and the rain began to pour. Her tears fell.

"Is it another woman? Who?" Her eyes were full of venom, her tears proved her sorrow, her facial expression betraying her anger.

"No.. it's a man," I finally confessed.

She looked confused. For a moment, her anger dissipated - she was distracted.

"I'm a homosexual."

Begone

O sweet breath of life
Will thou never cease
Thy bitter tang?

Why the little pinpricks?
Why the small jolts of pain?
Art thou so cowardly
To hide in the shadows
Laughing at thy devilish traps?

Stare me in the face, O Master
Look me in the eye
Face me that I may know my enemy
Show me where my loyalties lie

If thou must taketh, do not giveth
If thou must kill, do not give life
Give me all or give me nothing
But do not linger in my suffering
Let the dead mourn the dead
But leave the living alone

Be thou sincere in thy dealings
Or begone

Dead Fish Don't Flop

[My friend, Viktoriya Ishchuk's work of fiction. Posted here because I thought it was more than good enough to share. ;P]



“Natalie?” The psychiatrist asked again. She tilted her head to the side to make sure that I was paying attention. I didn’t respond. The 40 something woman adjusted her glasses and uncrossed her legs. She looked frustrated, in a very professional way. “Natalie, I am going to ask you some questions,” she said in a shrink-like voice. “Some questions will be difficult to answer, but I want you to try and answer them to the best of your abilities. Does that sound OK?” Once again, she tried to meet my eyes, but I was determined to continue looking the other way. She sat quite still, just looking at me with a hundred questions floating behind her murky, brown eyes.

She sat back in her seat and adjusted her glasses again. Picking up what looked like my file, she began reading off my clinical history. “I understand that you were last seen by a Dr. Marlow? Is that correct? He diagnosed you with posttraumatic stress and with signs of schizophrenia, saying that you have hallucinations about another world…” She looked at me for affirmation. “You have had psychotherapy…clozapine…did it not work for you?”

Flipping to another page, she read my file further, echoing the two other psychiatrists I had seen. “It says here, that you went missing for almost three years -- that’s an awfully long time – and that you were finally found in New Zealand by a coast guard.” As I waited for her to process the information, I looked at the wall of plaques and credentials. Audrey J. Stellar, M.D. currently employed in Mayo Clinic, Rochester MN. “Do you want to tell me about your experience?”

No. I didn’t want to tell her about my experience.

“No? Well, it says here that your mother is very concerned about your wellbeing…”

I suppose, in her own way, she is.

“Natalie,” she said rather firmly, definitely frustrated with my lack of participation. “I need you to talk to me. Tell me what happened in New Zealand. Why were you gone for three years?”

You wouldn’t understand…

“It says here…” her tone shifted from matter-of-fact to empathetic. She took her glasses off completely and rested the frame on her lap. “Now, I called New Zealand to speak to the coast guard. It took a little digging, but I finally found the man by the name of Caleb Guilford – he was the one who fished you out of the Pacific.” I stiffened. “He remembered you quite well, saying that you were, and I quote, ‘the strangest fish he’s ever caught’.

When I asked him if he could expand on the idea, he said, and I quote again, ‘I found her floating on something like wood, only it looked gold with carvings of snakes and winged beasts – dragons or something. I thought she was dead at first, but as my boys and I hauled her in, she woke up with a start. She started screaming bloody murder. It was the strangest thing, I tell ya!

The first things she said to us were completely bizarre. It was pretty much mumbo jumbo for the first twenty minutes. A boy of mine took Latin in school, and he said he recognized a few words here and there. Who knows what language she kept yapping in, but eventually she switched to speaking English. God help us, but the first words I understood were “I need to tell her, I need to tell the Dragon Queen.” Then, if I remember correctly, she said something like “I want to go back and see Dan.” Maybe it was Brandon or Ben or something like that. I tell ya, it was the strangest day. You don’t forget a character like that girl.’

Well, Natalie, what do you think?” She crossed her legs in a different way, like Queen Elizabeth II, like Queen Sera…

“Is Dan your boyfriend?” I wanted to slap her.

His name is Bran.

“Did Dan take you to New Zealand?”

His name is Bran.

“Did Dan force you to go to New Zealand?”

For the last time, his name is Bran.

“Did Dan…” I slammed my fist down on the hardwood table, shaking the picture frames and causing the pencils to role lazily off the desk. Audrey remained relatively calm, considering the circumstances.

“I told you,” I huffed in irritation, “his name is Bran.” How could that stupid coast guard screw up a simple name like that? Audrey stopped a few pencils from falling. Lowering my file, charts, ET scans, and whatever else onto the desk, she folded her arms and smiled.

“No, Natalie, you didn’t tell me his name was Bran. But I am happy to make the correction.” Her smile was too gleeful in my opinion.

“Just because I am talking now, doesn’t mean that I will tell you everything. But I want to lay down some ground rules, since I understand that I am confined to a mental institution. Is that correct?” I couldn’t resist mocking her a little bit. I was in control of the situation now, and that is the way it was going to be from now on. She nodded, like she was letting me play house for a little while.

“Let’s start with rule number one: I will not take any medication for any mental reason. I am not unstable or dangerous, so don’t shove drugs down my throat! Moving on to rule number two: I will be given the benefit of the doubt. I know my story might sound crazy, but adults here have no imagination. All they know is science and reasoning. If I am going to tell my story, you need to listen without that judgment; you need to be a newborn, looking at a brand new world for the first time. Anything is possible. Nothing is quite logical. Understand?” I paused to let her process my request.

“I want one more thing,” I said taking a deep, shaky breath. I wasn’t sure what…no, I shouldn’t, but I wanted to try just once. Maybe, I…maybe they will let me back. “I will tell you everything. I will be your stupid experiment, your guinea pig, and your lab rat, whatever. I just want to go back to New Zealand. Please, promise to take me to New Zealand after all this is done.”

Audrey looked at me, then back down to her glasses. She twirled them between indecisive fingers. I wanted to add another please, maybe if I agree to let her publish this case study she will agree to my bargain. I couldn’t tell if she was the kind of woman I should bait or appeal to? Finally, after what seemed like forever, she nodded her head slowly.

“Ok, Natalie,” she said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. Her eyes met mine. “Some of the things you want are a little tricky, but I can pull a few strings. You should know that I genuinely want to understand you. I want to help you. I am willing to break a few rules because I want to hear your story from, I have to admit, both a professional and personal curiosity. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded, excited that there was finally progress. Somebody was willing to take the time to listen with clean ears. I decided that I liked Audrey. I was going to tell her my story in full detail. Her case study was going to be so brilliant, colorful, and different, that it would make her famous. It didn’t matter if my personal life was going to be made public; I was going to be in another world entirely.

“Are you ready to hear my story?” I began, warming up to the ultimate beginning. “I can’t pin point any particular experience or one word that describes my journey, because it wasn’t a day trip, it was three years of my life. It all began back in my hometown, Minneapolis, where I went to the Renaissance Festival only to be kidnapped…”

[Link to more chapters right here! =D]

"For Once, It Is Untitled"

There are many things that can change the nature of a man. Amongst them would be love, in all its forms. Another would be a prison sentence.

Thankfully for most of us, it is the former that we find ourselves confronted with.

Thank you.


***

Another blog entry taken from Demented Reality.

Envy

Handsome, stylish and suave.

Intelligent, witty and funny.

His charm, his charisma, his personality.

Exuberant.

I'm just like him, except that I'm not just not like him.

He's just better than me in everything.

He sings better, he dances better, he excels in everything; I'm just a fading shadow feebly trying to emulate him.

I've known him all my life, and he's been closer than a brother. But as we grew up, I watched him outdo me. Watched him become a better man, a better person than who I could ever become.

Envy, jealousy. A rare emotion for me. Even for a pessimistic, perfectionist idealist like me, I know the meaning of "contentment" or "satisfaction", not because I read the dictionary more often - I am content.

But by saying that, I just contradicted myself, didn't I?

Envy - "discontentment or resentful longing aroused by another's possession or qualities".

AHA! DIS-contentment! How can I say I'm content now?


Envy, a rare emotion for me, because I live in a society where everyone's stuck with situations they had not wished for. I'm the only guy around who gets what I want. Yet, I'm jealous of this friend of mine.


The pressures of the world where everyone's chasing after material and superlatives. I'm a sucker, an "individual" with herd mentality.


"Life is a contradiction," I said.
"And you're a walking irony," a friend replied.
"Perhaps," I thought as I looked into the mirror.
"Cool T-shirt," I thought again, but the T-shirt says "NERD".

I thought I lived a happy life, until I decided to look at my "idol", my friend who outshines me. Oh, the bitter pain of jealousy, the greenery which ain't any crunchy fresh vegetable.


The "great irony" occurred when we talked last night.


"Wow man, I look at you with your girlfriend! You two are like so STEADY! Damn... Envy!" he told me.


I envy everything he has. And vice versa.


So now, I've stopped feeling jealous. I smile; gratefulness fills my heart. Now I wonder how I'm going to get along with the rest of the complaining world.

Cryptic Writings at 2:00 A.M

I once had a dream that did not make sense. Of course, most dreams do not make sense. They tend to defy time and space (once, I was in a dream where I was in an open field and also in a vaguely familiar living room, at the same time), or sometimes anachronistic (two friends were talking to one another in a dream. I know them both, though they don't know each other. They were talking about an event both of them knew nothing about).

At any rate, I once had a dream that did not make sense. I do not remember the details, but in it there was a pale little girl in a white dress. The kind little girls tend to wear, no doubt forced upon by parents, but that is beside the point. She had black-hollow eyes, her hair long and fluid, and a mouthful of fangs, blood dripping onto her white dress.

She was trying to tell me something, in that dream, though I do not remember what. No one takes very seriously what a little girl in a bloodied dress would say anyway. She guided me, in that dream, to a place I have forgotten. It was distinctly unpleasant.

The distressing part was not the dream itself, but that fracture of a second upon waking from that dream, where I discover that it is still night, and in the darkness of my room a little girl stood silently. White dress. Bloodstained. Fangs. It was only a small moment, but I knew she was there. In the darkness. Staring at me.


I should be careful which dreams I choose to manifest into reality.


Thank you.


****

Note:
This story was written by a person named Shahriman Latif. He's from Subang Jaya, or at least according to his blog Demented Reality.

Do drop by Shahriman's blog for more interesting stuff!

P/S Don't do anything to the title, because that's what it looks like in Demented Reality. And, sorry I'm too lazy to think of any stories - I mean, come on, my holidays just started, I wanna chill a little bit.