FearTheMateria
Smash Apprentice
I stand upon my balcony; the view is nothing noteworthy I might add, as I am graced with the presence of wind with a slight chill at my cheeks; my true and only companion, my only ally. She kisses me gently and breezes by without words. That must be how love truly is, wordless and close. How I wish the wind were flesh, but regardless of her stealthy ways, she still touches me gently and sweetly. How I desire her.
Quite lovely; this place was tranquil for a good amount of time, but suddenly a loud noise coupled with vehement knocking came bursting at my door. I was at once startled as my heart leapt with the unexpected occurrence. My visitors were none other than the police. Interesting story they told. Indeed it was. They claimed someone had died by my hand. I do not remember such an event… That would be a remnant of my memories, would it not? My mind became a blur as I began to search for such an incident, but nothing of that sort came to mind. Where am I was the next thought to cross the great divide of my inner workings. I'm in a car, but the funny thing is, I do not remember going for a drive; nor is there a steering wheel at my hands. It is a very strange case for me to ponder upon. I look outside of the window as I pass some familiar and some unfamiliar streets. Perhaps the wind could accompany me on such an adventure. I reached to lower the window that separated the two of us. However, my wrists felt very awkward as I attempted to rid myself of the inconvenient barrier. I soon gave up on the campaign finding it impossible to conquer the wall that split the two of us apart. I might have shed a tear at this point; I see water running down my cheek.
It was a case of some sort. A knife to the heart they claimed. That is a curious place to stab someone, and was the believed cause of death for the victim. So many inquiries at the time that I do not remember it all. What was I doing last week? I remember waking up, but I do not remember sleeping. It seemed to be a paradox in itself… Just thinking about it, I hardly remember sleeping at all. Someone began to drone on of the significance of such a said word that I spoke, but his ramblings began to fade on my behalf as I began to ponder on what the past week might have held.
I lay upon a mattress and stared at a ceiling. Or was I staring at the pillow? Perhaps the wall is the vicinity of my vision. Some minor occurrences passed. I do not quite recall them for my perturbed sleeping pattern disturbed the very fiber of my being. I cannot remember if I had gotten sleep or not. There was something knocking on the background of my subconscious. It was a sound that said something along the lines of filthy of guilty. It was very unclear as I was immersing myself in the recollection of certain curiosity. I know I'm not filthy; I had taken a shower on a recent basis. The water was cold. Perhaps something pertaining to guilty. My brain instantaneously pointed to some instance of someone speaking of a knife, but that was of little relevance as I still am attempting to find what sleep I had gotten last week. A dream might suffice as evidence of the action of sleeping, but I do not hold on to those too well. Perhaps I should keep a journal. Shall I record the dreams that happen during the day too? I dream while I am awake as well. So maybe that is not such a good source of knowledge for sleeping.
Another moving vehicle. I did sleep, or at least dream as I am awake or something of the sort. All I know is that I am staring directly at a wall. Wait, that must be it! Perhaps I saw the wall whilst awake and mistook it for the way I face when positioning to sleep! But now is not the time for such an epiphany. I have not felt the wind in a short while. It must be the sting of lovers as the must communicate over a distance; when one does not know what the other may be doing and worry about where and how they establish themselves. I know she must be waiting to feel me, to know I am present once more, but the stone walls break our small longing. I wonder what may have happened to her. I fear the worst. What if someone had killed my wind; my one and only confident?
I hear the tranquility that was there when we were together. But it not accompanied by my darling breeze. I wait for her, but she refuses to come to me. I begin to grieve quietly as to not disturb the tranquility. If it is tranquil enough, perhaps she will return to me. This is the longest period of time that I have had tranquility without interruption. However, this time of intimacy is shattered entirely by the gift of a random meal or the partaking in the removal of it. The absence of my wind was made bearable by the presence of the silence, but every interruption of it was like a stab wound to the heart. Wait; that was it! I began to sob loudly, I knew what I had done! I had stabbed my darling wind when I went to answer the door that day! When I turned away from her, it must have hurt her heart so terribly that I had killed her! I am guilty! I must tell someone at once!
It must have been a long time since I have been home. My furnishings gathered dust and my food supply was in quite the shabby condition. There was some confusing ruling. The court had figured out that the case I was tried for was not of my own. Something about the true perpetrator being arrested. I tried explaining to them that I was guilty, and I had killed her, but they had laughed and sent me about my way. They also offered compensation, but I refused. I knew I was entirely guilty of my murderous crime. I go up to my balcony to deliver roses to the grave that I had created, however, there was a strange event. I was graced with the presence of the wind and there was a slight chill at my cheeks. Without question, I had placed my bouquet at her feet and reached out to embrace her. Surely enough, there was flesh holding me as well. She came to me to embrace me as well. My one accomplice, my one and only.
I surely hope I am not dreaming in my wake as I had done in the past.
Quite lovely; this place was tranquil for a good amount of time, but suddenly a loud noise coupled with vehement knocking came bursting at my door. I was at once startled as my heart leapt with the unexpected occurrence. My visitors were none other than the police. Interesting story they told. Indeed it was. They claimed someone had died by my hand. I do not remember such an event… That would be a remnant of my memories, would it not? My mind became a blur as I began to search for such an incident, but nothing of that sort came to mind. Where am I was the next thought to cross the great divide of my inner workings. I'm in a car, but the funny thing is, I do not remember going for a drive; nor is there a steering wheel at my hands. It is a very strange case for me to ponder upon. I look outside of the window as I pass some familiar and some unfamiliar streets. Perhaps the wind could accompany me on such an adventure. I reached to lower the window that separated the two of us. However, my wrists felt very awkward as I attempted to rid myself of the inconvenient barrier. I soon gave up on the campaign finding it impossible to conquer the wall that split the two of us apart. I might have shed a tear at this point; I see water running down my cheek.
It was a case of some sort. A knife to the heart they claimed. That is a curious place to stab someone, and was the believed cause of death for the victim. So many inquiries at the time that I do not remember it all. What was I doing last week? I remember waking up, but I do not remember sleeping. It seemed to be a paradox in itself… Just thinking about it, I hardly remember sleeping at all. Someone began to drone on of the significance of such a said word that I spoke, but his ramblings began to fade on my behalf as I began to ponder on what the past week might have held.
I lay upon a mattress and stared at a ceiling. Or was I staring at the pillow? Perhaps the wall is the vicinity of my vision. Some minor occurrences passed. I do not quite recall them for my perturbed sleeping pattern disturbed the very fiber of my being. I cannot remember if I had gotten sleep or not. There was something knocking on the background of my subconscious. It was a sound that said something along the lines of filthy of guilty. It was very unclear as I was immersing myself in the recollection of certain curiosity. I know I'm not filthy; I had taken a shower on a recent basis. The water was cold. Perhaps something pertaining to guilty. My brain instantaneously pointed to some instance of someone speaking of a knife, but that was of little relevance as I still am attempting to find what sleep I had gotten last week. A dream might suffice as evidence of the action of sleeping, but I do not hold on to those too well. Perhaps I should keep a journal. Shall I record the dreams that happen during the day too? I dream while I am awake as well. So maybe that is not such a good source of knowledge for sleeping.
Another moving vehicle. I did sleep, or at least dream as I am awake or something of the sort. All I know is that I am staring directly at a wall. Wait, that must be it! Perhaps I saw the wall whilst awake and mistook it for the way I face when positioning to sleep! But now is not the time for such an epiphany. I have not felt the wind in a short while. It must be the sting of lovers as the must communicate over a distance; when one does not know what the other may be doing and worry about where and how they establish themselves. I know she must be waiting to feel me, to know I am present once more, but the stone walls break our small longing. I wonder what may have happened to her. I fear the worst. What if someone had killed my wind; my one and only confident?
I hear the tranquility that was there when we were together. But it not accompanied by my darling breeze. I wait for her, but she refuses to come to me. I begin to grieve quietly as to not disturb the tranquility. If it is tranquil enough, perhaps she will return to me. This is the longest period of time that I have had tranquility without interruption. However, this time of intimacy is shattered entirely by the gift of a random meal or the partaking in the removal of it. The absence of my wind was made bearable by the presence of the silence, but every interruption of it was like a stab wound to the heart. Wait; that was it! I began to sob loudly, I knew what I had done! I had stabbed my darling wind when I went to answer the door that day! When I turned away from her, it must have hurt her heart so terribly that I had killed her! I am guilty! I must tell someone at once!
It must have been a long time since I have been home. My furnishings gathered dust and my food supply was in quite the shabby condition. There was some confusing ruling. The court had figured out that the case I was tried for was not of my own. Something about the true perpetrator being arrested. I tried explaining to them that I was guilty, and I had killed her, but they had laughed and sent me about my way. They also offered compensation, but I refused. I knew I was entirely guilty of my murderous crime. I go up to my balcony to deliver roses to the grave that I had created, however, there was a strange event. I was graced with the presence of the wind and there was a slight chill at my cheeks. Without question, I had placed my bouquet at her feet and reached out to embrace her. Surely enough, there was flesh holding me as well. She came to me to embrace me as well. My one accomplice, my one and only.
I surely hope I am not dreaming in my wake as I had done in the past.
