Chp 3 - Literary Expression

Sonnet of anti-love

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 00:20:00 -0500

Sonnet of anti-love

Raera

A pinch of envy and jealousy,

With a table spoon of anger.

Pour in a cup of misery,

And let the pot simmer.

Artificial flavoured bitterness,

Blend will with hatred extract.

A blind heart of guiltlessness,

And a taste test is lacked.

Sprinkle in some lonely tears,

With half an ounce of pain.

Suffering which will last for years,

Taste better with cheap Champaign.

We are nothing more than baking pans,

Boiling the debris of all mankind.

the best friend

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 00:10:00 -0500

The Best Friend

By: Raera

My best friend is that old, old tree with blackened and shrivelled limbs, the tree that everyone seems to fear. My best friend has a lonely, lonely soul, he is known as the lone tree still standing in the back corner of that abandoned warehouse. My best friend’s limbs were burnt from the fire that blistered the west side of this town, since then, no more apples dropped from his countless braches. It’s been a long time since he replied to my rants, but I still talk to my tree whenever I can…

He once stood beautifully and tall, but with the fast forwarded life span since the fire, his back became bent and now he can only bow his head low. The majestic waves of his luxuriously branches used to be his pride, but now, that lovely green coat never covered his bare shoulders again.

I never should have left him behind; the desire I had to follow my family to the south robbed the chance I had to be with him for the last moments he lived. Six months later when I returned, I found him blacked and destruction ruined. I mourned then, and I still mourn, but I will never have my best friend back again. The day I came back to find my best friend, I understood that I preferred being with him than I did being in the south. Since I first witnessed this sorry sight, I never left. I will always be here to stand on the strongest of the flame weakened limbs, and sing the most beautiful song to honour my tree’s passing. I will make up for the lost time by remaining here with my tree for forever and more. My love for my tree will survive through each barrier of time, and each generation of life. So next time when you walk by the standing reminisce of a raging fire, that little grey bird standing on his shoulder will be me, his best friend.

Just Can't

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 00:06:00 -0500

Just Can’t

By: Raera

Sometimes, it’s not the glamour that is the most beautiful. Sometimes, it’s not the tears that symbolize the most suffering. Perhaps I grew myself into a shell that’s become too stiff to break out of, but perhaps deep into my soul, I’m the only thing locking myself in.

I’m just another person who eats, sleeps, and feel emotions strongly. Every morning, the sun shines down on me just like it does on everyone else. I can pretend to smile and mirror the bloom of early spring, I can believe that I’m just another insignificant part of our world. I did that as a routine, but today; I just don’t want to.

Today, I feel empty and worn out. Today, I can’t seem to enjoy anything; it’s almost as if I’m watching myself go on from an out-of-body point of view. I talk but no one hears what I really want to say. I listen but nothing interests me. I try to find passion but integrity slips my grasp. It is a really sad part of my life. I try to live but fail to find something to live for. Upon failure I try to give up, but fail to find the strength to restart my journey. In every single way, I see myself as a failure. That’s my point of view today.

Sometimes, when you realize that you went the wrong way, you can turn back and restart.

Sometimes, you just can’t.

And sometimes, like today, it’s just PMS.

Follow Me

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 20:55:00 -0500

Follow Me

By: Raera

I gave up; there was no point of walking down the dreary path. I let myself surrender my weight onto a bus stop bench.

Shadows stretched on endlessly upon the crusting pavement, streaks of destruction lined the worn city road. The lime green paint peeled off the wooden planks of the bench, rigid pieces of expired paint debris clung with the last of its strength. On the remains of the paint, faded Graffiti became the only lively aspect of this dying scene.

I turned away from the tragedy of the bus stop bench, soaked leaves littered the sidewalk and street. Perhaps the leaves were once coloured orange and yellow and red; happy colours. However in the current darkness, they have all become soggy lumps of brown and black. A drop of rain invades the peace and quiet, the eerie silence ended as raindrops make desperate pounds against a mail box. So much for the few rainless minutes, this city will always be and has always been drowning in the rain.

I lifted my face to let the rain wash the sticky perspiration from my greasy cheeks and forehead; my breathing became without rhythm as silent tears mingled with the raindrops. The weak tangerine coloured street light became distorted in my eyes. I forced my eyes to focus on the mess of light rays only to see a worn streetlight supported by an antique-aged pole. It must be a sad life to be a streetlight.

The government never paid enough for anything the people needed, never has, and for sure never will. The only light source on moonless nights as tonight were provided with less than minimal power to keep from dying. The streetlights were the best social workers; they remain standing against slapping wind, against pouring rain, and everything else in between. The streetlights are never picky; they don’t call in sick and never complain about back aches. The streetlights are tolerant; watching over heartbreaks and witnessing crimes that take place beneath its small illuminated circle.

Bird feces dried in a mockery of a line, the animal was probably flying off fast when it decided to unleash what’s left of their last meal. The pavement was stained in various places with bird poop, a dirty little flaw that people stepped over and ignored. The imperfection it brought was always overlooked and forgotten. That’s how the society treated crimes.

A bark and a whimper penetrated my thoughts. I turned to face a shaggy dog standing a metre of two away, it faced me. The dog sniffed the ground around me, and then paced in circles. It was limping slightly. There was no tag or collar around the dog; it probably felt hopeless at this moment. I glared at the disgusting animal. Its fur was coated by mud and grime, there was drool running down the fur near his blackened lips. The two fangs poking out his lips were the colour of tobacco breath, and its eyes hated the world and whatever owner it was that had disowned it.

The dog sniffed around, I supposed it deemed me to be safe as it slowly approached me. As it got closer, I noticed clumps of dried blood matted on its left hind leg. My heart gave a little jump to think that even a homeless dog would be beaten despite its already helpless state. I fished around my bag for some crumbs of bread that may be left behind from a recent shopping trip; the dog heartily ate the scraps I found. I opened my arms and the wet dog shakily stumbled towards me. As it got near, it shook rain out from its fur.

Handfuls of water were forced off the thick untamed fur, the motion had spread the scent of the dog all around me, and it reeked. The smell was a story itself, containing essence of rotten meat, expired milk, and construction ruins. I held my breath and shut my lips are I could almost taste the scent of rusting copper among the spoiled aroma of food. The dog looked at me with guilty eyes, desperate for me to pity its state. I snuck in another pinch of air, and then gagged on it. My nostrils felt raw in the presence of reeking blood.

I placed my hands on the throat of the dog, and squeezed. If it was to live in such turmoil, then death was a better alternative. The dog didn't’ struggle, it didn’t whimper. It only gazed back at me.

Its eyes had sorrow and remorse, its eyes were lonely and were filled with longing; its eyes somewhat reminded me of me.

I watched the hopeless world, the rotten streets and the broken limbs of every tree. I felt the unrest of the guilty, the desire of the dreamers, and the hope of those well sheltered from pain. I walked away from that bench, the pile of leaves and the deserted street. I left.

And the dog followed me.

Bloodless

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 03:57:00 -0500

Bloodless

By: Raera

His body tensed, the grass was wet under his crouch. He impatiently waited in the back of a school yard that would soon be splattered by death. There would be no blood spill; he was too hungry to allow even a single luxurious drop to be wasted. The sun bathed down but left no warmth in the air, he sighed and banged his head against the thick grass under the rows of trees. His body was well hidden from a human’s eyes, his elbow shifted again and again as he fought against the twisting in his stomach.

“F-ck, where are those humans who always take this path… where are they now?” He muttered, taking a bite at the grass in anger. He spat the vegetation out in disgust. His stomach couldn’t growl, so it took to twisting and turning every time Vaness forgot to feed himself.

Vaness hated the secrecy vampires tended to keep; he believed that there was no need to hide. It wasn’t as if humans can do anything against vampires had they known that such ‘beasts’ exists. There was no weaponry that could take a vampire’s life away; and to Vaness’s broad knowledge, nothing besides hunger could even cause a vampire pain. A smug grin stretched across Vaness’ face as he remembered Vampires could only die if and when they chose to give up their life.

Heels clicked against the rough cement. Vaness lost his train of thought as a pair of slender legs walked metres from his hiding place. Vaness had hoped for a large man who’d hold more blood in his body, but this woman’s miniscule skirt and rosy cheeks made her the victim instead. Vaness would pick hunger and less food if it was delivered more attractively over becoming full.

Vaness studied his meal; her face was gorgeous due to the thick layer of make up coating her skin. She dressed daringly, the dip of her top revealing much of her full breasts. The skirt cut off and made her legs very desirable. Her smug look she wore gave Vaness’ guilt conscience an alibi.

“Perfect.” Vaness licked his lips; the dryness in his mouth irritated his skin. He had planned to toy with his food before dining, maybe tear her to pieces or make her beg for mercy, but the unbearable hunger made him changed his original plan. Vaness decided to eat fast, he’d tear the shirt off; and perhaps taste her full lips once if his stomach would wait. Vaness pictured diving for her left breast; to pierce with his razor like fangs to the heart where the blood flow was strongest. He planned to drain every drop of life from her body before she can scream.

‘Perhaps,’ Vaness thought with a sly grin, ‘her make up will manage to maintain that blush on her way to the next world.’

Vaness spent one tenth of a second to wish her to heaven, then sprinted.

The woman fell with a thud; the shocked eyes and parted lips became her final expression. Many cuts decorated her topless body, and not a single drop of blood was left to be bled.