GG

He almost came to regret his decision as light flooded the dim corridor. Air rushed to his face, drowning the deafening cheers of the crowd on the other side. He could hear them since he had left his cell, the hundreds of thousands of feet that made the whole main arena shake, the muffled cries that demanded more, and the screeches of the horns that announced the end of yet another match. Blood rarely flowed in the arenas and when it did, it didn’t stain the ground for long. No, usually the only blood was the one boiling in the veins of the participants and in those of the spectators, or the blood thumping in his ears when he was in the center of it all. Perhaps tonight would be a bit of both…

It felt as if the world started to move again after stopping completely for a moment. His heart was pounding and he forced a smile on his pale face as he stepped into the outer rim of the arena. He had to look, if not for himself or for his audience, for Io. He couldn’t let the young Ehnar worry for him, plus Alexis would beat him to death if she knew what he was about to do and how he felt anything but confident about it… He knew he could do it, somehow. Probably. He had to do it so feeling indecisive about it changed nothing, he was backed into a corner, something he had gloriously achieved himself, and he had no option but to fight his way out.

The spotlights were on him and the three other gladiators that had been chosen that night. Well, “chosen” was perhaps a stretch. True the one in the green corner had been picked almost randomly to fill the slot, but he and Jams had instigated this whole thing, and Kietro had been more than eager to try anything to squeeze herself in-between them. Why she did that, he never knew, but it seemed she had either a grudge against Kietro or a weird fetish for getting into situations that could lead up to violent altercations. Altercations she could then be a part of, sometimes not even to win or beat other people up, but simply for the “thrill of it”.

He looked around and saluted the audience and the casters twice, doing his best to smile as confidently as he could until the moment he would be able to put on his mask. The smiles and the waves were for the audience and the favor points he could get, the mask was for the sponsors, to give a more mysterious image and aura to his gladiator persona. Everyone knew his face but it wasn’t to hide his identity, it was to hide his weaknesses during the bouts and to give himself courage by making himself believe he was becoming someone else, a better, stronger, version of himself. And even if it was only psychologically, and partially, true, it felt right. Finally the first bell rang and he put on the wooden artefact that would hide his features.

It felt as if he was underwater again: everything felt distant and cold, but his heartbeat seemed to calm down instantly. He closed his eyes and focused his mind, which was becoming clear again, on himself and the reasons that has pushed him to do this. Io, he was here to avenge. Or at least, if not to restore their honor, to show that there was still hope. Kietro, he had to defeat. If he could beat him this round it would be perfect but beating him was the top priority. He had to show him what he was capable of and what he, as a more veteran of the league than him, could not. Alexis, he was simply here to prove wrong, to piss her off, like always. And Nerio, he didn’t really know. To show him that he had grown, perhaps?

He had grown. That was obvious, mostly in physique, but also in mentality. He knew he had been too proud, and wrong. But he had learned from this. He hadn’t finished learning, of course. He would never finish learning, as Nerio often liked to remind him, be he dared to believe he had learned enough to call his own bluff tonight. At least, if not for him, for them. Io deserved to know they weren’t alone… The second bell rung and his whole body tensed up. he would have to be ready for the third one, a single misstep as it began and he might be done for. The column, the path, the house. The column, the path, the house. He reviewed his battle plan in his head. Everything would work, it had to. And if it didn’t… well he would make it. Or the arena be damned, he would never utter a single stupidity like this ever again! The third bell rang, his legs felt heavy but as he jumped, he caught the fleeting look of surprise on Kietro’s face. Maybe, just maybe.


A sort of short summary of the opening scene, or prologue, from a story I have had in mind for quite some time now. Perhaps this will motivate me to try to explore it in more detail… Maybe, just maybe.

Hearth’s Ong

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Look how they tear down our clouds, they steal our rivers,

They say we should be proud that we are such givers,

They eat our old forests and they burn out our sun,

Saying we cannot rest, that we have had our fun,

They drown out the oceans and scatter the deserts,

They consume the wild winds as main course and dessert,

They dry out the fountain and they empty the horn,

They melt down the mountains and they thaw of the thorn,

They claim the horizon and then reach far beyond,

They slow twist the reason and makeshift the respond,

They say that our great minds have found a solution

Then believe they make death in live threads, and needles,

They count away our breaths in innocent wheedles

As they brandish notions such as absolution,

They take away our land, they shackle our freedom,

But do not try to leave, but do not try to come,

They say they firmly stand for universal peace,

Oh watch them as they grieve, tearing it piece by piece,

They loan our deaths away, they trade the future now,

They make the whole world sway with all that they allow,

They see and take and break as children make a fuss,

Leaving ___ in their wake; but, see you not? They are Us.

.


I feel this still needs a bit of work to reach the impact I want to give it and for it to give to others, but I needed to get it out. I shall reflect on it later.

In a room

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In a room covered in dust

Where evening’s light shines its warmth,

As in a heart covered in rust

That fears tears and their cold harmth,

Sits a family of old friends

– Remnants of a past era -,

Each of them portrait of bold trends

From lonely Azrael to ambitious Mira,

In a corner of the wooden chest

The cheap yet colorful drum lies silent

And atop the highest shelf sits a nest

Full of birds of passion, lovingly violent,

It once felt as though they observed

Their eyes judging and intentions devious,

But now he knows they are forever preserved

And shall not make him again Prometheus,

His life reads in the hundred books

To which he now rarely looks,

His hopes hidden away

In his peculiar moods and their secret sway,

Behind a false piano, opposite to the flowery drawing

Behind a thin and yet unmoving threefold door

The dreams of this child, the children of his dreams, have long been thawing

And if all is well they will thaw evermore;

The trophies, the medals, the cups and dozen charms

Are scattered in the wind of stillness that echoes,

He stands there, remembering the hundred thousand harms,

The secret of his thoughts is that only he knows.

.


“There is a house in my street, there is a room in my house…”

C

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Inside a cold, frightening room

In the deeps of an old castle

This body lies on a table,

Having surrendered to its doom;

Above, in the wuthering heights

Where phantasms and howling ghosts,

Ghouls and phantoms in wretched hosts,

Dance this night to a hundred frights,

Storm and thunder befog the air

As maddened laughter fills the lair,

In days of yore rain kept apart

The loving mind and his workshop,

Soon now the steps will near and stop

And folly will kickstart my heart.

.


A poem based on the prompt “Kickstart my heart“.

The break-up

The first thing that hit him when he stepped into the condo was the feeling of something missing. Then his eyes fell on the note. A small piece of white cardboard paper, left there, in plain sight, on the old sideboard in the hallway. His eyes swept around the room, the apartment felt strangely empty. He looked at the note again and hesitated a moment before finally walking up to it. He slowly grabbed the white rectangle and read its content.

William, you have been my greatest love, you are my greatest love and you will probably remain so my whole life. Know that I love you more than anything, truly. But it can’t go on like this, I cannot bear your breakdowns, your bursts of anger, your dark thoughts and all those moments when you don’t seem to live anymore. I cannot bear the thousand wounds you try to cover with your excuses and your apologies, before reopening them the next instant. I know that deep down you are a good person, I truly believe it, but something in you is broken, something I am not sure I could ever repair… I know that I am probably breaking your heart right now but I can’t go on like this, I don’t have the strength anymore. My love for you doesn’t seem sufficient so I have decided to leave. Don’t look for me, I don’t want you to find me. That is the only way to prevent us both from going crazy…

Good bye.

The note was written with blue ink in a thin and gracious cursive. No signature, no name. No need, he though. His hand was shaking as he put it back on the wooden piece of furniture, he could feel his eyes tearing up. He pressed his back to the wall of the hallway and let himself sink down to the floor, his shoulders shaking as if trying to dance away the pain that was rising in his chest. He couldn’t believe it. Was all this real? Was it really the end? After years of love and hardships that they had endured… What had happened for them to let things get to that point? He remained on the ground for a long time, not trying to keep his tears from flowing and his chest from hurting. Only the faint rumbling of water through the walls, sometimes interrupted by his humid hiccups, filled the apartment, now devoid of half the stuff it used to house.

When he finally managed to get up again it seemed as if an eternity had passed, his legs felt heavy and weak. Slowly, giving time to his weary heart to pump enough blood to wake them up, he walked towards the bedroom; the bed was made, the curtains were drawn. Only the pale light of the winter sun managed to light it up a little. On the nightstands stood two small lamps, and on the wall a painting, relic of a distant time that they had found during a garage sale. Despite all of this, the room seemed eerily empty. He had trouble realizing that it was true, that it was over, that this emptiness would now be an integral part of the five-room condo…

He opened the closet, it was only half-full: suits, shirts and trousers. The rest had vanished. The jeans, the colored tops, the scarves and even the fancy underwear, nothing remained. The emotion once again took over him, he only managed to keep the sorrow at bay with the greatest of efforts as he closed the thin door before walking out of the room. He went through each of the rooms, shooting a quick look around. The result was always the same: empty, devoid of part of the stuff that used to fill them. His breathing was ragged and his heart felt like it was beating a thousand times per second when he found himself in the hallway again. The the fight came back to him in a flood of emotions, like a coup de foudre. Or, rather, the opposite.

He had almost been violent. Almost. He would have never dared, he knew it, and yet… The darkness in his eyes left no doubt as to the anger that boiled in side. He might even have surrendered to it and let it out, had he not seen the frightened expression and understood how scary he must have appeared… He had frozen on the spot, staying there, looking lost and powerless as his love walked away into the night. He hadn’t even shown a reaction when he had seen the silhouette turn around halfway. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to do anything, uncertain he could even forgive himself…? Or perhaps he knew then, perhaps they had both understood what that moment meant?

Had he gone for a walk, or had he remained stuck there, on the sidewalk, for hours before coming home? He didn’t know. All he knew was that when he had come home he had found the apartment empty, not unlike today, but not of its furniture, rather of any human presence, the presence that had become so familiar over the years. Surely he had tried to call as soon as he had been back – the twelve missed calls were unmistakable evidence – before finally letting sadness and weariness overwhelm him. The next morning, night having gone away and his love still not back, he had gone to work, leaving the apartment empty and free for the whole day.

Once back in the corridor he cast another look at the note. He felt tears well up once again and, with a visible effort, fought them back. He read  once more, as if to cement the reality and the truth of what was happening in his mind and in his heart, to make sure that this was indeed what was left of them, of what they had been. Goodbye. The word echoed in his mind. It was over, the end. No tearful parting, no sobbing hug, not more fight. Not even a signature. No need, all had been said. Goodbye. It sounded so false, so empty in his mind, faint echoes in an infinite void… He remained like this for a moment, unmoving, staring at the note between his fingers. Finally he let out a sigh. No, despite everything, he deserved at least that. Alex took out the blue pen from his pocket again and wrote his name under the last word in an elegant cursive writing despite his trembling hand. He put the small rectangle of white cardboard paper on the top of the sideboard and, shooting one last look at the apartment, now empty of his belongings but still full of so many memories, before closing the door behind him.


A translation of this one: La rupture.

I feel that it could be improved, perhaps it remains too unclear… The goal is to incite a second reading but, has it been accomplished in a good way? I don’t know, time will tell.

Aimless

.

Beware the silent calmness of the sand

Over the dead sea loom fire and ice

Under the myriad of gems slithers life

That which the eye cannot see is nowhere

Immaculate yet perverse west winds blow

Quoth the stars to the lost traveller

Undo what has been done free this lost heart

End suffering to embrace the renew

.


The prompt was “boutique”. Totally random. This is what I came up with. My mind works in strange ways sometimes.

The Classical Age

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In a maze of twist and turn

Echo the cries of a beast;

Although a human heart beats,

In these dull, wicked eyes burn

.

The flames consuming its wings,

Blood thread trails limply behind

Swaying to the sirens’ songs,

Waiting on a virgin mind

.

To wish away all the wrongs,

But the labyrinth’s wall

Is strong and cold, dark and tall,

.

‘Tis made of a thousand strings

Played by the gods at a cost:

An eternal tempest-tossed.

.


Il y a d’une ode ici.

Rabbit in a Snowstorm

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I sit there and wait to be inspired,

Reflecting on things I once aspired

To, things of my childhood, of years past,

And of things yet to come, at long last.

Upon the walls of white of my cell

I see great sceneries and portraits,

Fevered visions of those I shall fell

And secret glimpses to my dark traits.

I can feel her there, right by my side,

The spicy perfume floats in the room,

I can feel her stare over me loom

Recalling the time when I last cried;

Knowing not why now I remember,

I let this whirlwind fan my ember.

.


He dares the evil deeds.

Millenium

.

Light,

Sight.

Fright!

White…

Fight?

Flight!

Right?

Quite.

Site?

Height.

Plight…

Might-

Bite!

Tight…

Night.

.


A strange concept of a poem made of single word verses that are given meaning by simple punctuation.

Also: 1000th post \o/