Sunday, August 15, 2010
I was almost finished by the time I did, but before I could collapse again, someone special came into my life. She looked at me with loving eyes, told me she loved me just the way I am, put my arms around her, and lifted me up, and helped me walk again, and finally find myself. This is by no means an advice or a lesson, its just a testimony of what I have been through in my life. All my life, I waited for someone to pick me up, I prayed for strength. But finally, life taught me one of its greatest lessons: when you pray to god for strength, he does not give you strength, but an opportunity to be strong. Once you manage to make that effort and pick yourself up, he steps in and makes sure that you never fall down again.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The road is long, the journey tiring,
You are out of breath, perspiring,
And though your heart is aspiring
to find its home, you are tired,
You yearn to cry out loud,
For your heart is heavy, filled with doubt,
You cannot, though you need to shout
for help, but you are tired,
Take a deep breath, close your eyes,
For I am with you, holding you tight,
Breathe easy, for the end of your journey is in sight,
For, my heart is where your home is,
The Peace Lily
'Twas a flower,
A peace lily, caught in the passing storm,
Tossed around with the storm's ever growing power,
In mid air did it hover,
Till it started losing its form.
The storm came to pass,
And the lily fell back to the earth, torn,
Lost amidst the rubble and mass,
Of a desolate landscape, uprooted trees and pulled up grass,
Thirsting for a breath of new life, tired and forlorn.
And along came a fair maiden,
Lost amidst the destruction, saddened and weary,
For she had survived the worst, but now carried the burden,
Of rebuilding her life which was once laden,
With riches and happiness, but was now devoid of hope, and dreary.
Through the rubble she went,
Searching for some sign of life, loosing hope all the while,
And come across did she on the lily, broken and bent,
Roots pulled out, its will to live completely spent,
She picked up the lily, tears in her eyes, and whispered, you are mine.
So she took the lily with her,
And gently put it in a pot by her window sill,
Loved it, nurtured it, giving it sunlight and water,
Till it became whole again, became better,
And they live happily together to this very day, loving each other still.
Monday, August 10, 2009
They say your whole life flashes by in front of your eyes when you face certain death. They're such liars. When you're looking down the smoking barrel of a silenced 9mm, the only thought that races across your brain is disbelief... "This can't be happening.." "Why me..." and so on. The adrenaline kicks in, rendering an otherwise rational individual completely irrational. You panic, you break down, you beg the man behind the barrel for your life, clinging on to an outside hope that he spares your life. Some even foolishly try to fight their way out. Some resign themselves to their fate; wait to be put out of their misery.
"What does this guy know about getting shot?" you might ask. I won't bother proving it to you, and even if I did, you wouldn't believe me anyway.
The guy in front of me, the one at the business end of the silenced 9mm in my hand, belonged to that category of men who are defiant to the last. His crime? He took my wife away from me, took my whole life away. My eyes drift over to the brunette next to him. Both are beaten up badly, the brunette has a cut lip and the man has a broken nose and a gunshot wound to his stomach. I am beat up myself, and the blood on my palm causes the gun to slip slightly. My reverie is broken. I grip the gun more tightly, aiming at the brunette. She is too terrified to speak, whimpering. I like the sound, relishing every bit of it, relishing the power of playing the judge, jury and executioner. No one really questions your judgement when you are the one holding the gun.
"Time to end this..." I say.
"Let her go. You have me." Says he, bleeding profusely. He is almost gone. I must hurry.
I turn the gun on the brunette.
"Honey... please...." She whimpers.
"Consider this a divorce!"
I squeeze off two shots right between her eyes, enjoying the kill. The fact that I just killed my wife doesn't disturb me at all. In fact, I find it liberating.
I turn my attention to the other one. He is almost gone. I can't let him die on me. I need to take his life.
I point my gun at him, now. He does not speak, but looks me in the eye with every bit of hatred he can muster. I look straight back into his eyes, contemptuous.
"You're a piece of shit, worthless garbage, nothing more. You'll pay, you bastard. One day you'll pay..."
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
His brain is splattered all over the place. He's dead. So is the bitch.
I slowly sink to the floor, tired. Its probably midnight now, and it is pouring cats and dogs. I'll wait for a while, rest a bit. Then I'll leave, for my work is only half done. There will be others, the ones who tried to kill me. Little did they know that the bullet, still lodged in my brain, somehow kept me alive.
As for your questions as to why I am the way I am, I'd probably tell you that I just plain enjoy this killing thing. No, my childhood was not troubled, and no, my family was not poor. I just enjoy being evil. I am a villain and I live in a world where good guys don't always win.