Istoryan Writers

[diem]

---

Bong was in a fix. He slumped down on the curb, his legs crossed, his faded sneakers scraping against the asphalt. It was a hot afternoon but Bong bit on the burning cigarette, drawing in the dry sweet smoke that filled him and dulled his hunger.

He stared down at the dull gray piece of paper that was his recent exam, 36 over 95, sharp and red. It was just two points shy of his previous exam’s score, but basically the trend of Bong’s accomplishments in Math 112: Calculus so far.

The boy looked out into the street, saw nothing of the passing traffic, human and mechanical. Not even of the flat and torn canine carcass decaying near the gutter. Blue bottlehead flies swarming, dotting the rotten meat like raisins. No, all Bong saw was the reluctant frown of a tired, graying and unattractive Math professor who warned that if Bong fail the next three examinations, the first of which was tomorrow, then he fails the entire course. Bong tried to appear unaffected but his heart grew two sizes too small, Calculus was a prerequisite course.

Bong glanced over his exam once more. The wrong turns in reasoning were now clear in hindsight. He folded the paper over, over until it became a thick small wad that he placed into his back jean pocket. He breathed in and exhaled smoke as he leaned his head in his hands. Bong tried, I really tried, he prayed. But still trying was apparently not enough.

It didn’t help that he had a short attention span, he was easily distracted by beer, shooting nine balls, and babes. Bong tried to set a study schedule, ask his roommate and classmate Rex- a generous genius of a guy, to tutor him but water cannot soak a stone. Bong was casual about ethics. He tried to cheat in exams including the last one but was once again distracted that he wasn’t able to prepare a comprehensive and useful codigo.

Bong tilted his head back, pressing his palms on the curb cement, feeling the day’s heat burn against skin. The sun was glaring down, slapping his face. The city was unforgiving, it hated Bong.

A shadow fell across Bong who turned to it with an silent question.

“Boss, boss, buy some shades”, the shadow spoke. It grinned eager and hopeful with uneven teeth yellow with nicotine.

The sun moved somehow and Bong saw the shadow better. An impish dark man holding out several sunglasses with one thin hand, and other assorted boxed items on the other. The imp was bearing a backpack thrice his size, overloaded with knickknacks and stuff to peddle, like pirated CDs, laser pointers, flashlights.

“Buy, buy shades, to protect your eyes.”

Bong obliged and glanced at the offered products being pushed in front of his face. They were decent enough clones of the original brands.

Bong raised a palm up and shook his head, no sorry.

Still smiling, the peddler persisted by showing his other hand. “Flashlights? Mini-lights? Good for studying, reading late at night? Strong, durable, last for years.”

Bong looked, and smiled again- sorry bro. Next time.

The peddler was not daunted. He turned around and awkwardly let down his huge bag down. Bong wearily rose to his feet, this has got to stop.

The peddler pulled open the top, Velcro ripped hard. “I got toys, games, magic toys- you like magic toys.”

Bong held up both hands in apology, saying nothing. He took a step back.

But the peddler begged him to stay. “Look at this, look- magic pen, see?” Quick as a blink, the dark man pulled out a piece of cardboard, held it up like a tray.

“Magic pen, see?” With his other hand, the peddler held a seemingly ordinary ballpoint pen and scrawled circles on the surface of the cardboard.

Bong stopped, disbelief froze his body. Wonder made his eyes open wide, so did his mouth that his half burned stick dropped callously down.

The peddler’s grin stretched out, which was an ugly sight to see but Bong did not see. What he was the peddler’s hand drawing circles on cardboard and the right beside it was another pen, handless, moving in a circle.

“Magic pen, you try, try.” The peddler stopped doodling. The pen dropped down. The peddler tore the cardboard into two, gave his pen and one piece to Bong while he held on to the other piece of cardboard and the other pen.

Bong took the pen in hand and scratched black waves on the cardboard. He watched as the other pen moved, unaided, unheld, floating on its own, make the same dark ink waves on the peddler’s cardboard.

Bong wrote his name, and his name appeared on the peddler’s cardboard, faithfully reproduced by his pen’s twin.

The peddler proudly showed the result to Bong.

“Wow.”

“Like remote control no? You buy, magic pen yes?”

Ben nodded without argument. His “how much” was a mere formality.

At this, the impish dark-skinned trader became solemn, there were rules to follow in such transactions, particularly this one. “How much you have in pocket?”

The youth reached in and pulled out his lighter and a crumpled P100 bill. Manuel Roxas’s pale asphyxiated frowned with disapproval. The peddler’s eyes twinkled and he gave the pens to Bong.

Like a delighted child, Bong looked down at his new purchase. Politeness he remembered and was about to say thanks when he saw that the peddler was gone. Not a shadow of him, across or behind, up nor down the street.

Bong’s genius and generous classmate Rex came back to their room to find Bong, scribbling on their study table.

“Studying for the exam, Bong? Good for you.”

Bong jumped in his seat and turned to his friend, grinning yeah. Actually, he was just trying out his new toy, a wonder he wasn’t eager to share- yet.

Bong watched Rex as he pulled out his study materials, settling himself to prepare for tomorrow’s Calculus exam. Bong watched Rex read the problems and start noting down items with his own ballpen. Bong watched Rex and came up with a rare thought.

The next morning found Bong quiet with exhilaration. The proctor was telling everyone to set themselves apart. Bong obeyed and sat two chairs away from Rex. Once he was satisfied, the proctor handed out the questionnaires and the answer sheets, one single sheet per student.

Rex started to write his name but observed that his ballpen’s not working. He shook it hard and tried again, nothing. He reached in his bag for his spare and that too, failed him.

He became anxious until he locked eyes with Bong. Rex sighed, thankful when his friend gave him a ballpen.

Earlier, Bong waited as Rex tried to write with useless pens, made so by a delicate squeeze of pliers the night before. Now that Rex; generous, genius and oblivious, held Bong’s wonderful pen all Bong has to do is to let the twin in his hand take the lead and dance across the exam.

Bong frowned and pouted, acting the part of the troubled examinee but it’s difficult not to smile, watching as the answers appear on his paper. The right answers. Like magic.

************************************************** ***********************************************

Tired from a whole day’s worth of lectures, Professor Galvez wasn’t eager for a whole night’s work of checking examinations. But since he was old and unattractive, what else was he supposed to do tonight?

He’s just about finished with half of today’s crop of test papers when he stopped and wondered, WHY are there two answer sheets with the name Rex Valderama?

[MrBiddle]

He’s just about finished with half of today’s crop of test papers when he stopped and wondered, WHY are there two answer sheets with the name Rex Valderama?

Hehe, no Hollywood ending for Bong either.

[MrBiddle]

EDIT:

Coming soon from me: The Last Pontiff, Narrative Version..... and The Bringing.

[pnoize]

And look! An open call for submissions:

Tropics of Love (An anthology of fiction based on Rizal's "Noli Me Tangere" and "El Filibusterismo").

Deadline for submission of stories is on November 1, 2006. Listed below are the submission guidelines.

1. Stories must range between 2,000 to 10,000 words.

2. They may be written either in English or in Filipino.

3. Stories must contain or reference characters, scenarios, storylines and themes from either the Noli or the Fili or both.

4. Only writers based in the Philippines are allowed to submit.

5. A writer may submit only up to two stories for consideration.

6. All submissions must be sent as attachments (in Word or Rich Text File format) to submissions@quatre-gats.com.

[MrBiddle]

Stories must range between 2,000 to 10,000 words.

This is what always scares me.... I wonder how literal is this. Iphon pa jud

hehehe

[diem]

The moon of May rises over the dark clouds, a silver coin flat against the night curtain. Its soft glow descends unimpeded on the flourishing ricefields, illuminating the waist-high stalks of golden grain that sway in the summer breeze like the yellow fur of a great beast.

The moon guides Manuel, a farmer boy, along the raised rim of packed earth that lie between the fieldpatches. Full of food & frolic, Manuel heads home fresh from the barrio fiesta. To the distant west lies a haze of light rising, along w/ the loud rhythmic boom-boom-boom-boom of a mobile disco rover.

Manuel stops, feeling the faint ache in his groin. He unzips his jeans & pees at the ripe grain. As relief fills him, a sudden gust of wind surprises the dark youth. Spray flies & marks his hand, his sandals. He cusses but couldn’t halt the flow; it becomes a thing deciding its own time.

Manuel waits until to the last drop. The wind blows persistent & warm against his skin. The youth vaguely realizes this change in the air. Something spits at his nape, burning him. Manuel turns at the pain & gapes in horror.

The black night is gone; in its stead is a wall of fire engulfing the ricefields! The waves of flames ascend high above the ground, brightening the sky as day. The flames surge forward to Manuel, like tongues of a ravenous monster.

The fear forces Manuel to flee through the ricepatch, the fire following close at his heels. He feels the heat prickling his back, evaporating the sweat of his running body. Scorching smoke breathes ahead of him & attacks his lungs, choking him.

Manuel suffers the sting of the fire searing his hair. He cannot turn lest he is overwhelmed. He must run on to escape the inferno.

Manuel stumbles- he thinks, My God! Hell seizes him only for a moment before the cold depths of darkness swallows him.

The moon of May rises above the billows of the burnt earth. The ricefields are gone, eaten; only char & ashes remain. On a dark scrap of soil lies one ruined sandal, disintegrating. A meter away, a hand comes bursting through the dirt!

The moon shines down on Manuel as he pushes out of baked surface of the mudpool that saved his life. Manuel spurts out the wet muck from his face & breathes air anew- I’m alive, alive! Alive!

He stares to where the fire is now- far away burning, not stopping. Manuel bows his head, thanking God, the Angels, & Saints who heard.

He saw the earth turns radiant w/ light not silver. The winds blow again, angry & spiteful. The feeling of danger stings again on Manuel’s skin. He raises his eyes, beholds a dreadful thing!

A blazing halo surrounds this presence before him; it isn’t an angel or a saint. Manuel screams as his sight is razed by the ravenous flame.


“Are we there yet?!”

Max grins as a stray ray of sunlight beams through the tinted windshield of the Ford Explorer he’s driving. Ahead, a dirt road stretches out as large brown snake would through a field of grass.

Max eyes his rearview mirror to Lisa’s glum, bored face. The girl tugs at her ponytail impatiently as she frowns forward in her seat.

“Are we there yet?!” She repeats. Lisa’s young at 16, slight figure w/ almost almond eyes on a small, pixyish face. Fresh, Max thinks as he grins an apology. The girlchild pouts, her lips a budding rose.

Ace, a boy of Lisa’s age, sits beside her- oblivious to her discontent. He nods to the music streaming into his head via earphones.

Another girl, Sara stares quietly out the window at the passing countryside. She turns & glances ahead.

The man in the front passenger seat doesn’t stir, he’s sound asleep. Wearing dark clothing, the sleeper’s face is veiled by the lifted lapels of his blackjacket.

The young trio behind him dons the same type of clothes, outdoor gear w/ hiking shoes. The girls bear diffused earth tones on their clothing while the boy vibrant shades of orange & blue.

“It’ll be an hour or so, still”, Max says to Lisa. The girl skews her rosebud lips. A tremor shakes her as she leans back in her seat. Too much energy, Max notes.

It’ll be useful, a thought comes to him. Max turns back to the mirror & sees Sara smiling. Max agrees silently, the girl’s smile widens.

The man thinks, what do you think is out there? Sara stares outside as if searching for the answer. I only have guesses, the reports were vague you know- she relays to Max w/out voice, directly into his thoughtpool.

The road stretches out to the horizon. What’s waiting at the end, Max wonders to Sara, is it something we can handle?

We can only pray & do our best, Sara imparts via mindway. Besides, we do have an ace in our hand. She smiles again on this silent remark.

We have an ace, Max repeats to himself. He understands she isn’t talking about the boy sitting in the back.

Max grins, sideglancing at the sulking sleeper. We can only pray.

The dirt road leads the Explorer through verdant paddies, an abrupt change comes- the living green to smoldering black. The Explorer slows, swerving by a grassy mound to stop. Everyone gets out, save the sleeper.

The 1st impression Sara gets is the hotness of the place. It’s been a day since the report had been filed & PSYPOL had dispatched Team 13, her team, to investigate yet the place still hazes. She pulls out the mPC unit from her belt, starting it.

Lisa stretches out her lean arms & legs before running across the ruined earth. Her quickness wanes as her feet step on hot ash. Cautious now, the girl moves as a stork would in murky water.

Lisa sees the damage spreads out around for a mile. Max & Ace comes w/ a trowel & foiled sample bags. She watches as Max stabs the ground, then pulls out the trowel.

The ash adheres to 3/4s of the trowel’s face. “The fire burnt most of the topsoil. The land’s no good now,” Max says, scooping some dirt into a sample bag.

The boy Ace places a careful hand on the ground, feeling. “Its so hot, its hardly retaining any moisture.”

Lisa notes the solemn line on his face. Ace, who is usually bright, seems worried. The boy turns as Sara approaches them.

Lisa calls out, “What’s the plan- Leeda?” Max & Ace stands, sealing the samples. Sara browses through the report on her mPC. She’s sweating but calm as she addresses the team.

“The samples have to be analyzed ASAP. We have to follow up a witness who saw what happened. We have to survey the surrounding area for possible leads.”

The team listens quiet & alert. Sara speaks strong, sure. “We’ll split up. Max, Ace scour the area for intel. Lisa & me will get the soil delivered & examine the witness. In 3 hours, we’ll rendezvous back here.”

Lisa nods, grins. “Sounds like a plan.” Max turns at Ace, “Up for a hike?” Ace raises his brow, compliant but he points to the Explorer. “What about him?” Sara looks to the vehicle, unsure.

Lisa sees this. She says, “He comes w/ us, Ace, unless you want to wake him.”

Ace shrugs, walks to the Explorer. “I’m just getting some gear, okay?” Max laughs, steps alongside him, patting his shoulder. Lisa finds Sara watching her. “Leeda, come on” she says to Sara who quietly nods in reply.

Ace approaches the vehicle, seeing the huddled figure inside the Explorer, like a ominous shadow. Ace shakes his head.


A half-hour later, the Explorer speeds, kicking up clouds of dirt. Inside, Sara holds tight on the reardoor handle as she suffers the sheer violence of velocity. Behind the wheel, Lisa’s pixie face glows as she presses down on the pedal.

A gasp makes Lisa look behind her. Eyes closed, Sara appears tense. Lisa yields, pulling off the gas. The SUV rolls on its own momentum.

The dark sleeper does not move. Weird, Lisa thinks as she looks at him. Lis, comes Sara’s gentle thought, He needs rest. The girl driver stares back at road, you sure do spoil him, Leeda.

The youth Ace waits, sitting on a large rock by the edge of a woodland where the fire’s rampage seems to come to an abrupt end. He waits only a beat when Max appears before him as a shade.

The man’s form sharpens solid. “I think I found where the fire started,” he says. Ace rises & Max leads, walking along the perimeter of razed ground.

Max points through the woods. Soon, the two follow a path out from the desolation. The path itself is a grey trail of scorched dirt. It leads out to a similar ashstain at the heart of a coconut glade.

Max looks down at the stain, murmuring, “This is where it all started. The origin.” Ace says, “How can you be sure?”

Max nods, “I’ve scouted the entire edge for more than a mile around. This is it.”

Ace looks. Wild, long carabao grass, shrubs & towering coconut trees meets his gaze. He closes his eyes as he succumbs to a trance, his skin shimmers w/ a sheen of humidity

Ace opens his eyes, glazed, vacant. He nods to the southwest. “There are people there, a mile maybe away.”

His companion eyes the direction. “Southwest eh? I guess it’s a start.” Max glances at Ace, notices the quick shudder. “What is it?” Ace bows his head. Dizzy, he loses balance, drops his stance.

“Hold it!” Max catches Ace & supports him. “What’s wrong?!”

“The-,” Ace shakes his head, snapping out of it. “The water is strange.”

The boy looks almost afraid. Max smiles, full of goodwill. “Just a day in the job, right Ace? Right?”

Ace nods, echoes w/ affirmation. “Just a day in the job, Max.”

“Attabro. Lets check it out.”


The country hospital ward holds 1 patient today. 2nd degree burns score the face, bandages wrap it darkly coagulated. Sara & Lisa, w/ a physician, stand by the foot of the bed.

The doctor whispers, “He’s asleep now. We drugged him for him to sleep.”

Sara catches this. “How? In what way?”

“Screams ‘diyablo’ all the time. His sanity was burned.”

The girls turn to each other, a silent message passes. Lisa leans on the young doctor w/ interest. “I have some questions, please.”

Taking him by the arm, Lisa leads him outside while Sara remains invisible behind a mindcloud she impresses on the doctor’. Alone, she moves to the victim’s bed, letting out her aura. Gently, Sara connects w/ the victim’s self within. She calls out his name, Manuel.

Sara meets a wall of agony. She is ready, swims past the pain, recalling the essence of her training. She wades the hall of memory & finds easily what she is looking for.

She sees it all, she takes in all. The night of hell, the hungry fire coming, a slight reprieve in the wet dark before facing w/ a fiery visage of hate.

Hate is a burning blade that rips the rapport. Sara returns to her mind, insensate- a taught defense against pain empathy experience.

Hate did this to him, Sara thinks, was this a vendetta then? W/ pity, Sara gives Manuel a small blessing: she erases the hellish night from his deepmind.

Lisa eyes the doctor fumbles his answer to her question. He’s older, but he’s cute w/ kindness. They walk to the exit where an old woman w/ dark leathery skin waits.

Lisa stops as the doctor meets the old woman half-way. “Doc”, she speaks a high whine of reverence. “Doc.” In her bony hands, she holds a bag full of vegetables.

The doctor shines w/ compassion as he receives the bag from the crone. They share a moment then the old woman skulks away down the road.

The doctor returns to Lisa, smiling but the girl’s eyes are on the odd visitor. “Who was that?”

“She’s the grandmother of a patient, a young boy whose suffering from bouts of fever.” He stares down at the humble gift. “People here are poor but they are proud, they give what they can. They don’t like owing anything.”

“She seems- what are they doing?” Lisa utters in surprise to see a couple of young men swipe their hands against the air, to the old crone, a peculiar gesture.

The doctor’s voice is hard. “It’s a warding sign. The farmers believe she’s a witch. She & her family are pariahs here.”

The girl notes the change in her companion but it’s the attitude of the youths against the elder that seizes her. It’s hate, a smoldering fire that burns black in their gazes. What surprises Lisa next is seeing the same darkness in the crone’s veined stare.

Later, as the Explorer heads back towards the damaged site, Lisa relays mindways her impression to Sara who nods, you sense a connection.

Lisa stares staidly to Sara’s rearview reflection, that‘s what my intuition tell me.

Sara nods again. To herself she reflects of intuition, the secret knowledge giver, the quiet voice that whispers the links of fate & destiny.

She tells Lisa simply, ‘You may be right. Let’s get Max & Ace back.”


He lay gasping on the thin sheet, his breath dry. The air around him moves, stirred by an unseen hand. He lay gasping on the thin sheet, his breath dry. He’s so uncomfortable. The prickling persists on every inch of his skin, of his being.

He feels a disturbance, someone is coming. It isn’t her. These are strangers, others. This makes the prickling more unbearable. It must stop now. W/ small, bony arms he raises himself from the flooring. It must stop now.

Dusk has come & the land changes color to warmer tones of amber. Max sees the nipa hut, nestled as a brownchild in the embrace of an overgrown, wild bramble. Light wanes, & Max is only able to discern a tiny dark shape stepping out the hut.

‘Da-pa!’ shouts Ace, pushing Max to the ground as he wills the underground river to burst out to aid him. A tower of water rises, meeting the firesurge . When the two elements collide, a dense fog explodes.

The moisture dense on his face, Max is blind. He stands, calling out for Ace. A ‘Here’ comes as a weak whisper. Quick, Max grabs the boy & zips out of the fog.

The Explorer comes roaring over the uneven knolls. It swerves to a stop just as Max slides out of his quickrun w/ Ace, out cold. The girls rush out, questions on their faces. Then questions fade as an intense luminosity pours down on them.

Lisa steps forward, her mindforce blasts out, enveloping her & her friends. Behind the invisible shield of will; Sara & Max could only stare at the fire made fluid, beautiful yet dangerous.

Lisa falls on one knee, “I can’t hold it for long.”

Sara hones on the flame, her aura merges w/ the energy, reaching to the Source, the Sparker. They meet. The girl finds the Source a young mind, a child’s. A child who is abused by taunts of fearful thoughts of strangers. The fear has sparked a violence, a rogue rock struck at the head. The wound ignited a fever; a fever that burns. It burns & consumes the skin, the being, the child, the world.

Sara seeks to pacify, to still the fire. The Sparker glares hard, sensing the invasion of a stranger. Hate fuels his thoughts, releasing a new burst of energy. Sara feels the fire sear through her mind, striking her senseless.

A blanket of darkness falls on Sara, an eternity waits for her. Yet a voice comes, a slight sneer. Sara remembers & is warmed by the sound. She wakes finding herself close to a fire. She looks around, sees the still forms of her friends, amidst ash & smoke. She senses their lifeforce & is relieved.

A vicious slap of force crashes on Sara. She narrowly misses the firesurge only by inches, she feels its sting through her clothes. The Sparker recognizes her as the mind invader, the gentle thought, & wishes her destroyed.

A burning wave surges out from the Sparker. Sara cannot will herself to flee. Max zips in & holds her. She feels the coldness of hyperspeed instantly come & go. The two zip a few meters away, a fraction of a second ahead in time, only to see the fire surge land on the Explorer, casting it into blaze.

The sight becomes a knife at her heart, Sara cries. The Sparker hears her, starts for her & Max, each step a devil’s mark on the earth.

Exhausted of mindforce & options, Max grins like a fool, ‘I’m praying, I’m praying.’ He stops, his grin widens into a smirk.

Every mol of his being burning, the Sparker senses a waning of energy, his energy. Something is drawing his fire, siphoning it through the atmosphere. A cool feeling embraces him. How, where, the Sparker turns his questions & finds the answer from the charred ruins of a large vehicle.

A shadow rises from the ashes & erupts into flame. The burning shadow walks steadily towards the Sparker who becomes still, a flame w/o wind. As the shadow approaches, the light diminishes. The Sparker endures an invasion of a different kind & for moments he fights back, burning thoughts & thoughts of hate until all is gone, taken, eaten by the darkness who comes, who takes in all, from w/c no light escapes.

A child remains staring into the abyss, now shaped as a man. The man holds out his hand, it explodes into fire, the child’s power now his. He wills the flame gone, extends the hand safe, to the child & touches him.

The child feels the tender cool feeling of skin against his skin, he closes his eyes as his mind succumbs to the rest he’s been yearning for oh so long.

‘Toma, Tomas-!’ a shout blows through the night. The old crone runs out of the glade from where she stood, hidden, watching the events as they unfold. She thought her child cursed & prayed. She catches the child in her arms, feels the terrible fever gone, only the warmth of life radiates from the boy.

The old woman raises her eyes to the man standing before her, the agent of a miracle. Her mouth opens, but she couldn’t say the words- the gratitude glows in the tears falling from her face.

Max shakes his head as he helps Sara to her feet. Lisa & Ace are slowly recovering consciousness, the girl relates to Max mindways.

Max nods, I’ll see to them. Sara turns for the Shadow is only a step away, the shadow whose name is Paulo. He stares, a hard edge to his gaze at Sara’s dirty face & smoking clothes. He scoffs at her, “Wits, if you were in this much trouble, why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“I’m sorry”, is the girl’s meek reply. She stares up the tall man, knowing that a lecture is coming.

It begins with ‘I told you to..’ but Paulo is rudely interrupted by a large beam of light streaming out of a spotlight affixed on the undernose of a Sikorsky S92 copter. The black craft descends down on them, its rotorblades swishing away the smoke. From the helicopter emerge the Medics.

‘Calvary’, Paulo mutters, fingering a cigarette between his fingers. He watches as the white-clad Recovery team sedates & secures the boy w/ the old woman. ‘Fresh meat for the Mentor.’

Casually, he raises his thumb, a flame comes to life on the tip. He applies it to the stick in his mouth, breathing in then puffs out. Sara looks at him blankly, but her eyes speaks volumes.

Paulo waves the thoughts away w/ a hand. He speaks to her aloud, ‘Hey, if you can’t stand the heat, Wits, then-’

Paulo leaves the words in the smog as he hastily walks towards the Sikorsky, stepping past medics bearing on Max, Lisa & Ace . Left behind, Sara could read Paulo’s mind w/o probing, he wanted to get the good chair for himself to sleep on.


TO BE CONTINUED

[MrBiddle]

.....

Lamentations episode 0.01

The Spouse of Night.

I wished I was free from the nagging creature...
Yet I do not want to stray from the path of the providence which is of much importance - Money.

Yet with the cold efficiency that I have honed over the years as an enduring flame, I waited and will wait...

No, I can read your mind. No. No I do NOT see perpetual darkness as an end, nor do I see bitterness dwelling for an eternity.

No, I see hope... I see the need to love... because darkness needs to surrender to light, as night can never be that which it is without it's partner and companion: DAY.

[Von!-x]

No wonder my friend told me not long ago that accounting took away the artistic side of him. Ah! When shall I write again?

[MrBiddle]

Sentient Reflections Episode 1

I saw it... I took it... I exercised prudence... And then I felt the rush of exhiliration... Wouldn't you feel the same?

[MrBiddle]

Sentient Reflections Episode 2

They never tested it........ They were warned by they closed their eyes and ears......... Deep down they knew about the lie.... but because of the hunger for peace, they practiced the denial of truth...... but despite this, there is hope. Because someone says so....