Happy Bunny Day!!!

Because Happy Easter is too mainstream!=)))

The dead and alive

As I lay on crimson roses I felt the sun touch my cheek with its warm glow and heat my veins with liquid fire. My limbs were not my own for I could see them moving in front of my eyes but I could not feel them at all. My eyes felt scorched and my throat parched.

It almost felt like dying…

Except…

I was already dead.

I rose from my grave on a hot summer day and set to find my first meal. A rabbit fell easily in my grasp and I drained him dry quickly.

Only when the moist of his blood touched my tongue did I truly felt revived.

I heard the laughter of humans. Poor, breakable, fragile humans, close by. But I did not follow. I was what I most desired to be, a vampire, but not a creature of the night for I had not taken any human lives.

I ran away from the humans and entered the forest. It was a beautiful thing… so alive, so full of life. I wondered through it for a while, until I realized my steps kept bringing me back to the cemetery, the place of the dead. For the dead. For me.

Bargain

The clouds caressed the blue sky above the barren lands.
A single tree, engulfed in dirt and dead branches stood like a lone warrior amidst the brown hills. No bird flew or sang and no beast left its print there.
Only the wind disturbed the silence, blowing through the branches, making them shift relentless.
No matter where he looked, the young man cloaked in black could not see anything beside brown hills and endless sky. He sat down and seemed to meditate because he stood motionless for a long time.
The clouds crowded above him and the sky darkened as if the night approached.
The first drop of water hit the earth and was quickly absorbed. The earth was thirsty and craved the water. Another drop followed the first, dying the same way. Soon the sky loosed its barrels and the storm howled with fury and rage.
The young man remained where he stood, moving no muscle, getting soaked.
The lands were satiated with water long before the storm ended. A last lighting crossed the sky. A last thunder made itself heard in the immensity of the land.
Then silence broke free once more and the young man rose to his feet searching the sky with curious and craving eyes. There was no evil in his looks then, only loneliness and grief. He had once been a handsome man, but worries and death had aged him before his time.
He closed his eyes and made a bow to the tree. Then he spoke in a low, modulated voice:
“I have crossed great seas and lands to come to you, Ancient One. The Crimson Lady told me much about you and told me to come here. You are the only one who can aid me. I am in desperate need of your guidance.”
There was silence at first, as if the entire land had been surprised by the sudden demand of the young man. No wind was blowing now and yet the old, rotten branches of the ancient tree rustled.
“What is your name, mortal?” a deep, old voice sounded in the silence. It was almost as the earth itself had spoken. No other voice could be so full of wisdom and power and no other voice could make the young man shudder so.
“I am called Seth”, the young man said. “I am a scholar of dark arts.”
The tree rustled once more but no voice came again.
Instead, the tree trunk opened.
The young man made a few steps forward and saw inside a small, green light shining in the darkness.
He reached his hand and grabbed the light in his fist. Opening his palm, he saw a small emerald flickering through its many mirrors.
Walking with his fist open, he entered the dark, lighting his way with the emerald.
He climbed down two pair of stairs until he found himself in front of a large, wooden door with golden runes engraved on its surface.
He tried reading them but the task soon proved impossible. They were as ancient as the tree, as old as the sky, as unknown as life. Written in the language of the earth, no mortal human could read them.
He raised his right arm and the emerald glowed strangely. Then he touched the door with the stone and it opened. The young man stepped into a crystal chamber where thousands of stones glimmered in the dark. There were rubies, emeralds and opals but by far the most amazing stone was a black diamond that flowed in midair in the middle of the chamber.
No light came upon it and yet an eerie glow came from it. It was like an endless pool of darkness in which, if you had dived, you would forever have been lost.
The young man however, did not step further, for he sensed a power far greater than his own that did not allow anyone in this sacred room.
He waited for what seemed an eternity and yet only a few moments had passed since he entered the chamber, before the same ancient, earthly voice spoke again.
“You are brave, mortal one, to step into the very core of the earth. You are small and meaningless and yet you come alone in the very center of the Ancient's den. Are you not afraid? Do you not feel the power that could kill you in an instant?”
“O, Ancient One”, the young man replied, “I am but dust in the face of your great power. I cannot say I feel no fear, for only a fool would do so. I am no fool but a scholar. And for the guidance I seek I would go to the Devil himself if he would tell me he had the strength to help.”
“But the Devil's power pales in front of your mightiness”, he continued. “Please, Ancient One. Give me the strength I seek.”
The diamond seemed to glow even harder at that moment. Then the voice spoke again.
“If you wish my guidance you need know it does not come for free.”
“Ask me anything, Ancient One. I shall gladly pay the price if I will acquire what I want.”
“The price I speak of is high and many that had come here, just like you, refused to pay it in the end. If you truly want strength, you will have to pay with your very soul.”
The last words were no longer muttered, but shook the entire chamber with their strength.
The young man took a step backward as their meaning slowly sank into his mind.
“My soul...” he whispered.
“That is the only price I require,” said the voice again.
A small shadow clouded the young man's forehead for a few moments. Then it passed, losing itself in the labyrinth of his thoughts.
“I accept!” he said, his voice a little steadier than before. “I accept the bargain. For the thing I need I shall gladly sell my soul.”
Silence followed his words and then, with a loud bang, the black diamond shattered in a thousand pieces. The scholar's eyes were blinded by the light and he felt as though a cold, evil hand was piercing his heart, imprinting it with a seal that no spell could break.
Then oblivion came, cloaking him in eternal darkness.



Far from the barren lands where a lone tree stood like a warrior from ancient times, in a country with few but brave men, was born a young scholar.
He was named Seth and his entire life he spent looking for strength to protect his people.
He was granted that power. Nevertheless, he paid with his soul.
By the end of his life, he had become a cruel man, hated by many. However, he was the only one that had searched, found and used the power.
He died on the battlefield, earning for his country the freedom he searched for himself.
When he died, it is said that an earthly voice, both wise and old, spoke in an ancient, unknown language the words that took his soul and sent it to the core of the earth, shifting it into a beautiful, dark, black diamond.

Words

It has been so long since I’ve written anything. Words have gathered and are stuck in my throat, refusing me the possibility of expressing myself. They have rusted and have fallen asleep.

I touch the snow white sheet of paper and behind remains only a dot. The words refuse to come out. They have run away from me and are hiding in a dark corner of my confused mind. However much I try to lure them out they don’t want to listen and party between them, leaving me behind.

I press the pencil harder on the paper but this just breaks the tip. He holds with those naughty words that don’t want to listen to me, their master.

I throw the pencil and want to take another but can’t find any. They’re probably plotting. They’re all in this together, with the words that keep hiding.

I wait a while, looking out the window. Who knows maybe one will come out to see if I’m asleep. But time passes and I really fall asleep. Then, like in a dream, I see them appearing from the corners, from the cracks in the wall and even through the keyhole. They dance above the paper and talk about me. A part of me is sleeping. The other hears them loud and clear.

I try to wake up but the words ignore me. They make funny faces at me and laugh heartily when the punctuation signs join them. The pencils start to draw figures on the white sheet that cries because her outfit is filled with dots and lines now.

Then someone calls me and I really wake up.

The words are gone again and the pencils have fallen everywhere on the table. The sheet is no longer white.

I start to read what it’s written there:

„It has been so long...“

Imagination

There was once a little girl who liked to make up stories. As she grew, she learned to put them into words, getting them out of her mind and on the paper.

She invented a magical world where she could run away to every time the world she already lived in didn’t allow her to spread her wings. Sometimes she ran in that world when she was scared or lonely or even when she was happy. All those emotions, she left in that world, coming back to this one with an expressionless face.

It was because of that that people thought she was weird. Her own parents believed she needed to separate herself from the magical world.

But how could she? That world was made from her emotions. Letting go of it meant leaving everything she ever cared about behind.

But, because she wanted to be accepted in this world, she let the other one go.

She became a normal girl, with little to no imagination.

As the time passed, she felt more and more hollow, like part of her was missing. But she couldn’t remember what it was.

Year after year, she grew more and more tired of life. And all the while people didn’t notice anything. They simply thought she was being normal. Being as everyone wanted her to be but not herself.

And she grew old and her heart was void of all emotion.

Then, on her deathbed, she saw a beautiful bird that nudged her to follow it. She saw a glimpse of the magical world and of the emotions, she had left behind as a child. But the road to that world wasn’t easy anymore.

Her imagination was so small, so empty, as herself.

She had barely come half way when she fell and died.

For it was too late to regain her emotions and imagination.

The Plague

End of the year. The winter covers everything. Not just the fields and valleys that surround me or the trees that at the tiniest touch engulf you in a white cold mantle. No... The winter made its way into my soul and chilled everything. My feelings are frozen and my lips are cold. I think and I live. But my senses are dulled.

It’s been another year and the snowflakes that fall now build a bridge toward the new year. A year filled with hopes, of joy and happiness.

But not for me.

My existence is known by few and remarked by none. Nobody is all-present in my life.

My only friend. Confidant.

Sometimes betrayer.

I once dreamed of the life of a princess, of travels and adventures. Now it’s all dead in me and nothing can get me out of this state of… not melancholy. No. I’d lie if I’d say there is still a feeling like that live inside of my soul. More like… apathy. Yes. Apathy, distance and pessimism. Everything is black in me. Nothing white. Nothing grey.

Black. As the trees burned from a dark flame.

Black. As the snow – ash that falls from the sky.

Black. As the things that surround me.

Black. The favorite color of the crows and birds of prey that circle me.

Black.

As my soul.

The field that shows in front of me is just as dark. Filled with bodies and rotting corpses. The smell rises toward the sky. People burn everything in their path, protecting themselves from disease. But the sickness gets them. Kills them. And the bodies are too many to be buried. So they are left to the animals. But only the scavengers, the crows and eagles feast upon them.

And people die one by one. Soon only one person stands above a smoking pyre.

The smell is awful but nobody notices anymore.

A single person stands and watches as others die. And she doesn’t.

She can’t die.

She turns her back and departs, leaving behind only corpses and scavengers, disease and death.

Her only companion is her blackened lonely soul. Nobody accompanies her.

That person is me…