high thoughts

a chronicle? an antology?

sister amyr prayed quietly in her room, knees on the floor and elbows on the edge of the bed. her pious murmurs traveled in all directions and bounced back from the walls into her ears, acquiring a slight distortion that the sister knew only to interpret as the voice of the devil mocking her. for each 'amen', lucifer said one just as loudly, but with a caustic tone that made the hairs on her back stand up in alert.

im staring at a dead man. or rather, a picture of him. nevertheless, the eyes i see have lost their light, even though the moment captured in the photograph was long before the real flesh died. like the portrait of dorian grey, this image mimics the state of the soul of him whom it represents, and it doesn't absorb nor reflect light

a savory tingle on your tongue. one. two. three. and then it's gone, only the taste of vomit left to remind of what was before. you wipe your mouth and carefully stand up

have i ever prayed to you before? how come you've never answered? was it the strength of my pleading or the lack thereof that wasn't convincing enough for you? i'm ready to make a deal now. are you?

i like to get high and wait for my senses to dampen, so i can go on dating apps and randomly match with someone who will show me the slightest interest

when i was younger, i dreamt my death so realistically, that i was able to convince everyone, including myself, that it could be nothing but a prophecy; an actual peek at my future and end. a while later, i came to believe there were no such things as prophecies, so i discarded the previos doctrine i had so strongly followed, and found myself somewhat lost in the overwhelmingness of a new realization; a paradigm had appeared in front of me and promised to change life. as i should've expected, it didn't last much.

before the technology invaded the world, i lived on the third floor of an apartment complex that stood near the outskirts of town; from my window i could see the 'welcome to Castle Garel' sign. how i hated that damned piece of wood that so explicitly stated the limits and borders that kept me from the real world.

an open window at the very end of the room. the light coming from it manages to hit the 4 opposite corners, and bounce back to the ones adjacent to its place of entrance. miles and miles away, the sun takes a small peek at this particular ray, and is pleased to see a small cat rejoicing in the heat that's being slowly absorbed into its fur. 'oh, hear me, all-mighty sun: for this decadent warmth, i am hereby declaring my undying allegiance to you and any other star you wish for me to worship as well.' the cat says so and stares into the flaming sun, that accepts the cat as one of its own by not burning its eyes. even farther away, a black hole bends the space-time continuum in such a way that it begins to throw everything off balance. the particles fall under the weight of the mass and cross the event horizon, to never be seen again.