Dead Ends

2

2

She's gone. Gone for good.

She was a smoker. Not a chain smoker or something, but she got a pair of cigarettes a day. She tasted a little like nicotine. In a comfortable way. The drug has travelled around her body every single day, pushed itself around and out of the pores. It has been in the body for so long, that it has started to integrate the drug in the devolvement for itself. The tissue tasted like it.

Cigarettes are acceptable, just like cigars. Cheroots is terrible. Hookah is the best. Hookah tastes just like damped meat. The meat has turned tender, the meat has been given new exotic flavours, without any of the vital organs has been damaged. Hookah is the best. But it doesn't matter. She is gone. Gone for good.

My fur is stained and dirty. It has been physical stained. After all, there is a difference between stained and marked. Marked may be wrong, in any case, unprecise. It is created that way, created and destroyed. Two so different things, but so alike. When you create something, you can't avoid destroying another. It is a perfect balance, kept within a never-ending war. I am a product of this war. My fur is white with black stripes. The Creating: light, new, grace, kindness, joy and beginning. The Destroying: darkness, tears, pain, despairing, evilness, and ending. I am it all. Maybe it's beautiful. A balance with two scale pans, the same weight in each, no vibrations. My own will, and I'm the master.

It couldn't be more awful. The Creating and The Destroying are the only forces in the universe. The only one who controls something, the only one with a responsibility. The rest can only be effected by them, without their knowing. Ignorant. They can tear around and live a common life, in the belief that the madness has a purpose. They've got the purpose from whatever force who have affected them the most.

I got no purpose. I am equally marked from bout forces. They created and destroyed me together. I am an immortal warrior, none of them can benefit from. A passive bystander to a fight with no end. It's frustrating.

I am my own responsibility. I can't leave to the "higher powers". So, transform into my human form, in that I'm still dirty. I can see my reflection in the lake. Wild eyes look back upon me, there's something untamed about me. About me. My chin and nose are covered in the red blood, dirty is coating the lower parts of my arms and legs, small water droplets are glittering all over my body.

A wild disappointment. A killer. One who doesn't care. One who is heading home.

I'm turning on my heels. I always liked that. It's like it gives a sense of authority. One minute you're keeping a hard, chilling gaze, the next the person is looking into your neck. Your neck, which isn't covered from your amazing hair flip. Then it's sure, who the leader is. 

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--- Emily Honey ---