The Art of Killing You

Slaves on a Broken Boat, Consequence of Thought.

In the night, I fight the light because all it does is blind me. 

In the day, I dream, I scream and suffocate from the air because all it does is drown me.

I walk in pain, I cry in vain... broken human, broken to no amend. All I do is wallow in anxiety and wait for it all to end.

I starred from the top seats as he walked in. My heart, my mind couldn't coordinate. And in a minute I was soaked in.

It was him looking like the same old him. Brown leather coat, a scarf and a ring on his pinky finger. His eyes, they showed the most. In them, I saw a man alone. A man, a ghost.

He said, "Someday, you'll get to do all the things you ever wanted to. Someday, you'll you sit in the dust and learn to see the beauties in destruction, in the flames... and in the violence. Someday, you'll see the world differently, And only then will the art speak to you".

They listened in silence... The tone of his voice was soft violence. It was rough like a bellow but in the end, wore a soft echo. How confusing.

"Art is our future... Everyone wants a colourful artistic world for the children, but none of them wants to make blissful artistic children for the world".

Those were the last words I heard before I was lost in fantasies.

In this particular one: I am falling, every part of me red... is it blood, is it paint? Am I gone, am I dead?

My heart ticks with the clock, our eyes blink as the lock. His falling after me, and he smiles. He doesn't offer me his hand, we fall side by side and there is nothing that could make me happier. He doesn't try to save me, he dies by me.

"Natasha!"

I wake from my dream and look, there's a boy. And from his pronunciation of my name, I could tell he was English or Australian maybe. Such perfect English, it didn't do justice to my not at all English name.

"You dropped this..."

He said as he looked into my eyes.

"You were not here. Had to say the magic words to snap you out of it. Nothing hits you like an absolute stranger calling your name".

I didn't say a thing. I gave him my hand and he handed me a book. One of the history books I had been reading, it was about slavery and everything bad the white man had done to my race since time immemorial.

He looked at the book and strangely said, "I apologize on my behalf of my people".

I didn't know what he was trying to do but it made me feel uncomfortable. Who even says such things? For courtesy and to thank him for picking the book up for me, I nodded. It also took away some of the awkwardness.

"You live in multiple worlds I see... I do too. There's this one and there's the one I go to when I fall asleep".

Again for courtesy, I replied, "how do you know it's not the same world?"

He said, "Because once you are in the other world, it is hard to get out. Be careful not to get trapped in your dreams, it'll stop you from leaving this life".

He smiled and then walked away.

For a moment I wondered why he said what he said. But it caught on to me. How did I get here? One moment ago, I was sited in an art lesson but now, I'm on the edge of the empty stares of the school.

I watched him as he walked. Mind open and eyes locked. He was something else, a different breed and he seemed comfortable with it.