Crimson Illusion

Crimson Illusion- Chapter 15- Post blue

Rayne’s P.O.V.

The periodical tapping on the hard wooden surface almost drove me insane. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was standing there, in front of a monstrosity of a man, waiting for his mouth to open like a sinner awaiting judgment.

It was strange how light singular snowflakes were. They were so light that the wind could easily carry hundreds at a time, even thousands, and make them fall on one spot. That wasn’t the strange thing though.

The strange this was when many snowflakes gathered on one spot- hundreds, thousands, millions- they became heavy, but when you looked closely, you could see that they’re still singular snowflakes.

That same principle could be more simply explained through the example with the sticks.

When you take one stick, hold it with your hands on both ends and apply enough force from both ends pushing downwards and in, the stick will snap in half. Or, in layman’s terms, you take one stick and you break it.

Then you take another stick, but with that one, you also take one more stick and put them together. You repeat the same process from where you had just one stick, and you will eventually break both of the sticks.

Then you take three sticks, then four, then five and so on and so on until you finally can’t break them anymore.

Why?  

That’s because the number of sticks you have can’t fit into your hands, for starters. And second, if they could fit into your hands, you couldn’t break them because- even if the sticks on the outside bend and crack a little- the center will not bend nor break.

How would you break the stack of sticks?

Well, you have two options.

Option number one; if you’re the violent type, you can take a motherfucking axe and chop the ever living shit out of those sticks and turn them into small, little, itty-bitty, pieces of former sticks.

Option number two; for those who are patient, you can take the stack of stick apart piece by piece. That means you can take stick by stick and snap it in half one by one.

And for those of you that want something spectacular, abnormal or psychotic, you can burn them. Or blow them up. Your choice.

I think I read somewhere that you can create homemade napalm by mixing equal parts gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate or something like that.

The book was Fight Club, if I remember correctly. It was a damn long time ago, but I knew that the bus stuck with me for something.

Probably because making a homemade bomb wasn’t as easy as knowing the ingredients. And especially napalm.

So many things could go wrong that it wasn’t even funny.

Why I was thinking that, at this very moment, I didn’t know. My brain was probably trying to meditate its way out of the situation. It sure as fuck helped the Narrator in Fight Club, though you can’t trust books to save you and especially not Fight Club. I mean the people there blew up half the city, vandalized the other half and the Narrator is two people at once.

They’re not really excellent role models, and that’s coming from someone who actually enjoyed the book.

Though my opinion really couldn’t be taken that seriously as I was, lo and behold, an assassin with psychological problems who in his spare time either hurt himself, drank or read Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

“If you think that your thought process if fucked up, then you should listen into what I’ve picked up from some other people.”

“Are you trying to distract me from my distraction.”