The bow was crafted of flexible, slender yew wood and wound around the grip was dyed red rawhide. On the quiver was carved the creatures who wore branches on their skulls, stampeding the horizon, pounding it into a grimace.
A photograph, that was all it took for the tears to burst Alyssa’s dam of restraint. She clutched the solid wooden frame tight in her hand, able to see a ghostly reflection of her face in the thin sheen of glass that covered it. She looked past her own dreary eyes and stared upon his face that had been caught in a moment of perfection. It was the happiest memories that hurt the worst, they were the ones that cut her deepest. She focused in on his eyes, they were glistening with the twinkle of laughter that once she loved. Now, they laughed at her. They reminded her of what she had lost. She clutched the frame tight, pressing it hard to her breasts wishing to feel his head resting upon them one last time. It was in that moment Alyssa realised she no longer knew how she felt. She was numb, yet somehow in agony. She longed to be free of him, yet she wanted him back more than she’d ever wanted anything.
Light flooded into the basement from the windows that crowned the room. My eyes were drawn upward toward the flowers of spring that were blossoming into the newly warmed air. All about the room were comfy chairs, a book shelf and guitars. It was the sort of place you could go to feel calm, to feel cradled by the earth and yet still under the sun.
In the serenade of the black, the stars are a choir; they are lights that sing in infinite patterns. Sometimes eyes need music, and the darker the night the sweeter the song.
Let's shift our idea of what chaos is, because it shifts how we relate to freedom. For when we do this the arguments of libertarian vs authoritarian fall mute. It is obvious, or should be, that a complex global society needs people with great organisational skills who are deeply humanitarian and committed to fairness and peace to take positions of service. Thus, the greater the ability the deeper the service role they can volunteer for or be asked to consider. This performs the tasks of government without any notion of power, for their only right to perform the task comes from the trust the community places in them. Thus, when we have an improved form of democracy of deeply empathic and analytical intellectuals to service institutes there is real freedom for all. We have all the structures available to thrive and be organised, yet everyone is free to choose their own path in the system, everyone with good food and shelter as a right rather than as a thing to "earn." This is compatible with modern brain science, for when we are free of need our brains become capable of being part of a socially complex society with self control and desiring to follow a passion, to develop the self as an individual and work for the benefit of others. Thus, this is chaos organised so intelligently that the order comes from the best parts of our human nature. In a good environment we are all good, not from external force but internal emotions and needs - that's when we have a lasting peace and thriving planet. If we imagine what we have now as a triangle, the most powerful at the top and the least at the bottom; this is flipping it over to have most service at the bottom and most vulnerable at the top. And this is done alongside making resource allocation both fair and separate from this system of service roles. We can still have a Queen, her role is to serve and protect, the same comes of other roles - true service, wise "chiefs" without ego, noble and self-sacrificing - real heroes.
I bite my tongue, trying to hold the tears that threatened to leave my eyes. And that's when I can't hold them back. First, one small crystal bead escapes from my right eye. I can feel the warmth, sliding down my cheek, and rolling off my chin. Then another. And another. Until my eyes flood with them, coming like a rainfall. Sniffing every ten seconds, they fall, and fall, and I let them.
They said we were nothing and showed not the smallest seed of love, and so our souls threw chaotic and crumpled rainbows onto the walls, onto the high vaulted ceilings of the subways and bridges that allowed the belching cars to flow over the waterways. The thing is, in that broken mess that we were, we could still feel our hearts, feel that rhythm that is inborn, and in our art, in our music, in the way our feet met the ground each day... we knew we'd win, it was simply a matter of how long it would take.
There is all the difference in the world between helping another soul and exploiting their hardship for your own gain and deceiving yourself that they are the same. To feed the hungry is very different from asking them to work such long hours that they are denied a family life, good health or enough of themselves to pursue their own passions and curiosities. Love heals and helps; greed masks itself as help yet enriches itself at the expense of the other. One brings happiness, the other hardship. The rudder of our collective ship is not in the hands of the poor, it never was.
I am in love with your soul not your body. Your temperament is what lures me into you. Your deep soothing voice is what I crave for and your warmth is what I covet. When you smile at me it seems as if the whole world is mine. When our eyes exchange looks it feels as if everything has paused and belongs right in its place. Your mesmerising oceanic eyes have locked themselves in my mind and only thoughts about you mingle in my head. These feeling I have for you are stronger than just admiration, I think I am falling for you
hard, like the falling of stars.
I froze when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, my knuckles going white as I clench the edge of the sink tightly. I stare at my reflection, or more specifically my neck. A long jagged scar snaked down the right side of my neck. It was an unusual looking scar, an odd mixture of bright white and light pink. The skin around the scar was also slightly discolored, suggesting that it did not heal properly. I slowly unclench one of my hands from the sink and lightly brush it down the scar, tracing the jagged line slowly with the tips of my fingers. I sigh and avert my gaze from the mirror, biting my lip. It's been months since I had gotten the scar, but I was still unable to look at it for longer than a minute. I hang my head, shame washing over me as I stood alone in the dimly lit bathroom.
Those brown eyes are a million hues, so I wonder what the word "brown" even means. They are the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer and after the rains. How could we ever reduce something so spellbinding to one word, when the colours invite us to marvel in their simplicity.
Johnathan looked over the crowd. There must have been at least one hundred people watching him, bathing in the dim purple light of the club, as he clutched tightly to his cherry red Gibson Memphis. Nerves were trying to take over his body, but it only improved the pizzicato of his performance. His heart kept time with the drums, pumping the music through his veins as he lost himself in the performance. Eventually, he lost all sense of everything except for the music.