Honestly, I didn't think like ever any of my writings will be ever reposted by @writersnetwork. But surprise surprise! They visited, gave a read, liked and reposted. So yayy to me. First repost by them, hope it won't be last . Thank you so much for this. Besides improving my writing skills on mirakee I learnt a lot about friendships in here and the care fellow writers take of you. I will also thank @laus_deo Aditi, my first constant support ever and of course this write-up would have been incomplete without you, Sagnik. So thank you everyone. Hope y'll enjoy the read _________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________
I exhaled. The simulations I was in were the ones I never wanted to revisit. I was awakened to relive the blasphemy that I ostentatiously imbibe being nonexistent. And yet here I am counting those black roses of sanguineous epiphanies we held together where we lost each other than we ever found ourselves truly. You were the mystery I crouched towards not in fear but the magnetism you held towards your eternity. You were the mystery of my life with whom I used to muse around without care. You were the mystery that withheld me with your mellifluous voice, once dripping the enigmatic joy I can give anything for. You were the mystery who believed in forever's but not same as mine for you always mumbled that unsanguine turn of phrase which I utterly disgraced : All good things must come to an end, but their essence remains forever.
It seems, perhaps I always wanted to know her more but all I knew was paradox was her favorite fragrance.
I exhaled. And took a deep breath. Surrounded by the ashes and bloodstains, I made way through the stinks painting my eyes with the goriness of the souls that they were petrified to have dealt with. Hunting down another corpse I chuckled at the naivety of the land-livers. They have this tendency to believe in their ability to succumb in liveliness so ferociously that they forget to drench in fear. Coward are the ones who always remain fading in someone else's shadow sticking up for mere likability they are endowed with. 'Now does their existence really matter?' echoed in my mind as a smirk resurfaced on my face. The cachinnating sound reverberated all over the 'fun' land escaping out of my vocal cords a little more rigorously than I believed it to be. I narrowed down my vision on the fragile her. Broken- yes, Fanatic- yes, Forgiver- yes. And that's how she was my BFF. She was different. From many. And as I say this, I am reminded of many 'hers'. As smile plasters again I began to revive her : She was an eulogy I had nurtured within her. She was the aroma that played with essence of deathly hallows. She was the culprit of my vices- always caressing the throngs of painful stabs so delicately that the hurt remained forever as if it's an eternal bleeding. She was not evil. And neither am I. Many call me vile, vicious and a fatality you don't want to know. And still, she saw me. She saw me coming right through her. Neither did she lie nor did she cower. She instead befriended me and thus became my muse. Yet, I still see the glimpses of the lad she so conspired to have forever with. Her soul had aroused, still smiling so brightly at me that I was dazzled by her epiphany. Walking by my side, she carried her seeress orbs in a style absorbing all in......as I picked up the black roses given by whom she was never understood. Ironically, he knew her but never lived with her precisely because paradox was her favorite fragrance.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Since I couldn't keep my quill away from writing about the prose I was drunk on, here it is. Finally posted after a lil dwelling :D. I don't know how to write dark theories but I hope I did the justice.
Of course, many might have guessed Inspired by ' Paradox was her favorite fragrance ' @thewordplayer hope u like it.
A very happy diwali to those who are reading this As you know I was on a break from mirakee due to some family situations, I am back. Not that situation is any less dire or not that I can spend enough of my juncture here. But simply because I realized something that dealing with situation teaches you to know your game. Feeling burdened about it will just rejuvenate the anxiety and agony. Some of you may know this already, but I learnt it now so just scribbling :p The more I began to avoid mirakee, the more I missed it. Unknowingly a hole grew in me which I never knew where to keep. Until I wrote again. I have believed in a phrase - Attachments are always painful. But now I feel, sure they are until you grow with them. Ok, so sorry for boring you guys with this....I end my lil monologue here.
Nothing much just my plain thoughts of the time being.
Just want to convey that a lot is going at my abode and it's not very pleasant or certain. So this will be my last post for now is what I will say. Stay safe everyone and hope to see you guys soon. Au revoir :)
This piece is based on the movie Berlin Syndrome. It is picturization of the eponymous novel by Melanie Joosten, of the same name. Berlin Syndrome is a concept similar to that of Stockholm Syndrome where the captives are affiliated towards their captors and sometimes vice versa. The movie is a psychological thriller describing the vulnerability of the captor and agony of the captive. The following part is the depiction of thoughts when Clare (captive) is being locked up while Andi (captor) is away from his home.
Cuts, bruises, scars, gouges......well, they are my friends now. I look upto them to survive. I have my hopes pinned on to them to keep my existence, ironic to many out there alive. And all this happened due to the decision of my one nightfall ensuing my downward spiral of thoughts, breath and soul. The 'Clare' in me seems to be dying, surviving on the final dews of credence. Simulated by my surroundings, I have been clogged in dreariness intensified by the ticking of the clock and enshrouding me at the bewitching hour just like the dull, nearly empty room which have become a shelter of my existence. For now at least.
Andi. I circle around his name more often than I have done of my mum's now. Not because I want to, but because I have to. That's all I have got. The pain, the anger, the anguish, the envy and the ferocity is vented out when I think about that abnormally sadistic, psychotic, egotistical son of............. My mistake to get involved with him, a sin I could never pay for. I don't feel intimidated by him. No, he is more intimidated than me. Torn, scarred, betrayed and mostly insanely drived by his own obligations to the new norms he restrained himself into. Fear instilled within me is nothing worth comparing when I see his orbs speaking the language same as a feulliemort- condensed, dead and crumpled. It was the only thing I esteemed to be not a myth about him. But you know when sometimes a nonchalant, egocentric, diabolic, self absorbed, puffedup monsteris brewed overcoming this crumpled feeling, the person is victimized to build sky castles which feed their own actions as a punctual belief of reliability, religiously believing in its fairness.
Him being not around me has been a bane disguised as a blessing. Relief and disbelief paving me into my own scrutiny, regarding me as the sole abuser of my own- oscillating me to and fro. Deprived of my gaiety, I pall over my graved notions subtly caressing the abrasive wounds I am contusioned with, peaking them up as they try to slither away. The psyche, the goriness has wore me out, torn me to the labyrinths of my entirety masking the will to live with the desire to embrace the demise. I hear my broken voice, the discouraged whimpers, the courteous sobs and unimpressive tears all leading to desperation, the neediness, the- the surrender towards my abductor. I see this slaughter of myself, through some cicatrix, some blemishes or maybe some blotches afreshed on every occasion turning into my nightmare. But every dusk is the aftermath of dawn and every dawn - the aftermath of dusk. To keep my seizures in check, there always has been the arriving morrow. To keep myself sanguine was the work of sunshine I gazed through the same double paned window which has locked me up. To treat me with honour was the juncture when my aloofness ruled my entity engraving the birth as my right. To keep me going, was my mum's locket - still amiss on my neck. And all this have been with me, glued with me to go not. Not yet when I haven't surrendered.
I heard the latch being unlocked, and with that I saw a new hope being encoded for me. _________________________________________________________________ @mirakee
Do u know when you get a weird thought about something and that keeps you engrossed for quiet a duration? Do u know when you start to feel annoyed of that weirdness? Do u know when you don't want to know the weirdness but are always curious about it? Do u know when it becomes so much awkward to stay in denial stage of this awkwardness to like something u feel is weird? Do u know when over the time, you accept that weirdness and start to like it? Do u know when over the time, you are just bounded with that weirdness and feel it's been like this for years? Do u know when over the time, you are inspired from that weirdness? Do u know when over the time, you begin to follow that weirdness? And lastly, Do u know when you finally love that weirdness, it starts tracing the path of unknown lane?
I didn't know too. But now I feel all of it. You know what that weirdness was? - That was your lovely poems. Before reading your crafts, I didn't know how to feel a poem. You taught me, but you never knew. I used to never believe in those amicable verses and infatuations being lovely and eternal to read , at the least. You taught me, but you never knew. No, I never knew you personally. We never talked besides our poems really. You weren't my brother or any relation. I never considered you as such. And our poems are the only bond we share which is beyond special. For me and for you :) You know, you are younger than me...but I have admired you always from day one. Firstly, because I was getting to know your poems and then I was getting to know your prose . You and your crafts have always been an inspiration to me. I came across your magical posts and I am always glad about it. And you will always, always be MY FAVORITE . I won't say please stay, because it's not in your hands anymore. But please take good care of yourself. Because that's more important. You are always a writer of your own but in this worldly affairs, you are always a relation to somebody and please care about their care too. Please be safe, stay healthy for I and all others here, dearly cares and loves you. And we all Want You Back. You had your goodbyes, now I had mine. My prayers are With You and Stays With You.
There was tinge of sadness in her voice. Neither that it wasn't there, nor of any surety if it will not be. It's been there so long now, that its absence is now felt. I love her anyways and that's certainly a proud choice.
You see it all started like this- I was not a loner, couldn't be that ever. Grouped alike people with me and now we all were social flies. That's the best thing because I didn't realize I started caring for a certain Miss.
Yes, she had entered my life. At that moment, I was the fervent fly and she was the frigid flower. She was the nectar I loved to devour. But more I wanted to know, more she became a mysterious strife.
I observed her more, then on. Mellifluous voice of hers was such a praise. Symphonic to the eulogies and monody she made. That's when my conscience said," Grow a lil now, come on!"
So I started reading them, trying to understand its necessity. Commenced was the read, never knew I will be drowned in the feed. They were blotched, they were pockmarked, they were scarred. Yet their enigma and beauty had bought my entire fidelity.
I shared her own thoughts, keeping mine by my side. Plummeted were now these notions deep within. Along with the love I have for her, allured to her sadness. For she was no one else but my distant mirage that now I abide.
Hii fellow mirakeeans! So this is my first attempt to write something like a short story or whatever it is. Please comment in what genre it goes. But hope you like it. I love critics so do correct me wherever you feel it needs to be corrected and share ur views. Enjoy the read ^_^. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_________________________________________________________________
From what I can remember, it all started when I heard a drizzle.
The pours were thinner than ever but its tinkle had alluded my ears. It lured my orbs to open and they did. I woke up in a foriegn room. It was all murky. Murkier than the nightmares. The only source of illumination and illusion was through the tethered terminals of the window scintillated by the moonlight. The only clarity at the hour was the ticking of the monotonous, old seven-day clock! It didn't make any sense to my sane part as to why have I been sleeping like a baby in an unknown shelter. I looked around to find the simplicity of the neat, old boudoir. A bookshelf, an oddly familiar closet- maybe because of its ubiquity, a lamp near the headrest and an old drawing table. Nothing special but then again, what could I be doing in such a customary? It was near to the dawn now.I was still slouched on the bed rest when I heard commotion coming straight towards the room. Panic inhaled me stealing my luxurious self to a forbidden lot of emptiness. I thought of hiding my entirety somewhere beneath but the urge to fulfill my curiosity grew more than giving into something to avoid temporary repercussion. By the time the door was unlocked, I was out of the bed, standing erect in full attentiveness as if performing a salutation- waiting for the inevitable. The latch clicked open and I saw a familiar yet an uncanny lady enter, early in her twenties wearing a long petticoat dress with a broom in her hand who had made my eyes widen. But not only because of her strange allure. As she looked around I wondered whether she has noticed me. And then she made a straight eyegaze. It was so sharp that I was of no surety if the lady in question was looking at me or right through me. I straightened up a little more and was about to make my already noticeable presence a bit more recognizable when something I didn't expect had happened. The woman had turned on the light occupying the room and resumed her work. But that wasn't something to be worried about. No, not at all. But the fact that there was no acknowledgement of my presence made me percieve a complication! A rather misconception for intuition I must say. You see, I believe in rationality more often than to make it a faith for me to give into my incommunicado. My line of thoughts was broken by swishing of the labyrinth lines on the floor. I moved a little closer and slowly circled around her. She seemed so focused on the dear labour that one could feel left out. And so did I yet perhaps, I felt my analogy was rightfully wrong. I saw a calendar hung on the wall. I seized it and froze. The space around me suddenly felt itchy, the glow of the chamber was now frowning at rather for me. The psyche by now had eluded and adorned my head just on it's way to pacify me down. I had read about strange things happen to people, it felt as if my time has come. After getting zeroed down for a few moments, I gained my stealth. It had started making sense. The dimensions of the bed - still unchanged made a glow, the closet was not just another common fashion and the woman in the room was not just some uncanny resemblance. I went towards the drawing table full of memories. It had a paper clawed down to it folded in two. I opened it to see the scribbled words: WELL, YOU HAVE LEARNT A MEMORY :)
The words echoed in my mind and I woke up from my deep slumber. I was on a hospital bed, albeit a little startled but steady, with the syringe equipped to my hand adding the saline into my system. I looked around to see that irrevocably familiar silhouette slept her way down as a reason to my undue laziness. Glancing towards her, I smiled a bit just when she stirred and was summoned by the living angel. She said," Oh! So you have finally given a rest to your sleeping contest." I chuckled and asked, " What happened?" " Why? Don't you remember overloading yourself with bulk of that work of yours?" was her witty-sarcastic response. I sighed. After pausing for a minute, "I won't trouble you of such deeds again. I'm sorry", my apology was outspoken. There was now a senile smile adorned on her wrinkled face, the lines of worry slowly departing. The curve of her lips were now a little bit more high, close enough to say it had turned into a smirk. She graced me with her as usual satire further," You better be or else the freedom of speech is all what you will crave for." I looked at her a bit astounded. She looked at me with that smirk still visible. And then we both broke into a good laugh. She caressed my face and went to get the Doc.
I took my phone from the side stand. It screened, Dec 23, 2018. I pondered back to my dream. The calendar was encrypted with the year 1990. The closet was the same which was now in our house for it was the gift of my Grandma. The drawing table belonged to my late uncle with whom I used to practice sketching in my juvenile days. And the lady in my vision was none other than my mother in her age of prettiness, the one who is still beside me. It was really wholesome for a dream as I had traversed into a memory that was not of my own. Perhaps my...
My reverie was stolen by the doc who had came back with my mom. He was here to give me a discharge while enquiring if it pained anywhere. By then I had a smile plastered on my face, probably reflecting some maturity and said," No sir. It doesn't hurt really, because I have learnt a new memory. " From a dream, a different dream.
Some night, I'll pen those memories still spry; and yet old, residing within incomplete stories and phrases untold. Beside the empty photo-frame, in that half-burnt memoir; I won't cite your name, yet divulge every last scar.
From the first love letter that is known to only a few, to that yellow sweater that still smells like you; Rotting inside the cupboard, concealed under the cigarette pile; I'll dig out every last feather of that dead bird and caress them like a vile.
With that withered pen rusting down in one of my drawers, I will write a eulogy, again; but this time to every memory of yours. For the sake of those vows in my reveries, I'll embroider each page with ichor splashes; Then I'll pen those memories and burn them down to ashes.