There are approximately 7.1 billion people in the world. So many of these people live their lives without realizing their potential. They go about their day thinking they are just some creation, born to die, and that their dreams are like the stars; unreachable glimmers of hope and imagination.(more)
Despite this, everyone likes to think that they're special in some way. They want to find a reason why they're different from the common man. As a species and as individuals, we really are special. We have an unimaginably persuasive power on the world, and the lives of others. We are unique. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are Homo sapiens.
Thoughts and emotions have been scientifically classified as millions of electro-chemical reactions in our brains. Yet, these microscopic, nearly non-existent reactions change the face of the earth.
If something as small as this can do so much, so can you. Do not be daunted by if's and's or but's. Fight to succeed. You only have one life to live, you might as well do something with it. Every human being has an unimaginable impact on the earth. It's up to you to find that force.
Maybe if I keep putting my thoughts on this page, I can live my words.
Birdsong. Sunshine. The parts of the waking world that I'd left behind while I journeyed to and through the Apocalypse.
I struggled out of bed, legs and head heavy from the dream I'd been living for hours, or years, whichever it had been.
In m(more)y memory, I heard the crack of Death's jaws unhinging. I wondered what had happened to the world I'd built and traveled and finally fled.
"It was an important dream, but not a good one," I said to my cat. She regarded me wisely and rolled on her back, curled her toes, and went to sleep. True philosophy.
Hands shaking, I made toast. I threw it up, but at least I made it.
Later, I went to Powell's. I knew I could keep coffee down, and bought a cup. I cradled it in one hand and wiggled mysterious new-to-me books off a shelf in an empty, dim aisle. The words writhed on the page, though, and I gave each one back to the greedy gap it left on the shelf.
Sipping the burnt coffee, I just stood staring at the shelf. I heard folks moving in aisles beside me, sometimes whispering, sometimes laughing. The shushing sound of fabric dragging on cement pulled my eyes away from shelf I wasn't really seeing. Someone was standing at the end of the aisle.
A long black garment, a dress? But it had a hood. Ok, a tall gothy chick. Sure. Her back was to me, but I perceived the slender waist, the rounded hips, the suggestion of breasts holding the drapey fabric away from the body in front.
Her hands, all that I could see of her, were very elegant. French manicure. Not very gothy.
She waved, turned to smile at me.
What a beautiful skull She has.
I try to blame him for it. If he hadn't been standing so close to the edge, if he hadn't been making fun of me, then it wouldn't have happened.
I try to downplay it. After all, what's a little teasing between friends? We shoved each other around all(more) the time. Except this time, I shoved him just a little bit too hard.
I try to ignore it. James? James who? Oh, him, the guy who committed suicide? His body was found at the bottom of the cliff. No one knows how it got there. Yes, there's a great view from that cliff. I used to go hiking up there.
I try to be logical about it. It was just two unequal forces--a force stronger than the object it was pushing against. Newton's Laws--an object in motion will stay in motion until it hits an object of equal or greater force. I was the greater force, but so was the rocky ground far below.
I try to forget. In my old age, I seem to forget a lot of things, but never James. The look on his face, shock and then fear, never goes away. It's as fresh as it was sixty years ago, when I was seventeen.
I want to tell someone.
I can't tell anyone about what I did, about what really happened to James, because it was sixty years ago, and everyone forgets anyway. I'd just be digging up memories that can stay buried.
This is wrong -- it is. There are standards. Values. "Do unto others" and all those karma precepts I've lived by. And yet all of that crumbles to dust by the curve of your mouth. You're like a million other men and yet you're singularly beautiful to me. I don't(more) understand this. It's beyond me, this magnetism, this inevitability, the source of which i cannot understand.
It makes me forget what I am. And it turns me into this petulant, angry child, the one that wants to desperately steal someone else's toys and break them because I feel like it. I think (I beg) leave me alone, let me run, run someplace I can no longer feel your hands or your smile or the fold of your shirtsleeves. Except that place does not exist. I feel you everywhere and the further the run the more of you I find in me and all the places I run to.(less)
"You," Kenshin pushed Edward's face into the pillows. "Are such a fucking IDIOT, sometimes, I don't know what to do with you-"
Edward laughed, the sound muffled by the pillows, and then cut off abruptly in a choked groan as Kenshin ground down on him. Kenshin had him(more) by the hair, his fingers curled in it, gripping tight, close to his skull. Edward couldn't lift his head if he wanted to.
"What," Kenshin's breath was hot on Edward's ear as he hissed the words. "What am I going to DO with you, hm?"
It was a struggle to lift his head enough not to spit the words into the pillow. "I can think of a few things," Edward said cheekily, inhaling sharply as Kenshin struck the bare skin of his ass open-handed. He barely had enough time to take another breath before Kenshin forced his head down again.
Edward bit back a moan as Kenshin smacked him again and again. He ground down into the bed, seeking to get away from the stinging blows but at the same time not really trying - if he was really, really trying Kenshin would have been on the floor by now. Kenshin yanked his head up by his hair and Edward gasped, panting loudly. "Can you now," Kenshin said, his voice somehow silky smooth. "You still thinking of a few things then, I take it?"
Edward wet his lips before replying. "Several," he said, and Kenshin laughed, running his fingers down the crack of Edward's ass and over his taint. He stopped there, and Edward groaned in disappointment. "Come on, Himura," Edward said, trying to twist his head free to get a look. "Don't leave me hanging, fuck, do you want me to beg?"
"I love to hear you beg," Kenshin nearly purred.(less)