Category: Passages


Nothing


The sunlight streamed in through the gap between the thin curtains. Bright. Very bright. But not unwelcome, unusually, for the day was a good one. Strangely enough, I was happy to see how it was bright yet peaceful. No sound would penetrate this peacefulness – I wouldn’t let it. It put a content smile on my face, seeing the bright light highlight irrelevant objects strewn across the floor and the rest of the light filtered into a soft blue colour over myself and the room around me.

This was what you would call a zen moment. The normally chaotic mess seemed beautiful and everything was calm. Not a bird sung, nor a mouse squeaked, not a noice. A noise would disrupt the peace, after all.

I often wonder why people are in such a rush to do nothing. Why jobs are left unfinished, work left half done so they can rush home as fast as possible so they can do… Nothing. It would make more sense for them to be rushing to do something. Rushing to finish that last homework essay; to learn the lyrics to their favourite song; to add the last few finishing touches to the painting they have been working on for days on end, ruining their sleeping pattern in the process. But no. They rush to do nothing. Why? It’s not like doing nothing is a requirement or gives any enjoyment.

Nothing is actually quite an interesting concept. It can inflict many different emotions upon a person: anger at waiting to be seen at the A&E for a simple yet crucial procedure that could have been over and done with hours ago but having received nothing as feedback; boredom on a Summer’s afternoon when it’s too hot to move, let alone do something so nothing is what takes its place; anxiety during the hours of nothing while waiting for an expected phone call; despair when calling out to a friend who fell over the edge into the hungry waters and receiving nothing in return.

Nothing means everything while everything means nothing.

Message


God, I take thy broken soul and place thee upon those broken bones and watch thou stand with death in hand as thou hath done while time turns man into beast, rabid not free, and all that is left is the warrior that brought death upon thou and suffering upon the rest.

She


She looked beautiful in my dimly lit line of sight. Simply breathtaking. What little light there was picked out all the right features and omitted the wrongs ones. The astonishingly perfect jaw-line she possessed was traced by eyes that could only be my own, eyes that only saw vision I possessed. Those very same eyes inspected the rest of her, my vision probing the perfectly lit features: the jaw-line; the perfect curve to her voluptuous lips; the elongated, inviting neck. This was a precious sight to be cherished. For in this one moment, she became the most beautiful creature ever known to man.

The irony of this gorgeous sight to be beheld was that she was not beautiful at all, in reality. Her nose was oddly-shaped – crooked from being broken so many times by her many opponents that were victim to her uncontrollable rage – for a start and her lips were out of proportion so much that it upset the balance of her face. She also had the beginning of a mono-brow which immediately repulsed all who met her and a few of her teeth were missing which gave her an odd smile (if she ever did smile).

This one time beauty interrupted my thoughts as she began to stir. With the wrong side of her face concealed by the darkness, she arose from her distant, dreamless slumber. No surprise, recognition or even acknowledgement crossed her face as her broken hazel gaze met mine. Was she even awake?

Slowly, her dark, full lips parted. And she spoke. With a confident, lustful voice she spoke the words: “If ever I did tell a lie, you should spill my crimson poison. Forgive me.”