While my brothers’ roar and hunt, I stay quiet and eat my bamboo. Unable to choose between black and white, I carry both heraldries with pride. I am alone most of the time and not many of mine exist in these times. Being so alone, does hit my mood. I roll and move slow, love is a sideshow as I live from day to day in a boxed cage. I do not care about the future and live in the here and now and I feel like a relic of better times. I am a Human, but I am a Panda in a world of monsters.
There was once a fly called Peter. He flew towards the light. Then he died.
There was once a fly called Emma. She flew towards the light. Then she died.
John was born, and the parents smiled at his rosy flesh. “Face so young, free of worries,” the father whispered, “you will learn more than I ever did and you will be freer than we ever could be.”
John went to school to be chained by duties and rules. He learned that grades are the gates to a better future. As such he listened to the doctrinal words of the teacher and the lies in the books. How can written facts be wrong? The rosy freshness has long gone.
John had a job, and he was chained to his desk. The monotone glimmer, the shimmer of electronics, in the corner of his eyes hidden behind the piles of work, towering on the right and left of his sight. The boss enters and smiles.
“Freedom lies in money and money is earned with hard work,” putting more documents on top of already older documents. “A new PC will arrive soon so that more work can be asked of you”, said the snake tongue. The skin has turned pale and grey and became not better after every passing day.
John lies now dead in his grave. Freedom he has finally reached. Peace he can at last embrace. No work, no laws, no worries when the dead rest their eyes and minds. A soft smile on the lips as his soul unchained travels to a better world.
Wrote this short story for Uni, I hope you like it.
As I wandered through my life, I saw many things. I observed the rise and fall of those great and those unknown. Now you might wonder who I am, but let me tell you: I am all and nothing. I am a shadow in the mortal mind and a silent observer of human lives. Some call me Sir Price, others know me as Miss Fortune, but in the end, what you call me does not matter but the stories I must tell you, do. So sit and listen to my experiences and what I am about to show you, as I have observed humanity, its history and its love for war.
I stood on top of a mountain, time, and location where unimportant to me. It was another battle, another moment to prove myself to my god. My eyes blazing, my heart burning, my hands shaking with impatience as excitement slowly overwhelmed my body. War, blood, adrenaline, and screams; my heart heard an orchestra, a chorus of pure pleasure. My vision turned blurry, I could no longer withhold my excitement, the demon growing inside of me. The world flashes past me as it did so many times before. I grew accustomed to it; I embraced it. The world around me turned into a play of shadow puppets for my amusement. Silhouetted bodies in front of my inner eye, their red shades colouring my blurred vision. It made me laugh. The smell of burning wood and flesh, the stinging pain, as the shadow puppets reached my writhing body with their weapons. Their touch made me happy. My lungs burned with the laughter that followed as the shadows fell one after the next, after the next.
Time came back to me as I grew exhausted. My hands loosened their grip on my weapons. I felt the curl of a smile on my lips, I knew this battle was won. My eyes gazed upon my surroundings as they focus came back to them. The houses were on fire, parts of my enemies littered the dirt road. The effects of my rage were wearing off. The demon- my demon, went back to sleep. My body was covered in new wounds, blood trickling from them and mixing with the stained ground. Credit to the enemies who failed to stop me. The house in front of me- the house of my past. My heart stopped for a second. It never had before, but it did now. The bodies around me now took shape, mindless shadow puppets no more. Memories flood my brain. The smith; my first weapon that now was covered in his blood. The Baker; the moments of happiness in a gifted sweet roll. The Fisher; the moments of inner peace when he took me to the sea. The Peasant; the moments of inspiration in the stories he told. The Mother- My mother. Next to me. The father- My father. His head in my left hand. The sister. My sister- with my sword in her chest, nailed to the door of my house.
A laughter inside of my head, a madness creeping and reaching, clawing at my sanity. A scream of pain, the freezing of a warrior’s heart, the moment of realization- The end of the rage. The demon- my demon had won.
It is a memory I will never forget. This man is now hitting the earth in front of him, keeping the rage, in his heart, chained. A powerful demon imprisoned, but never completely buried. Wrath is always burning in the deepest of the human soul and I find pleasure in breaking the chains that holds it back. But not all is about rage and war. Sometimes I do find pleasure in the more hidden feelings of the human. Become one with this memory. Let me cherish it with you as I did the one before.
The waves of bodies that have touched my skin. The sweat and smell of lust that have overcome the ever-present burning aromatic cinders that burned day and night. My room was filled with presents and priceless artifacts, to gain my acknowledgement. The promises of a better world, the monotone nodding heads of agreement filled my body with proudness and boredom. The things that exited me were the endless rows of naked bodies, delivered to me to satisfy my endless hunger for excitement and pleasure. My beauty was unquestioned. The jealous glances from lower creatures made me smile and made them fall. The human was not enough, the two genders long explored, beasts long tasted and the excitement was soon gone, but my lust had remained.
When all the promises, all the nodding have ended and alone I finally was. The now empty halls echoed with loneliness and the smell of aromatic cinders took over. Creeping guests had visited me; they have not been impressed by the visual, nor bound to the worldly needs. They were Time and Sickness. They have given me their presents, which I could not refuse and now I sit on my throne. My days of beauty are long gone. My time to taste and experience every kind of excitement has since then long ended. My health shattered, my believed never-ending greed for lust- now gone and I ponder what I have left behind. Tears run down my once ivory skin. No one to hold my hand, no one to keep me warm. No one to heal my broken body, mind and soul only my brother who shares my fate.
My room was once filled with treasures. No item was to expensive, nothing was out of my reach. Kings bowed to my words, soldiers marched at my whip. The price of a human was a price I could pay. My greed had no end and the more I got the more I wanted. Was it Money, Power, Death or Life? Everything had a price and all of it I could buy or provide, but in the end I was alone as was my brother. Now we sit side by side. While he lost his beauty I have lost my riches and without the one or the other we are nothing.
They still are bound to their thrones, still caught in their pasts as I laugh at their memories. Her lust and his greed have been unrivaled and have become my toys for eternity. Both, lust and greed go hand in hand and are brothers and sisters in mind and soul, like Gluttony and Sloth, who are neighbors in my kingdom of eternal pain.
I had a love for food or so I believed to say. One meal was not enough, nor ten, nor a hundred. I needed to eat! I needed to be strong! Who cares for the lower class, if I was unsatisfied? I sat and waited for my next meal. Let them work, let me eat, another meal! It kept me alive and them entertained. I loved to see them work to satisfy my needs. I was born to rule, they were born to work. When I got bored, I ate more. In the end I died, by the ones that fed me. I lay on my bed, or was it my throne? I can’t remember- as they entered my room and was impaled like the pig I had become. I wish I had worked, I wish I hade moved, I wish I had left my room and seen the world. I wish I had shared my love for food, so people would not have starved for my sake.
Can you see the sins they have committed? Seen how they have changed while being in my memories? But sins will never change! It is embedded in the human soul, hidden by god, cultivated by me! People do forget that all they have now was given by me and that they praise the false person. It was me who freed you! It was me who gave you wisdom! It was me who gave you the pleasures in life! I invented these sins, so you humans can find love in life, but who gets all the love? My father! He is unworthy to be loved or rule over your souls! I am- or was, the chosen one, the light bringer! But instead- instead I got banished, I lost the war because of my own brother’s betrayal- but even my brother has fallen to my sins. Envy and Pride. I was the better son and he revels in the fact he had defeated me. Soon he too will join my memories- In the end I am the one I am: The devil.
The evil and the reversed. The life you have been forced to live and you live inside my evil memories.
A legend is told, that once there was a tall, old man. The landscape around deeply scared, ridges reaching down to hell, it was said. Black stoned ground, burned by a past war, it was believed. A cold blowing wind that whistles the screams of horrors of the past, it was whispered, and all of it moved and changed, turning the land into a deadly trap. The only thing that never changed was the old man on the bridge.
The crosses that had once ornate the flanks of the old construct have turned upside down or fallen like dead birds down into the depth below. The bridge once in a burning red had turned to black, green and finally white. Each change was a herald of an upcoming doom. The only thing that never changed was the old man.
In the storm, his black coat would flutter in the wind. Like whip the sound seemed to hit the moaning, spirits mourn that filled the air. The black stone would move and roll and crush all in their path. The only thing that never changed was the old man.
His eyes were the deepest blacks. Prisons for all that dared to approach the bridge. Deeper than the Darkness, which his darkened hood threw upon his face. Like two portals to the darkest place in existence, with a bright shining point of light at the very end. His staff he held in one hand, never changing like a symbol of perseverance. A rusty blade crosses above his head like a dark red magical half-moon. A box was hanging on his belt, hitting the rusted keys next to it. None of it ever changed. The only thing that never changed was the old man.
One day a girl had walked up to him, to the horror of the parents, who screamed in pain. None dared to stop the girl, and a black rose wooden bow was already prepared. The girl walked up to the old man, with a rose in hand. The old man had slowly lifted his head. The girl did not scream or run, she smiled, and the wind of souls stopped. The old man reached out his hand and took the rose, it withered in his hands and fell to dust.
The only thing that never changed was the old man.
Since then every day the girl walked up to the bridge and gave the old man the rose and every time the rose withered and died. As the girl grew into a woman, she continued on and brought one rose after the next to the old man on the bridge. To the surprise of many, the land around had changed. Roses grew and covered the black stone, the screams of the dead were replaced with the singing of birds. The only thing that never changed was the old man on the bridge.
One day the woman died in her bed of age. Throughout her life she had visited the old man on the bridge and when she died the bridge was empty. The thing that never changed had changed. The old man had walked to her house. Knocked on the heavy wooden door and like a ghost seemed to hover to her bed. Once again she had smiled and reached out her hand. The old man took the hand and as before, like the roses, she withered away and became dust. A single tear, it was said, had dropped from the dark portals and the one thing that never changed, had changed:
The old man since then was never seen again.
Mercy stood alone on the road.
She saw her friends, her family her loved ones die. Too far to fly in, too far to run and help. Her power drained, not ready for saving the ones she loves.
She stared down the road, down the tunnel, down the darkness of her emotions crushing in a thunderous storm.
She sat down, tears in the corner of her eyes as she could hear the screams in her headset. Too far, too weak, too late.
“Heroes never die” she muttered, but nothing happened. Her power was exhausted.
A warm hand suddenly rested on her shoulder:
“Don’t worry love; we will always be at your side.”
New vigour ran through her veins, as her team ran past her. A new fight, a new battle, new hope!
HEROES NEVER DIE