Misery

I feel wretched.

I can’t help wondering why people like those even exist in this planet. A planet such as Earth which is already filled with hate, lies and betrayal. A place that acts much like a prison cell, entrapping you inside until you reach your bursting point, after trying to keep all the stinging sentiments to yourself. The inevitable misery, eh? Why, why do they have to subsist by your side when all that they’ll give you is pain? That sort of pain that cannot be removed by any method, the one that is etched on your heart for the rest of your life. Forever, in short. They aren’t doing things to you directly, and yet you can feel that the dark motive is there—it is pretty evident; they treat other people in such a charming sort of way, but if it is you, the treatment will be hideous. They won’t yell at your face, kick you or something equally blunt. But if you’re someone like me—a person who, most of the time, prefers to think than to speak—you’ll realize how pertinent every single details can be, that each action might convey a hidden meaning: one that will only cause you to sadden. I’m not being hit by paranoia, just so you know. If ever you thought of that, then I guess you don’t experience what I’m feeling. How lucky of you, then, if that’s the case.

I just don’t understand them, period. And I guess that they will never understand me too, because if they did, they would have been better individuals in my eyes.

They are the kind of people that just make you feel plainly miserable. The kind that hinders you to fulfill your aspiration.

Miserable.

I guess that’s the word. Forgive me, I can’t explain any better than that. Because if I even try, I’m afraid I just might say something unpleasant, which I try to avoid as much as possible if I can.

Oh, how wretched I feel right now.

I’m not talking about several persons. No, not one either.

I’m not going to tell. Go figure.

The Weighted Pain

 One that makes your heart beat faster, sting with a sharp sensation, the heavy feeling… 

The suffering.

Why do people treat me this way? I’m getting tired of it, you know. I’m human too, I’ve got a heart, not a stone. Every word you say, every mocking laugh you produce gleefully pains me. That sort of look in your face as you ridicule me, do you know how it makes me feel? Stupid. I feel stupid for being unable to protect myself. I mean, why should I let a pathetic person such as you treat me this way? Oh, then again, perchance I am the futile one, since I cannot defend myself against you. Well, I’d rather not. Who are you that I’d waste my breath, my voice, my saliva? You’re not supposed to be talked to. Yes, you’re popular with almost every single person in school, but who the hell cares? I don’t give a damn with your fame. That doesn’t give you the right to treat me the way you do. You’re shameful. Go learn a life.

I hate school at this time of the year.

School was unimaginably boring, period. I figure that’s all you’ve got to know, since in reading that reasonable statement of mine, you’d immediately be able to make a mental image of what is on my mind. Pressure and sheer hassles enveloped our blazing day; the mere possibility that you might not take the future examination should you let your ennui overpower you was disturbing in itself. Fighting something that you cannot see is way harder than one can possibly think. Do you get that irking sensation when humidity combined with chaos strike at the same time? That tiresome activity of fanning yourself with a useless piece of paper to relieve the heat until your arms became sore, only to aggravate your annoyance? It’s futile, and that’s what’s making everything worse.

Done ranting.

I thus conclude: heat plus pressure (Uh, no, I’m not talking about a protolith being transformed into a metamorphic rock…) equals pure irritation.

Thank You

Hey there. I don’t think you’re ever going to read this; but you might come across this particular page. If ever you do, well, good luck. Change, at least? It’s not that difficult, considering that I managed to do it. I have altered my perception of you and I came to the realization of how rotten you are becoming. I mean, come on, have a life. Well, it’s your choice. In the end it’d be you who’d suffer with such actions. Don’t worry, I don’t hate you; I’m not angry with you either. In fact, all I can say is thank you. I give you my deepest gratitude for all the things that you’ve done, and have failed to do. Thank you for disliking me, for showing that you take pleasure in my getting embarrassed. You don’t like me, that’s what I am certain of, despite your comfortable words… There’s a hidden motive inside. I’m not dim-witted, you know, not to notice. Sometimes I can see that every time I fail, you enjoy. Every time I progress, you frown. Thank you for making me feel so degraded and pathetic. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have been what I am now. I guess that attitude of yours is what’s making me stronger. So, despite all my thanks, I want to apologize. I’m sorry that your goal to make me go down has actually become otherwise. Your deceit has made me distinguish what’s genuine and what’s not; it made me realize that there’s more to a person than the eyes can see. It made me want to stand up and prove that I can be a better individual. Thank you. 

Il Sogno: Mukuro Rokudo

As I fell into a deep slumber, I instantaneously found myself in the same, usual place where my dream often occurred. The firmament was a clear, pallid blue, with a few streaks of the gossamer clouds freely hovering above, scattered in every directions. I couldn't sight the sun standing overhead, and yet I was pretty certain it was there, since the surroundings that I was in were bright. Lush green trees secluded the land where I was situated and the crystalline water that was a few paces across me. I could feel the soft and velvety grasses against my bare foot. Where was this place exactly? It was so serene in here, almost a paradise.

I stared at myself. I wore the same sheer white dress—

"Kufufu, my [Name], you came again. I knew you'd return for me," a familiar voice spoke conceitedly.

Insidiously, I turned to the speaker's direction. There was Mukuro, a few steps away from me, smiling. There was the mischievous glint in his eyes.

I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. "What are you saying? This is a dream, just so you know. It's not something that I decide on." I paused. "Anyway, Mukuro, where is this place exactly?"

"The place for you and me." The smirk was still constant on his lips.

I had been dreaming of him for quite a long time now. It was always in this splendid haven that I didn't know existed. And this guy would always be here, as though he was waiting for me. I had once asked Mukuro who he really was, and where he resided, but he wouldn't say. He'd just tell me, "You're so excited to see me, aren't you, [Name]?" And of course, his strange chuckle wouldn't be gone. He knew who I was (to my absolute surprise), and even a few of my acquaintances, particularly Tsuna. Unfortunately, that Dame Tsuna would always be apprehensive every time I uttered Mukuro's name, for reasons I didn't know.

"You're friends with Tsuna?" I had once inquired.

"Kufufu. I'd rather you don't associate me with that Mafioso."

Gradually, I even learned about the Mafia thing (that Tsuna was a boss in his Vongola family and the likes), and about him. That Mukuro was actually in some sort of dangerous prison, and that he wanted to take over Tsuna's body to destroy the Mafia.

I sighed. What a chaotic world he was in. What if he didn't really exist? That he was only a part of my dream, my imagination, my illusion?

"I don't think you're real. Maybe you're indeed just a dream."

He walked towards me and held my cheek, smirking. "Does this look like a dream?" He removed his hand, and good thing he did, because he should have felt the warming of my face. "Soon, I'll be out on the real world, when I finally find a body to take over."

It sounded like a devious idea. "When is that?"

"Kufufu, since you're so excited, why don't you become my vessel?" But before I could protest indignantly, he added, "But of course I won't do that. It would mean that I won't be able to see you in reality." He smiled. "And you're the main reason why I want to go out and see the world…"

It made me wish that I wouldn't wake up in this dream any more.

The Stroll

Yet another story within a dream.

And so, like other dreams, some are considered eccentric and others are quite superb to be even deemed realistic. That’s why it is a dream, right? But in some, they are brimming well enough with reality that you would have thought, and sometimes wished, that it isn’t a dream.

. . . . .

Strolling or walking alone is never a solitary task for me, so when I found myself wandering around a certain market – which was quite wrong to be called as such since it literally isn’t a market in the first place; rather, a place of modern stores that would likely interest teenagers – I wasn’t much astonished. It was situated in a steep mountain (which I didn’t know at the beginning) where the weather was cold; and the surrounding was pervaded by thick mists and fogs. There were pine trees everywhere, giving the place quite a traditional feel.

The stores were of synthetic pavilion in the shade of gray and black. On one, there were numerous anime discs and posters and I have to admit that I really was tempted to stop and have a glimpse on every thing they offer. But to my absolute surprise, I didn’t and I seemed to be searching for a particular store, or to be precise, a specific thing. As I searched, I realized that I was insidiously, obliviously, getting nearer unto the interiors of the open space, thus bringing me farther from whence I came.

I was now on a place that was full of stores of necklaces and other sort of accessories. My first thought? Terrific. And I was obliged to believe that even in a dream I have real taste.

On one, there was a crimson shroud hung over the pavilion vertically, and on it, the necklaces were aligned. The necklaces weren’t of metal, rather of black thin rubber but the pendants were of silver.

I did wonder, why were they (all those people there) staring at me as I passed by, laughing wickedly, albeit soft, and murmuring something to their comrades while they have their eyes fixated on my direction? It was definitely insulting, but I decided to just ignore their childish acts. Perhaps they were envious of me, being able to walk on such a place all by myself.

And then the howling wind began to blow stronger, with a frightening whistling sound, sending tremors to my body, pulsating my heart heavily against my chest. The lofty pine trees began swaying to the music in a rhythmic pattern. In short, fear was starting to encase my being.

The laughter, which sounded more spiteful now, indeed, was also getting louder.

“We were quite successful, weren’t we?” a voice hollered. “The brat played with our little game.”

“And been a prisoner of our trap,” someone added.

“Now where can she escape?” another one said. “She has nowhere to run and she’ll die in this mountain.”

The mountain?  I scrutinized my surroundings and shuddered at the truth: Yes, I was on top, on the zenith, the summit, the peak, of such a massive mountain.

“And suffer the wrath of nature; the fury of the weather.”

Well, by then, it has already hit me. They intended to make me go inside the ‘market’ by enticing me with all those interesting things being sold in endless stores, with my mind being ordered to think, “No, that’s not what you want, look first inside!” They planned it in perfect order so by the time the of the storm’s influx, I was already in a state of the inevitable, and that I would die. But why? Why in the world would this strangers plan my death?

I couldn’t even open my mouth in protest. Oh, perfect. I couldn’t even move a single finger and my senses seemed to vacate my body. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know… but goodness, would I really be such a loser in a dream?