Questions?

These kids, oh the kids - always running around. Then they grow up, whats the point, eh? They act like punks, for what reasons? There are those that get hooked on drugs, alcohol - they go out and buy guns, get in to fights. What, do they think its cool. Surely that's not a good enough reason to hurt someone or even themselves, is it?

You hung my heart up on a string and threw it over board.

I read about millions year after year, and from those millions I read more about the hundreds the commit (that word never did belong in a sentence such as this) suicide. What for? They say it's for love, or for hate, some even claim because they were causing the world too much pain. I read of one who did it out of boredom.

Excuses, all terrible terrible excuses. You want to know the real reason? It's because they're cowards... SELFISH COWARDS. A million others face almost the same things, some face worse, yet they are brave enough to face their troubles head on. Even ask for help. True, they all sooner or later give up and hide in their dimly lit corners. Should we not face our problems? Have I done wrong all these years?

There are so many that smoke, I ask them for reasons. Is that wrong of me? They all always look at me as if I had done something wrong. Most cannot answers, others that do give clearly fabricated answers - "it gives me something to do"; "makes me look so cool man"; "can't really stop". Myself...? I smoke for a simple reason - to punish myself by forcing a slow and painful death upon me.

You see, I'm no coward, I'm not just going to give up - instead I take the hard road full of grueling hardship and punishment, whilst I attempt to figure out answers, create more questions or just buy myself more time. Surely you would do the same if you were in my shoes. Wouldn't you?

- Deyci

Moving ahead

We move forward in to this tale - we need to give our protagonist a name - therefore from this moment on he shall be known as Guy.

As I walk alone on this dark and silent night - I feel that I am being followed. But everytime I turn around all that I can see is my lonely shadow. Some claim that I am paranoid, but surely that can't be true? Can it?!

Every time that I close my eyes, even for an instant, I see you. I see what was, what could have been. And every time I wake from this dream.... this delusion, I feel - it's the only time I can feel - I feel regret, sorrow - why is it that I only feel these, and nothing?

These images.... these questions they haunt me everyday, every night, every conscious moment and then again in sleep, in my unconscious. I can share these with no one, because no one listens and when they speak I cannot hear them. I wish I was dead. Or maybe I am!?

Guy, opens his eyes. "Another dream! Even they haunt me now." He gets up from his bed located right in the centre of his single apartment. The aparment itself is extremely is plain - just that. All the walls, are painted white with the bed as the only furniture in the room and a small window to the side. In one corner on the floor are some handcuffs and chains, clearly contrasting the room.

Guy moves to the window and sits himself on the ledge looking out through his own reflection.

These people... they always seem to be in a rush, always appointing times they know they cannot make, why? Always wanting, always trying - trying to be like someone else, why?

They try to decieve each other, decieve themselves. Always lying to each other, but do they not know they're only lying to themselves!

Their lives, they tell me, are better then mine - but are they really? A life full of lies, lies and nothing else - they lie so much they've even forgotten their names or their age. Come to think of it - what is my name?

- Deyci

Everyday

I see you everyday
You never seem to see me

When I stand
You sit down
When I sit down
You stand

I want to talk
I really do

Time after time
I approach you
I wait
And you walk away

I know you want to
Want to talk aswell

Time after time
You approach me
I wait
You talk

I never hear you
I see you everyday

Setting the scene

Here goes then, ladies and gents, the setting for the story. As I mentioned previously (see first post), I will build this drama everyday. It is important, however, to keep in mind that it may not fit together - all I will be posting are pieces that might come to me - so just bear that in mind. On that note then... the first setting.

A character walks on a beautifully sunny afternoon. Only his feet can be seen as they follow with great precision care the boundry of the path laid before him. Looking around, the beauty of nature can trully be seen - as the wind rustles, the birds chirp and the children run around freely. In the distant, by the pond, several geese are playfully flirting with one another and the leaves waltzing as they descend from the trees.

Looking back at our protagonist, we can fully view him. As he walks wearing a long black coat, and rough blue jeans coming up to his feet and then being folding away neatly over themselves. He walks, with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a lit cigarette. Oblivious to any and all things around him. The laugher of the children as they play, the melodic sounds of the birds and the sweet harmony with which nature is singing. He doesn't belong.

He doesn't belong here, in this time, in this world. With well defined features that show only one emotion - that of perplexity. He walks and walks, not even once looking up or straight, his gaze fixed only at the path that is lay in front of him.

He strays off the path finally and walks, again looking only at ground, to the pond. Crouched on the floor he looks up - his face shows experience and hardship and his eye, oh those eyes - they show emotions so deep. Deeper than the ocean so deep, deeper still than the void in his heart. He takes bread out of his coat and sits there waiting. Waiting is all he does, that and nothing else - the eternal wait for something to occur.

The geese approach him, not recognising the man before them - they don't see him. All there is to them at this moment is the food, food and nothing. He feeds, they eat, he speaks - but nothing. Nothing can be heard. The pupils in his eyes dilate, he speaks, and nothing. Nothing can be heard only his lips moving every so slowly, in that mechanical manner that all things do. And nothing.

- Deyci

To love

Love is.
You are.
We were.

He is.
You are.
We were.

I was.
You are.
We were.

Love is.
You are.
We might.

Reasons....

Why do things appear as they do? What is the purpose of life, animals.... anything? Why do so many still oppose homosexual behaviour? These and many other other so called "philosophical" questions are those which I shall away from on this blog.

The reason I created, wow it feels great to announce the creation of something, doesn't it?, this blog is because I love to think and occasionally put pen to paper (so to speak). I shall try and post an incident or dialogue every tow-or-so days. Be it fictious or otherwise. Using this from time to time to compile acts to be either novellas or scripts.

So, check back from time to time, and if you have any ideas post them up on the blog and I shall incorporate them in the story.

- Deyci