Zero Khaos
its senseless to clarify the thoughts of madness, the only way to interpret madness is to dive in
Zero Khaos
its senseless to clarify the thoughts of madness, the only way to interpret madness is to dive in
its senseless to clarify the thoughts of madness, the only way to interpret madness is to dive in
its senseless to clarify the thoughts of madness, the only way to interpret madness is to dive in
“The knife belongs to me,” I raised my voice to state clearly. The clashing voices echoing throughout the glorious ballroom all came to an abrupt lull, everyone’s enraged eyes falling to bask down on me. The hard sole of my chestnut suede oxfords struck the light birch flooring, the shaken crowd before me clearing a direct path across the room from my location.
“Good, you all know your place. If any of you move so much as an inch toward that table, I’ll put you into the wall before you come close enough to see the spark of the blade,” not a moment after the threat was issued, my first volunteer stepped forward. The woman was only but four inches shorter than me, around five-eight, yet she crept behind me like a small fox, attempting to flip me over, clearly hoping to put me on the floor. When she swept her right leg out, taking my strength for granted, in an attempt to wrap it beneath me, I gripped her off-guard arm and pulled her across my shoulder. As she squirmed in my hands, attempting to free herself of my grasp, I threw her doll-like body in the direction of the onlooking crowd, a threat to whoever was plotting the next attempt. The limp competitor struck the wall as her fellow partygoers attempted to avoid her falling frame, now a dejected pile on the floor.
“Now, once again. The knife. It’s mine,” as the words slipped from my lips, my hand clenched around the handle of the blade, sending excruciating jolts of electricity throughout my now trembling physique. A single severed howl ripped from my throat as the power of the Charging Blade’s hold finalized, leaving my hand charred where the handle rested.
"Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!" my best friend called from an estimated thirty feet below my dangling body.
"Mmmmh...I don't think so" I jokingly sneered, as I pulled myself up onto the bark riddled branch, "The view's pretty glorious from up here, I think I may climb a touch higher, to get a better view of the skyline!"
Stevie and I had taken a four-day camping trip in the Rockies, aiming to break our record of hiking two 14ers in three days. It would be sensible to shoot for three in three days, but hell, who's sensible now-a-days? We had gotten through Grays and Torreys on Thursday, yesterday we started the hike from Torreys to Bierstadt, planning to start the hike up the former in the early hours of this morning. If time was on our side, we'll be able to hit Evans before we camp out for the night.
"Right, well when we don't make it to Mount Evans before it gets dark tonight, you tell me how that skyline is James!" remarked Stevie, who simply threw his hands to the dark morning sky in defeat.
It was a small town, the type of place where everyone knew everyone. A rural treasure off route 83 in southern Louisiana, just over two hours distance from New Orleans. With a total population never shifting more than 15 digits from 895 people, it wasn’t uncommon for townsfolk to remain within the fifteen mile radius their entire stay on earth. Sure we had the fair share of tourists, after all being on the direct route to the Crescent City had it’s benefits. As a whole, however, Mr. Sanderson was the latest new resident of Funsktonville, having moved into his two bedroom bungalow with his son 16 years ago in ‘07. Late every summer, before school was in, a drive in theatre played some old 90's movie, selling cotton candy and popcorn, a tradition first instituted in the late 1960's by a group of teen best friends, now overjoyed to see their tradition continued. After, everyone would join together around a bonfire to burn a slip of paper concealing their hopes and dreams for the coming year. In the winter, when the crisp wind and festive joy soaked the air, the streets were dressed in ornaments and streamers of white, red and gold shades, laced in long chains of snowflake shaped twinkle lights. A handsome, towering tree would sit in the towncenter, where the ground elevated to a podium, originally built for winning announcements in the October Harvesting Competition. Ten days before Christmas, on December 15, the lucky young winner of the snowflake competition would be lifted high to the heavens, like dozens of young children before, to place the gold laced star at the topmost point of the Christmas tree. The quaint town could’ve been pulled directly from a Hallmark film, the heart of everyone who lived there. Gah, reminiscing truly makes the heart ache, if only it weren’t for fuckin’ 2020, oh how I miss Funkstonville.
buzz my hair down short baggy clothes concealing, yet i still don't see me
saying my name's new, yet somehow, i always knew i'm me, despite you
stranger's voice of mine, sunken frame you'd never know, strengths you’d aim to break
you’d hate me now, shadows cast upon my face the mirror shows me
the mirror deceived, fought to see that he was me, yet…we move in sync.
we could learn a lesson from the stars… lights streaking in twilight, dancing delicately across the celestial hall, shaping tales told long ago instructing the direction of growth, all through their glory.
each alone may drown out the rest, few luminous enough to entice devotion, collectively sketching eternity on an unending page.
mortals illuminate the earthly cosmos, competing to shine the brightest wasting a limited clock to an unbeatable solo combat, in spite.
constellations which bask down, reflecting mockery upon our juvenile conflicts, butting heads for what? it all ends the same…
When my mother texted me to take out the chicken, I thought she meant to take out the neighbor’s damn bird which wouldn’t shut up. I figured, what else could it have possibly meant? So when she got a call from the Jones County Police Department to come bail me out on animal cruelty charges, I figured she was only upset because I got caught for it…
How was I supposed to know she meant to take the chicken out to thaw?
“We can’t keep doing this Stanley, you have to know that!” blurted the pacing brunette, silent to this point, now finally issuing her piece in the matter.
“Sure we can Issa, the burdens of society are an entirely irrational reason why this has to end!” the man, Stanley, tossed air quotes around the last words leaving his mouth, ensuring Issa knew that opinion was strictly hers.
Stanley attempted to approach the clearly rattled woman, entirely oblivious to the sheer stupidity of his actions. Hoping it would help his cause, a gentle hand reached out to brush across her arm. Presenting her opposing stance in the matter, Issa swiftly disconnected from her partner’s attempted soothing gesture, a once foreign reaction which Stan knew all too well as of late.
“I love you with my entire being Stan, you have to know that. Why the hell do you think I keep failing to do the right thing?” voice shrinking, hands raced to wind anxious fingers through her wild curls stringing out from untamable hair.
“The right thing? The right thing? Would you stop being a damn savior for two minutes to see that there’s nothing wrong with falling in love!” bewildered by his lovers words, the man spun into a frenzy, arms whipping round like a human cyclone.
“That’s exactly why this has to stop Stan! I love you, and I can’t, because according to the public, we’re destined to rivalry and combat. When the spotlight turns to whatever mischievous puzzle you’ve concocted for me, I can’t throw myself into your arms at the end. I have to fight you, and I can’t do that, it hurts too much. I love you too much Stan.” midway through her ramble, Issa’s voice dropped to a defeated murmur, unwavering nonetheless.
“My love is not a scale, if it’s a choice between you and my work, I will eternally choose you. Issa, my darling, please…don’t do this.” his speech cracked from the duress, a single tear resting in his eye, threatening to escape as he sunk to the floor.
Certainty in her expression drifting from view, crossroads in sight, Issa pulled her hand down her face, mind racing to find some impossible medium. “Stanley, please don’t make this harder than it already is. There is no choice here, the city needs us both to hold it up from an inevitable collapse. The savior and the villain, that’s our story my love, and sadly we don’t have the option to rewrite our ending.” the solum tone to her voice a bag of bricks to Stan’s chipped state.
Her choice was made, signified by the gentle kiss she rested atop his forehead, before rotating to face the door, a statue solid in place. Mustering the will to walk away instead of dropping to his side, each step towards the door hurting more than the former.
“In another life my dear, in another life.” Stan allowed this final whisper to escape his lips as the woman who would forever block the only entrance to his heart slipped through a small opening in the dual door to his grand bedroom.
streetlights twist from orbs to lines, streaking through the downpour. shadows cast upon the sidewalk, dance before my weary eyes, drifting with the song of the sky.
the bench supporting my slouched frame
continues to creak and howl,
gusts strike through the air,
shifting the once secure bolts below,
i just want to go home.
yet here i remain, bolted in place wooden seating begins to consume. the thought of escape dwindles, metal winding around my arm. securing my end, the bench closes in.
“Come one come all! Make sure to stock up on the snackies, this show’s about to be a good one folks!” the peculiar man conducted the crowd’s attention through the venue entrance. As the line to the ticket booth dwindled, and the food trucks’ stock was running scarce, stampedes of people piled inside the tent.
Music hummed in the background, hiding beneath the murmurs of conversation, growing in volume, everyone settling, voices hushed.
“Welcome!” the peculiar man now stood on a podium in the center of the circular arena, spinning as he spoke to direct the attention of the masses surrounding him. “Thank you all for coming tonight to our show! We have been working very hard to perfect this performance for you tonight, and we hope our skills are to your satisfaction!” he chuckled to himself, the tone almost malicious.
The lights flickered out the moment the ringleader fell silent, only for the tent to be filled by what seemed to be the squeak of improperly greased wheels, an odd honking, and an array of giggles and chuckles.
As the music accompanying this “performance” began to drown out noise of the vulgar scene which followed, a single earsplitting shriek rung out into the dark night surrounding the chaos that ensued.