Fraz's Blog, page 7

THE INVISIBLE KID

And here I sit, in a class of people that claim to be my peers. But are they

really?

A peer group is both a social group and a primary group of people who,

through “homophily”, share similarities such as age, background, and social

status. The members of this group are likely to influence the person’s

beliefs and behavior.

That’s how Wikipedia defines it. Age? Check… Background? Not even

close… Social Status? They don’t even acknowledge my existence as a

person. So are they really my peers?

Here I sit, a piece of glass shattered into bits. Would anyone care to look

through the pieces and try to set the jigsaw puzzle of my life straight? I knew the answer. Better than anyone else, I knew. There was no hope. Not for me. Destined to remain in the shadows, I had become one. And as the lights around me shined stronger, I grew darker.

Walking out, I made my way to the rooftop. Ah… The cool wind. So soothing. Guess this is where I belong for now. But then again, even the wind dies out. And so standing at the ledge I recall the few memories I had. Not good ones mind you.

I remember the day when I wasn’t picked for the group game. I recall the day where I was left looking for a lab partner. The day where I sat alone in class waiting for the others who never came and waiting for people who had other plans.

I remember the days I sang to myself, because no one really cared to listen. Where I would act like the king of the world to my kingdom of sticks and stones. Where I would push the swing and climb back on because no one else would.

I was invisible…

Almost all my life… Maybe it was just stupid of me, but I only wished for someone to notice. For someone to at least smile, even if it were to mock me. But rather, I was curled up in a corner where no one would even mind.

But it will change soon enough. I’ll force them to see me!

It’s funny how my thoughts aren’t of much value while I am still alive, but once I hit the concrete down below, they’ll be worth more than what people can afford,

for no piece of gold will be able to buy a thought unborn.

A smile and a tear, as I stand on the ledge. The wind beckons me on, all it’s going to take is a step.

16/03/2007

So here I am, making my first ever proper diary entry. I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to be doing this. Well, it isn’t like you can find a manual in your everyday convenience store about how to write a diary. There wasn’t even a class on it in school yet. Anyway, it’s been like a month since I joined the new school. Sitting in class was obviously not fun. It was kind of painful really.

Being the new transfer student in class always sucked. It meant I had to be in the spot light for a while. As I stood there beside the teacher waiting for her introduce me, I could feel those cold stares making their way through me.

“God… This is so going to be a drag!” I thought to myself.

“You may take the seat behind Philip over there,” I heard the teacher say.

Following the direction to which she was pointing did relieve me a little. A seat next to the window and at the corner of the room. Perfect! I can at least get out of the way of these stares. It’s the worst thing to change schools.

It wasn’t like I was really popular back in my old one or anything. It was more or less the same story even back then. I would sit in the corner, people would walk by, and life went on. It was actually great in a way. No one really understood me much anyway.

I was pretty much the weird kid. God do I suck at writing diary entries. Jeez. Why the hell did my psychologist want me to do this shit? He should’ve just given me some pills and have it over with already. Oh wait… He’s not allowed to. Poor chap!

Now where was I? Ah yes… And there I sat in the corner throughout class, watching the others whisper. Some brave souls did give me a few glances every now and then. It never really gets better now does it? I wonder if they ever gave it much thought.

The teachers just came and went away. Even in the interval I was left sitting in the corner all by myself. It was strange how people seemed to be getting a bad vibe from me. They were trying to minimize eye contact. Was it really me? At least no one bothered me while I wrote random stuff in my notebook.

The Eulogy…

Sound the bugle, prepare the guns;

For here lies the last of his kind.

Often defined yet never perceived,

An enigma like which one cannot find.

Many make claims to his magnificence,

Yet none compare to his grandeur.

For he chose to act, when few react

And refused to be a second voyeur.

With freedom to pursue his own values

And wisdom to do it constructively.

He was unique, without equivalence,

And yet he treated all with equity.

Unfortunate! Aye, unfortunate it is.

We failed to preserve his legacy.

Now we cannot answer that boy who asks

How and what a real man should be.

Foretelling…

The moment of reckoning is here.

The instinct to hide is futile.

The day of judgment is near.

 

For centuries we eroded the sphere.

Spared not a foot or mile.

The moment of reckoning is near.

 

Fluids wasted, sans concern nor care.

To the past traverses the isle.

The day of judgment is near.

 

Once relief, it now offers despair.

Fiery chasms rise up and rile.

The moment of reckoning is here.

 

Desecrated with smoke is the air.

It births fiends, oh so vile.

The day of judgment is near.

 

The reaper’s scythe now must prepare.

As thought with evil is beguile.

The moment of reckoning is here.

The day of judgment is near.

Chapter 2

On the way, Rumpelstiltskin had picked up some dry branches and twigs. He used them to light a fire and made camp. In a small clearing deep in the forest, he waited for the morning sun. His father would often take him hunting in order to get the best raw materials to make their leather. Getting good wood was also key to having a good fire in the forge. The competition was fierce and only the best of the artisans could remain in business. He recalled his father always telling him how the forest was a force to be reckoned with.

“One should never set foot inside the forest after dark unless it is absolutely necessary. If you end up staying in the forest afterwards, you make camp with a fire and wait there until the morning sun.” His father’s words were precise. And were followed by a warning. “And even then, you stay with your guard up. If you do not, you shall end up becoming supper to the wild animals. Worse yet, you shall join the undead. Many mysteries exist in this world son and a lot of them hide within the cover of darkness within the woodlands.”

When morning came, the fire had gone out and the first drops of an oncoming rainstorm woke Rumpelstiltskin from his slumber. He got up and hurried onwards. By the time he had reached the river it was already pouring down hard and he was wet from head to toe. His situation had gone from bad to worse when he saw that the rain had flooded the river. It was next to impossible to cross the stream with the way things were. His worries were not limited to just crossing the river either. He also had to worry about not getting sick. The insects responding to the call of fresh moisture did not help in making the area any less dangerous.

He looked around in search of shelter or something he could make a rope out of. Finding neither, he had to resort to waiting out the storm; all the while getting drenched in the downpour. He sat underneath a tree, water dripping from his hair, and contemplated his situation. He was stuck with no shelter from the rain or a means to cross the river. The walk to Mitterdorf would take him a whole week and the chances of his survival were slim due to the lack of rations. If he were to fall sick at present, he would not be capable of walking even for a day, let alone a week. The prospect of making it to Mitterdorf would be nothing but wishful thinking if that were the case. Things were not in his favour at all.

The rain showed no signs of subsiding and the stream raged on with overflowing water. At least he did not have to worry about facing any wild animals as long as it rained. They only came to the riverside to have a drink and with water holes all around, not many would be inclined upon having their drink at an overflowing river. He closed his eyes and raised his head towards the skies. The cool water droplets were in fact rejuvenating. He had walked a long distance last night for fear of being caught by the soldiers rampaging in his village. Under the duress, sleep did not come easy. He had barely slept for an hour just before dawn. He was so tired and relaxed that he did not even realise that he was slowly drifting off into a careless slumber as he sat there in the rain.

“Hey Rum! Is it not true that Lyudmila looks as adorable as an angel?” asked Christof peering inside from the window.

“How am I to know? I have neither met nor seen her!” Rumpelstiltskin croaked from below him.

The two boys were outside the baker’s shop, in a side alley with Rumpelstiltskin acting as a footstool for Christof to stand upon. He watched ants crawl up his hands and across as his friend took his time inspecting the inside of the shop. Lyudmila would usually be perched on a chair in the kitchen come noon and Christof wanted to catch a glimpse of her for the second time.

“You know Rum, I met her near the water well. I never really believed in love at first sight until the day I met her,” he said shifting a bit to look into the shop better.

“Hey! Quit moving around so much. I am a human being you know.” Rumpelstiltskin complained. “And I was not even aware the baker had a daughter till you told me.”

“Oh, he has! He most certainly has! The most beautiful maiden in the village, if I may say so myself. Her golden hair curls down to her shoulders just the right way, and her pink lips are oh so immaculate!”

“I get it. She’s beautiful. Now, do you see her? My whole body is beginning to ache.”

“Not yet. Perhaps she is helping out at the till.”

“How long are we to stay here stalking her again?”

“Just a tad bit longer my friend. My eyes crave to meet hers.”

“And mine crave to see lunch. Can this not wait till after?”

“No! I paid the innkeeper’s boy two silver coins to get this piece of information!”

“Where did you get two pieces of silver from?” Rumpelstiltskin asked surprised that his friend had such riches.

“I dug into my savings Rum. Now hold still.”

“Umm… That might prove harder than you imagine,” said Rumpelstiltskin sounding tense.

“How come?” asked Christof taking his eyes off of the window for the first time.

There standing in front of the boys was the baker himself. Clad in an apron, his big belly preceded his stout frame while his nostrils flared with anger.

“RUN!” Christof screamed jumping down and taking off only to be followed by Rumpelstiltskin.

“You rascals! If I ever see you thieving scoundrels here once again, I shall feed you to the stray dogs in the street!” the baker shouted behind them.

The two boys ran up to the hill near Fawkes Manor, Sir Farias’ mansion, and fell down to the ground panting and laughing.

“You think,” Rumpelstiltskin began in between taking long breaths. “You think he shall feed us to the dogs?”

“That can only happen if he catches us first,” said Christof in between breaths as well. “Besides, looking at his condition, he would not be able to even if we were walking!”

“However, I do wonder why he blamed us for stealing.”

“Probably because of Mathias. He usually runs off with pies the baker keeps at the windows to cool. But do not worry, the Baker has a weak memory. He shall not recall us as thieves come to the morrow.”

“You know, you would really make a great knight Christof. You are both intelligent and observant,” said Rumpelstiltskin lying on his back and looking up at the sky.

“I sure hope I do.”

“Yeah, and then you shall also have the guts to face the Baker head on.”

“Shut up!” said Christof turning over and on top of Rumpelstiltskin. “You die today.”

“Oh, do I?” said Rumpelstiltskin countering him by rolling to his side and coming up on top. “Who is in trouble again?”

“You are!” Christof said pushing his friend down and climbing on top.

Both boys wrestled for a while and were soon left panting once again with Christof pinning Rumpelstiltskin down. They smiled and then broke into bouts of laughter as the sun was setting in the distance when all of a sudden the blade of a sword came piercing out of Christof’s chest. His eyes opened wide and then turned dull as he coughed blood onto Rumpelstiltskin’s face. Rumpelstiltskin lay there stunned not able to move or do anything but watch, in horror, as his friend died.

“Christof!” Rumpelstiltskin finally screamed while sitting up; his face stricken with shock and grief.

“My! You almost made me heart jump out of me old mouth, lad!”

That was when Rumpelstiltskin realised where he was. He was sitting up on a wooden bed with a mattress made up of hay. Inside a small shack similar to his own home; an old man with long greying hair, a wrinkled face and a gentle gaze sat beside him. The only pieces of furniture apart from the bed and the chair the old man was sitting upon was a table. As he looked around, the old man dabbed at his forehead with a wet cloth that was in his hand, wiping away the sweat.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Why, you are in me home, boy! I saw ye lying sans sense and bearing under a tree across the river, I did. Ye was lying there running a fever so I picked ye up and brought ye ‘ere to me home. ‘Twas no easy task for me feeble bones I tell ye. And ye were asleep for an entire day nevertheless. Heavens are me witness, I thought ye were a goner!” the man said.

“Thank you, kind sir. I shall repay your kindness for sure.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, me boy! ‘Twas me pleasure. ‘Tis rare that I have guests ‘ere.”

“You are very generous sir. I should not stretch your welcome thin any further. Allow me to take my leave,” said Rumpelstiltskin getting up. “I need to hurry for I have yet to get to Mitterdorf. As soon as I possibly can.”

“Mitterdorf eh? ‘Tis a long walk. Tell you what lad, take me sac lying yonder,” the old man said, pointing to one lying in a corner. “It has got rations for two days.”

“Apologies sir but I cannot accept,” said Rumpelstiltskin with gratitude. “I have already troubled you far too much.”

“Bah, take it, lad! ‘Tis more use to ye than I. I insist.”

The old man got up and handed Rumpelstiltskin the sac. He also handed the boy a wooden torch after lighting it as they left the shack.

“Now ye be safe out there, ye hear? May the good Lord be with ye, me boy!” the old man said bidding Rumpelstiltskin goodbye.

“Goodbye, sir. May the Almighty shower upon you his blessings as well,” said Rumpelstiltskin before walking towards the forest.

Perception…

Fruit rots on the ground

A cold grave, a warm cradle

Beauty lies within…

Persevere…

The warmth grows weaker

Spring, comes back every year

Mystery of life…

Honestly…

In wanting nothing

It is likely, I am

Asking; bit too much.

Chapter 1

The night seemed to be drowning in fear, agony and blood as the army of Wolfartswindler descended upon the village of Hebertshausen. The night sky lit up as the village burned red in the flames of mankind’s greed for power and control.

The knights were busy pillaging the village; capturing all the women, they murdered the men. Men were a liability. Male servants were aplenty. Women, however, were always in demand. Some of those old nobles could never quite get enough of them. Even the children were not spared. In fact, they were much more sought after; both male and female. They made for better slaves and brought a greater pay day, which sometimes equalled the revenue from ten women sold combined. Especially if they were female.

“Run my son,” said Hansdieter. “Run into the forest and hide yourself there!”

“But father,” Rumpelstiltskin protested. “What about you? And what about mother?”

Both father and son gazed upon the woman lying upon the small bed in the corner. Looking as pale as a ghost, her chest rose and dropped back down in erratic spurts. The smoke from the fires were adding to her discomfort. As streams of sweat rolled down her face, she kept losing consciousness every now and then. It was also evident that her suffering would be rather short lived. Nevertheless, both father and son were reluctant to leave her side.

“Listen my boy,” his father began while placing both his hands upon the lad’s shoulders. “The soldiers shall be arriving here any moment. We have not the luxury of time to discuss our bearings at length. You need to leave, and leave right now. As for your mother, I shall not leave her side until the last of my breath has ceased to exist. Run into the forest and come morning, travel up north to Mitterdorf. Tell your uncle there about the ill tidings you bear and he shall see to your well-being. Now go!”

His father raised his voice into a shout at the last bit as he heard loud banging at the door. Although reluctant, Rumpelstiltskin knew he had no choice but to obey his father. As their loving son, he owed it to them to survive against all odds. If not, his parents’ sacrifice would be in vain and their soul shall not find peace in the afterlife. He had to get away and so he prepared to leave. He was almost out of the back door when one of the knight’s axe managed to break through the door. His father picked up a broom and charged at him blocking his path.

“RUN!” he screamed.

Rumpelstiltskin did not linger a moment longer. He dashed straight out the back door. A cry of agony back from the house reinforced his fears. He knew that he could no longer hope to find his father alive or well ever again. His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. Wiping them off as they rolled down his cheeks, he ran towards the forest as fast as his feet would carry him. Behind him the village burned, and with it, so did his house.

He only slowed down once he was at the first clearing of the forest. When he did so, he heard a rustling sound from the bushes. Changing his course immediately, he made his way to the opposite side; almost diving and hiding behind some bushes as he noise getting louder and closer. He, clasped his mouth shut with his hands. Then, turning around stealthily, watched from a small opening in the bushes to see who was approaching.

“Christof!” he shrieked emerging from his refuge as he caught a glimpse of his best friend.

He ran towards Christof who, using a sword soaked in blood as a crutch to walk, seemed exhausted and out of breath. He let his friend flung his arms around him as soon as they got within arm’s length of each other and let him support his weight a little.

“Am I glad to see you, my friend!” Christof spoke in between bouts of heavy breathing. “However, fate could not have chosen a time worse than the present for us to have met.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, his body slumped down onto Rumpelstiltskin’s. And that was when he saw it. Blood oozing out from of the side of his friend’s abdomen. Laying him down on the ground, Rumpelstiltskin tore open his companion’s shirt revealing the wound. He tried pressing down on it to stop the bleeding.

“It is too late Rum. I have lost a lot of blood,” said Christof in between bouts of coughing and wheezing.

“Don’t say that!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted at his friend while tying up his wound with pieces of the shirt he tore. “You’re not leaving me alone! Not yet!”

“Shh…” Christof said putting a blood-soaked finger to his friend’s lips. “Not so loud. There might be a few soldiers lurking about. Besides, I have no regrets. I was able to save Lyudmila.”

Lyudmila, the baker’s daughter, was the girl that Christof was smitten by. Most days, one could have found the boy hanging around the bakery doing all kinds of odd jobs in and around the place. All that effort just so he could catch a glimpse of the girl. However, it was a pity that the young man could never muster up the courage to confess his feelings to the girl. He was planning on asking the baker for his daughter’s hand in marriage once he had become a knight in the service of the king. It was cruel irony that he now lay on the ground breathing his last wounded by a knight’s blade.

He was making his way towards his escape when Christof heard the screams coming from the baker’s store. He peeked inside to find the baker lying dead in a pool of his own blood, a sword stained red next to his body. Lyudmila was crouched up in a corner trembling in fear as a knight advanced upon her.

“My-my… What a lovely girl! You shall fetch me a good price,” the knight said as he walked towards her removing his breastplate. “It would be a shame if I let you go before enjoying the goods myself for a tad bit.”

Christof turned red with rage. He burst in screeching, challenging the knight to a duel. He lunged forward as the knight drew his dagger. The knight swung the blade as he dodged the boy’s feeble unarmed attack, the dagger making contact with the soft skin of the boy through his plain peasant clothing. He suffered a deep cut to the side of his abdomen where the knight had struck him. He fell down onto the ground next to the dead baker while the knight towered over him.

“What were you expecting coming in here without even a weapon lad? You just threw away your life,” the knight said spitting on Christof’s face. He bent down and raised his blade to deliver the final blow. “And to think I could have found a better use for you if only you had not surprised me into retaliation.”

Lyudmila screamed and ran towards the door. The knight was distracted for a moment with the turn of events and that was all it took. Christof picked up the sword that lay beside the dead baker and plunged it deep inside the knight’s chest. The sharp blade tore through him as if he were made of butter and pierced the man’s heart. It was foolish of him to take off his armour but he had done so in his attempt to rape the girl. He ended up paying a hefty price for it.

The knight coughed blood from his mouth, fell to the ground and died. Christof, in his battered state got up and made his way out. He used the sword in his hand as support to help carry his weight. He followed the girl’s footsteps and saw that she’d already reached the end of the village, close to her escape. Sighing in relief, he hurried on his way towards the forest as well. He could hear the armoured footsteps approaching from an alley nearby, and he’d rather have his flesh rot than be of any use to those villains.

“Maybe I do have a regret Rum,” Christof started to speak once he was done reminiscing the moment of his bravery. “I did not get to confess my feelings to Mila.”

“Then do so later. We shall find her, and you can confess to her. Then, we all shall live happily together,” said Rumpelstiltskin, tears trickling down.

“Happily ever after eh? You sure are a jolly good fellow my friend. But, I would not say that I dislike the sound of that…” Christof said before his voice trailed off and his eyes lost their shine.

Rumpelstiltskin closed his dead friend’s eyes and moved his lifeless body to a tree close by. He propped him up against the tree and placed the sword upon his lap.

“Even if you could not become one in life, you did die no lesser death than that of a true knight. Watch over our homes my friend until the day I join you in your slumber. And one day, we shall awaken to a world where dreams shall never be shattered.”

He prayed beside his friend for a brief moment before heading deeper into the forest.

Seeking serenity…

Silence…

Were it to speak, we might not feel alone.

But once in a blue moon, it does.

 

Out in the open,

But still sheltered.

Let the blue sky bear my witness.

 

Forsaken words,

Sought to be ignored.

Forgotten, within the depths of the heart.

 

Narcissist

Bigot

Virgin

Pervert

Bastard

Infernal

Criminal

 

Ornaments of the past, insisted upon.

Presents by strangers, who claimed to know better.

 

Marked…

Nay, branded.

Baked iron might seem gentler on the flesh.

Make haste, the clot begins to rot.

 

Yearns for comfort, the heart;

Loathing itself,

Pours out malevolence.

Bear witness now, to its demise.

Offer it an ear,

Awe at its lament.

Lend an audience to a soul feeling blue.