Regret.

It is much too late, you said once to me. And I never answered back, not even the slightest word. Now I regret it madly. Endlessly. For not taking into account your beautiful voice, for following the fires that burned in other places of unknown men and unfamiliar worlds to you while you were indeed beside me, more real than anything, untouched like the sky.

It is much too late, you said once to me. Who would have known back then that you would be right. I couldn’t see it. I never had a habit of gazing into the future. I am not one of those people. I have little power, if any. I have no strength or the moral courage needed. But your hands, I haven’t taken them in a while, maybe I could take a look at your lifeline, on your porcelain palm. Would it be a surprise to find out how abruptly it ends? I fear I would ignore that sign. I am not one of those people.

Nothing worth attention. Just a lonely path stumped and ending in its way. Nothing to get excited about. It didn’t look like the line above your shiny eye, the way your skin bends and the way your hair dances in the wind. Site of the fire turns to dark.

It is much too late, you said once to me. I could not imagine it, my time never ran out on me. Who would have known that yours was mercilessly being drawn to its last breath?

And you did said that, you said that it was much too late, I am not imagining, I hope.
Nevertheless, I didn’t answer to your call. We were both silent. Agreeing to our contract of collective amnesia. And now… now there is not a word in this universe that could be ever enough, it could not bare my thoughts of you. Now I am loosing the little strength I had.

And I close my eyes. But didn’t say a word. I hope that means that my own fate is still innocent and free. Unproven guilt.

Isolation, loneliness and the twilight vultures

She moved a lock of her hair away from her face. It was distracting her while writing and examining the written text. She had to explain what progress has the expedition come to and what is the near future agenda using easily readable forms and reports that had to be completely accurate and painfully detailed, all based on her sleepless nights consumed in checking and crosschecking personal and official testimonies that were handed down to her on a regular basis, following a strict schedule.
They said that science is the on-going force that is pushing them ever so further, but she sincerely doubted every word coming from their office because it was stuffed with the matter that houses lies in their purest form.
It was humid. Sometimes she would lift her head and look through the window; the ship was docked in the sea cove. A giant glider, master ship makers peak of craftsmanship. A special thing indeed. How could he have sold his effort, something so beautiful, for a ordinary sack holding gold and jewels? Are they now a comfort for his soul?

Every time it enters her view field, she feels a little bit safer. Every time the sun licks the half naked siren with her hands spread wide on the ships bow, eyes tend to close and sleep long and sleep hard.
In a few months from now, that glider shall take her home. At least, it’s what she has been told.
The work was hard. The ones that refused to take the long hours were abandoned on the abundant amount of little no-name islands that have taken our attention while passing by. Places like that were from nightmares to the modern man, the vegetation green and dark, holding secrets in its vestibule mind of the time that there were no humans or animals or islands or life even. Evil things happen there as soon as the first glimpse of dusk shows its face.
The heat becomes an unforgiving enemy and the sand beach a colony of apparitions. Right next to the wide ocean there are creatures coming together. They live on the horizon during the day, and crawl the beach during the night. Vultures that don’t leave anything behind.

She was saved from being a mere slave by her knowledge of reading and writing.
The sea was blue. And the thought of jumping right in enticing. But it would be a most horrible mistake taken.
The big blue is filled with predators.
The land is as well. She is forced to stay inside of her well-protected cabin, wondering which part of her is a slave and which is not. Her freedom of movement was limited, for the sake of safety. They needed her. As long as she keeps writing down the mindless info. If anytime she would refuse to do that, there would be nothing good left to hope for.
But then again, there are people that were not like others, very special men who had skills and abilities much needed to survive in the wilderness alone. Just like the animals did. But she was not allowed to learn from them. Knowledge is forbidden. They want her only as a bird in a cage, only writing and writing and writing.

Her hands are stricken with spasms. While she is young, it will not be noticed much. But for that she will have claws in the place of hands when and if she arrives to old age. Rest is needed. She listens to the sound of wilderness. A green parrot is spreading its wings on her window frame.
She stops to think. And wonder.
What if and when those forms and reports won’t have to be written down anymore? What is she to do then? It looks like days that were previously described will never come to be.
Always falling behind, never satiating their endless need. What if those are secret languages hidden by the usual date and number and scientific mumbo-jumbo symbols? Could she decipher them without them knowing about it? And could she keep her work going if what she finds out is too terrible to endure? What the hell are they doing in those rainforests anyway?

Because the sea was blue and timid. And the thought of jumping right in enticing. The idea was good because the big blue is filled with predators, and the coast lines with twilight vultures. They feed as the hunger comes.

These tears.

This one is inspired by the "Nosferatu" movie from 1921.

These tears that run down my spine are only shrouded by the veil of impeccable pain. That devours me.
I am a mere pawn in the eyes of fate, see her running away from me, see her leaving the scene of the crime, see her digging deep while withstanding her kind arm away from me, giving me nothing but blackness that sweeps me down - leaving me only with an awe to her magnificent beauty that mustn’t be touched.

I stand in your bedroom, alone. These tears that run down my spine can’t be seen. They are invisible. Like I will be too, soon enough.
You are no longer here. Have I scared you? Did I touch you badly? What have I done?

A question that haunts the human race for far too long, indeed. What have I done?
But alas, I am not of human kind.

These tears do not flow down my cheeks, but stay hidden where you cannot see.

A monster, you say I am.
Because I can’t demonstrate my grief like the other weaklings can? The pain of living by taking life.

Don’t worry. I’ll let you trick me. You can fool me. I will be gone when light comes.
When the living are blessed, I am cursed. Will you feel sorry for me, will you feel anything at all, will it matter, I do not know. In spite of all knowledge and wisdom I have gained, I will never know could you ever feel anything for me once I disappear into oblivion, a promise I am giving, to be gone when light comes.

These tears that run down my spine are no longer important. Only I am noticing them.
You’re scared. Shivering. How pretty. I’d love to take you away with me, somewhere far away, to the place you belong. I would like to forsake the day and live forever in the night.
But nothing is promising without you, and my life has no meaning, it has lost its charm, you buried me solid underneath the stone-like ground.

You don’t need to worry.

I will be gone as soon as light comes.

No title. Just the atmosphere.

In the darkened woods I sometimes get abducted by this unusual creature, indeed not a man but certainly not a beast, but even to exchange the smallest word with him would be a sin.

He comes secretly as a shadow knowing that I wish to invocate him before I come to meet the desire myself.
Carriages of the dead sheltering armies of fleshless skeletons in their insides are rampaging through the park while their horses can only be heard, they have not even a bone that would make them visible to the naked human eye. And they pass through the bodies of living like a summer breeze. Just to scare us and make us suffer in return. They would certainly like to be where we are now.

Then along comes he, their brother by soul, touchable and real, he takes me to the chamber of echoes to show me what sound scare them and beg them to leave. He clenches my waist and storms away, puts his fingers through my hair where there are dry leaves left behind him scrunching next to my ear and wet from the mist that took us in, my stomach is weak of it all while the stars above reflect what has happened here below.

In the haunted darkened woods there are souls wandering the layered and simple roads – knowing this, I cannot become lost. I sometimes get abducted by this unusual creature, indeed not a man but certainly not a beast, but even to exchange the smallest word with him would be a sin. And if there is truth here to be unveiled, then I am prepared to take shelter in this mystic place, my very last station of rest before death closes my eyes, I shall long remember these nights…

Opening lines (or the how and why)

Since I have been through more than enough creativity crisis over the last couple of days/months/years even, I am contemplating a little bit more and being more careful in choosing the things I want to write about.

When I was eight and decided that I want to write books, I had no idea what trouble I got myself in. Obviously.

One of these things is translating my work (miniatures only) from Croatian to English. Because it purges to write in “new” words and sentence structures. English is the only language I can do that so far, and while I’m doing it, why not share with the world when the almighty internet is here? :D
I might even get a couple of new friends since there can never be enough of friends to practice English with. Especially when I’m planning to apply to a Japanology course on my university in a year from now. The admittance exam, lectures, literature… everything is on English. (feel free to correct my grammar at any time) :p

In short, watashi wa Marija. Hajimemashite. :p

P.S. Life gets scary and stupid on a regular basis. It is our job to dig ourselves from the doo doo.

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!”