Saturday, 7 May 2011

Exit. Prologue.

I loved a girl. Sometimes you don't even question that, once it's there, you just grasp it with a swallow, no matter how bitter, you'll still see the smile. I loved her dearly with her long dark brown chestnut hair into two braids, which I imagined her braiding it as I’d dye my hair in the longer mornings. As if it would be the two reflections of mirrors we'd hold, grinning, until they'd break and it would symbolize good luck. I’d imagine her beside me her fingers trailing her braids, maybe even upon my lips, just a small touch. It would be a kiss. I’m sure I’d flee like a burned stone once she’d exit the room, jump as high as I would. To try and reach something else.

But then while she wouldn’t I’d just stare afraid to move, as I’d pray for her to do something else rather then to brush her mouth against my own, because I've already thought of that. It’d be like some lullaby to drift me into where the moon was big, the stars were small, soft and not raw.

I looked at her past the hallway, but I never got the chance to grab her wrist, to tell her how I feel, as I was afraid to get denied. I was too afraid of accuse that my emotions were headed into an opposite unwanted direction that I kept silent.

I stared outside, watching a closed balcony.

I could break it.

So I did.

Not the balcony, though.

Until I got my face shoved into face of a beauty. It was no compare to my beloved, but it was attractive. I watched its hair flow, its horns glow. But then was there a glow to go with the horns my mind had drawn? Of course not. It did not to speak as I knew what it wanted.

What I wanted.

It's a mere glance upon until I thread my fingers in her hair, as I kiss, I do not imagine the girl, as the tongue burns my feel. It is one-sided, but isn't love to be that, as I feel the hands wrap me around, as I feel everything above me and everything below, but. don't open my eyes, I held my eyes closed, as I feel her fiddling with my tongue, my mouth opened, as if I am dunked in an armchair, higher than my height and pushed, to be upside down and suck.

“Would you?”

“You want to.”

I agree and it takes place before I get to say something, as it touches my brow, the sensible spot above the eye, the eyelid as it slowly drifts.

I can feel something sliding out of my brow, as I open my eyes, feeling my self drown, as liquid breaks my body and the couch, as I stare, my hair flowing in the stars of water, as I see them create the surrounding, as everything aches.


The stare as intense as ever, like some sort of silent discotheque, with the false wrong moves in front of the dancing queen? King? The questions pop momentary into the mouth and out of it like it wasn’t there in the first place and waits to throw its own hands up as in a ‘in wasn’t me’ way and ‘I was never there’ way.

Images rush through the head as my hair gets stroked, the gaze turning blurry.

I can't move, as it presses my head against it's shoulder, but even my head my feels light, my hands now jelly, one red, one blue, the toes slowly detaching, all the thought gone, as the image of myself seems eternal.

Nothing is sucked out as expected, everything leaves by itslef, as the beauty stares, clapping as purple fluids leak out, my body emits a soft glow. I get a kiss on the cheek and a tap of the hand, as I scream. I look back into the gaze, I close my eyes as the fingers stroke me more, flirting with my lips, up to the brows. The image of my eyelids changes like a kaleidoscope. It’s intense, it’s blurry, it’s insignificant, it’s useless, it holds some threat. It goes darker from the bright, screeching golden glow to a dull gray, black, lonely pitch black.


“Why?” I ask myself as the stroking stops. I grab the hand. I press it against my temple, begging for more, my whole body aching understanding the loss, but making a false connection anyway. What was the loss?

It tries to go from my left brow, but I hold it, as an object tries to fall, but I swallow it.

She screeches, as I fall down, on a meadow, as I think of the moon and the moon appears with the stars and Christmas Trees slowly grow, as I dress myself, as I touch my brow, the scar now gone, as I lean against a door.

Basically the word beginning rolls onto the tongue.

I can chew it, even if it's too far away, but if I'd know where it would be tomorrow, would it be faded and fucked?

Basically, it started kind of cheerful, at least that's what I colour it now, because you can flirt with the memories easily. I had no idea why. I lunch myself further, watching the snowflakes fall, pulling my sleeve up to see all the scribbles eating my arm. I press my index finger trailing several drawn stars which seemed to be glued together by my pen, as I should have sprinkled them with glitter, as I kiss the marks. I pull the sleeve down, feeling as if the several scattered people on the streets were invading my privacy. I wish I could freeze time and walk calmly past all of them, as their faces would be frozen describing what exactly were they and how many feelings they had killed. I tugged on the sleeve, making it longer that I nearly fell on my fingertips, as I traced the wool outline, watching a few talk via a phone booth.

I feel naked, as a pink steak exits my hat, getting stroked by the snow and I feel a few glances on it, so without hesitation, my eyes shaking with my hands, that I might lose someyhing dear, I stuff it back in with an inner ache, I just burned.

There’s nothing special and the question appears why did I dye several bangs of my hair if I keep them hidden under there all safe and warm under my hat?

It just feels… private.

Plus I know my parents reaction. I hesitate for a second and slower my pace, looking up to see snowflakes fall onto my nose, as I don't try to get them inside my body, so I blink way too much, for my eyelashes to catch it, as I brush my nose against my scarf, feeling my mood cool down, maybe nothing ever happened. I dig my hands in my pockets thinking how childish I am with the bright coloured docs and the thoughts and theories, which I keep.

I get labeled that, as if it were old, by not telling exactly what I feel even if my cheeks blur out all my inner state. I'd rather listen than speak, because then I'd have to talk about myself and that would be public. No matter if I want to or not, but the thing is that I never want to. I try to avoid people who I know will start digging into myself and wonder out loud why I don’t open to them, accusing me of things I might not even touch in my mind.

I walk on, looking down at the snow slowly beginning to cover the light blue on my feet. More and more. I try to count but due to their size, white on white, I lose count even before I begin. I look up, to find a stranger looking as dazed as I do now.

His dark eyes meet mine for a second, I look down, he looks up. I stare at how bigger his eyes look behind the specs and try to think of his height. His hair hints the fact that it wasn’t meant to stick out that way, reminding that I need a haircut myself. I stare at a now shoulder length steak brushing my shoulder covered by the several layers of clothing.

His coat is unbuttoned which forces me onto the question how can he walk around so easily like that without freezing or even giving out some sort of hint. Soon enough he walks past me after another glance and don’t bother to steal another glance at him.

Logically, he may be going from work just like I am.

Technically, tomorrow is Tuesday, the second and last Tuesday on my winter break.


Welcome to the Exit era, the blog is back to the usual one chapter and one short story a week. I want to say a lot about this prologue, but I'd rather not say anything, but simply keep silent, in case I spoil.

Exit was created when I was worried, that I might have none ideas after Papercut, so I remember luying in bed, as I came up with the whole story, just to do plot notes later.

Chapter 1


  1. have u read the Cal Leandros series by Rob Thurman?? cuz this reminds me a lot of it but it's also totally different at the same time... i love it :) going to finish this sometime today or tomorrow...

  2. Sorry, I haven't:) But I shall surely check on them now!
    Thank you! Glad you are enjoying Exit!