Michael and Solitair

  "Hey Michael!"

  There it was again; the sound that signalled the beginning of lunch. He pulled out his earphones and placed them on top of his keyboard, pulling his lips into the customary smile he had practiced so much. On his laptop screen, the images kept flashing as his character lost all its health and perished to its enemies. He put his hood down.
  "Hey Cheryl," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He realized that he could not remember if he had saved or not.
  "I'm not bothering you am I?" she asked, head tilted to the side. He shook his own wordlessly; he didn't think he had saved. He mentally punched himself; that was an hour of grinding poured down the drain.
  "Anyway, we're going for lunch at McDonald's today. Wanna come with us?"
  He nodded. "Sure," was all he said. Was there a faster way to gain all of his items back, or was he going to have to go through the same subplot all over again? The sword had been a really good reward.
  He pushed himself up from his chair, adjusting his jacket and gesturing for Cheryl to lead the way. She beamed and obliged, leading him to her group of friends that she normally ate lunch with. They included one Jack, one Ariel and one Danson. Vaguely, he wondered if Danson had ever finished the game that Michael himself had recommended to him. It was a good one, with excellent mechanics and an immersive story, although its downfall was ultimately the poor conclusion and sometimes buggy game play.
  Again, he mentally punched himself for not saving.
  Cheryl laughed at a joke Jack made, while Jack smiled from ear to ear, looking pleased with himself. Michael looked curiously at him before turning his head away.
  As they walked down the stairway, Michael gazed out the windows, catching the sunlight on his cheek and observing the numerous students playing on the grassy lawns. There was so much space for them that he saw two simultaneous Frisbee games happening at once.
  "There you go, staring out the window and spacing out again." Cheryl said, her frown bringing him back to reality. "Honestly, talk to us, we're right here! Those people are so far away, yet you look as though you'd rather be conversing with them," she huffed. Michael could tell from her face that she was halfway between amusement and frustration. It was a funny face.
  "I was just thinking," he lied. Or was it really lying? He was absorbing the world he was living in. Did that involve thinking?
  She sighed. "You know, I ask you along not so you can play games in your head. You should stop thinking about them sometimes."
  He nodded, taking her advice without a word.
  As they left the staircase, he listened to their conversations. Ariel and Danson were discussing the latest project that the teachers had assigned to the teams. It involved a lot of outfield work and effort, and they were already beginning to plan when they could do their part for it. Jack was telling more jokes that he had gleaned from friends and the internet, continuing to make Cheryl laugh and grinning whenever he succeeded. Some of his jokes were funny.
  He listened as Ariel and Danson's discussion turned to the latest episode of some popular Korean Drama. There was talk about how the antagonist had hinted at his true intentions, and Ariel thought it had a much deeper meaning to it. Danson didn't agree; he thought that the villain was just that: a villain. Michael thought about how rare villains were evil for the sake of being evil, but he said nothing.
  They ordered their food, Michael asking for a Double-cheese burger meal, with no ice in the coke. When the coke arrived, there was ice in it, but he didn't want to make a fuss. Instead, he thought about how if he had ice his character would have survived the fire traps. He chuckled to himself.
  "What are you laughing at?" Cheryl asked curiously.
  "Nothing," he replied, and stopped chuckling. She wouldn't get it anyway.
  Over lunch, the talk suddenly transitioned to gaming, and he lit up. Danson was discussing the plot from the game that Michael had recommended him. So he had played it.
  "I just don't think that the choices the main character makes are realistic to his personality," he heard Danson say.
  "I guess so," Cheryl said as she chewed on her burger.
  "Makes sense," Ariel nodded.
  "I agree," Jack said, obviously disinterested.
  Michael couldn't hold himself back. "Actually, they're completely in sync. In the first two chapters or so, they revealed how much he actually cares about others, its just that he chooses to hide it for fear that his enemies will discover his weaknesses. That's why his facial expression never changes in conversations, if you'll keep an eye on him, even though everyone else's does."
  Michael looked around at the eyes on him, and shrunk.
  "Wow, Michael, I think that's the first time I've heard you string more than ten words together!" Ariel laughed.
  "Yeah, don't run out of breath there," Jack joked.
  "Are you sure? I'm pretty sure that those scenes didn't have anything to do with the character development. Fairly certain they were just fillers. Plus, the facial expression thing could be a bug, since they're still updating it..."
  Cheryl only smiled, saying nothing.
  Michael shrugged, and said nothing, taking a gulp from his drink. He put his hood up.

  Michael set up his laptop back home, and got on Skype. Hanging up his jacket, he pulled on his headset and made himself comfortable. Most of his guild mates were online, and he entered the call to hang out with them.
  "'Sup guys."
  "You're home early, aren't you?" denzer inquired in that nasally voice of his. Michael checked denzer's game status and saw that he was hanging out in a lobby, waiting for teammates before heading into another dungeon.
  Michael smiled. "Your sense of time is non-existent, that's all, denzer."
  "You're non-existent, Soli," denzer retorted, referring to Michael by his in game name. "Hurry up and get in here. I plan on defeating ol' Dermish today, and I need another damage dealer."
  "Is that a wild Solitair?" Soli recognised the voice of his guild leader, RYOUta. It was rare to see him personally in the Skype nowadays. He was apparently very busy with his job, and he was always tired whenever Soli talked to him. "Hey RYO. Showing your face after so long... how's life been for you?"
  "Horrible as always, how do you think? It's like you like stating the obvious sometimes, Soli."
  Soli laughed without taking offense. His guild leader was always this barbed, but he never meant anything.
  "Can you hurry up, Soli? Dermish only lives for two centuries, and you're taking nearly that long," denzer whined.
  "Shut up, I'm coming. You're like a little girl," Soli bantered. He loaded up the game, signing in quickly and joining up with denzer's party. He and denzer always quested together, but there was always a cycle of different guild members that played with them. IyIsha was the regular healer, but Soli recalled that she was at camp for the rest of the week. Pity; she was one of the best healers he had ever worked with. She was fun to hang out with too.
  It was a party of five, with him and denzer on Ebony Knight and Blood Assassin respectively, boba (Soli didn't talk much with him, but he seemed like an okay guy) as the Elemental Caster, Jeeman (he was funny sometimes and annoying at others) as the Oakskin Berserker, and a Cleric of Kwan that Soli didn't recognise. It was a classic set-up, with two melee damage dealers, one distance damage dealer, one tank and one healer.
  Soli was actually quite proud of his Ebony Knight build. While the Ebony Knight was normally a decent Tank with relatively low damage output, Soli had leveled him such that he could dole out massive amounts of damage while still taking advantage of the stun based skills that normally revolved around an Ebony Knight. He had farmed for hours to find the items that would complement and improve it to new heights.
  "Who's the new kid?" Soli asked denzer. It was rare to see a Cleric of Kwan; the build was just so papery, most avoided it.
  "New guild mate. We recruited him when you went to bed last night."
  "At 4 am? Who's crazier than me?"
  "Him apparently. Also, he's in the call, and he can hear you gossiping about him."
  "Huh. Hey... uh... darth_revan? Welcome to the guild." That was such a horrible name.
  The guy had to be younger than 12. His voice was higher than Ariel's. Thinking about her made him slightly annoyed, which made him feel guilty as well. He forcefully turned his thoughts back to his new guild mate. He was halfway through speaking.
  "...excited to join you guys! I've never partied to fight Dermish before, so I hope don't burden you guys."
  Soli smiled, remembering the nervousness that he had the first time he had partied with denzer. Denzer had been in the guild for at least 6 months before him, so he was a veteran member while Soli had been nothing but a lowly recruit.
  "Listen to me and you'll be fine, kid. Let's go," Soli said, taking the lead as usual.
  The dungeon was easy in the beginning, but the difficulty scaled exponentially once the Hoard Folk started appearing. From there, it was important that the Oakskin Berserker properly use his Totems to draw their attention and make them clump, so the Elemental Caster and Shadow Assassin could use their Area of Effect attacks to easily wipe them out.
  The problems started appearing when revan (Soli was not calling him darth_revan) kept using Holy Pillar on the clusters of Hoard Folk. Holy Pillar did massive amounts of damage to enemies and healed allies in the area of effect, but did less to those that weren't undead, like the Hoard Folk. He was helping to kill them, but he should have been saving his mana to keep his teammates alive. The least he could have done was cast the Holy Pillar better so it healed both the tank and killed the enemies.
  Soli could feel his frustration building, but he said nothing.
  They finally made it to the deepest level and confronted the demon, Dermish. As they walked through the boss doors, Soli's mind envisioned himself as his character, standing with his four other party members side by side and staring into its fiery red eyes, its blazing axe hefted in its solid black arms. His blood pumped and his eyes widened. A smile of anticipation spread across his face.
  "Let's do it. Set the totems! Revan, heal Jeeman and make sure he doesn't die. Denzer, circle around and put that backstab trinket of yours to use. Keep up the pressure, boba!" He moved himself into position, next to the tank, slamming the earth with his blade repeatedly, stunning the demon over and ensuring there was enough time for his teammates to get in position. They had obeyed him promptly, letting him strike the flesh of the demon with his sword as it was distracted by the totems.
  Everything seemed to be going well, with Soli dodging in and out of the flames that periodically exuded from the ground and striking heavily where he could. He could almost feel the lifeforce of his enemy draining away.
  Suddenly, a beam of light pierced the ground. Soli felt himself being healed, but there was nothing to replenish. He was perfectly healthy, having dodged the torrents of fire so well.
  "Revan, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
  "Huh?" he heard his healer reply. Another pillar of light pierced the ground on top of the demon, making it scream in pain.
  "Why are you using Holy Pillar when you should be using the mana on Jeeman like I told you to?!" Even without looking, he could tell that their tank was slowly dying, increasing amounts of lacerations piling up on his bark-like skin as he absorbed hit after hit from Dermish. Another pillar of light slammed into the demon.
  "Can you STOP using Holy Pillar! Jeeman's this close to getting killed!"
  Soli's blood ran cold when he heard the response. "It's alright, I can cast it on Jeeman and Dermish!"
  He watched as revan casted the spell. He watched as the pillar of light landed on both Jeeman and Dermish, damaging Dermish and healing Jeeman slightly- oh, so slightly.
  Dermish swung his axe once more, and Jeeman's body of Oak became nothing but a husk, leaves bursting into the air, before being charred to cinders in flashes of flame.
  Immediately, Soli attempted to slam the ground once more, trying to gain enough time to put some distance between him and the demon. But he'd used all his energy for that in the beginning of the fight. He felt his Ebony Armor shatter, not designed to hold up against the augmented blades of demon beasts.
  His health bar dropped to zero.
  He watched blankly as the boss turned on denzer, then boba, and finally revan.
  QUEST FAILED played across the screen, in bright red colours, dripping blood. They weren't necessary: Soli was already seeing red.
  "ARE YOU RETARDED?!" he screamed into the microphone, slamming the table simultaneously. His mouse fell to the floor, unnoticed.
  "I literally told you to listen to me right from the BEGINNING! Do you have ears?!"
  "Calm down, dude," denzer said, "he's new, he'll learn. We can always go again."
  Soli breathed in and out, reigning himself in. "Fine. But revan, the next time I tell you to do something, you bloody listen to me. Or else, you're not gonna be in this guild for much longer." He reached down and picked his mouse off the floor. He didn't recall dropping it at all.
  "We're going to have to start from the beginning. Remember the totems when the Hoard Folk come, and to create water elementals the moment the ember lizards spawn. Keep watching Jeeman's back, denzer. Let's have a perfect run people."
  They beat Dermish under his direction.

  "Hey Michael!"
  Michael looked up from his laptop, remembering to pause this time. He had redone the quest, and his progress was saved. He executed the routine smile, removing his hood as he did so.
  "Hey, Cheryl" he said with mustered effort.
  "They're having an offer down at Subway, so we're planning on going down there today. Wanna come with?"
  He considered, seriously this time, whether he wanted to go with them or not. He remembered how Ariel had laughed at him, how Jack had made fun of him, and how Danson had dismissed his opinion. Then he remembered how Cheryl had said nothing.
  "Sure," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

In-depth review of MC7 Upper Bracket Semi-finals

I wrote this while bored of actually playing video games. If you don't follow competitive Team Fortress 2, I recommend you skip this one. It gets very technical and has absurd amounts of TF2 jargon.

Predicted to be one of the best matches of the season, the rankings on Saloon were heavily favouring Cute Beast, but the call was that both teams were equally experienced and evenly matched.

The write-up for the match can be viewed here.

It is important note however, that both teams had not scrimmed for more than a week due to real life commitments on either side. Thus, the epic standoff between the two teams devolved somewhat.

Play By Play

The first round was hard fought, repeatedly bouncing from last to last, going for a good 12 minutes before Cute Beast finally managed to take the first point. However, Pingu found a sudden burst of momentum and immediately took the next two rounds in 3 minutes, rolling Cute Beast from middle to last twice in a row.

While the next two rounds were more hard fought, it appeared to be futile. The coordination demonstrated by Pingu was almost mechanical, disassembling any attempts by Cute Beast to push out and ruthlessly seizing the slightest openings to make progress. The only thing keeping Cute Beast in the game at that point was Flower, whose sniping halted Pingu in their tracks multiple times (Flower hitting the most ridiculous headshot on And between Shocky’s legs was the highlight of the match).

Pingu picked up the next two rounds, making the score 4 – 1. The clock was winding down for Cute Beast, and in a last ditch effort, the Chinese played a super aggressive mid, jumping both soldiers in deep. It worked, wiping Pingu and capping last in a good 1 minute 30 seconds.

The score was 4 – 2 and Cute Beast had only 5 minutes left.

Cute Beast won the next mid and took second almost instantaneously, having full knowledge that every second was exponentially increasing in importance. They readied their last push, and ubered in through shutter. However, a single moment of disorganisation meant that not everyone was in at last, and Pingu had kited the uber too well. The post-uber fight decimated any hope that Cute Beast had of tying up the game,  and the map declined into stats padding, the score remaining 4 – 2 to Pingu.

The second map was Sunshine, rarely seen in Asian pugs and scrims. Cute Beast had to win in order to push for a third tie breaker map.

But Pingu’s momentum had carried over from Process. They beat Cute Beast at the first mid, a scene that would become extremely familiar in the following 16 minutes. In fact, from start to finish it seemed as though there was little to no hope for Cute Beast. The first round was the longest, lasting a good 6 minutes before Pingu were able to pick an overextending player and complete the last push.

The remaining time was just a sad mess. Cute Beast were unable to win a single mid and their players were constantly caught out of position. One moment would stand out to many, whereby Hysteria and Shad0w were the only ones alive after Cute Beast had successfully completed a four man sacrifice for And. Shortly after, Hysteria jumped in afterward for seemingly no reason, leaving his medic to fend for himself (Shad0w eventually dying in the following chase), denoting a probable lack in communication and overall collapse in cohesion.

It was an excruciating 16 minutes for the 73% that had bet on MC7’s favourites. Pingu emerged victorious, taking the map 5 – 0 and moving on to the Grand Finals. Now, Cute Beast has to defeat Kusoyotech in order to obtain another shot at taking down their greatest rivals…

Log Reviews

The logs for the matches can be viewed below.

Process

Sunshine

Process was dominantly a scout’s game, with the highest DPM coming out from both Flower and Teejay: only 9 damage apart from each other.

What’s significant here is how little 10 did for Cute Beast. Arguably, he did more damage than tommy, but when you have a reputation to keep and teammates to carry (i.e. Hysteria), the damage numbers weigh more. What’s more, tommy had a KA/D of 3.3, the highest in the server. While he wasn’t outputting damage per se, he was doing fantastic in the role assigned him.

In addition to this, Fury was unable to put out the damage that he normally could. A floundering 229 DPM compares poorly to his usual performance, especially considering that he took 26% of the heals from his medic.

With Flower top damaging and top fragging on the server whilst sitting with the least healing on his team, could he have potentially done more?

All in all, the conclusion is that because two of Cute Beast’s star players were not performing to standard, the entire team collapsed around them. While Flower and RLE (who was switched to roamer from medic before the match started) were able to pull their weight impressively, it wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that the remaining fragging classes scored under 250DPM.

As opposed to this, Pingu had an almost textbook game with better slightly better and spread out damage, and with 22% healing across each of the three core classes.

All in all though, the logs don’t really demonstrate how well Pingu was playing together. Much of their victory on process should be attributed to both their teamwork and the fact that many of Cute Beast’s players kept getting caught making plays for the medic.

There isn’t much to be said about Sunshine, considering it was a 5 – 0 victory for Pingu. Three things of note were: Fury did considerably better, getting 315 DPM; Flower spent more time as sniper than as scout; Teejay was out-damaged by Tommy even though tommy got less healing, which is not something just anyone can say.

All in all, Cute Beast was shredded on Sunshine, a defeat that they’ll have to keep in mind while facing off against Kusoyotech.

Conclusion

Cute Beast play a DM-centric style, and it collapsed mainly because Pingu played the team game much better- and that a DM-centric playstyles only function when each player is in shape and performing as expected on the day itself. Ultimately, with rusty rockets and dusty scatterguns, Cute Beast were unable to beat their more cohesive opponents.

Enough

In life we often never grasp
The weight of continual living
Until that moment, that final gasp
Can our mouths exude,
"It is enough"?

At dawn we wake
At noon we work
At dusk we feast
At night we sleep

At dawn we rise
At noon we slog
At dusk we eat
At night we weep

Frustration!
Condemnation!
Dissatisfaction!
Enough is Enough!

A heart's dark doubting with unanswered words
Prayers to gods on lips unheard?
A service or two to those in strife
Perhaps we once had saved a life?

As darkness falls across our eyes
The thoughts around the edge of mind
Beyond the veil, the new world lies
In our last breath,
Was it enough?

A false existence, in desperation
That everyday, begins to fade
Futility fuels our every action
No soul will ever come to aid

In a sorry bed, you go to die
The worst of pain to pass away
In death's warm arms, you softly lie
And wish the phrase,
"It is enough".

Be steadfast
The world contrasts
If you follow them,
You cannot last
It is never enough

Work for those you hold most dear
Love all life, whether far or near
And though the man will always leer
In your heart,
It is enough

Then as you walk that lonely road
The flowered path begins to grow
The scent is strong, you'll always know
At road's end,
It was enough.

It is enough.

The Balloon Man

  The father and son strolled down the sidewalk, next to the street teeming with cars and motorcycles. The father had his son's hands gripped tightly in his own. They approached a corner and made the turn, the son so close to the wall that his shoulder almost collided with the sharp edge.

  Around the turn a Balloon Man stood waiting, dressed in a motley mix of red, yellow and blue, with high tucked bell bottoms and loose suspenders. His hair was curled and puffy, a distinct black in contrast to the almost bright colours he was dressed in. In his tightened fist, he clutched the strings of a hundred multi-coloured balloons a hundred times brighter than himself, all threatening to blow away in a sudden gust of wind.

  The son pointed excitedly at the Balloon Man and shouted, coherency lost in the elation of his voice. The Balloon Man turned his head from the sky to look at the boy, alerted by the sound. The father slowly relented, releasing the crushing grip on his son's hand to reveal the redness of his finger marks. The son ran up to the balloon man, almost slamming into him before he could slow himself. He reached up to one of the balloons eagerly, his hand outstretched in a small claw, to which the balloon man obliged. 

  He carefully picked a string and removed a bright yellow balloon from the floating mass above his head, pulling it slowly from his fingers and lowering it into the hands of the boy. The Balloon Man smiled gently as the child laughed, gazing up at the rubber instrument with pure joy written upon his face. The father walked up after his son and dropped a few small coins into the Balloon Man's tiller. He gave a small nod with a frown, grabbing his son's other hand forcefully before striding off without a single word.
  The Balloon Man checked his earnings by opening the tiller lid, and after looked after them, completely silent.

  The cars whiz by, making streaking, coloured blurs that excite the child to no end. However, he cannot see them properly because his father is blocking his view. I wish that I was taller, so I could see over daddy's shoulder he thinks. Daddy always put him to the wall, so he could never see the colours properly. And his grip was always so tight.
  Suddenly, they were rounding a corner. Shocked, the boy almost knocks into the corner of the wall. He blinks the sudden rush of nerves away, and lets his father pull him along, still thinking about the cars he wished he could see.
  All of a sudden, he glimpses an even more fascinating array of colours out of the corner of his eye.
  Balloons, in all their glory!
  He squirms excitedly, raising his hand to point at the source of his happiness.
  "Daddy, can I have them all?" he tries to say, but his father doesn't seem to understand the words. Tugging incessantly against the hand tight around his, he continues to point.
  Finally, his father releases him, allowing him to run up to the man holding the balloons, slowing down just in time. He reaches up, smiling. All he wants right then, is a balloon within his fingers, to feel it tugging against his own hand, to see it floating above his head.
  The man holding them grabs one, and as though in slow motion, lowers it into the child's fingers. Squealing, the child looks up at the balloon, rubbing the string enthusiastically.
  One day I'll fly like that, the child thinks to himself, before his world resumes moving.

  The cars sped dangerously by, seemingly ignorant of the signs that were supposed to limit how fast they could go. The father was half terrified, inside wondering how the ruling government could expect to organize the country when it couldn't even control the drivers. He held his son by the hand, putting him to the wall so that there would be no risk of him getting hit by a car.
  One day, the speed limit will be enforced, he thought to himself, unconsciously tightening his grip on his son's hand.
  He remembered the days when people would never drive so fast. His father had always been able to take him places without a constant fear that they would be hit by some clumsy motorist. Now, such safety was as unknowable as a faraway planet in the distant space.
  They rounded the corner, the father still brooding on the old days, when he felt his arm being tugged gently. He looked up, and saw a mass of balloons floating in the air. Beneath it, a man stood casually, dressed in a ridiculous getup consisting of a random palette of colours and suspenders. In other words, a balloon man.
  Suddenly realizing that the tugging of his hand was his own child, he relaxed his grip, allowing the boy to slip from him and run, almost crashing into the balloon man. He shook his head slightly, and made a mental note to teach his son not to run on the sidewalk.
  Balloon men were everywhere these days. Most of them were people who had either been sacked from their original jobs due to the recession, or people too lazy to pickup an actual job. Either way, they were cluttering the streets and becoming a nuisance to people who were trying to lead honest and independent lives, not off the over-charity of the government. He remembered a time when the streets weren't rampant with beggars and hobos.
  His son reached up and took a balloon from the hands of the balloon man, before gazing at it with the simplistic happiness only a child could have.
  Now I have to buy it, the father thought gloomily. He reached into his pocket and found some spare change.
  He strode up to the beggar and dropped the coins into his makeshift tin can. There was a loud clank as it hit the bottom. A moment came where the father was staring into the eyes of the balloon man. The makeup made it hard to tell, but he thought that the man was smiling maliciously.
  The father chose that moment to nod, with a slight frown, acknowledging that he knew the beggar had just stolen some of his money.
  Grabbing his son's hand, he walked away, already reminiscing of a time when he hadn't had to deal with such scum.

  I look up at the sky, past the balloons and into the clouds, drifting slowly past my income as though taunting it with its freedom. The sound of cars along the street barely register in my ears as a minute hum. I am engrossed in a daydream where I was able to leave the streets and continue with my education, after finding a better job and earning enough to purchase my own house.
  Suddenly, I hear high-pitched shouts down the pavement I had chosen to sell my ware. I turn my head to see a child, in the strong arm of his father. The father is dark haired, with worry lines and a frown painted all over his face, while the child is blonde and guileless.
  The child is released, and all of a sudden he is almost colliding with me, staring up at the balloons I hold with a hopeful expression and a tiny outstretched hand that I cannot not deny. I pulled a yellow coloured balloon from the cluster to match the boys hair, and press the string into his palm. The boy  stares up at his new toy and laughs with elation, and I cannot help but smile at the simple exudation of happiness. It is in moments like these, with the laughter of a child gracing my ears, that I can find happiness in the only job they could give me; even the most efficient office worker could not boast that he made children smile everyday.
  The father stalks over, stopping to drop coins into the small tin can I had setup to collect money for the balloons. It clanks loudly for my first customer of the day. He stares me in the eye, nods gruffly in thanks, and grabs his son's hand before walking off.
  I walk over to the can and open it, seeing the random amount of coins the man had dropped in. 30 cents, when a balloon was supposed to cost 50 cents, clearly labelled on the tin.
  I look up and stare after them. I feel a mixture of disappointment and anger in my heart, before my eyes find the child, still staring up at the balloon without a care in the world. In my heart, I know that that would be enough.

Disillusionment

  It was a strange sensation.
  It started with the curdling of the heart, and a deep drop somewhere in the diaphragm, followed by a slow tightening of the throat, fingers writhing and an electric spark in the eye. It felt as though I had caught the flu, but had nothing of the fever, with my heart beating rapidly but no heat of the mind to speak of. Oh my heart!
  It was just me, sitting there, staring, and as the sensation came I thought of all the mountains in the world, the skyscrapers that man had built to challenge them; it was as though an earthquake had swept though the lines of tall, proud constructions -the product of nature and men- and leveled them to their knees, leaving nothing but grey dust and bland rubble. Oh my heart!
  It was more than that to me. I could not imagine anything else quite so fascinating, so unusual, yet so very wrong, so devastating that it shook me down to my very core, like a knife through a stick of butter, twisting and wrenching as it goes, bleeding oozes of yellow that resembled pus more than oil. Oh my heart!
  It occurred to me that this wasn't real, but the sensation was already in motion, and if nothing, I could not deny my feelings, for they are the only things that I can feel. I looked on as the scene unfolded horrifically, tearing apart the waxed-paper wall that I had been hiding behind for years, recoiling as the monster reached out for me, took me by the heart, and throttled it. Oh my heart!
  I shook with fear inside, for on the inside, no one can hurt me but myself.
  Was what I thought.

Indifference

Across the deep blue sea
Somebody waits for me
A beacon of hope
That I might not bemoan
The deaths of the ones I see

In tragedy we love to find
The silver lining of time
But often as not
Our efforts will rot
And our bodies will wont to die

A life lived for none
Wills a grave dug by one
We cannot foresee
The end we will meet
Never relent and be done

A horrible weeping sound
Falling in pain, to the ground
It is hard to care
When you cannot share
The pains which have you bound

But apathy gathers no gains
Do not look on in disdain
For though we are slaves
There is no worse grave
Than saying "all is in vain"

Try.

Starlight

  We run in the Sun all day to the tunes, our hands grasped tightly like the fierce embrace between mother and child, exploring the rolling plains and smelling the multitude of flowers that decorate the fresh green grass, flourishing in the eternal light of fire and moon.
  The tune changes to a show melodious one, and we stop running and turn to the sky, wondering what happened to the cheer of life and the rays that empowered our endless flight into the unknown. As we stand there and wander, we realise that the mournful song is also one of dance, and with our hands still embraced, we begin to waltz slowly, allowing the overpowering music to envelop us in her arms.
  We drift slowly from the darkened grass into the soulless unknown, our feet stepping on air as the tune continues. It hurts, but our eyes are closed and our hands are in one another's and the starlight, growing brighter, illuminates the narrow stairway where we tread. Inevitably, we become the stars in the heavens, growing brightly and giving life to the grass and flowers that once loved us, worshiped by none but revered by all.
  With our eyes we see them; holding hands and running in our light through the rolling plains and flowers, before we are snuffed out by time.