trashcan (literal trash)

Applause ( oneshot )

These souls whispered to me without exhaustion in their voices, telling me that the rain wasn't something to be hated.

They showed me the grace of snow, the pure white waltz that it presents as it falls from the pale, dim firmament. And I smiled, because the snow was pretty.

But in the end. . . Core ideals cannot be changed all too easily.

I hate rain. It's stubborn.

In the end, these souls had taught me, too, that snow is just another form of rain.

And that they were akin to snow, melting away at the slightlest touch.

The touch of a being, the touch of someone who only wishes to experience happiness offered by peace.

Speaking of which. . . When was the last time I've ever had peace?

I didn't know my insignificant insights would summon chaotic demons to haunt me down until I give up for once and for all.

I didn't know that my choice to express something honestly for once in my life would be the end of this wonderful theatre, this extravagant stage that I had been standing on.

Taking on the role of someone who isn't me.

Taking on the role of an entity which I am not.

Taking on the role of a king, a knight, a queen, a pawn.

Taking on every single possible role just to weave the perfect performance and knit it closely with the needles of longing.

Longing for someone.

Someone to ease the loneliness that made me numb to pain, to guilt, to hatred.

To happiness.

The audience appreciated the show. I felt as if I was a fallen angel that has gained the favor of the 'good ones' all over again.

I worked on the masks.

I worked on the script.

I worked on the arrangement of the play.

I can't help but laugh through my tears as I watched my stage crash and burn after a short pause, a rhythmic disturbance as the instrumentalist gets tired.

I was tired.

I am tired.

From feeling all these invisible strings bind me to a wall of iron spikes, carved with curses and taunts that I never wanted to encounter again.

I am tired.

From running, running endlessly under the clear blood that falls endlessly from above.

So tired.

What was the color of blood before it went bleak?

What was the feeling of pain before I went numb from the cold?

As I run, the parasitic sand multiplies.

The pebbles that take small bites at my normal mentality get further enraged.

The rain turns into acid.

The ocean sheds its gentle cloak and reveals the true nature of its mass; lava.

Just like those souls.

Just like the audience.

I wandered.

And tripped.

I stumbled into a pit that I found impossible to crawl out of.

It was a house of mirrors.