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| The Tragedy |
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| The Tragedy The tragedy came and went, but it lingered. My mind raced as I recalled it. I tried to block t out of my mind by keeping myself busy. However the images of the event persisted. Days and then weeks went by, the tragedy still at the forefront of my thoughts. When I pleaded to my friends for help, they obliged by giving me advice. This advice I followed exactly, but it was to no avail. The tragedy had become a part of me and it was growing. I became paralyzed, unable to function normally. I was unable to eat or sleep. It wasn’t until 3 months later that the tragedy finally fled my mind. Unfortunately it took another tragedy, an even bigger one, to finally erase the incident from my thoughts. Now what? The original tragedy had remained with me for months. Does this mean that this seemingly bigger tragedy will remain with me for years? The frustrating thing is that there is no actual proof stating that this current tragedy is any more sever than the last. I am basing this solely on my emotions. The only true reality is that this will not be the last tragedy in my life. I was right, the lingering effects of this “new tragedy” remained for over a year. The sad thing was that by about the 8th month, I couldn’t even fully remember what the tragedy was all about. May way of dealing, was to try to forget. It didn’t matter though for it remained in the pit of my stomach. A sickening feeling which would intensify every now and then just to remind me that it was still there. The littlest of things would give me those feelings of doom. Forgetting to mail a letter or not remembering to grab my cell phone before I left the house. I was almost as if my mind would not allow me to indulge in the problems of this minutia, for there was still “that” bigger problem at hand. I could feel the pain in my stomach expanding. I was now truly becoming paralyzed. I no longer wanted to go to work. Instead my only desire was to stay in bed. All facets of my life were overtaken by the tragedy. It was only for a few brief moments, just before my eyes closed to sleep that the sickening feeling of recalling the incident surpassed. Once I did fall asleep, this darkness had entered my dreams. Where I once dreamt of fluffy clouds, puppies, and beautiful women, my dreams were now infested with hideous insects and blood. Thankfully I was not scared. Was I becoming deranged? Was I finding enjoyment in these gruesome dreams? In one way yes, for it was a deviation from the tragedy. Kind of like turning away from the corpse of a woman who had been run over by a car only to have the bloodied corpse of her baby come into sight. Both are bad situations, but nobody can disagree that the 2nd image was more horrible. This is why most of us would turn our heads back to the image of the dead woman after seeing the mangled baby. I have now come to accept that all tragedies that I experience will stay with me forever. While some of the details may be forgotten, most will add to dreariness that I experience everyday. When someone experiences a tragedy like I have, it is understandable that they have thoughts of wanting to leave this earth. With the realization that there will be more tragedies and inevitably more hurt in the future. It is actually quite remarkable that more people don’t take that route. We all have our tragedies. We all have our own ways of dealing with them. It would be so easy to give in and give up. But we don’t. Yes when I was younger I was hoping for a cure that did not exist. I now know that there are other ways of dealing. I can take it. And even though it wants to suck every last bit of enjoyment from my body, I won’t let it. I will endure. I will hang on to every last bit of happiness and enjoyment that I am capable of experiencing. It will never take me over completely. I will not let it. |
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| Added On: Wed May 31 2006 | Hits: 1 |
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| The Song Contest |
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| The Song Contest Bread – bip. Milk – bip. Orange Juice – bip. Bananas. On scale off scale. Bip. Paul David Cahill, otherwise known as Peedee, monotonously exposed each product’s bar code to the whirling laser beam in repetitious mockery of his job title checkout assistant. He felt like Charlie Chaplin caught up in a gigantic and unforgiving machine on a production line that stopped for nothing. It was Friday evening at the Blanchardstown QuickSave. Peedee was one of eight teenagers lined up in rows that fed tons of foodstuffs and household merchandise past scanners for twelve hours each day except Sunday. This was his Transition Year in school. This was the year in which he matured, became aware of his life choices, made decisions about his future. But as he sat (or sometimes stood as his supervisor Rachel suggested he do at least once every hour) at his register and matured, his mind refused to stay on the job and wandered off to dwell on his dilemma. As a smaller than average fifteen year old he was not happy with the sobriquet Peedee which rhymed unfortunately well with ‘Weedy’ and this was the name nearly everyone in school, except teachers of course, called him. But although small, even diminutive, in stature he had a singular physical talent that surprised and delighted people on the rare occasions when he practised it. He had a marvellous natural baritone singing voice. Not only that but he also had an uncanny control of his larynx, mouth and lips and could mimic any artist that he listened to. On demand he could belt out My Way with Sinatra’s weird phrasing or Ave Maria as though Luciano Pavorotti himself was rattling the glasses. At school he didn’t excel at anything. In fact he mostly hated the place, its uniformity, its hidden menace. But he liked English and he liked Maths and he was okay at Science. And in the past year he’d started to write songs that he played skilfully on a guitar his mother had bought for him. Those who listened found in them a peculiar longing. One in particular he completed fully, words and music. It was called Gone and started off: My love is strong, But my lover is gone. Peedee didn’t know where these bittersweet sentiments had come from. His experience of girls and dating came from going to weekend dances with schoolmates and sometimes persuading a plain girl to go to the pictures with him on the following Wednesday. No love was spurned, no heart broken. Earlier this year he had decided that he would enter the Blanchardstown Song Contest. This was open to anyone who could sing their own composition either by themselves or in a group and was a very popular yearly event, broadcast live by the local radio station. He knew he could sing nearly anything and Gone was ready to be entered. But his heart sank at the thought of standing up at the microphone, on his own, his schoolmates in the audience, taunting. One night some weeks ago his brother Richey had come back from the pub with a few workmates. Their parents were gone to Galway for the weekend and so an impromptu party developed. Richey was three years older than Peedee and his one true love was pop music. He worked every Saturday in the town’s record shop more for the love of being around cd’s and tapes and charts and promotional posters than the money. Richey’s collection of music was enormous and as the night went on he dug out older records until he had the Beatles’ early songs playing. At one point, during She Loves You a near legless Tommo Neary joined in with John, Paul, George and Ringo and sang harmony, note perfect. Peedee, who’d been sitting down on the carpet nursing a beer his brother had given him, stared up at Tommo who was shaking his head, eyes closed, doing the ‘ooooohhh’ in a full throated alto. ‘Try singing that again and I’ll sing with you’ Peedee blurted out. Tommo looked at Peedee as he uncrossed his legs and stood up. ‘Go on!’ Richey and some others cried. ‘Yeah sing it again’.’ Give it loads!’ ‘He knows all the words - don’t you Paul?’ Richey shouted from the turntable without looking up. The music started again. Peedee and Tommo sang word and pitch perfect, their voices resonating powerfully in the room. They both sang harmonies that shocked the revellers into silence. Other songs followed All My Loving, I Wanna Hold Your Hand, If I Fell, each followed by roars of encouragement from the gob smacked audience. Peedee’s face was flushed when Tommo put both hands on his shoulders and said ‘Boy you’re good’. Next morning, amidst the stale cigarette smoke and empty beer cans, Peedee wheedled a promise from Richey to ask Tommo if he’d sing in the song contest with him. ‘Sure, if he’s drunk enough. He only sings when he’s jarred. But I’ll ask him on Monday’ Richey replied. This wasn’t very encouraging at all. Nevertheless he’d asked a favour of his brother, which had been granted, and he didn’t want to now churlishly reject it. But my god, he could just imagine Tommo having a few steadiers in the Black Horse on the morning of the heats and if he didn’t fall off the stage and if they did get into the final, they would have to go through it all again a few days later. He wondered if he could he ask his brother to mind Tommo, chaperone him to make sure he didn’t drink too early. Too early? What was he thinking about? No, it was impossible. He couldn’t do it. He’d have to say it to Richey tonight, ‘sorry for asking, good of you to offer, but no’. But there was someone he could ask. Once he thought about it he knew how well it could work. Darren Mooney, a schoolmate who not only didn’t use his awful nickname but actually called him Paul. Fresh-faced Darren, voice-of-an-angel Darren, best-in-the-school-choir Darren. Gay Darren! Thus the dilemma. Being seen even talking to Darren could get your head shoved down a toilet at school. But to appear on a stage with him. Singing harmony? Peedee involuntarily shuddered and let a tin slip from his hands. He smiled up at the customer as she nodded and looked away. On the other hand there could be big benefits - a Blanch Simon and Garfunkle wowing the crowds. It would be just the beginning. There were plenty of bands out there looking for a singer/songwriter. If they won they would certainly be interviewed. ‘What are your musical influences? What do you hope to do next? Will this make a difference to your life?’ A grin spread across his face as he dreamt on. The following day, Saturday, he called around to Darren’s house. Mrs. Mooney, a good-looking blonde woman who got whistled at in the street and was therefore somewhat housebound, fussily ushered him into the front room. Darren, when he came in, looked pale and tired. ‘Hi Paul, you’re looking good. What’s up?’ They both sat down on armchairs at opposite sides of the fireplace. ‘I’d hoped you might help me out with a, ahm, project’. ‘A project? Tell me about it’. Peedee explained about the song contest, which was three weeks away, but left out Tommo and the powers of harmony and alcohol. As he spoke Darren became more animated, eyes wide, head nodding, fingers splaying and contracting on the chair’s curved arm. Mrs. Mooney came in with a tray packed with a china teapot, cups, saucers, spoons, milk jug, sugar bowl, plates of biscuits and wrapped chocolate bars. She set them down carefully on a small table between them. ‘Well Paul you haven’t been in this house since you were in Junior School. You used come around every Saturday with your comics and you and Darren would read them at the table there.’ The room felt hot even though there was a spring snap in the air outside. ‘Paul wants me to sing with him at the Blanchardstown Song Contest next month. He wrote a song. He thinks it would sound better with harmony. I think it’s a great idea.’ And so it was settled. Each evening Peedee would take his guitar around to Darren’s house where a tape recorder was set up in the dining room. They tried the song in various keys and at different rhythms until it sounded right. Although Darren was musically more skilled he deferred in most instances to the earthiness and originality of his singing partner. Finally the day of the heats came. They had decided to wear black crew-neck jumpers, pants and shoes, which would, they thought, give them something of a professional look. But when they arrived at the church hall, where stalls and tents and caravans around the grounds created a carnival atmosphere, they both felt they looked plain ordinary. Dressed to kill boy-bands, girl-bands, and famous name look-alikes and other wannabees all bustled around the organisers’ desks. They would be performing in the church hall proper so they found a table in the cafeteria area and waited their turn. When it came they were hurried on stage, asked their band name (Paul and Darren), their song name (Gone), and if they understood the rules (they did). The three judges then smiled and nodded for them to start. Peedee strummed a C chord and they began. At the end of the first verse the chairman of the judges, having talked to his colleagues, shouted ‘That’s enough!’ then laughed when he saw the look on their faces. ‘It’s okay you’re fine. You’re through.’ Later that evening Peedee and Richey bought some beer and went around to the garage where Richey had his DJ gear. ‘Do you know Darren well?’ Richey asked. ‘I know he’s supposed to be gay if that’s what you’re asking.’ ‘Do you trust him?’ ‘What do you mean?’ Peedee asked testily. ‘He might drop the hand, you know’. Richey winked. ‘ And if you do win he’ll probably start kissing you. He wont be able to help it. That’s the way they are, all emotional.’ Richey stretched and sighed. ‘In front of the whole of Blanch. There’ll be a big picture in the papers. God you’ve a lot of guts kiddo’. Peedee threw an empty can at him. On the night of the final they were the third act on after a girl band and a Celine Dion look-alike. The compere, a small man in a white tuxedo and cowboy boots, announced them as ‘Paul and Darren - Blanchardstown’s answer to Brian and Michael’ that caused a bemused murmur in the packed hall. ‘Match stalk Cats and Dogs – in the Seventies’ he added with a big smile and gestured to them to begin. ‘Tough audience’ he whispered as he passed. It was mid-way through the song when the beer bottle smashed into Darren’s face followed by a shout of ‘POOFTER’. Blood gushed from his nose and he fell to his knees. The crowd erupted. A bouncer chased a skinny youth in a baseball cap out into the lane as Peedee led Darren off the stage. In the wings a nurse pressed cotton wool into the bloody face. ‘Go out and finish the song’, Darren’s muffled voice pleaded, ‘it’s your song’. Orla, the broadcasting assistant from the radio station whom they’d met earlier added ‘He’s right, that’s you they’re all calling out for. Get back on’ Peedee retraced his steps and, alone in the centre of the stage, sang loud and clear. He came first. The judges said he would walk tall from there that evening. The radio station interviewed him. What a story. When the summer came Weedy went off somewhere and never came back. PeeDee soon followed him leaving Paul David Cahill singer/songwriter to bask in the sun. |
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| Added On: Tue Sep 23 2003 | Hits: 1 |
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| The Skull Saws |
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| The Skull Saws The sun began to rise as if it was the last day on earth. I finished my orange juice and reading the paper. March 5th, 2987 was the date printed at the top. Yet amazing how much everything has been taken over by technology there was still a newspaper at my front door every Sunday. The major headline, “The United States prospers again!” was nothing new. We had just finished taking over China and not much of Asia was left for us. My lovely wife yelled, “John come here please.” I really do not understand the purpose of having a wife. I love her and I would never leave her but the reason you have a family is to have kids and carry on your name. That will not be able to happen, women have not been able to reproduce since 2080. A terrible incidence happened to every woman and they lost their reproductive glands. This was a side affect to a gas bomb dropped by China in the beginning of the war. People were really scared and so was the human race, they had the possibility to die off. “Yes dear what would you like?” I asked Mary “Would you please take the check for rent to Ms. Hollar?” “If I have to but if I’m not back in ten minutes call the cops” She began to laugh. Not because Ms. Hollar was mean but for the fact that there was no such thing as a cop and there hasn’t been one in thirty years. I began to think about the chip in my head that held me back from doing any thing bad. I stood in front of the portal shoot. A keypad emitted from the wall. I punched in the building number then the room number of Ms. Hollar. The door of the portal opened. I stepped inside and began to slide to the front door. I got there in about two seconds and sat in awe. The front door was wide open and she was sitting in the middle of the room with what seemed to be a knife in the back of her neck. What in the world, there aren’t any knifes left in the world. They were abolished and disintegrated in the Laser Knife Act of 2910. I caught a hold of my brain and hit the emergency button on my watch. Watches were fastened for that reason, an emergency. Once I figured out that the emergency crew had come, the head crewman began questioning me. He began to ask me questions but I could not keep my eyes off what they were doing to Ms. Hollar. I’ve heard about it but have never seen it. A laser saw was set to her bone only and cut around her skull and took out her brain. Then they put the brain in the transmitter to send it to the lab to be preserved and put in a new body. “You saw no one leaving in an opposite portal?” the head crewman asked me interrupting my train of thought. “No I did not,” I stated and then explained to him why I was going to her apartment. “Thank You for your time,” he said and the left the portal. “Wait!” I yelled. “Yes” he said. “Will she remember this when she is brought back?” “Unfortunately no, she will only remember yesterday and her life before.” I could not believe it when I first heard it. They will take the brain back to their lab and put it in a body cloned. The interesting thing was they could clone everything but a brain so they had to come get them as fast as they could. I began to think, I will never actually die. I will be here forever unless I am not found for a long time. I stepped in the return portal and went back home. “John where have you been!” Mary said when I walked in the door “Ms. Hollar was dead, I saw them take her brain” “Wow! Are you serious?” “Yes and I finally figured everything out , we are the last of our kind!” “If I die and you die I want to be with you afterwards” Mary said That made me think about how much I loved her. I went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. I thought for a long time thinking there is no way to reproduce anymore. We must all be here until we can no longer live any more. We will be here until all natural resources have gone. They already have found a way to create half of them. The world will not be different, the wars will finish and everyone will be the same as if we are invincible. My wife came in and sat down next to me. “Just think, no one can stop us from coming back after we die, we will be young again and we will be able to be what ever we want. “You can do things you didn’t get to do when you where young, you will have a second and third chance, I hope you spend them with me.” The dawn of a new day arose. I got up out of bed, not remembering going to bed. I walked into the shower thinking of yesterday. Once I was out of the shower and dressed I decided to walk to work instead of take a portal. I have not done this in a long time I said to myself as I left the building. I walked outside and stopped dead in my tracts in front of a Hover TV 3000. The bulletin board was about 122 murders that have taken place in the last few weeks. I was amazed, they were all on my block. Then I realized that every one of the brains that has been transported were gone with out a trace. How would the world stop this serial killer? The army then came on in an important message the message read to stay off the streets and to enable security to shut down until the killer was caught. I thought to my self, one walk wouldn’t hurt. I got to my office building and punched in my ID code. The portal then opened for me to go to my office. I got in and immediately left to the portal home. My office was a wreck and there was writing in blood on my wall that said “YOUR NEXT” Once I arrived home I got my wife and enabled the shut down. We sat there scared. “What is going on!?” Mary exclaimed “I saw a message that says I’m next to die” The room filled with silence and Mary casually got up and proceeded into the kitchen. What was going on? How was she not scared like me? I hit the emergency button on my watch and redirected them to the office. The lights went out. It was eternal darkness. I began to freak out and rock back and forth. Then I saw a flash, another, and another! My wife screamed. “Mary!!” I yelled franticly. Oh my god what I going to do. I scrambled to the closet and got inside. I immediately hit the button on my watch again. The darkness filled the closet with quietness that even a piece of paper falling could be heard. All of a sudden I heard a footstep and another. Then the door flew open. The man standing there was big and muscular with the looks of a football player. He had body armor or so it seemed with the words “BONE SAW” on his chest. I began to lean back in fear. “You have been the only one who could stop me from destroying the world” he said boldly. The blade in his hand rose up and I saw that it was a regular knife with a laser cutting edge. The blade flew down, the slicing of the flesh was furious in the sound, and in the pain. “Welcome to my world!” He raised the blade, I closed my eyes and waited for the worst… |
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| Added On: Wed Oct 15 2003 | Hits: 1 |
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| The Ritz Ditz |
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| The Ritz Ditz From my stereotypical point of youth the elderly multi-face lifted lady with the ill fitted blonde wig and pink picnic umbrella descends smiling down the stairs. She must have been a hot flame in the 1950s or maybe the 1940s. Maybe I imagined her once a likeable local burlesque stage show starlet whose notoriety fell pale to the eye shadow goddess Greta Garbo or Marilyn Monroe. Maybe she was an old English aristocrat or transvestite. Perhaps from watching her stature I assumed her to be some sort of grand Dame, maybe the original owner of this posh palace whom as any eccentric would, never leave. As the bell boy, I helped support her final stairway step. I sneezed from a mixture scent of old putrid perfume, mothballs and cat litter. At the same time I had a vision of her pancake white face dissolving into a dripping meltdown at any second. As this would happen to any ancient vampire and I could tell she would immediately turn to a powdered dust if this fossil ever encountered daylight again. I watch her reaching into her large shoulder bag and pulling out a miniature white poodle. She pulls on the lease nearly giving the dog a neck hanging before releasing to leap up and down on my leg. I try to push it towards her as she attempts to grab at it to make it behave and stay still. You can tell by the rapid wag of the tail and scampering hind legs this dog is apt to run away with any stranger given its first chance to do so. Her plump red lips squeeze kiss the dog so hard I fear her face has been glossed over so many times with thick layer make-up and botox injections cannot sense the dog is being smothered. The dog again lets loose this time running and barking at the long line at the guest checkout counter where upon seeing the dog run loose she screams and straddles the stairway banister and pulls down on my arm. I feel embarrassed to have all the guest’s attention focus on us. I’m trying to support her swaying weight as she leans back gloved hand rolling over her sweat streaked forehead. She cries out. “Oh my! Pity me. Pity me! What am I going to do? Oh, how I miss him. How much I miss my long ago dearest departed Harry!” The hotel help then looks the other way while many of the guests standing in line point to us and snicker. I hand her back to the rail before gently placing her rather titanic bootie on the carpeted stair step as I run to retrieve the long departed dog and heavily strap them both onto the baggage cart. I quickly ride them back to her room. I never saw her come out into the lobby ever again. Although I heard after my shift she created another incident where the night shift reported that high toned barking dog of hers managed to escape from her room prison a more than a few times before daylight. (c) ByronBlake.com |
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| Added On: Mon Jan 24 2005 | Hits: 1 |
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| The Future |
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| The year is 2055. The Robertson’s family was very well known. They were the nicest family in the neighborhood at the time. They were just the perfect little family with their perfect little lives. The parents, Joan and Bill, were both very successful lawyers. They had their own company. They had two children, a boy named Nathan and a girl named Livia. Nathan was the captain of the football team, and Livia was the head cheerleader. They even had a little dog named Truffles. You would think they had it all, but this society was different. Nobody cared about your job, the football team, or the cheerleaders. They really didn’t care about anything. Livia was on her way to school one day when she halted to the sound of a cry for help. She ran to the alley-way behind the dumpster. There she saw a group of 5 kids, girls none-the-less, beating this poor little girl that had just moved into town with a stick. They were all laughing so hard they couldn’t even move. They had no feelings what-so-ever for this poor, defenseless girl. Livia screamed, “Leave her alone. She is new here and doesn’t know what places are off limits. I promise I will teach her. It won’t happen again. Just let her go, and we will leave this instant.” “Alright you have a deal Miss Livia. You can do what you want with her just get her out of my sight. Now come get her or beat it,” replied Rica, the leader of their mob. As Livia carefully stepped forward to lend a hand to the new girl, she was shoved on the ground. Before she could stand again or even say a word, they were beating her as well. The only thing she could do was try to stiffen her body so the stick didn’t seem to strike her as hard. While her heart was racing she thought about her parents. “Why would my parents teach me to be so nice? What did I do to them? Nobody is nice. Nobody cares about anyone else. Wouldn’t my parents know that by now? I can’t believe after all the times Nathan and me came home basically crying blood they still just don’t get it. I guess this is just my punishment for loving my parents and actually listening and obeying them,” she thought in her blood rushed head. The mob of heartless girls tired down and finally gave up. They looked at the two girls laying there on the ground in a pool full of blood and heartache. They walked off laughing. Rica sighed, “I guess that will have to do for today. She is new I think it’s good we gave her a break. But we are not going to be so nice next time girls. We need to toughen up and get our act together. There is no excuse for getting so tired after just that little incident. You all better shape up for the next one.” Livia lied there on the pavement, unable to move. She turned and smiled at the new girl and said, “What is your name?” The girl looked at her with dreadful terror in her eyes and cried, “Well my name is Bita, but please don’t tell them that. My parents made me move here, they said it would be different than our old town, but it’s just the same. It might even be worse.” “I know exactly what you mean,” said Livia. “Follow me and we’ll go back to my house. I just live down the street. My parents will fix us all up and take you home. Ok?” “Alright that sounds great. I know it doesn’t mean much now, but thank you for trying to help me. You really are a pal.” The two girls pried themselves off the pavement and limped home. As they were walking they found out a lot they had in common. They both loved going to school. They were both considered stupid for loving and obeying their parents. They both had even been through the same ordeals with other kids making fun of them and picking on them. It was then they realized they would have to stick together to get anywhere in this world. As they arrived at Livia’s house, her mom ran out the door. “Did those mean girls do this to you again? And this little girl, what did she even do? I think we need to have a talk with their parents. This is the third time this week. I am not going to let this happen again. I promise the both of you.” Livia knew inside her head what was going to happen. Her mother was going to talk to Rica’s mom and tell her everything. Then her mom would talk to Rica. It won’t stop anything though. It will just give her more reason to beat Livia the next time she saw her. There was no stopping Rica, or any child for that matter. Kids did whatever they felt like doing. So did the adults for the most part. Some of them knew someone who had lived before this “wonder maker” machine was invented. They knew people used to have to expect to die everyday of their life to not be afraid of death. But now that is not even talked about. Everyone knows when they are going to die so it doesn’t matter. They can live any type of lifestyle they choose. There is no reason to fear drowning, choking, or even driving accidents. They know what is or what isn’t going to kill them. Livia and her whole family knew about this. They knew about how life used to be. They weren’t allowed to say anything though. If too many people found out they would take the machine away. It was a privilege to the people. They would do anything to keep the machines. The schools were completely torn apart. There was no education to speak of. People only cared about themselves. All they wanted to do was fulfill all their dreams before their date, their last day, arrived. Livia, her family, and Bita went on with their normal lives. They continued to get beat up almost everyday, not always by the same people but for the same reason. Just because they were different, they were smart and enjoyed being at school, they were ridiculed and tortured. Eventually Livia’s brother, Nathan, died. They spent his last day playing family knowledge games. Games they had made up themselves, because the stores only sold weapons and dangerous toys for children. It was the best day of his life. He loved things like that. Once he was gone Livia really started to think about life. She knew there had to be a reason they were put on Earth, well other than to hurt one another. She couldn’t think of anything though. She knew they were all living pointless lives that one day would end. That’s all she could come up with. As the years passed Livia and Bita continued to stay together, protecting each other from harm. They stopped talking about how things used to be different once Bita’s parents died. They became just another waste of space on the Earth, not thinking about anything or anyone, not feeling anything, and not caring about anything. The world finally became a huge dumpster. The whole place was trashed. The people had torn up everything there was. The nature was gone. There were no people intelligent enough to invent new things or really even continue making the old. They became nothing. Their lives consisted of waiting until their day to die. Life became nothing but death. |
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| Added On: Thu Oct 16 2003 | Hits: 1 |
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