[004] Darkness

Image by  Wim Vandenbussche on Flickr.com

Chapter 4: Darkroom

They bleed weeks, maybe months, to get the right words down to paper. The right sequence. The right actions. The right words.

He bleeds days, sometimes weeks, to translate words into vision. Something audiences will see, hear and understand. Maybe all at the same time.

She cuts to make the message as concise as possible. Hours, maybe days.

The audience watches. It flashes, for just brief seconds, minutes.



The story above was inspired by Puppy.

Who is he? Someone who reminds me of a puppy. Cheerful, adorable, and a little smug at times. Catch him when he’s unguarded, and you see him looking lost. Sad. Woebegone.

Then there’s Innocence. Well, he struck me as one. Knows about the darkness but not quite there yet. Adorable too. But not sure if he sees me the same way I see him.

Yuzuru. Well I have to admit, he’s someone I admire from afar. A shining star, that is. Would be great to meet him but I’m not sure I’d be coherent. And there’s also the fact that I’m using him as an excuse. While he makes me squee, it’s in direct proportion to how much Innocence makes me squee.

What do these three have in common besides the fact they’re Asian, have dark hair and look good in glasses? (Shut up about the last!)

They’re all younger than me. The oldest is JUSTTTTT over the age I’d consider a guy dateable for myself (I have weird standards, go away if you’re going to lecture me about that).

My mind’s more or less permanently stuck at 23, though in the past few days I feel like I’ve wasted my time.

Missed opportunities, sailing ship, etc, you know, the works.

Regretting the passing of time. I’m not sad with what happened in the time I’ve spent. I’m regretting that I did not take the chances that were there. That I did not open my arms and fall. That I let fear clip my wings.

And now I don’t know if I’ll ever fly. If I’ll ever regain that bravery. I chose the safer, stagnant path, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave.

“My father tried all kinds of jobs, till he finally decided to take over his father’s shop. We still have a lot of time, don’t we? So why don’t we try everything?”

My time is up. It’s time to leave. Time to exit the stage and watch as younger, more naive qualified ones begin their play. As they go about their parts, I wonder, was I ever that naive? Did I ever seem that trusting?

O time, thou must untangle this, not I.
It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

Viola, Twelfth Night.

This post was written for the 100 Themes challenge. For the full list, click here.