September 25, 2012 at 5:11 AM (poems, writing)
Tags: blindfolded, book, death, english, excerpt, life, novel, poetry, prologue, psychological, silver, story, thread, writing
The hall was unlit. Only the light from my parents’ room fell across the floor. The house was enveloped in stillness, even though the windows were open and the wind outside roared.
The star of the evil dawn shines dimly,
My heart was beating fast, and my hands were trembling. I didn’t want to keep walking, but something told me to move. Although the distance between my parents’ room and my room was relatively short, it looked like I would never be able get there. The second I stood in front of their open door, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
It laughs and demands things she doesn’t own,
The lights were blinding at first, but then started flickering. I squinted and saw it.
Something that looked like a garbage bag was lying at my feet. What was a garbage bag doing in my parents’ room? Then my eyes widened. That wasn’t a garbage bag. There was hair growing out of one end. Human hair.
Her tears invite, “Come here…”
A human being?!
The body was twisted in a C-shape, lying on its side, face down and covered in crimson. It was wearing a black nightgown with strawberry gashes all over it and a golden necklace—an awfully familiar one—around the body’s neck.
At the bottom of sloth’s slumber, she’ll drown you deeper, deeper…
No, no, no!
My mouth opened, ready to cry out, but nothing came. My knees buckled in fear, making me fall. The lights stopped flickering, and I heard a thump. I glanced up and noticed a smear of blood on the ceiling with a large handprint in it, like a child’s finger painting. There was also a trail of blood that went from the wall in front of me to the unmade double bed on my left. Lying on the bed was another twisted body with no legs, a gray sweater askew on the wretched torso, the sheets around it mattered with blood, the face crushed, a bit of it on the floor.
“What do you want? A golden key? The silver moon?”
My stomach turned and tears welled up. What was happening?! Why were mom and dad…?! Who?! A killer?!
I didn’t have time to mourn. I had to run, to get away! I felt tears roll down my cheeks and a metallic smell filling the room enter my nose. A sudden urge to vomit took over me, but I didn’t let it take control. I did all I could to get to my feet, when there was a blackout. My heart seemed to stop, but my feet didn’t.
“As long as you get it, the means don’t matter.”
I knew that house like the back of my hand. That was probably the reason why, even in the darkness, I had been able to run all the way to the first floor without bumping into anything. But there was something or someone that wasn’t known to me. Something that caught my arm, just when I was about to reach the doorknob.
“Come into my mouth and you’ll be part of me.”
In the dim light coming from the street I saw a tall, dark figure.
A man. For a split second I imagined it was my father and that what I’d just seen had just been a bad dream. But it couldn’t be. His grip was hurting me. My father would never hurt me. I tried to break free, but he wouldn’t let go. His grasp tightened, making me cry out in pain.
I was so close to the exit, to get help, to live…
You shall be burnt to ashes with your own decision.
“Let me go!” I yelled as I moved closer to bite his hand. The moment I felt his skin close enough, I sank my teeth into his hand so hard my mouth hurt. However, I kept on biting until I heard a crunch. Something lukewarm and salty filled my mouth. He released me, and I jerked backward. I ran past him and managed to open the door. I felt a ray of hope, but quickly faded away as soon as my hair was pulled.
Secretly, in those scornful eyes, is the feeling of rejoice.
I screamed, hoping someone would hear me, and dug my nails on his arm. I didn’t want to die! I didn’t want it to hurt! I wanted to be safe! Why hadn’t anyone noticed?! Why wasn’t anyone coming to help me?!What had we done to deserve it?! We were a happy family, so why?!
The man dragged me back into the house, leaving the door slightly open.
If you peek into their hearts, you’ll see the abyss they’ve let themselves into.
It had to be a joke since that morning we had breakfast, we went to the park, and grandpa had called like he did every Saturday. Mom had also bought a new dress for a party, and dad been watching a baseball game when he said ‘goodnight’ to me. Some hours…just some hours ago everything was like it was supposed to be!
My eyes locked on my attacker, the streetlight revealing his features, and a prayer escaped from my lips.
A young man with bright red eyes was looking down at me, notes of pity, and maybe sadness, were all over his face, until a weary smile played on his lips. The look on his face suddenly changed to a distorted grimace reflecting only pure madness.
The star asks which sin they should aim for,
My attacker leaned forward, his breath warm against my skin. I froze, the yelling and attacking subsiding. It wasn’t like I chose to stop defending myself, I was going numb. My body had gotten heavier, and keeping my eyes open was getting harder. But I couldn’t afford to pass out, not at that moment. If he was going to kill me, I had to carve every detail. That was the only way—the only way I could fight back. A tear rolled down my cheek as my body slid down. The attacker held me before I hit the ground and carefully loosened his grip. The pain I was feeling because of his pulling my hair vanished, but a sharper ache emerged.
A burning feeling. My eyes felt as though someone had poured acid on them, but I couldn’t scream. My body wouldn’t react, but the pain was there. So real and unreal at the same time.
Who will be the one to fall?
“This one is the seventh,” he whispered coldly as he put a hand over my eyes.
The voice died away, so did my consciousness.
Like that, the night my parents were killed became the end of life as I knew it and the beginning of a game against fate.
September 25, 2012 at 5:03 AM (Thoughts, Uncategorized, writing)
Tags: being, coran, english, etre, francais, humaine, human, liberté, penseés, religion, thoughts, writing
Liberté de l’être humain.
Dans le CORAN dit que Dieu nous a donné le option de choisir nous même notre façon d’être et le chemin qu’on doit suivre, mais depuis qu’on est petits et même avant, les gens commence a choisir notre avenir.
Quand on est dans le ventre de notre mère, nous parents commence a choisir pour nous notre avenir, cette idéalisation commence le long chemin d’esclavagisme. Quand on né, les règles commence. Façon mangé, marché,créances religieux.
A l’étape de l’adolescence on rentre nous même dans une étape d’acceptation pour renter dans un groupe social. On est emprisonnés par la société, quel qu’un qui veut étudier médecin est mieux vu que quel qu’un que veut étudier la musique.
Quand on arrive à l’étape adulte, la société prend le Control total, travaille, dettes, maison, etc. Et si quelqu’un ne suive pas cet chemin il ne forme pas partie d’elle.
L’être humain soupçonne d’être libre et lutte pour ça mais il ne s-ce rendre pas conte qu’il est emprisonné par son propre système.
September 25, 2012 at 1:14 AM (Uncategorized)
Tags: francais, french, lien, love, lyrics, paroles, poetry, song, writing
Je revois les photos,
que je connais par coeur…
j’écoute encore les mots
laissés au répondeur…
–Ce lien, C.C.
September 25, 2012 at 1:10 AM (Uncategorized)
Tags: love, lust, poem, poetry, thoughts, writing
To think you were part of me,
To think you were who made up my heart.
Tell me you love me,
Tell me you want me,
Just let me drown in your love.
Take me into your arms,
Hold me tight,
Make me yours.
Take me now,
Let me be the one for you,
Let me be the star in the sky that guides you.
Please, come back,
Please, look now,
I’ve always been…
So kiss me,
Let me forget all of our past regrets,
And kill me silently.
Drown me deep inside you.
September 23, 2012 at 9:31 PM (Uncategorized)
Tags: español, literatura, lyrics, paroles, poem, poema, poesía, spanish, writing
Es como una bestia,
Sus garras y dientes arrancan desde las profundidades su calma.
El idioma que aquel monstruo habla entiende el lenguaje del lado más oscuro de su alma.
Sus palabras parecen dulces,
Pero arrullan mentiras.
Y es la rima de sus canciones,
Que la llenan de envidia.
El poder la atormenta,
Y con cada roce,
Se aleja de las estrellas y del sol que la alimenta.
No quiere ver.
No quiere ceder,
Y no entiende por qué ese frío dolor la quema.
Quema lo que está dentro de ella.
Y son sus lágrimas llenas de tristeza lo que al fin la despiertan,
La regresan al vació,
Pues en él ya no encuentra asilo.
Por un momento olvidó su propósito,
Olvidó que en él no había más que ocio.
Pues se había dejado llevar por su gentileza.
Y fue solamente así que sintió el real valor de su franqueza.
La máscara está de nuevo puesta,
Y en su rostro no existe la duda.
Su llama ya no está expuesta.
No habrá nadie que la extinga.
Es una lástima,
Porque sus lágrimas fluyeron como ríos de olvido.
Ella misma lleva la cruz de lo que alguna vez llamó su rayo de luz.
En las profundidades de su propio orgullo duerme,
Esperando que algún día llegue quien la despierte.
Y vuelva a verlo si tiene suerte.
September 23, 2012 at 9:19 PM (Uncategorized)
Tags: alcohol, desire, drinking, man, woman, writing
The lights and the loud music echoed made her body tremble. Or had the drinks been the cause of her dizziness? She had one of his hands on her waist, while the other playfully drew circles on her cheeks. A part of her wanted to go to bed, but another one knew she had to enjoy the night. It was going to be the last before she’d acquired all the responsibilities she was meant to. The ceremony was close, though not as close as those guy’s lips were to her neck.
She felt a wave of electricity pass through her body, when he planted a kiss on her collarbone. She wanted more. She desired the man in front of her, she wanted to drink and dance until there was no tomorrow, she craved to do whatever she wanted—she dreamed of freedom. Much more than what she already had. She wanted no consequences, just plain pleasure and fun.
“I want to stay like this forever,” she thought, before letting herself drown in that man’s touch.
From the other side of the room, a figure watched her cautiously.
September 23, 2012 at 9:15 PM (Uncategorized)
Tags: englis, english, error, french, grammar, language, mistakes, spelling, writing
Au jus is French for “with juice,” and in English it is best used as an adjective to mean “served with the natural juices or gravy” and placed after what it modifies, as in prime rib au jus. The uneasy relationship with French, however, has over the years led many to use au jus of the natural juices themselves. This has given rise to such redundant constructions as au jus sauce and with au jus.
It’s like going to a small European-style café and find they serve: penne pasta (penne is a type of pasta); shrimp scampi (scampi are shrimp); and soup du jour of the day (the French du jour means “of the day”).
September 23, 2012 at 8:57 PM (Uncategorized)
Tags: autisme, autistes, classe, psychologie, scolarisation
Les difficultés des autistes à accéder à la conscience phonologique les mettent en échec dans certains exercises proposés en “pré-requis” à la lecture. Pour autant, leur participation à ces moments d’apprentissage est possible, ils font partie du groupe-classe, mais les objectifs sont alors différenciés de ceux envisagés pour les enfants ordinaires.
June 11, 2012 at 3:55 PM (poems, Thoughts, writing)
Tags: feelings, fight, jigsaw, love, poetry, power, society, thoughts, writing
Diversity was created for the sole reason of having a crazy mixture.
Ice and fire,
A warm word,
A cold touch;
Loving and hating,
Trusting and suspecting,
Though it’s only when I look at whom we’ve become that I truly understand.
To make a puzzle you need those parts to fit.
For that matter, they can’t be the same.
There is, however, something unfair.
A piece will always be eating the other one away.
One of the pieces will always overpower the other.
Between us, according to that endless jigsaw,
Am I the one consuming you,
Or are you the one overwhelming me?
June 11, 2012 at 3:48 PM (poems, writing)
Tags: dream, dreams, freedom, love, poetry, thoughts, wings, writing
There was a time when his every word healed me,
A time when his every glance made me feel full of love,
A time when his caresses were everything to me,
When has time stopped?
When has the clock ceased to function?
Wings that have been cut,
Words that are meant to be left unsaid,
Hands that have turned into strangers,
A whisper that has turned bitter,
When did the seasons change?
I go up,
I go up and feel you,
But you grab me by the ankle and pull me down.
Why do you that?
I want to fly even if it’s dangerous,
I want to dream,
I want to see,
Let me break free.