Friday, May 23, 2008

diary of a madman

What is real?

The blood dripped from my wounds and stained the paper I was writing on. Gleaming bright red, it almost looked fake, like an obscene smile painted on a clown.

Drip, Drip.

It spread on the paper like a crimson tide, extending its arms, engulfing the words I just wrote. The blood was real, and I felt myself weaken.

The stillness of the room allowed my thoughts to float freely. If I die today, would it matter? How do I know this isn’t just a dream? From my window, I saw the clouds drift in an impossibly blue sky.

I had gone to a different world in suspended animation. Everybody else seemed light years away, and certainly out of arm’s reach. The photographs on my table shone like dead stars- I was looking at the past, of happier times, which were long gone.

I’m dying. I thought. This is real.

The sickly sweet coppery odor of blood filled my nostrils, suffocating me. I scrambled for the telephone, and as I did, I knocked over the blood-stained blade.

I saw it fall, forever, in an endless pirouette. It never hit the floor.


Wilberchie said...

luv it!

Phoenix said...

@ wilberchie: chika lang po ito hehe ; ) glad you liked it

cant_u_read said...

such compelling language. just one of the reasons your blog is on #1 spot of my favorites.

Phoenix said...

@ cant_u_read: Aww Thanks Rye!


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