The following article was published in N-SPHERE April 2010 issue.

A sense of dread grabbed my throat and my legs suddenly took strange initiatives in moving towards your shadow. I guess you still run through my veins. Wherever I go, whoever I hurt, you’ll be there to gloat at the torment, collect ammunition for your nonsense. I wish I could simply ignore you as you lay with me in the dead of night, but that is something I haven’t tried to do in a while. And besides, you’ve not yet grown tired of your source of amusement. Something tells me I’m not the only one you perceive as a puppet, but sadly for you, yourself. Here’s a thought; take a break and return to your world for a while. I’m sure you have matters to attend to somewhere else as well. And don’t say that you cannot leave me because I am your favorite puppet. I am but my own. My own puppet, my own error and misbelieve, and, why not, my own broken mirror. Otherwise how could you be able to see so clearly the threads you cast in order to attain those few last steps you’re relentlessly seeking. And you stand proud, with satisfaction dripping from your eyes, drained, not understanding the limitations you are bound to obey. Yet a child’s happiness overflows from sentient eyes, and a peaceful smile confuses you to the point of sheer insanity.

Then, a silent dance took both of us, binding our weaknesses with frozen demonic shaped ties, as we entered the arena you chose for us to perish in. The wind started singing its mortuary tune from distant times, awaiting a morbid choir to come into action, death notes swirling around like reincarnated fireflies. Listen closely. What do you hear?

It will not end in a circle. Not this time. But in a swift blow that will splatter the blood onto the audience.

by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.