Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

I was sitting on my bed, doing about nothing, bored to death. It felt great to stay there in silence, looking at nothing in peculiar and thinking about life in general (but mostly death and scary stuff…).

When I was bored enough, I lit up a few candles (I have this really cool skull-shaped candle container. When I light the candle, the light comes out of the eyes of the skull it’s funny!) and took out the little book of Strange and a black pen. I drew a few sketches of anything that came to my mind. Cats, skateboards, skulls, spiderwebs…

I closed my eyes and decided to get a trip into my own world…

Everything is pitch dark, except light. Light is darker. There are glistening yellow pairs of eyes everywhere around. I walk quietly in the emptiness and and enjoy the landscapeless background. After a while of nothingness, I see a tree. A single, dead automn tree. The last leave falls down in front of my eyes and I watch it dissappear behind a pair of eyellow eyes. The tree is naked. Naked and silent. Even the soun dof my voice is struggled by the great Silence. I climb in the tree and relax.

In the far away distance, I can ear something. It’s subtile at first, but then the notes get clearer. It’s a melody. A sad, beautiful melody. Something betwen a lullaby and gothing music. I listen to the notes caferully, so I can bring them back with me to Reality. They song gets written inside my head, and soon, I can « see » lyrics, floating in front of mym eyes. The words of a Fairytale… the words of the forbidden poetry, Darkness and Melancholy…

I open my eyes. My world fades to light. I’m back on mym bed, drawing. I’m drawing a tree. A single tree, surrounded by nothing but the purest darkness. Balls of light are flashing in the distance. The eyes of a feral cat. My world.

I’m looking down at the sheet : something is missing. But music can’t be drawn. Music shall be heard. Music will be heard.

I turned another page in the little black book. The notes in my head were still playing. I started to write. Music would live inside my dead world and set an end to the Sound of Silence.

I still feel the yellow eyes gazing deeply into mine, as if trying to steal something laying inside of me. It’s weird, but some times, I feel like I’m not alone inside of myself. Some people call this phenomenon « Imaginary friends ». Others call is schyzophrenia.

I know I’m Strange, but what are you?

See you elsewhere.

-Emily-