The False Crime
o1
At first, it’s great, it’s beautiful. And even more so, it’s amazing and beyond anything human words could ever begin to describe it. It is a symphony of colours, a rainbow of sounds; everything is brighter and better and tastes of cotton candy and bitter gin at the same time. It makes you believe. You believe in Wonderland and Never Land; all you need is a little sprinkle of pixie dust, and you’re there.
Then it pulls you in and you can’t defeat it. You fight the pirates, run away from the Red Queen, but the White Rabbit finds you anyway. You fight and cry and want out, but it’s too late. There is no way out, no magical doors that will open and let you back to the warmth and safety of your home. It feels like a bad dream, so vivid and lucid, and you can’t wake up.
There is no way out. Not now, not ever.
Then you accept it. You accept the fact that you are stuck and you have no other choice but to do things you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be caught dead doing. You kick and scream and sneak past the shadows in silence only to realize that you are the shadow and that your screams are not heard. You give up. You want to die.
And now, you are dead. You see your mother crying her eyes out, cursing herself for not noticing, cursing God for taking you so young. There is your father, standing in the corner of the room with fourth glass of liquor he just poured. And look, your siblings are there too. Sure, they may be still young to realize what is going on around them, but they are crying. They feel the sorrow in their mother’s words; they taste the anger in their father’s breath. And then, there you are in all your glory, lying in a wooden box, a smile upon your face and a healthy blush on your cheeks. But that is all pretend; a very good make-up and nothing else.
Somehow, you manage to open your eyes and to realize that it was all just a dream; a dream that soon will become real. Nevertheless, you keep sticking your arm, you keep stealing, you keep losing your soul part by part until you’re just a shell of skin walking around like ghost of former self. Your body yearns for that little piece of bliss, and you’re thinking that maybe if you go again on that road, the road you walked on first, things would get better and you’d feel like you did back then. Back when things had a meaning, when the colours danced and you felt alive.
It feels like falling down the endless pit. You feel the fire from Hell climbing up, licking your feet, burning to touch you, to consume you; you feel the cold rushing in from the depths of the fiery beast. You’re frozen in place, your feet gave up on you. You are dead, again.
You have died times and times again, but still you keep sticking your arm for just once more; once more couldn’t hurt right? But it hurts, the sting of the needle, the roll of the eyes, it’s nirvana, right? You close your eyes, and you see yourself on that dirty sofa, lying with eyes closed, limb and blissful. And you’re dead again.
You don’t complain when the men in white strap you down with a straightjacket, you just smile and bulge your eyes out. You don’t have the strength to fight. You see your mother standing near, shaking her head. You smile at her apologetically. You look into her eyes; you don’t see yourself in them. You are dead, and for the first time in your life, you wish it’s permanent.
You wanted to go to Never Land and be a kid forever. You just forgot what you left behind, the people that kept picking up the pieces, like puzzle, trying to fix you. Trying to help you. You didn't looked back.
Congratulations, you’re dead. For good. Forever.
Then it pulls you in and you can’t defeat it. You fight the pirates, run away from the Red Queen, but the White Rabbit finds you anyway. You fight and cry and want out, but it’s too late. There is no way out, no magical doors that will open and let you back to the warmth and safety of your home. It feels like a bad dream, so vivid and lucid, and you can’t wake up.
There is no way out. Not now, not ever.
Then you accept it. You accept the fact that you are stuck and you have no other choice but to do things you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be caught dead doing. You kick and scream and sneak past the shadows in silence only to realize that you are the shadow and that your screams are not heard. You give up. You want to die.
And now, you are dead. You see your mother crying her eyes out, cursing herself for not noticing, cursing God for taking you so young. There is your father, standing in the corner of the room with fourth glass of liquor he just poured. And look, your siblings are there too. Sure, they may be still young to realize what is going on around them, but they are crying. They feel the sorrow in their mother’s words; they taste the anger in their father’s breath. And then, there you are in all your glory, lying in a wooden box, a smile upon your face and a healthy blush on your cheeks. But that is all pretend; a very good make-up and nothing else.
Somehow, you manage to open your eyes and to realize that it was all just a dream; a dream that soon will become real. Nevertheless, you keep sticking your arm, you keep stealing, you keep losing your soul part by part until you’re just a shell of skin walking around like ghost of former self. Your body yearns for that little piece of bliss, and you’re thinking that maybe if you go again on that road, the road you walked on first, things would get better and you’d feel like you did back then. Back when things had a meaning, when the colours danced and you felt alive.
It feels like falling down the endless pit. You feel the fire from Hell climbing up, licking your feet, burning to touch you, to consume you; you feel the cold rushing in from the depths of the fiery beast. You’re frozen in place, your feet gave up on you. You are dead, again.
You have died times and times again, but still you keep sticking your arm for just once more; once more couldn’t hurt right? But it hurts, the sting of the needle, the roll of the eyes, it’s nirvana, right? You close your eyes, and you see yourself on that dirty sofa, lying with eyes closed, limb and blissful. And you’re dead again.
You don’t complain when the men in white strap you down with a straightjacket, you just smile and bulge your eyes out. You don’t have the strength to fight. You see your mother standing near, shaking her head. You smile at her apologetically. You look into her eyes; you don’t see yourself in them. You are dead, and for the first time in your life, you wish it’s permanent.
You wanted to go to Never Land and be a kid forever. You just forgot what you left behind, the people that kept picking up the pieces, like puzzle, trying to fix you. Trying to help you. You didn't looked back.
Congratulations, you’re dead. For good. Forever.