crossing of two paths 3

And so he got ready for the night. He went to the bathroom and took a shower. A hot one, then a cold one, then a hot one again. He winced in pain as he cleaned the wound. The pain from the stab earlier was still fresh in his mind. He felt refreshed. His eyes were still slightly swollen and red, but it didn't really matter. He took some powder and rubbed it on his face.

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit. He wiped dry his wound and applied some antiseptic cream on his thigh. Then he began to bandage his thigh. It hurt badly, but again, it didn't really matter to him. He made up his mind not to regret anymore.

Limping, he went back to his room to get dressed. It was a 800 dollar suit that he had bought not too long ago. Just for this night. A black coat, black slacks to match, black socks and shiny leather shoes. He put on his white shirt, slowly doing up the buttons. As he did each button, he wondered whether he should go for it or forget about it and stay at home. He paused to look out of the window. The sun was setting. The birds were flying back to their nests. It was a classic painting of evening life, where roads were jammed up as people rushed back home for dinner with their families, others would head towards bars, some just drove with no direction in life, while some, headed back to enjoy the comfort of their bed alone. The sky was painted beautifully with orange, red, yellow, purple and pink. He stood there, staring blankly out of his window.

"Why does life seem to move on so normally even though everything's going wrong for me?"

He got fully dressed and put on his bow-tie. Just not too far back in the past, he stood looking at the mirror in the shop with one of the widest smiles anyone could give as he stared proudly in the mirror at the suit he had just purchased. Now, it was a face that lacked any form of emotions. More like a statue that stood lifeless in the park. He began to brush his hair. He had a forlorn look as he repeatedly combed his hair. Again, and again. Machine-like.

"Boy! Don't you have something on tonight?"
"Coming, Mother!"

He slowly walked down the stairs, feeling pain with every step. He gave his mom a kiss before heading to the car.

"Have fun tonight boy! Don't be late!"

The shout of his mother was drowned out by the engine of the car roaring into action.


grooving to the unknown beat

he felt it. he heard it. he bobbed his head to the beat. his body started grooving to the music. he snapped his fingers and did random hip hop steps with his feet. each part of his body moved to the beat. he smiled. he liked it.

no one else heard anything. but he heard it all. he enjoyed the music as he walked. everything didn't matter anymore. everything around him, ceased to exist. it was just him, his dancing, and the beat.

he grooved to the beat unknown by the world. he grooved to the unknown beat. he grooved. to the beat of silence.


crossing of two paths 2

He wiped the tears away.

"I don't have to trust anyone anymore. If they bothered a single bit of what went on, they wouldn't have done the things that they did. But the damage is already done. How can you fix up a vase that has been intentionally smashed against the wall, and its broken pieces stepped on until it turns to dust? It is but swept away. It doesn't matter anymore. I've already been swept aside by all of them. They said they care. But it didn't show. The saying goes, 'Actions speaks louder than words', but no one took heed. Their actions said nothing but hurtful things. They thought they were helping, but they were actually making things worse."

He took out a knife from the cupboard and stabbed his thigh. Blood splattered everywhere. It was painful. It was messy. But he didn't care.

"With this pain in my head, I vow to myself: I will shed a tear no more for this world. Purposeless tears would never roll down ever again."



He looked at the mirror for one last time before proceeding towards the door of his dressing room. He slowly inspected his face.

“Looks good,” he thought. “The perfect smile.”

He ran out to the centre of the ring. The crowd went wild, giving him the biggest round of applause that they had given all night. He took of his big hat and took a bow, acknowledging the crowd. Then suddenly, he pulled a rabbit out from his hat. The crowd cheered in amazement. He smiled, pausing to wipe the sweat that dripped down his brow. He did it carefully to avoid smearing the make-up that was on his face.

He ran around the ring, doing much foolish stuff that was practiced for years. He made a complete fool out of himself, much to the delight of the crowd. It was probably tricks and stunts that were familiar and overused, but somehow, the crowd still took it in and was greatly entertained.

He juggled, cycled on the unicycle, and messed around with his counterparts until his time was up. Then he took another bow before cart wheeling his way out. The crowd loved him and gave him a thunderous applause.

He walked to his dressing room slowly while taking off the gloves on his hand. He reached his dressing table and took of his hat and wig, then let his backside drop to the chair with a loud sigh.

“What would they know?”

He wiped of the face paint that covered his face, revealing a sad, wrinkled and long face. He grabbed a cigar from a tin can and lighted it. Forlornly, he walked with heavy steps outside. Smoking his cigar, he reflected on reality. There was no real smile, no real happiness. There was no applause for the stuff that he did and had done before.

It was all but a show. Nothing was real. Nothing at all.