The silent note rings on the formless aether.
The Geode Planet captures it into it’s quicksilver core.
Boundaries shift and undulate.
The Neutral Men stare.
The Neutral Men wait.
The Neutral Men hope.
A drop escapes into the weightless vacuum .
Like a seed, it crashes into the crystal surface, bringing light.
The harvest begins.
Grind, twist and break.
Split, load and carry.
The Neutral Men work.
The Neutral Men live.
The Neutral Men hope for more.
I like the rain in Spring.
I like the cold air on my face.
I like the smell of grass and earth.
I like the sounds of the city muffled by the beating of the raindrops.
I like the rain in the city and hearing the cars splash in the puddles.
I like the flowing rivers of rainwater streaming down the road
I like the city lights shining on the wet sidewalks and streets that it blends like paint.
I like the mellow shade of the clouds over the city.
I like how it feels to look outside and be warm and dry inside with a warm blanket.
I like sipping my hot chocolate to thaw away the numbness from the cold.
I like watching the birds gather their young and nuzzle them in their nests.
I like cuddling with you, just us two celebrating our love.
I like listening to your voice and seeing your smile warm my soul and remind me what it feels to be alive.
I love you.
I love you.
The world is a very strange place. We take many things of life for granted. Like the air, the trees, the rain, hell, even that random person you walked by a few moments ago.
Sure, you think that you will never see that person again… or that person won’t be important in your own life, which is…
Awww Raina. I feel like I can kind of relate to this. It’s very applicable to the situation we were in oh so many years ago. It’s unfortunate but society really has become docile and we can’t appreciate the people around us unless we feel threatened that they will disappear. Now I don’t know if destiny or fate pulls the strings of our daily lives but I do know that there are infinite possibilities and infinite choices that we make. Through those choices and those events we can change our own “destinies” and travel the path that we choose. Regardless of a chance encounter with a stranger is merely chance or destiny, I think that just taking whatever life gives you is a better approach. Maybe someone will be there for you for several years. Maybe they will be only there for you in several seconds. Whatever the length of time, a duration of knowing someone must have something productive coming from it. If a person has left you’re life, no what the circumstances, remember the impact that they have left on you and how you will learn from that experience. I don’t even know what I’m saying or the point I’m trying to prove, I’m rambing before my Philosophy exam.
You do realize it’s part of her book, right? T__T
(Source: queenschaos)
When you notice that your Tumblr is without a comment box for 5 months…..you feel so dumb that you have to facepalm.
The icy chill of the winter breeze was cutting through Peter Whitman ‘s skin like sharp knives. He didn’t mind the feeling though. It made him feel that he was alive, at least for the brief moments of life he still had to spend. He also had a nasty headache caused by a cocktail of sedatives and a taser applied to him right as he was reaching the front door of his home last night. Headaches will always make anyone’s mornings sour as a lemon.
There was another strange thing that was bugging him: it seemed that he was seeing everything upside-down; not to mention he had no idea why he was outside , exposed to the bitter morose weather. He looked down. As expected, he saw the dreary grey Chicago sky under his feet, one of the consequences of the heavy industrialization the city had suffered over the years. He also noticed the reason of his current inverted distress. A huge black mountain of muscles topped by a pearly white smile brighter than a mirror was effortlessly holding him upside down by the ankles, staring at him with an obvious curiosity on his eyes like a predator playing with his prey before eating it.
“Did you have a nice nap, Mister Whitman?” asked his captor, appropriately named Mr. Smiles. “As you can see, you are barely hanging to survive!”.
Mr. Smiles’ grin widened even more as he reminded himself of his captive’s peril.
Oh God, I’m going to die, thought Peter bitterly.
“So, do you know why you are here?”
“I-I’m … I..don’t know! Why are you doing this to me?” stuttered Peter.
Mr. Smiles’ face drew into a blank stare.
“Now, now, there is one thing I don’t like and that is a liar. Because, with liars, I have to hurt them to make them tell me what I want. And I’m a nice guy; I don’t like hurting people.”
Mr. Smiles pulled his trench coat to the side, revealing the illegally powered exoskeleton that enhanced his already respectable strength. After some button pushes on the control module located next to his hips, the low humming of the servo motors began to become audible, an indication that the exoskeleton was now into full power mode.
Mr. Smiles grabbed Peter’s left wrist with a firm grip; which began to get tighter and tighter. With a twist of the hand and the crackle of bone, Peter’s arm was now bent like a broken twig.
Peter screamed and flailed around, the pain permeated every one of his senses and didn’t allow him breathe. Of course he knew why the henchman was here. Peter had diverted funds from the local mafia laundry scheme and was foolish enough to stick around for too long.
“So, unless you are a masochist , which I suspect you aren’t, you will tell me to which bank account you have sent the money you’ve stole. Behave well and you may walk out of this alive. Or let’s say crawl out,” instructed Mr. Smiles, as he gave a guttural laugh, similar to that of an hyena.
Peter was terrified to the point he was wetting his pants and was getting redder with the blood rushing to his head. At that moment, he was ready to do anything to save himself, even if he needed to kill his own mother.
Suddenly, an unknown jazz tune echoed in the air . Mr. Smiles picked up a smartphone from inside his trench coat, glanced at the caller’s name and answered it.
“Yes boss? Hmm, yes, I was busy. You know how it is, just helping out some of our associates. Hmm, but I can’t just drop this….ok, if it’s that urgent, I’ll just make some excuse. I’ll be there in 24 hours.”
As he gets his smartphone back into the pocket, Mr. Smiles stared at Peter with a pitiful look.
“I’m sorry, but our meeting has to end for now. Too bad we didn’t had more time to enjoy. Don’t feel bad, ok?”
Mr. Smiles released the grip on Peter’s leg. Peter only had time to stare down and scream his lungs out when he realized that the hard concrete floor would have a nasty effect on his skull.
There was unbearable pain for a second. Then darkness. Then eternal silence.
Reblog this if you want a tumblr sticker.
can i have one
It was pitch dark. But not the kind of darkness that happens with the absence of light. No, it was a darkness that has substance, that engulfed everything like the depths of a black hole. “Maybe I’ll find a grue here”, thought Walter. Even in the worst of the situations, he could joke about it, even if his humor was a bit too dark and obscure to be enjoyed by everyone. He tried to take small steps around with his hand forwards trying to feel his way around with his fingers. Not being able to see his own body gave him a weird sensation, like he was a decapitated head floating around without a body. Suddenly, his feet felt only air beneath them and he fell. He kept free-falling; his speed increasing with each passing second and an overwhelming feeling of terror began to consume him…
“AAAAAAH”, screamed Walter, as he sat up abruptly in his bed. He was drenched in sweat and his heart was beating as fast as a rabbit.
“Great, darkness and falling, 2 of the primal human fears. If I’ve dreamed of snakes too, that would be the full set.” mumbled Walter as he calmed down.
He looked left at the alarm clock placed on the dresser, indicating him that it was still 6 am. It was still 2 hours until he time he needed to wake up. He then looked to his right, at the naked body of the woman sleeping beside him. He was admiring her caramel skin, a sign of her Asian origins. She was curled up like a sleeping cat, her breasts slightly poking out from beneath her arms. He could spend hours looking at her and wonder how he was so lucky to have her. He was Walter Silva, age 28, Portuguese immigrant. She was Victoria Varghese, age 26, Indian American. And they were in love with each other.
“Hmmm?” grumbled Victoria as she opened her eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s still too early, honey. Go back to sleep,” replied Walter.
He knew how tired she was after a whole night of work on the lab. Being a microbiologist usually wasn’t that demanding, but a current batch of delayed experiments had forced Victoria to work into overtime. And then… there was also the “physical effort” they had a few hours ago. Walter couldn’t hide a naughty smile as he remembered the details of the night of passion.
Victoria, still drowsy , dragged herself behind Walter and hugged him, squeezing her breasts onto his naked back. She loved teasing him like that, it was a daily game of seduction they both loved to play.
“Come back to bed then, honey. Ill keep you warm and comfy,”she teased.
“Hmm, that sounds lovely, babe. Just give me a second, I need to stretch a bit. I think I’ve spent too much time on my office chair”.
Walter got up and moved into the balcony, feeling the cold air of the September morning chill his body. Living on the 12th floor gave him the privilege of being able of being naked without being harassed by privy eyes. Well, as far as he knew about. He peered into the horizon, between the buildings that surrounded him, and focused into the evershining land on the other side of the river, Manhattam . He could see the recently built Maglev train tracks, built around New York, and their eerie blue lights, buzzing around like fireflies.
Walter felt calmer now, his nightmare now a fading memory. As he got back to the comfort and warmth of his beloved, he could not imagine the life-changing events that would unfold that day.
Alfred Turing stared at the obsidian clock mounted in the wall of his downtown London apartment, his home for the last 20 years. This particular clock was presented to him by the University of Oxford for his outstanding work in the Department of Materials; a tribute by his fellow colleagues and beloved students. Even the clock’s substance was an homage. It was made of carbon. But not just any kind of carbon. It was carbon nanotubes, perfectly aligned to form a 23’’ x 9’’ deep black rectangular block composed of the one thing he had spent his life studying and creating new applications from. At that moment, the ghostly white hands told Alfred it was 3 minutes to midnight.
The loud chirping beep of the electric kettle echoes throughout the apartment, announcing Alfred it was time to return to the kitchen. He limps with his right leg across the living room, a memento from a mountain climbing. A mistake that those inebriated in youth often do. But he had the lack of judgement of defying a mountain who knew how to bite back with her cold fangs and sharp edges. Along the way, he peers into the silver screen of the wall mirror mounted in the hallway. Images surface on the display, revealing that the mirror is instead a FED display, announcing the current weather, the traffic conditions and his favorite cricket team results. But today, he wasn’t interested on those trivial facts. He was more focused on the familiar face that the display was reflecting back.
Alfred carefully studied the wrinkles and facial hair that composed his frown, the same expression which earned him the ominous nickname of Doctor Olaf from his students. In spite of his 45 years of life, Alfred considered himself lucky for having aged well, like a vintage Porto wine that improves with the amount of dust it accumulates on a connoisseur’s wine cellar. His dark unruly hair kept the vitality of the younger days. Although he had gained a bit of weight due to his sedentary style of life, his grey eyes were still filled with tenacity and perseverance.
The replay of the electronic signal urges Alfred back to the task at hand and he directs himself into the kitchen. With the ritualistic precision accumulated every night, he grabs his favorite mug, pours the boiling water inside and places and stainless tea infuser filled with leaves of green tea. After counting down 4 minutes on the wristwatch his father gave him when he made 21, he removes the infuser and brings the mug back to the living room.
A female voice, booming from the speakers installed in the house exclaims in a calm and robotic tone:
“Mister Turing, you have a call incoming.”
“Who is it, Alice?”, asks Alfred to his home A.I., wondering who would be calling at this time of the night.
“It’s Mister Atkins, from Alpha Laboratories. What do you wish to do, sir?”
“Put him on the speakers only, I’m not in the mood for a video conference today.”
Jonathan Atkins was the director in charge of the research department of the biggest multinational in Europe, specialized on high-tech consumer goods. Although it also had some army contracts, like providing lightweight body armor and exoskeletons powered by synthetic muscles, both projects managed to develop with the collaboration of Alfred.
Though Alfred enjoyed the high pay for acting as a external consultant, the fact that he had to deal with Atkins’ self imposed bureaucracy was an irritating issue he abhorred greatly and kept him from a position inside the company.
“Hello, Alfred”, speaks a deep and raspy voice. Alfred notices some tension in the director’s voice.
“Hello, Atkins”, grumbles Alfred, as he sips his tea. “I hope you have something important to tell me. You know how I hate late calls.”
“I know, but…it’s Project Phoenix. We’ve lost control of the first batch.”
The mug shatters as it falls to the ground.
