mary’s smile

he was dying and he knew it.
he was imagining things, truly a bad sign.

not enough oxygen left to keep the brain functioning.

he tried to calm himself, to keep his breathing shallow.

whatever you do, do not hyperventilate. do not hyperventilate.

Mary on barbecue-sunday with a purple flower in her hair, smiling the smile of a thousand suns. how beautiful she looked in her thin dress, flapping in the light breeze, outlining her slender frame.
his woman.
she laughed and pointed towards the cooler, told him to ‘go, have a treat’.
he licked his lips.

pearly water droplets ran down the tinted glass of a dozen bottles – fleeing the hot sun beating down on them… heading for the cooler; more inviting touch of the ice cubes below. the air smelled of burgers, slowly grilling. he could hear the meat juice drip onto the coals, leaving hisses trailing through the air, announcing their surrender to heat.
mmmh perfect.
his mouth started to water.

he opened his eyes.

the flashlight they had granted him had given out a while ago.
how long ago, he could not tell.
he couldn’t remember.
he could hear the quiet ticking of his wristwatch.

how ironic. the one time you remember to put it on.

he licked his lips again, grateful for the bit of moisture his brief escape had given him. thirst gnawed at him, but he tried his best to ignore it.
his brief escape.
there was no escape for his body… but they would not imprison his mind.

he felt the cold creeping through the wooden box surrounding him. imprisoning him.
dry earth.
he was sure of it.

he had screamed his lungs out for what seemed like days; until his throat was raw and dry, until he could scream no more.
no answer.

his kicking and thrashing hadn’t done him any good neither, he had tried… until his hands and feet were bloody and bruised. other than the occasional trickling of dust and dirt, he hadn’t accomplished a thing.

he had cried.
how much he had cried.
he had panicked.
he had kicked and thrashed some more.
… he had cried some more.

that had been then… when he still had hope left.

he had given up.
there was no escaping his prison… his box in the ground.
he would die here.
lost and alone.

it didn’t matter anymore.
nothing mattered.
not thirst, not hunger, not longing.
nothing mattered.

his memories… were all he had left.
he embraced them with his soul.

he yawned, didn’t deny himself the deep breath that came with it.

so tired now. so tired…

darkness surrounded him, crowded his eyes, made his skin crawl.

so tired.

he would go to her.
he would close his eyes and see her. see her smile again.
just for him.

i love you, baby.

he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
he dreamed of her face…

he never woke again.


inspired by the movie “Buried”. if you’re claustrophobic, do not watch it.

photo credits:

Sequence of Truth


There was a time I existed… only in my own head.

There was a timeIi went nearly extinct; thrived only by nourishing words… seldom received.
For a while, those got scarce… and my light almost winked out.

It was a tough time.
But i made it through.

I saw the look on my mother’s face when they told her my father had killed himself.
I saw my sister fall apart.
I heard their questions and pleas… heard them mourn, saw them crumble and fall.
I didn’t want to help them find answers.
I knew there weren’t any.
He was gone… and nothing would make him come back.

Oh, I hurt, too.
I cried, too.
But I wouldn’t join them. couldn’t join them.
None of them had ever known what he had done to me.
They still do not know.

I am not sure if he deserved my tears… I want to believe he did; because deep inside, he was a good person.
Someone worth mourning.

Does it make sense to love and hate one person equally?
Does it make sense to miss someone who screwed with your head and heart, but at the same time always looked out for you?
Does it make sense to want to kick someone’s ass and hug them at the same time?

For me, it does.
I miss my father.
No child is born bad; there is always someone who is responsible for screwing people up.
Someone did that to my dad.
And my dad did it to me.

Back then, life wasn’t easy.
Like I said… my light almost winked out.
I almost gave up.

Almost… that’s the keyword.

I had to make a decision.
Long ago…
I decided that I would be the one to ruin my life… if anyone should have the opportunity, it should be me.
Ever since that day, I wear my fighting gloves. They might look old and worn by now, but they are still all I need.
Problems, no matter how big they may seem, are minor obstacles.

At the end of the day, after all, I still breathe.
I still have my spark.

Isn’t that all that matters?

I do exist.
Not only in my own head, but in this world.
I do exist… and i could not be more thankful.

Pain and joy both make me realize one thing…
I am still alive enough to feel them.


the sky wept, creating a sad symphony in unison with his footsteps.

hair, plastered to his head, grim expression on his face, he walked through the steady downpour as if his heart was still intact. head held high, shoulders straight… a masquerade for the benefit of his audience.

do not show weakness.

determined stride.
he could still feel her eyes lingering on his silhouette.

a few minutes ago, he had been warm.
a few minutes ago, he had loved her more than anything.
and then…
seven words had changed his world.

“I think we should see other people.”

out of the blue, she had launched this gut-wrenching missile at him… and it had hit home. hard.
she had been tracing the rim of her coffee cup with her fingers, eyes averted, while he had struggled not to be torn apart.
such agony.

his footsteps guided him through the pulsating rhythm of the streets, bright neon lights illuminating the wet irony of his surroundings.

just one more corner.

a few more steps and he would be out of her sight. a few more steps.
tears formed in his eyes; he did not let them escape.

not yet.

one last step… and…
out of sight.

cradled by the heavy rains drowning him in misery, he allowed himself to fall apart.


**for adult readers only**

her skin shone like marble, yet it felt silky-smooth.

his fingers, slick with oil, traced the curve of her spine, leaving glistening waves on the soft canvas of her body. her scent, rich and entrancing, clouded his mind; filled him with warmth and a hint of desperate longing.

his woman.
perfection on satin sheets.

she arched her back, a soft sigh escaping her full, sultry lips. she moved into his caress, eager to feel his hands all over.
he gladly obeyed.
his hands moved down the sides of her torso… to the small of her back… her hips… her thighs. heated skin; bared to his touch.
she moaned.

his lips found the side of her neck, lightly touching delicate skin; teasing, tasting. her moans becoming more demanding, she moved under him…slowly turning… her luscious curves illuminated by the faint light of the single, flickering candle.
his lips found hers.

he looked into the depths of her beautiful eyes… and found himself safe… for the first time in years.
his mind, at ease.
his thoughts, stilled.
saved… by her loving embrace.

time did not exist.
the world around them had no meaning.
all that mattered was … them.
their souls, entwined… embedded in passion’s fiery embrace.

beauty’s cruel face

it is all he remembers.

huddled in the corner of the dark, dank room, he tries not to feel. not to think. not to engage in the same battle yet again.
sanity versus longing.
a hopeless attempt.
despite his efforts, the image of her is still fresh on his mind; no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to shake it off.

her eyes.
those cold, feline eyes staring down at him.
so beautiful.

he shivers in the darkness.
no light. time does not exist.

has it been days now? months? years?

he can’t remember.

the soft shuffle of bare feet on naked earth makes him sit up straighter. he braces himself for yet another encounter with her.
the woman.
the Goddess.

the battered, wooden door opens agonizingly slow.

it is her.

taking her time, she steps into the room, placing her bare feet gracefully on the hard-packed earth. her legs, long and slender; playfully covered by the thin, silky gown caressing her skin; her body, a silhouette, illuminated from behind.
he swallows, licks his parched, chapped lips.

the immaculate, pale skin of her arms and chest seems to glow as she bends down to him, her hand moving up to his shoulder ever so slowly.

cold. so cold.

her frozen lips slightly parted, she delicately runs her slender fingers from his shoulder down to the center of his chest.
he shivers.

he feels neither thirst, nor hunger. neither exhaustion, nor pain.
he feels only her touch.
he craves… only her.

so this is it. the end of all things.

and as her lips draw closer to seal his fate, he loses himself in her cold, feline eyes.
there will be no dawn tomorrow.

faded memories

who are you?

a stranger, calling me mother.
i try to escape his touch but the more i withdraw, the harder he tries.
this hurt look on his face – i know i should feel bad for him, for me… but i do not know why.
holding my hand seems to give him comfort; maybe i should endure? i can see how much it means to him.

do i know you?

a silent tear. and another. he tries to hide them from me, tries to shrug them off.
he smiles at me, but i know it’s fake.
it’s as artificial as this room… this place.

this bed… my bed? this is not my home.

what is this?
where am i?

home. i want to go home… but i do not know where i belong.
if i close my eyes, maybe the clingy stranger will go… leave me alone.
if i close my eyes, maybe i will escape? avoid this charade, this B-Movie.

if i close my eyes, maybe i won’t wake again.

who am i?

if i only knew.