The Flowers

LessThanZero

The Flowers

2

26/04/09 à 17:03

I didn't want to know about him.
It was a rainy day. One of those you don't like, the rain drops banging on your window, when everything feels tasteless.
As usual, she was sitting on the living room chair, wearing her white headband, writing some illegible, letters, that formed unreadable words, and those words would turn into complicated sentences only her and few relatives could understand or even decipher.
I didn't want to know about it, and yet she started to talk about it.
I wanted to stop her, but I was way too weak to open my fat cat mouth and tell her to shut up.
So I listened obediently.
Letting the words come out of her mouth.
The only words that I could understand when she was talking.
Harsh and horrible words.
I wasn't really up to listening, I was tired and sitting here, on the couch, smoking a cigarette, and she was in front of me, starting to tell me the horrible thing that happened.
I felt like puking the whole time she was talking.
It was about a guy who got killed during the night.
Someone cut off his head, and the neighbor could hear someone screaming so hard, his life being taken away for no suitable reason with an extreme violence that couldn't even be described.
It was when I started to feel like I didn't want to listen.
But I was curious.
A peeping-Tom. Just stay to hear the next word, and the next one, and the next sentence, and the next scream, and the next drop of blood.
And it was too late.
The weather began to pull me down, gently. I started to shiver and feel cold.
Hearing some ambulance sirens and it started to tickle me how death was something casual today.
How easy it is to get killed, assasinated, lose your head, and never find it.
How easy to lose your life, taken away by someone that wants it.
Just how disgusting and irritating to so easily talk about it.
Talk about a head cut off.
When the police merged, they check the nighbor's ID and didn't even go to the appartment where the crime was comitted.
The place where another poor soul lost the tie that binded him to life.

And how the hell the world could carry on? It should have ended rigth away. Because if this person doesn't exist anymore, how could I, why should I exist?
Singing "I don't exist, I don't exist, I don't exist".
This day will always be tagged.
This day, this 26th of march will always remain the day I heard this story, that is casual, and yet so awful, this disgustingly casual story of a man, killed by another one, as if it was nothing.
Nothing.
Ever after.
Forever ago.

LessThanZero  

The Flowers

2/2

26/04/2009 à 17:37

Mes textes sont jamais glauques :O
Je poste ici, parce que j'ai foi en ce site