Chapter One

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Then face all this pain here all alone

I held the gas tank in my hand, the fuel had washed onto my hands, and I stink of gas as I walk along the corridors of the Balkov Abbey.

Something has been taken

From deep inside of me

A secret I've kept locked away

No one can ever see

Wounds so deep they never show

They never go away

Like moving pictures in my head

For years and years they've played

The abbey may be made of stone, but I still was dripping the fuel over the corridors, splashing it onto the walls, I came to the lower levels and poured it over the machinery, making a mental picture.

If I could change I would

Take back the pain I would

Retrace every wrong move that I made I would

If I could

Stand up and take the blame I would

If I could take all the shame to the grave I

Would

I moved to the outside of the abbey, to the courtyard, I've stacked wood at the walls, papers, identities of children who have died here.

I pour gas over them; I have a video camera on a stand facing the double doors, I'm never in the picture, it plays as I wash over the wood.

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Then face all this pain here all alone

I light a match, I stare at the flame, and throw it into the wood, I watch as it bursts into flame in a matter of minutes.

I stare, letting the video run; I hear the wood crack, the flames rush into the corridors.

The black smoke rise into the sky, soon there will be people a lot of people, I look over at the bags waiting for me next to camera.

Sometimes I remember

The darkness of my past

Bringing back these memories

I wish I didn't have

Sometimes I think of letting go

And never looking back

And never moving forward so

There would never be a past

I watch as the roof of the abbey starts to burn, the wood at the top is in flames.

The heat is reaching me, the snow at my feet melting; I remove my scarf, the bitchip from my blade, placing Dranzer in my pocket, the blue blade wrapped around in the white scarf.

I throw it into the flames, my bare neck exposing the bruises.

If I could change I would

Take back the pain I would

Retrace every wrong move that I made I would

If I could

Stand up and take the blame I would

If I could take all the shame to the grave I

Would

I wrap myself in another scarf, a black on, not so long but made of wool, the two tails behind me.

Just washing it aside

All of the helplessness inside

Pretending I don't feel misplaced

Is so much simpler than change

I hear the sirens coming towards the building; I move to pick up my bag, my duffel bag and my other bag.

I look back at the building and grunt, call for a taxi and ride away, leaving the camera on the stand, still recording my master piece

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Than face all this pain alone

Never looking back…


TBC…