Darkness
Sunset.
The fireball is slowly extinguished in the endless darkness of cold sea and those few who are still in the streets are on their way home to the people they love, a place where you can be safe, saved, if you can be safe at all these days when earthquakes come with unexpected death suddenly, and almost stunningly in its powerdisplay, as if reminding the humans too late that mother earth can take back what she once gave forth, her sons and daughters no longer worthy of her loving care now have to feel her rage of being used and betrayed.
In a small apartment, the last sunrays are giving heir best effort to reach through the hastily closed, heavy, dark curtains or the window and to lighten the deathly pale wall. Blank, expressionless.
Light never reaches around the room, as if they, the owners of the apartment, have finally forsaken it after having been forsaken for so long, their silent cries for help - unheard - now mute, heir hearts bloody like their hands are.
They don't talk, not when it was unnecessary. A look, a gesture, a face turned away says more than thousands words, and when they do talk, it is soft, nothing above a whisper, not here. Not here in the realm of their sins and pains, where they can forget and remember and hurt like they cannot do it anywhere else.
A kiss, a lick, even breath, and the soft ruffling of sheets.
'So like him...'
Another place, another time, a kiss, a lick, and a dark chuckling voice. 'Mine...'
He moved lower.
The smaller one of the two, despite his age, shivered. But not from cold.
He gasps.
A chuckle, like at another place, another time.
'So sensitive, I wonder...' More gasps, a muffled whimper and wet, torturing sounds. 'If he is as sensitive?'
'He is, believe me.' Voice even and soft, a voice that doesn't want to fit to the flush in his ivory cheeks.
'Crack!'
The slap sounded through the room, loudly, almost echoing, but neither cared. There was no real anger, nor hurt, feelings have long made place for survival, even if it's a short one. Even if they don't want to survive.
Or better, the feelings are planted in a deep and far away place inside themselves that was long shuttered, gone under the ashes.
Like a man who doesn't feel that his limbs are being cut off because of narcoses but feels that something is terribly wrong.
Don't bother.
Don't care.
Don't dwell.
Don't think.
Don't feel.
Not when they are alone like this, fingers twined and bodies joined, mocking compassion when in reality even the passion, the bodily pleasure, has lost it's feeling. Fading, numb and tasteless, the only thing that exists the likeness, drawn to each other by emptiness.
Where light is, there is shadow; where darkness is, there is nothing.
Both dark sides of the noon.
A mirror that can no longer see their reflection.
A blank coin.
Two bodies, heaving and moving in synchrony, almost animalic, aggressively. Nails are tearing skin.
And the eyes stay empty, looking through everything to a place no one else can see, half open mouth form soundless names. Names of those who are gone.
'Him... Just like him...'
Those words, over and over, responded to with the name of another 'him'.
No rules, no need.
No one has to dedicate anything to the other but their body, and in the throes of torturing passion, in blind darkness, many a word has been left unsaid, many a thing forgotten.
And before the night was at it's end, they will be on separate ways.
Outside, only the wind is howling in the valleys, the sun has long drowned in endless, gray ocean and no moon.
Darkness.
Darkness in the streets.
It's the beginning of the end.
Sunset.
The fireball is slowly extinguished in the endless darkness of cold sea and those few who are still in the streets are on their way home to the people they love, a place where you can be safe, saved, if you can be safe at all these days when earthquakes come with unexpected death suddenly, and almost stunningly in its powerdisplay, as if reminding the humans too late that mother earth can take back what she once gave forth, her sons and daughters no longer worthy of her loving care now have to feel her rage of being used and betrayed.
In a small apartment, the last sunrays are giving heir best effort to reach through the hastily closed, heavy, dark curtains or the window and to lighten the deathly pale wall. Blank, expressionless.
Light never reaches around the room, as if they, the owners of the apartment, have finally forsaken it after having been forsaken for so long, their silent cries for help - unheard - now mute, heir hearts bloody like their hands are.
They don't talk, not when it was unnecessary. A look, a gesture, a face turned away says more than thousands words, and when they do talk, it is soft, nothing above a whisper, not here. Not here in the realm of their sins and pains, where they can forget and remember and hurt like they cannot do it anywhere else.
A kiss, a lick, even breath, and the soft ruffling of sheets.
'So like him...'
Another place, another time, a kiss, a lick, and a dark chuckling voice. 'Mine...'
He moved lower.
The smaller one of the two, despite his age, shivered. But not from cold.
He gasps.
A chuckle, like at another place, another time.
'So sensitive, I wonder...' More gasps, a muffled whimper and wet, torturing sounds. 'If he is as sensitive?'
'He is, believe me.' Voice even and soft, a voice that doesn't want to fit to the flush in his ivory cheeks.
'Crack!'
The slap sounded through the room, loudly, almost echoing, but neither cared. There was no real anger, nor hurt, feelings have long made place for survival, even if it's a short one. Even if they don't want to survive.
Or better, the feelings are planted in a deep and far away place inside themselves that was long shuttered, gone under the ashes.
Like a man who doesn't feel that his limbs are being cut off because of narcoses but feels that something is terribly wrong.
Don't bother.
Don't care.
Don't dwell.
Don't think.
Don't feel.
Not when they are alone like this, fingers twined and bodies joined, mocking compassion when in reality even the passion, the bodily pleasure, has lost it's feeling. Fading, numb and tasteless, the only thing that exists the likeness, drawn to each other by emptiness.
Where light is, there is shadow; where darkness is, there is nothing.
Both dark sides of the noon.
A mirror that can no longer see their reflection.
A blank coin.
Two bodies, heaving and moving in synchrony, almost animalic, aggressively. Nails are tearing skin.
And the eyes stay empty, looking through everything to a place no one else can see, half open mouth form soundless names. Names of those who are gone.
'Him... Just like him...'
Those words, over and over, responded to with the name of another 'him'.
No rules, no need.
No one has to dedicate anything to the other but their body, and in the throes of torturing passion, in blind darkness, many a word has been left unsaid, many a thing forgotten.
And before the night was at it's end, they will be on separate ways.
Outside, only the wind is howling in the valleys, the sun has long drowned in endless, gray ocean and no moon.
Darkness.
Darkness in the streets.
It's the beginning of the end.