Monday, June 29, 2009
The night was normal, vivid. People weren't running, law enforcers were nonexistent, until she started it, everybody going down. The grin on the face permanently plastered. There was blood and blood. I ran, hoping to get away from the target proximity, but I was axed on the back, but I ran and entered into a building where it stinks of life. I felt my meat disappear.
I stepped into a school's fire exit, a secret passage, to be seen with a few survivors. I was fatally wounded, my veins gushing out my dryness, blood, and thinness; my skeleton was showing. I went in first and decided to go back down to search for her, decided to keep quiet. There was security, face was damped with apathy, and we entered this enormous storage room. I heard noises. There were rooms screened and covered with newspapers. Peeping, I saw people devouring food. They were alive, but sanity was taken away. He smiled and nodded. I did not want to see it. I saw a small man eating something oriental and he insisted an interpretation I did not hear. I left and wandered.
I changed and walked to the morning ahead of what's about to happen. The people remained calm, but crypt was a forming tone. I felt no pain, I was running, waiting for anyone to give me a ride. The jeepney stopped and took me to the passenger's seat. The driver called the police if I could sit beside as there was someone already beside me. I recognized the faces when I turned. It was normal, but the entirety was pensive.
I didn't have a direction; all I want was to leave and live.
It was the first time fear entered my veins and immediately left like a dying fox; that morning was the very first time I've felt hunger.
Erika Ruiz
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I woke up and I was half-blind. I sensed the tense outside the room, but I couldn't move. Three minutes passed and I was able to jump out of the bed and saw what was happening. They parted, every single thing is evidently flustered in a quick pace. The format smiled and prepared the baggage for the silent riot. I went to the computer and typed how I could not see anything; that I couldn't see her face and that the keyboards were jumbled in my blindness. My head was heavy. Everything was moving violently aware of the parting.
There was a dream in the dream.
The renaissance presented its green. I saw no back, but the hermit asked who I was most thankful of. I settled, turned my back and went pensive in reverie. I said something I couldn't hear, but the thought says Anna and another one. A girl smiled somewhere faraway, but I knew it. The flowers on the garden of green bloomed in rich luscious colors; some petals were withdrawn from its hold of life. The horse-drawn rig passed slowly. Everything was peaceful, doubtful, and passive.
The message was not sent. The green was gone. We were leaving, we are leaving.
Erika Ruiz
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The dream decided to paint another color for the fish on the wall downtown. Folks passed by, the laughter went crazier.
Erika Ruiz
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Erika Ruiz
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
The bastard man lands to the working modernity. He stabs the book and pleads forgiveness for what sin the garbage tried to clean. Libra moves; the book dead. Time shifts in constant form as the clays walk in solidification, reformed in blue heaven. There is a tick tock. Finding the death of wastelessness lying on wet eyes titled ground, the clays remove the illumination of the world. The bastard man senses.
The bastard man departs from the brooding ignition. He stabs the moon and pleads forgiveness for what sin the garbage tried to clean and stops, unknowing. No heartbeat is heard.
Erika Ruiz
