Today I was swimming, and random sparks of inspiration came to mind, so a couple of thoughts are here:

“in a line that seems everlasting, acceleration seems like an illusion”

“open new doors, let in more flies”

“clean goggles, clean conscience”

“hypertrophy increases your capacity for love”

“painted conclusions”

“a horde of rampant angelic monkeys”

Blinking slowly, startled at conscience, Victor opened his eyes and grasped his surroundings with the power of his pupils. Keenly eyeing the soft linen bed he resided on, the fading sunlight from the window, and the empty desk, he figured he must have still been in the medical room. Why was he here? Ah yes. It was the bully Kevin, who had knocked him out in a single fist-blow, red spurts spraying from the sides of Victor’s nose, the glasses jagged into his flesh, a gory depiction of a fountain of cranberry juice. It was horrific. Victor slowly came to the awareness of a soft ticking sound from beside him. Natural, he thought, as there had bound to be a clock next to the medical room bed. One tick. Two tick. Three tick. The clock started ringing. Victor jumped up surprised at the loud sounds, his heart lurching about, the beats suddenly rising, fear crawling up his spine. Slowly, his ears adjusted to the sudden noises, a contrast from the soft, calm rustling of his blanket. The ringing stopped, and Victor’s heart slowly calmed down, the bumbum sounds of his heart gradually coming down to a calm beat again, like the resolution phase in an orchestral music. Victor expected the ticking sounds, but it seemingly didn’t come. His keen sense of hearing couldn’t have failed him! Anxious, he grabbed the clock, shook it about. But it didn’t budge. It had stopped. Five thirty? What!

Victor rushed down the stairs, clambering upon the rails against the staircase in fear that he would trip. He rushed down, checking if the buses were still present. There they were, idle as broken. A lazy bus driver was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth, but no smoke came out. It was unexpected. How could this be happening. Had time stopped?

Victor dashed back up, running across corridors, seeking for a sign of moving life. Yelling in distraught, his voice echoed around the school buildings, bouncing off every single surface, but not a single kind ear heard his pleas.

Leather soles tapping upon the fake marble floors, tap tap tap tap – Victor turned every corner. Through the art room he ran, where he saw a still person, and a person on the other side drawing. Victor attempted to plead with the one who seemed free, but without avail. Only a piercing cold look was returned to Victor, who gave a disgruntled sigh, then ran off, papers fluttering behind him.

Through the carpeted library floor, the endless bookshelves on every direction, mocking and taunting Victor, the muffled sounds of his footsteps repeating like a trill of despair. A single tiny boy sitting on a chair reading a book. He pulled the book away from the child, but even after pulling, the boy simply sat, his eyes fixated forward, his finger as though about to turn a page, like that of Victor’s life. Victor ran. Victor feared. Victor pondered.

What was this? What alternate dimension. As he ran, he heard shuffling behind him. Those he had changed the destiny of during the time freeze. What was happening. He reached a dead end. The humming of the drinks machine was his only hope, and he crouched next to it in hope that it would set him free. The three he had awoken were moving towards him. Step by step. Shuffle by shuffle. A tantalizing reality came over Victor. This was obviously the end. He closed his eyes, gasping a deep breath, then held it in, wondering if he might’ve popped when they claw him down.

It was unexpected. A warm hand patted Victor on the head. “Hey, boy, what’s the matter.” Victor thought he was dead. But no, it was indeed the girl he had awoken in the art studio. Shuddering, he fell back, unwilling to say anything. The artist at the back of the art room trailed the girl yelling, “Come back Emma! I haven’t finished painting yet! I need at least a single still portrait for my coursework you know!”

Victor felt stupid. How could he have thought that time really froze. The driver indeed simply had a toothpick, and the boy was just in shock that he had his book taken away from him from a scary looking senior. Words could not describe the shame that Victor felt that day — the day reality was taken away from him, from his own perception of a potential reality. Or indeed, what is reality?

Demo!

The warm sunlight shone down upon the dusky path, the scorched pieces of dirt and mud, now hardened by the toasted surface of the makeshift road, were lightly rising and falling, tender like a feather, like the breath of a baby, yet the pieces tough like the horns of a bull. A light tapping sound came down from the sun touched peak of the hill, the radiance overlooking the small huts that were scattered around the small trading path. Jamal fleeted towards the village, his rosy cheeks floundering from side to side, his small torso, yet long, thin legs, moving like the powerful legs of horses, so effortlessly, elegantly, yet ever so stalwartly. A trail of red smoke followed him, the dirt thrown up into the air, obscuring the vision of the horizon of the African Savannah behind him. His tanned back was covered in sweat, his finely stringed bow glistening behind, the fine leather quiver swinging from side to side, and the carcass of a young deer was over all of this. Jamal came back heartened from the thrill of the hunt. The pleasant memories of darting through the mangroves and rocky terrains, flittering and jittering from side to side, evading the canopies of thorny trees. The glittering blue peninsulas of the Mediterranean seas blessing him with the cool breath of mother nature. The ripe sweet apricots that grew on the small trees, filling his mouth with an euphoric sugary sensation, his mouth watering from the tenderness, succulency, and the memories of their previous nomadic trials through the desert, where they encountered a bath of honey and milk.

As Jamal slowly approached the village, his mother, brothers, and sisters ran to him, excited about their meal for that night. His father approached him, glancing, and giving a nod of approval, and Jamal felt a sense of excitement and pride from the side of his tanned leather buckskin dress, from the approval that he had longed for all his life. His father was the chieftain of the village, and he was sure that there would be a wondrous feast of deer and spices that night. He dreamt of the glory of having a bonfire dedicated for himself, and it gave him a tingling sense of excitement knowing that the time had finally come. The time his father were to celebrate with him, one of the greatest honours in the village, for the chieftain to openly express his pride for a member of the tribe. Thus, when night came, Jamal’s heart beat quickly, and like the sound of the leather drums, the drummers pounded excitedly as the tribal dancers came to dance in commemoration of what they had on this day. The chants for summer rain for their crops, the blessings from mother nature they all wished for, and finally the thankfulness of the food they had, seemed endless, and the feast was filled with joy, expressiveness, and a sense of fulfillment and content.

As the night came to a delightful end, the chieftain lightly observed Jamal’s face, brightened by the small sparks of what was left of the bonfire. He felt that it was soon the coming of age for Jamal. Jamal was growing tall, almost as tall as the bears that roamed the jungles, prowling and clawing what came in their paths. The chieftain believed that his son should embark on one of the journey’s of growth, like all men in the village had done before. The path that ripened men to blossom, and to gain great wisdom in the ways of life. His son showed enormous strength, as well as wisdom, more than any other before in the village. His father, gazing longingly into the palm of his hands, the intricate veins now wrinkling like the small frays in his gown, realized that he was soon to pass, and his son would have to stand strong. His son would have to succeed him as an honourable leader of the tribe. His son would have to bring glory and power to the tribe like the ancestors. He felt that his son would have to conquer one of the bears of the forefathers. The bears that have slain villages, such that it has horrified villagers for centuries. The chieftain called for his son, and entrusted the duty upon him, though reluctantly. He felt that the son was the right warrior to bring down such a powerful bear. He felt that the son was ready, and the son, though fearing death, stepped forward for the sake of his tribesmen.

The next morning, as the dew settled on the leaves of the fine fir trees, the delicate feathers lining the back of a dozen or so arrows, Jamal embarked upon the journey that his father had bestowed upon him. A heavy sense of duty was upon him, though the thought of the bear was frightening. It had been said to be one of the most powerful bears, one of the eldest, one of the grandest. Walking into the thick undergrowth of the jungle, the sound of the light rustling around him slowly began to intimidate Jamal, though he was so familiar towards such a sound. A curiosity, yet fear crept up Jamal’s spine, the string of his bow quivering as Jamal held it as firmly as he could. Sweat drops slowly trickled down Jamal’s dark skin, the enduring sunlight shining upon him, as if taunting him. His head felt light, feet felt heavy every step he took through the jungle he was so familiar with. Jamal attempted to recall the lessons of courage he had with his father in the springtime of his youth, that he did not understand. He remembered his fathers words, “the sense of nature will guide your way.” Jamal attempted to gain perception of what was around him, though a startling sense of unease kept creeping up to him. What nimbleness was left was him, was soon drained away, as a loud roar was heard from behind.
The sound of drums pounded in Jamal’s head. A breath in. A breath out. A breath in. Jamal’s heart started beating quickly, his eyes bulging, as he heard the stomping from behind. He heard the fur of the bear swipe against the barks of the trees, the sound only getting louder. Jamal followed his instincts. Jamal sprung to his feet, and ran. He ran as fast as the wind. He longed to catch the tail of the light streaming ahead of him. He ran with the glory of mother nature behind him. He treaded ahead, but when he finally thought he was safe, he spun around, to see the vivid brown outline still coming closer. Jamal thought he had to oppose the bear. He quickly drew an arrow, and pulled the string of the bow. The quiver, now penetrated with sharp grasses, gave off a strong vibration as Jamal forced his hand to get arrows. Jamal fired his first arrow, and with a darting sound, the arrow cut through the air, but stabbed a tree. Jamal felt distraught as the bear kept on coming closer. Thundering, pounding, stomping through the undergrowth, Jamal swiftly, yet shakily fired arrows at the bear, yet without avail. His eyes were fixated ahead, and every few seconds, he would twist his hips like a dancer, and release the trigger for his bow. One spin. Two spin. The rotation seemed to keep going on and on, and the distance just kept the same. Soon, Jamal was soon on the ledge of what he was running on, the parched ground cracking off with every step, regardless of how lightly and nimbly Jamal ran. Even if he believed in the force of nature, it didn’t seem enough against the titan of a bear he was facing. Jamal felt that it was hopeless. If he was to go on, he would soon face his doom. The quiver was getting lighter, and his hands shaking vigorously with the anxiety that it would soon be the end. Feeling around, he felt the five final arrows. Despair was all that was left in Jamal. The bear seemed invincible. It dodged and swerved around every single arrow fired before. The tales proved true. The ancients. The flashes around the bonfire where stories were told filled his mind. Four arrows. Three. Two. One. Jamal halted. He knew this was it. Why did he do this in the first place? Why would he concede to such a difficult task? He asked himself, within the face of imminent danger coming forth towards him.

Jamal breathed in and out. Soon he would be lashed by the bear. He decided he wanted to pass with the fortitude and bravery of a hunter. With his fine bow and arrow. The last of it. He held the arrow to his heart, and waited, and waited. Time slowed down. The steps of the bear echoed as it neared Jamal. Legends? Tales? The words spun through Jamal’s head. Jamal felt a surge in his heart. He felt himself coughing strongly. Blood was spilling. He knew it was the end. He fell forward. The echoing hollows of doom came towards him. Staring at the bear, Jamal realized that this was nature in itself. Was this the guidance he was looking for? Jamal felt at rest. He felt the paws upon him, warm and tender, like the deers he had hunted. He thought of the past. He thought of the present. He didn’t believe in a future. Or so he thought.

Jamal suddenly had the urge to defy what was happening to him. What a shameful position he was in. He was to be chieftain. The willpower of his determination, and the love for his people. The sudden sense of resolve, from his seemingly dead state, awoken him, and he lashed the final arrow into the body of the bear. And he turned around and sat, staring at the arrows stuck in the trees, and astonishment overcame him.

Hours passed, and Jamal was covered in blood, yet he was barely fit to walk, but eventually made it back to the village, staggering. The tribesmen looked at him honourably, as he stretched towards his father, his legs prickling with feeling, now that he finally had calmed down from such a pursuit. The chieftain held his arms high, in commemoration of the rising of a younger. The chieftain was proud of his son. The son retold his story, that lead everyone into amazement of how everything so happened in such a way. Sitting there, the son cooled down, feeling the cool breeze of mother nature’s breath, the warmth of the sun. He considered, stopped, and thought. “Just like in the legends,” he said to himself.

Dear Eric,

It has been a great term knowing you, and  whilst you’ve only been here for a term, you have become an important part of our group, and we will be sure to miss you, so come back soon!

We will miss the days of you playing basketball, with your amazing transparent shirt,
Your amazing swimming feats here at school,
And in general, you as a person.

We all feel darn empty inside now. 8D

Have fun in the UK,
Victor

While it may be a tad bit late, with 9 minutes until Christmas Day is gone and over for 2008, I would like to spend these few meager moments to enjoy the last tastes of bliss and enjoyment of this year, as well as to remember the cause of the year, that is, to remember the Birth of Jesus Christ.

Whilst of course, in other time zones, the day has just begun, and I’m sure that children are waking up to find presents from Santa, or families enjoying the company of warm family love, as well as an increased affection for their children whose eyes are probably filled with glee, though having to wait till tomorrow to open their presents.

As for me, I feel that this Christmas was well spent, a time for family love, as well as a marker of how far we’ve gone in our life. 14 Christmas’ for me, and each one, only getting better. Probably because I can’t remember any of them.

Christmas Day is coming in 12ish days, and I figured it’d be great if I were to make a wallpaper Christmas-themed.

Thus, here is my creation, hopefully you like it : 3