August the 2nd

I always knew there was something dark and wretched about the number five. Gary had his worst birthday ever this day and it was their fifth, his and his twin brother's.

He was among people, to whom his birth held no meaning, none of them cared about him having been born and not a single person wished him a happy birthday.

There was some fine music envolved, which he could have enjoyed a lot more, should his taste have been considered and should he have not been forced to choose between tunes holding great meaning in his life. He was dragged around in thirst for the music and he was left alone, all alone. Though, he did not let it ruin his moments with the music and enjoyed every lonesome minute to its fullest. When facing the music, he lost himself in it and forgot the fact that no one was there with a 'special smile' given to a dear person on his birthday.

And there came the worst. The one person dearest to Gary was hurt there right behind Gary's back, on his birthday. He was hurting and Gary knew well that someone out there must have been the cause, he knew it had happened then and there, he could figuratively smell the fresh pain and see the shivering in his eyes. Gary's human was hurt in the one place he was supposed to feel the safest, where he always felt good, felt like he belonged. Yet Gary was denied any word on the matter, nothing on who, how or why. Rage started burning him up inside out. Anybody out there might have been the vile miserable one to have dared to hurt Gary's human. His hands were itching with the desire to smash and his jaws aching with the need to rip everyone else apart, for any of them could have been the one. Ever since, this rage keeps burning Gary up and burning him down. The images of his human hurting will not leave his sight and he curses ever more the moment he had turned his back, this moment he believed everything to be fine, when he believed his human to be safe. So the rage keeps eating him inside out.

Our Worlds

Behold dear one, look closely.

I am different from everyone you had known up till the moment

you asked for the name my parents had given their first born;

and so I will always be.

There is a curse bestowed upon my birthplace;

hence the cursed stigma of the first land we set foot upon

will always mark my kind.

The wretched bane of our lives shall never be lifted;

by no means and at no one's hands;

not matter how many worlds we pass through.

I have entered your world quite a while ago;

have been looking around,

exploring in every direction to which your eyes were turning.

And yet, you have stayed out of mine.

I come from the cursed pavements,

lying next to streets with the stench of death and demise,

to which flora and fauna have fallen over the years.

My world, though, I built around the warm hands holding on to mines;

the warm hands I will always hold on to,

until my birthplace is consumed by the curse and nothing is left.

You, dear one, would never know the colour of my yearnings,

the depth of my sorrow,

where my anger runs its ever growing roots

or the synapses of my pain.

So stay right where you are standing now,

avoiding my world, avoiding the scent of blood,

avoiding the cries of pain and devastation.

Stand firm and stay safe

for the next step in my direction might drag you into a curse no one can break.