The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: To Face a World of Madness

I didn’t know what to say.

Part of me didn’t want think of it – going with her? It’d be suicide – in fact, it almost made me cry harder.

But the other part of me was desperate. She was offering me safety, and I needed safety. I was sick and tired of being scared and feeling like an idiot. If she could offer me clarity, then I’d rip it out of her hands.

And, yes, there was rationality – stay calm and think it through, do what’s wish – bla. Bla. Bla.

Maybe I’m too weak, but I just couldn’t.

So, to make an end to all this whining, to just do something, I nodded violently.

She gave me a quick smile and before I knew it, I was walking through the alleyways, hooded.

I didn’t do anything useful (not that I had done anything of the kind before).

I wasn’t on the look-out for villains.

I didn’t take in my new surroundings.

I didn’t bother to listen to the people around me, to Lullaby who occasionally talked to me.

“The Chakra Dance is quite an overwhelming experience,” she said quietly – I could barely hear her, not that I was listening anyway.

“Actually you’re supposed to be ‘emptied’, but you woke up too soon,” she added something else to it, but it was too unclear to hear.

Woke up too soon? ‘Emptied’? What the hell are you talking about? What is the fucking Chakra Dance? Where are we going? What are we going to do?

Why are you so freakin’ cryptic?

I clenched my fists, internally screaming, wanting to hit something, someone, my stupid self! so badly, but instead I was walking faster.

Too fast, because Lullaby pulled me back. “Calm down, Quinn.

“Look,” she pointed at the big plaza in front of us.

The plaza was filled with people and as expected – the people stood in rows. I remembered that in the afternoon – I think it was the afternoon – I had seen people with the same colored clothing would walk in one row. There were three of them, clearly separated from each other.

Right now I couldn’t see if it was the same – everybody was so tall (no, I wasn’t going to say I was small) (Yay, I’m not as angry as before) that I could barely see the plaza.

I could only see their heads, which were more like black dots anyway.

Lullaby took me by the arm and led me through the crowd.

Though I wasn’t as angry at her as before, I still didn’t like the idea of going with her – why did I say yes, damn it. I would really love to put the blame on her—but rationality: I said yes, therefore it was my fault. Damn my honesty.

“We must be quick – they cannot find us in our shelled state. Or they will wake up too and turn against us.”

Shelled what? Turn against us? What—

“Merge with the crowd,” she whispered and suddenly she was gone.

Yo, yo, yo – wow, hey! Ya abandonin’ me?

Helloooo!

Yeesh – is that a thing for the people here?

First that grumpy guy on his horse, then that dwarf with his talking bird…Hold up a second.

What did that dwarf actually do to me?

The crowded plaza, the alleyways, the red carpet….The heart-formed entrance…Hearts. Heaaaarts. H-E-A-R-T-S. Heeeearts. Heartsssss. Hhhhearts.

Hearts.

It’s on the tip of my tongue…

Ka-DUNK!

Whatever was going on here was about to begin and I still hadn’t merged with the crowd.

No, on the contrary – I was standing between the rows, not in one of them, because stupid, stupid, o so stupid Quinn was too busy saying ‘hearts’ in her head in weird ways.

Way to go, Quinn, way to go.

Ka-DUNKDUNKDUNK!

I get it, I get it! Yeesh – I did panic, though.

I squeezed myself through the rows – didn’t work, ended up between new rows – great, just great!

Squeezed myself through the next row – failed, again.

And Ha ha! I squeezed myself in a row!

…The front row.

So much for not standing out, huh.

Oh, and look at that: I was one, two, three – KADUNKDUNKDUNK!

LET ME COUNT, JESUS!

I clenched my fists. I breathed in and out.

Seven. Six. Or maybe seven. That was the amount of people I was away from the fountain…

Huh – it really was the Big Cocoon fountain (was that its name? I couldn’t remember).

I grimaced. Hmmm…This probably isn’t good.

I took a look at the crowd – circles? No, spirals?

One big spiral.

I looked back at the fountain, thinking about how I was seven people away from it.

O, this really wasn’t good.

KADUNKDUNKDUNK!

And THOSE DRUMS weren’t helping making this any better.

I breathed in and out again. Can’t change what’s done.

Besides, in a way I was merged with the crowd; I had the cloak and a sad, depressing look on my face – not because I wanted to cry again. Or because I was afraid.

Me? Afraid? Never.

Calm down, Quinn, caaaalmth.

Caaa- KADUNKDUNKDUNK!

How can I stay calm when these drums annoy the crap out of me?!
And as if they had heard my complaint, they became even louder, making my ears explode and my heart burst out of my chest.

My seemed to bounce through my head and kept seeing the same things over and over.

Me dying, me being naked, abandoned, the frightening madness of it all.

Questions – so many questions.

What do I do? How do I survive? How do I get home? Can I get home?

The fear again – it nagged at me, no, bit me, went through me like that cold knife and I died I died I died—

Quiet.

It was so quiet that I didn’t dare to freak out, to think.

I became quiet just like everyone else here.

I became fixated on the seven people before the fountain that had appeared out of nowhere.

The Chakra Dance was about to begin.'

The Chakra Dance... I wonder what that'll look like...

Find out yourself in chapter 10!

See you on the next page! <3

[PIC ORIGIN: walldevil.com]

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: La La La 

“You should finish your tea.”

I nodded and put the cup against my lips.

I almost groaned. Man, that’s really delicious. Warm, creamy—wooowww.

“Oh my god,” I whispered and I gulped down the rest of it.

I burped a little. Aandd she had been watching me. Great.

I put up my goofy smile. “Hehe…I really liked the tea.”

“Yes,” she giggled a little. “I’m glad you like it.”

She took the cup from me and stood there a bit awkwardly. She moved her mouth, opened it like she wanted to tell me something. Where was the girl who was talking all wise and stuff – gee, she could become an actress like that.

She’d be a very convincing actress. Really convincing. Wow – so convincing.

I mean, she suddenly turned into a shy girl before me: struggling to find words to say, wiggling her toes, toying with her hands. And did I just turn into the confident hostess who had probably saved some girl of the streets, asking her uncomfortable questions?

This all in just seconds – without me knowing that it had happened, until now, which made me realize…I’m acting like an ass by not saying something myself.

What were you actually supposed to say in these awkward moments of silence? I mean…I could just bombard her with a trillion questions about this world and how to get out of here – but that would seem rude and probably get me killed (It may not be wise to have faith in my movie-knowledge, but that’s why I’m doing the exact opposite of what people do in movies. At least, that is what I’m doing, right? Why have I brought myself in a movie-like position? I’m definitely a goner now—Okay let’s get this over with, Quinn)

I looked at her again and I just had this feeling – my instinct was going crazy about repaying her kindness. She’s not bad, she’s not bad – you can trust her!  it screamed, treat her with kindness.

Most of the times my instinct is just one big idiot, but I felt like listening to it this time.

I mean, she might be an asshole like that damned dwarf or that guy on the horse, but at least this asshole made me feel safe. And now suddenly this feels like a very wrong idea – isn’t there like “quit- button” that I can push, so that I can get to this later? Can I at least get some hint-coins (Professor Layton, save me)?

But either way – though my reasoning sounded like that of the biggest idiot in the world – I just can’t foresee everything…I really can’t, Quinn, accept that.

I can’t be prepared for everything.

So…I might as well try to…make a friend, I guess?

“So…,” I started. “Uhm,” I continued.

“Would you…Would you like to sit next to me?” I finished, while I screamed in my head: WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING?!

But she lit up and smiled that warm smile of hers again.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d really like that.”

She quickly put the cups in her hands down somewhere and came to sit next to me on her bed.

“So…,” I began again, “Lullaby, was it?”

She nodded and turned her head a bit to look me straight in the eyes. Really, she liked to look people straight in the eye. Pinning them down. Not at all unnerving them.

I sighed, quietly. Well, apparently not that quietly, because her eyebrows shot up and she tilted her head. “What’s bothering you?”

“No, no, no!” I shook my head violently, “it’s just…eh…” you’re just way too pretty and you have this way of looking into my eyes with this unnerving thing to it. It’s a good thing, though, because you’re not creepy at all, just way too pretty – wait, I already said that. Oh god, I’m really messing this up, hehe, uhm—

But I just said: “You’re just…really pretty.”

Her cheeks turned red – no seriously, though, there were actual red dots on her cheeks.

She laughed, you know, like you do when you feel embarrassed and all.

I laughed a bit, too. And I was sure I was as red as a tomato.

“I will never be as pretty as you, though.”

Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows and tilt my head. “Whaa— Gee,” I laughed nervously, “thanks, haha.”

I laughed a bit harder. Just wow—was she serious? I can’t take this—I looked at her face, which looked confused: O my god, she is being serious!

“What?” she grinned and laughed, “It’s true!

“You are the kind of beautiful that is so rare in this world! So very beautiful, Quinn – there is no one in this world that could become ever something like that.” And she meant every word. I could hear it, feel it even.

It was hilarious how much she meant it.

And her eyes…Those golden pools were shining with honesty (it even made me feel going all poetic)

I grew silent.

“Quinn,” she said in all seriousness – she even grabbed my hand, as if that what she was about to say must be forever printed on my eardrums so that I’d hear it over and over again…come to think of it, that sounds just ridiculous: why would something printed, tattooed on my eardrum make me hear it over and over again? She was probably hoping for the sound waves to shake forever in my ear canals? I can’t remember the word and…excuse me, what was she actually going to say?

Right, she told me this:

“Never forget how beautiful you are.”

Yeah, that really got me even more confused than before. I didn’t know if I should’ve felt happy, delighted or threatened. Her golden eyes got something scary and maybe it was because she was so serious and I was too goofy that it surprised me, but I just felt the feelings of safety and wow – motherly love? She was really something! – but that was fading away now.

I suppose this was her next transformation and probably her last – oh, I really didn’t like the sound of that. She was probably going to turn into some green-eyed monster (no, wait that’s a metaphor for jealousy, right? Waah, I’m so confused that I can’t keep my metaphors straight!)

But in all seriousness – Quinn, drop that comfy attitude and get critical, because this chick ain’t what she seems. I think. I got no clue, actually.

I started to frown a little and felt chained by her hand so tightly holding mine. I found it annoying, really annoying. Those golden eyes grew really dark – stupid to say, perhaps, but it was true. And I felt intimidated by them, which sounds even stupider.

I didn’t want to be here anymore. I just wanted to go home. (Mom, dad – no time for crying Quinn! Stop it!)

My heart started to beat faster. Damn it, why wasn’t she doing anything yet? But that was the trick, wasn’t it? She’s provoking me to do something and then she’ll do the things she wants to do to me? Was that a devilish grin on her face? Or am I imagining—QUINN STOP ACTING LIKE THOSE IDIOTS FROM THE MOVIES!

Damn it! Why is everyone here so mad? Why can’t there be just one person that is just damn straight about everything?

Why is everybody misleading and making me feel scared?

Why am I even thinking about all of this? I got no time to be whining!

But even more of those nasty, annoying thoughts kept entering my head – a river flowing way too fast (o now I can come up with a fitting metaphor!), crushing the dams that were my rational, calm being (O she keeps going – it’s all flowing out now, huh).

It all stopped as soon as I heard a knock on the door and a gruff voice saying: “Oi! Singer! You gon’ attend the Chakra Dance or no?

“Prince’s sayin’ you can’t say no, but you gotta stop messin’ with ah…you know who! Why am I even botherin’ tellin’ ya all this – just get yo ass over to Guna Plaza!”

He thumped away and as soon as his footsteps faded away, Lullaby got up and went to chest against the wall, pulling out clothes and bags. She went through a door to another room, went out and went in another – in the meantime, I did nothing, too scared to say anything.

Her eyes were so dark. So freaking dark. She looked ready to kill someone, just by staring them down with those eyes.

It felt as if her transformation was now definite – you could actually see it.

Her hair a raging, aggressive sea, now more violent than ever.

Her skin whiter than before, as if she pulled all her muscles tight.

Her lips tightly pressed together.

It made me want to cower in fear – no! Why would it? Don’t deny the thought, Quinn – negative thoughts are just thoughts. I’ve got to stay calm and find a way out.

But what the fucking hell was up with this girl? What did she want? What was she going to do?

What was she going to do with me?

And what was I going to do?

You’re going to get up. You’re going to get yourself through that door and run.

Don’t get involved in a mad one’s problems.

She was so busy with what she was doing that I could carefully get up and quietly get to the other side of the room. My eyes were constantly looking out for her – if she noticed me, I’d be doomed.

But I reached the door. I could see the doorknob nearing, my hands around it, turning it—

“That would be unwise, Quinn.”

A shock went through my body. I stood there, hand on the door knob, ready to run, paralyzed.

She noticed me. I was doomed.

Well, at least I knew what was going to happen next. It was obvious – so obvious, in fact, that it could not not be true.

I was going to die a second time.

“You will if you go through that door now.”

My hand around the knob grew tighter, but I didn’t turn it. And man – how I wanted to run away from this mind-reading freak. I just wanted to be away, far away from freaks like her. Please don’t comment on that.

Please don’t hurt me.

“Quinn, look at me.”

I started to shake and shiver – my hand on the doorknob grew tighter and tighter, I half-turned it, my other hand turned into a fist, my vision blurred – I started to cry. Again.

And I fell to my knees. There she embraced me again, her head resting on my back, shushing my baby-like crying.

“Quinn,” she said it as if she sang it to me, a lullaby to put me to sleep. “Quinn,” she whispered, but I could hear her everywhere, soothing the pain, the frustration, everything inside of me, “never forget that you’re beautiful.”

I was still crying and she slowly rocked me back and forth. “But this world will feel intimidated by that beauty. They will try to abuse it.

“This world has gone mad, Quinn. It has been distorted since its birth. Nothing in here is real or unreal. Nothing true or untrue. One thing can be two things in this world, Quinn. It can even be nothing at all.”

“Quinn,” she said more carefully. Her hands cupped my face and her thumbs wiped away my tears.

“Are you going to face this world with me?”

I stopped crying and looked straight into her eyes.

She was dead-serious and she wasn’t asking a question.

Ooh - I smell an adventure! Hopefully that'll clear up a lot of this madness. Why is this world mad and why is Quinn's beauty so special and intimidating? Why isn't Lullaby mad? Does she want to save that world or something? And who is that prince - is that or evildoer?

Hmm... Well, let's find out in the next chapter!

See you on the next page! <3

[PIC ORIGIN: pinterest.com , made by Antonae Palmer]

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Purple tea and a panda – a strange Lullaby

I finally got a pair of clothes. And underwear.

It, uh…It was very comfortable. Yeah, it was.

I sat on the only bed in the room, staring at the wall across me.

The wallpaper looked really pretty. There was a pattern of fleur-de-lis, uh, figures, I suppose. Do you call them that—I don’t know.

There was a chest put against it. It was locked by these ticking locks. The thing that you were supposed to turn – how do you call it? Damn it – were the… hands! Hands of the clock. Yeah.

Pretty funny, actually – at least the way that I imagine it, because you could have this code, like…Like 0945 and you’d have to set that time to open it. But if you’d have 2145 you’d probably have to turn it once…or twenty one times? Because one turn could be one hour so if you’d want twenty one hours then you’d have to turn it twenty one times. But wait – does the clock-lock – wow, they rhyme – follow the normal time and are you supposed to add up the hours to get to the code or do you just start from zero?

…Wasn’t I supposed to do something more useful?

I let out a shaky breath and fell onto the bed.

I put my hand over my eyes.

I didn’t want to cry – the thought of it made me want to hit myself. But being angry was only going to make things worse, too. I was scared, all right. I had to face it. To feel it.

But I couldn’t stay scared – that would be the end of me.

And I didn’t want to think about all these things that I already knew.

I groaned and put my hand from my eyes.

Wow, what were these golden circles above me? It felt like staring into two suns in the sky blue, well, sky. Or were they golden pools in the sky blue desert, unmistakenly beautiful: you had to drink from them, you simply wanted to drown in them.

Those were some fancy ass metaphors—What the hell is this girl doing to me?

I gasped and grabbed the blanket on the bed tightly. I quickly teared my eyes from the mesmerizing sight and sat up straight, the back of my tensed body facing her.

I could hear her let out her breath.

“I…I made you some tea,” she said softly.

I heard her pick up what I thought would be the tray with the cups. I barely noticed that she had walked up to me, until she handed me a little teacup, a nice flower painted on it. It took me a few seconds to have my hand take the cup from her. Then I kept it on my lap and I stared at the suspicious purple color of my tea and the smoke or clouds that seemed to rise above it, moving in circles, slowly.

I didn’t hear her walk again or put that tray down somewhere, but suddenly the bed moved lightly – apparently she had sat herself down on the other side of the bed.

“Think of an animal,” she suddenly said.

My body tensed. What? I wanted to say, but I didn’t – what if she’d turn around and come near? What if she would turn into some devil and toy with my feelings or worse - my body? (What if I actually pretended to be prostitute?)

“Or an object,” she continued, “then, look into your teacup.”

My hands around the cup turned yellow – if I had squeezed them tighter I’m sure it would break. What was that girl getting at? Was she trying to make me feel comfortable? Why? Or was she trying to make me feel like a fool?

I, uh, I shouldn’t do what she says. No. I definitely shouldn’t.

She is not to be trusted, I told myself. She’s just like that guy on the horse or worse – that evil dwarf with his talking bird. There was no guarantee that she wasn’t manipulating me, too.

But what if she wasn’t that bad…Wouldn’t I regret this?

I squeezed the cup even tighter – damn it, I just don’t know.

Then I heard a soft giggle. I resisted the urge to turn around…but I still moved my head a little in her direction. I caught a glimpse of purple smoke on her white, pale hand. And…were those wings that I saw? Awhh – it sounded so cuuutttteeee! O, my god – I could really cry of its cuteness.

I really felt like I had to see that birdlike creature or maybe it was just a bird – I didn’t care, I just wanted to see it—Quinn.

As if I hit myself across my face I turned back towards the wall. I’ve made the mistake to trust the people here before – I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again…Wow that sounded really dramatic.

I kept avoiding looking into the teacup in my hands, but the urge to look into it grew stronger. I thought I was exaggerating it again, but aarghh – I’m impossible.

I felt jealous of her laughter that grew louder and louder - she seemed like she had a lot of fun and I wanted to have fun too.

I felt stupid for feeling so conflicted, for feeling jealous and for not doing anything useful.

I felt like giving it a try. If it’d kill me, if she’d use it against me in any way – how was I supposed to know that now? This girl has taken me here and given me a pair of clothes and now a funny cup of tea. She didn’t seem unkind and so far she hasn’t done anything funny, so why would I worry about it – it was only going to make me go crazy. Enjoy this, Quinn, while you can.

I took a shaky breath and thought of an animal, like she’d said. I looked into the purple liquid and suddenly the clouds above it started to move very quickly, as if an invisible spoon was stirring them. The clouds rose higher above the liquid and it slowly took a form of something.

A loud yawn escaped from his light purple head and it took out one of his fluffy, stubby paws to scratch his face. Before he knew it, he had fallen on his butt, on the surface of the tea that was left, trying to reach his purple round ears again with those dark purple paws.

It was a purple freaking panda that sat on the tea. My tea. Right before me. And I wasn’t dreaming it.

It slowly realized that there was this gigantic human staring at him in awe and he slowly made his way to the edge.

Before I thought about it, I put the palm of my hand against the cup. It was struggling to get his lower body, his butt and his legs, over the edge. It kept waving with his one paw while with the other he was pushing himself up. I watched as he slowly got himself over the edge, clumsily, and he rolled over the palm of my hand, ending up sitting on his butt again.

I put the cup on my lap and reached out with my other hand to touch it. My finger was shaking as it neared him and I held my breath. Then I reached its chubby cheeks, but as soon as I had touched them, he seemed to disappear into smoke. When I pulled away my finger, it turned back into a panda.

“You don’t need things to be real to enjoy them. As long as you believe them beautiful or enjoyable, it’s enough.”

The girl bent and her head appeared before me. Smiling, she reached out to the panda, her fingers hovering above it. The panda reached up to them with his paws, but fell back on his butt each time.

“Though, I wonder, is that a good thing?” She put her fingers in its reach and as soon as it had touched them it dissolved into smoke again. And back into a panda.

She then looked at me, almost pinning me down with those really pretty gold eyes. “Instead,” she continued, “shouldn’t we just enjoy things that are real and stop living in our head?”

I didn’t say anything. I was…astonished? Taken of guard? Her words were so…I don’t know – just very true, I suppose.

She then smiled at me and turned away.

“You should finish your tea.”

And there was just something about her - something so strange but so calming that made me feel safe. I could trust her.

Yep, Lullaby is quite the weird one. What would she mean by that -  you don't need things to be real to enjoy them? And can Quinn really trust her? Isn't she just as bad as all the people she met before her? Find out in the next chapter...

See you on the next page! Bye!

[PIC ORIGIN: http://static-ghost.deviantart.com/art/Raspberry-tea-302114422 ; made by Static-ghost]

A Writer's Thoughts: The End Must Always Remain Out of Sight

The End 

must always remain out of sight,

 when writing a story.

One may have ideas about it, but must never force it upon the story.

Because the story may not want such an end. A story, in fact, will always turn out otherwise. It will always be different from what you expect,

from what you see in your head.

You are not able to make everything in you have planned out in your head part of the story.

When you write, you revise the idea, the scene or the dialogue, again and you try something else, for that might be a better beginning or a much better development.

But in here lies also danger.

For if you change too much and too many times, the idea, the scene or the dialogue loses its beauty, its authenticity. Too much force will break the puzzle piece so that it can't fit at all.

And gone is the brilliant idea. Enter has the anger, the frustration, the insecurity.

The unwillingness to write.

And that is what we writers do not desire. We fear that unwillingness.

So much that we force ourselves to write when the unwillingness tries to take over.

We write down meaningless words, hoping that it'll turn into something good.

We write fearfullly.

Sometimes it works and we overcome this unwillingness.

Other times, most times it does not, for it wasn't the right time to write.

We writers need our time to rest; we mustn't be writing all the time.

In the end we're human beings and no human can do anything eternally. We need variation, to be busy with something else from time to time.

We writers can't write forever. It's a fact we must accept.

The end must always remain out of sight.

The story will end on its own.

We writers must enjoy the journey as long as it lasts and accept its fate.

We writers must simply write until we can do no more.

We writers must always try to write again and be prepared for the end to come.

The End of this blog post is in sight.

On the next page we'll meet. Where I start to write again until I can do no more; again and again until the end is there...

I hope you enjoyed today's blog post. :)

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: A Lullaby – sweet but mysterious

Everything was so dull. So unreal. Like – you know those movies, right, in which the protagonist regains her consciousness in the middle of a chaotic battle? The sound is off, but slowly filling their ears, getting clearer and clearer by the second. The people around them seem to be just stains, blurry figures at first but then you see that they’re actually people.

And suddenly someone pulls you up, yelling: “Run! Please, run!”

Only my someone wasn’t yelling it – just saying it over and over again. Singing it, actually.

“Run, please, run. Run, run, please. Run, please, run. Run, run, please.”

And there was no battlefield, but there were two people running. One naked with red stripes on her naked body, the other with bells around her ankles and a vest that waved in front of the other girl’s face.

The red stripes made it harder to run – they had some kind of numbing effect on me. I knew we were running in all kinds of directions: she pulled me left and right, straight forward, but never stopping.

Were we in some endless, pitch black alley? Or had I gone blind? Were my eyes closed?

I had no idea.

I couldn’t think clearly.

I was dead. I was non-functioning. Rebooting.

No, I wasn’t a machine, Jesus.

Her hand was so tight around my wrist – it hurt.

My chest is moving up and down – that hurt too.

Couldn’t we stop for a minute?

Why was it so dark—ugh light. Too much light.

The hand around my wrist let go and I was left standing. I heard an annoying creak and someone talking. The whoosh of curtains. A weight on my shoulders – it was soft.

Then “oh” and THUNK.

…HOLY MOLY SHIBBIDIBBLES JESUS CHRIST GOD LASAGNA—

I whirled around, the blanket falling off of my shoulders and saw a girl - kind of naked, kind of not, with really pretty hair, who was pulling up a chest and putting stuff in it that had fallen out.

Who was she?

I slowly backed away. I had no idea what I was going to do, what I was going to say, to think.

Come on, Quinn! Dad’s trained us for this! How many times hasn’t he preached on the greatest wisdom of the world? How many times hasn’t he told what to do when all hope is lost?

Stay calm! Be brave! – how cliché that sounds. How was I going to be brave when I had no fucking clue about what was happening and—WHY AM I NAKED? AGAIN?!

No—Was she—Am I—No but it couldn’t be… NO. No no no no no no—

I WASN’T PRETENDING TO BE PROSTITUTE RIGHT?

THEY HADN’T DRUGGED ME, RIGHT?

Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap—

Still not having a plan, I charged at the blanket, put it around me and grabbed something – it was squishy – and threw it that girl, ran straight at the door and pulled at the doorknob.

And then a hand kept me from opening it and pulled me away from the door.

“Calm down.”

I felt her hand on my back and felt enveloped by her strange but o so warm warmth.

No! Crap, no, no, no—

I pulled myself away from her and ran to the other side of the room.

“Please, calm down,” she said again.

I didn’t dare to look back, I was shaking.

I felt her coming closer. Her footsteps were soft and quiet, different from my quick breathing and my crazy going heart.

When she was very close she didn’t touch me.

“Who are you?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

Wasn’t there a hole in the wall? Or something else? …Please?

“I can see if you don’t tell.”

A way to get out?

I slammed my fist against the wall. Again. Again. Again, again, again.

I went for a very hard one – she grabbed my hand.

“Quinn,” she said. “You are Quinn.

“Nothing more, nothing less.”

She made it sound weird and special.

“Quinn,” she said again.

There is really no way out, is there? I’m really scared, aren’t I?

Why? Why can’t I just go home? Mommy, daddy – why aren’t you here?

I’M SO SCARED.

Heavy breathing, falling down, shaking, continuously shaking, head aching—what to do what to do what to do—mom, dad—that guy that knife, cold cold cold—why did you leave, you son of a—why didn’t stay with me at that damned fountain—it was so dark, so so dark—what is this—HELP.

And then the arm came around me and the warmth was too soothing to deny. She rocked me back and forth, humming a song.

Oh, it was so warm here.

“Lullaby,” I heard her whisper, “I am Lullaby. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Aha. So that's Lullaby, huh... She seems nice, I guess? At least, she makes Quinn feel safe - and we all now that feeling safe is the thing she really needs right now in that way too crazy world.

Hopefully we get to understand the world a little better in chapter 7!

...Or everything might get even more confusing...

See you on the next page!

[PIC ORIGIN: From Flickr, made by samuel006]

The Stitcher of Souls - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A performance by a peculiar Heart

Quinn was still unshelled.

But she could perceive the dark tunnel she rode in, in her heart formed chair. She could hear the metronomic ticking as the chair followed the red trail leading to a bigger one, where the chairs where turned around to face the partially lit stage. She could already see a part of it and also the musicians in the back, concealed in the darkness. When her chair was turned around she could see that the lights where directed at the middle of the stage and they were colored in the same red hue that seemed to envelop the entire theatre.

She could even the see the theatre, from everywhere.

The white, glowing ball she was, had let loose a small thread that reached up and spread into a big fan that perceived the people unshelled in their specific seats.

She could see that every seat was filled and she could feel what they felt, see what they saw. She felt their emptiness and the kathunk-kathunk and saw their sight at the, from their position, gigantic stage and the heart formed seats that stood there in a row, elevated from the ground.

The Honorary Row.

Moving up, she saw three spade formed windows carved into the wall, near the open ceiling with the colorful letters. She could feel a certain presence there. She felt its majesty, its importance and its overwhelming power. It was something entirely different than the other people in the theatre or the Hearts or even her. It was more concealed, like she was merely watching through a hole in a wall – a mischievous child trying to look in the dangerous garden of her strange neighbor. And she wanted to get closer, see what this soul had to hide and why he hid himself. But the red strings had noticed that she’d gone off and pulled her back forcefully. That was also when the red lights dimmed and the first chair from the Honorary Row was tilted in the air. The red strings had released their grasp on the chair and it carefully floated in the air, as if the red strings had been the only thing keeping it from doing so. Then the chair came down like a light feather on the stage. The chair disappeared and the performer already stood in position. She slowly turned around and the music started to play.

And so, one by one the performers floated towards the stage and disappeared like their chairs had afterwards. They all had their own unique kind of performing – even if four people had danced, each dance was different, one ferocious, lighting the fire in the souls, another sensual filling them with pleasure. Some sang, too, like the girl in the ball gown and her pride was even more overwhelming, but seemed to let souls swell up with pride to for a moment.

Then the girl with sky blue hair had been brought to the stage. Before the chair could reach the ground she fell out of the air, her hair waving behind her like the ocean and her vest a big gulf in it. As soon as her feet touched the ground, the people, the Hearts and Quinn held their breath – though they did not breathe. For a minute it seemed as if there was no beating of hearts – the ­kathunk-kathunk had disappeared and it was only her and the audience. She started to dance.

And the dancing made everyone move like an ocean, like big gulfs that reached the beach and were pulled back again – that pull, that, was her dancing. She just had this… beauty. This dreaminess. This calmth. This serenity.

And soft chiming of the bells around her ankles, lulled everyone into a sleepy state, only to be woken up again by her singing voice. Oh – the sound that emerged! It started with a burbling river that streamed into the raging sea that vaporized into the clouds carried by the wind where the birds flew past and sang their songs as they neared the horizon – it was that and more. Something divine even.

But who could describe it exactly the way it was?

The beauty of it all was that she knew. The one who sang this mesmerizing lullaby knew what she did to her audience. How she danced around with their souls, how she gave them a warmth no one could give. How she enveloped their very soul. Lullaby – the meaning of hers.

Quinn, seated in her chair, felt the ocean inside her soul, too, and they she pulled her. She felt her warmth and beauty, she felt even more. She perceived how the souls lit up and moved along with this lullaby. She felt their eyes fixed on the performer. But she also felt the performer and the love for what she did. Her knowledge of what she did. Her shamelessness for what the she did.

Her voice carrying words with a meaning only she understood – this performance was not only meant to please her audience, but to please herself too. To express herself like no other.

This was passion.

And, unlike the other performances, her passion was weaved through her entire performance.

Slowly, the performer released her pull from her audience. Like a caring mother, she cradled the souls back and forth and put them to bed as their eyes closed.

She left the stage and left them taken aback.

It felt like waking up from a dream.

Then, it was Quinn that was taken to the stage. Her chair was tilted in the air, but she had already slid out of it and taken her spot on the stage. She was a snake of threads moving quickly and chaotically on the stage, pulling themselves out of knots they made and perhaps preparing themselves for their grand act? She looked rather clumsy and out of place and if the souls weren’t unable to think or do anything, they probably would’ve started laughing and whispering, walking out of the theatre, even. That is, until the threads spread over the stage. Just like in the dressing room, this white, pulsing being started to change forms, turning into animals and other creatures – only this time they were grander and majestic, beautifully made and did tricks, as if they were made to perform. There were both imaginary and existing animals there, like the lion whose manes were now flames and whose roar seemed to release the fire from inside with it. A dove with grand wings, painted like the ones of a peacock. A panda with a cute little hat.

It was as if she always had been a Heart, born to perform and move the souls of her audience, though a bit clumsily. More one to get a laugh out of them than to actually move them.

And as if she realized it herself, she dropped her act. Literally, the threads fell to the stage floor.

A puppet woven by white pulsing threads looked down at the audience, at the souls.

She reached out to every single one of them, with her threads. Like a curious child she studied them as if they were exotic animals. Or, actually, no, not animals, because it wasn't their appearance or their behaviour that interested her, but all the happenings within.

The empty void that was stained by fresh prints, fresh definitions left by the previous performers. Definitions for a soul emptied of Self or perhaps brought closer to it – either way the definitions didn’t belong in the void that was either closer to Self or emptied of it. They could simply not attach themselves to Self. For there were only three things needed to define one’s Self – the blue, red and black strands were pulled at by Quinn’s threads, pulled closer to the surface, beyond the definitions. Those strands attached themselves to Quinn’s threads who like roots of tree that brought water to the stem, brought souls to Quinn who would connect them to Mind.

But then something went wrong – something from the inside started to fight, to come out. A monster waking from it slumber, cutting down the roots, eliminating the tree.

The lights in the theatre shone brighter and much too fast her vision moved. Souls falling back into their seats, fearful glances casted at her, minds returning and racing – chaos because of the unknown.

What is happening? What is going on? Why is the show over?

The first thoughts that popped up as the audience regained consciousness.

That girl…who is she? The prince – what will he say? She must be punished! the minds of the Hearts yell.

And before Quinn’s mind could do as much as return, she is pulled back from the stage and led through dark passages.

A voice whispered in her head, in soothing melody: “Run, please, run. Run, run, please. Run, please, run. Run, run, please…”

So I ran, not knowing why.

I felt like waking up from a good night’s sleep, as if mom was shaking me in bed and I forcefully got up.

I saw glances of sky blue before me, I felt a hand tightly around mine, pulling me.

Great – what had I gotten myself into now?

Now, who would that be, the one who is singing melodically in Quinn's head? And where is she taking her? She isn't like that mean dwarf from before, right? ...Or worse?

...What? Why am I the one who's asking? Why, because I have no clue either, of course!

Let's read chapter 6 together the next time!

See you on the next page!

[PIC ORIGIN: http://www.deviantart.com/art/On-stage-197275253 ; made by Gandalfleblond]