​Let me see you stripped down to the bone.

Let me see you make decisions without your television.
Once the bombs went off, everyone knew. It was not the sound of the blast, or the crashing of the buildings. Not even the horrific screams of the people with crashed bones and melted faces alerted the rest. The thing that made everyone aware of the beginning of apocalypse was television.

The few people that lived back at that time, that now were old and wrinkled and weak on their knees, loved to talk of all the technological advances they had at their disposal, especially of television. How beautiful were its colours and sounds. People had the privilege to enjoy cultures and wonders of the world without moving a hair’s length from their couches. According to my grandfather though, the most astonishing feature of television (or TV in short) was the news broadcast. You could learn about everyone’s gossips, politics, music, wars and scientific advancements right at the moment they happened.

Hearing this narration the first thing that comes to your mind is that our grandparents learned of the catastrophe through the news broadcast at the TV. The TV would be bustling with urgent noise, showing flashing images of suffering people and dead civilizations. The horror of the moment would be covered by a reporter for everyone to realise its full significance while sitting on a sofa.

However, it was not like that. What happened was that the magnificent machine went silent. No images invaded their homes, no sounds either. TV went blank. Then people realised that more of the sounds that were part of their lives since they were small, have been silent as well. No low humming of the refrigerator, not the sound of boiling water or the noise of the washing machine. Everything had been silent.

Me and the rest of my generation cannot fathom how that must have felt, being cut from the reality you knew, being disconnected from the world. After all we have been raised without knowing what was beyond the ruins our community lived in and our only news of the rest of world were the few pieces the brave and foolish wanderers of the wilds told us. But our grandfathers still got the same horror in their eyes when they thought of the day humanity’s destiny have been altered forever. The most horrific part of it all, according to my grandfather, was still not knowing who caused all this, because there was no way to get the news anymore.
AN: The first two lines are lyrics of the song Stripped from Depeche Mode.


Archetype: the Hero

A man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities

Brave, noble headstrong, naïve, self-righteous

The man was about to strike one last time, the final strike. He was close now to the end of this bitter story. And what an end it was, worth to be sung across the seas and repeated till the end of days.

He raised his heavy sword high above his head. It never felt heavier before that rainy night. Memories, expiriences and guilt of love were materials that could make a man’s hand difficult to move, difficult to do what he had to do.

All those years he had spent trying to understand the man kneeling in front of him slowed him down for a second. The Hero never truly understand the depths of his friend’s heart, but he loved him. All those feelings were spend in the air now, he would never have a chance to try and understand him.

The Hero knew that his victory over the magician would be sung among the women and it would make their hearts cry. It was fitting after all he had cried bitter tears in his souls as well. He loved the magician as his own brother even though he never comprehended his motives, so different from his own. It pained him to do the deed, but someone had to put an end to his reign of terror.

The Hero wished he could travel back in time, to make him change his mind, to convince him that knowledge was not all that there was in the world, that sometimes, the magic can turn black and hurt people. He let his hand fall down and his sword to go through his old brother’s head.

As the Magician’s head rolled down to the wet street, the Hero let his tears trickle down his face. He had robbed him of his life, his dreams, his greater achievement. The Hero knew that he was a brilliant man, but he could not save him anymore.

His enemy’s blood was spreading on the wet floor, mixing with the rain. He knew that on the same way the blood was wasted away, the undead horrors he had unleashed were scattered in the air.

Only his death would bring the Kingdom salvation.

Only his death would redeem him for all he did.

Only his death could tear the Hero’s sanity to pieces.

But this was his role; to do the right thing no matter the personal consequences. He really hoped they will sing his deed till the end of time because he had sacrificed a lot to be brave, right and protect the weak.



AN: Listen also this awesome mix

The Boat of Life

I am living on a boat. The boat is small and cozy, made out of wood. When you look at it, you think that it will break down as easily as a stick. However, the boat has lasted long, longer that the majority thinks. My boat is older than the mountains and as young as the stars.

You might think that I am lying and you might be correct. But the boat is mine and I have lived my entire life there, it is old as I am. The boat has been my constant companion at my travels through the veils of reality into places where rules do not exist.

If you want to believe, you can. If you choose to believe me, then let me tell you a small and simple story; it is just a day of my life. I woke up on my boat and it was a foggy, cold morning. The cold sea was calm and nothing could make her move. My only wish for the day was to make a hot tea and look for islands in the horizon, buried under the weight of my soft, blankets.

When I was boiling the hot water, I looked out the small window of the cabin and saw a Viking boat passing by. Right now, you are rolling your eyes, laughing at me, thinking that it is impossible to see outside a museum a Viking boat. It is the 21st century, Vikings exist only in television. Let me assure you that you can see a Viking boat sailing by in these parts of the ocean. The other day I saw Titanic and two years ago I was chased by a pirate ship. Today it was a Viking boat.

I was afraid. Vikings do not have a good reputation, but I trusted my boat. All I had to do was to whisper to it my fear, to let its wood feel the tremble in my hand. “Please, my lovely boat, take me far away, somewhere warm and safe”. Why did I not stir the boat away? The answer is simple: sometimes you have to trust. You have to let yourself go and relax, to place your faith into someone else, more experienced than you, and your wish can come true.

I opened my eyes and all I could see was mist. We were sailing through the misty weather for a long time. Have they passed hours? Days? An eternity? I could not tell. All I could do was to wait, that was what I did.

I waited till it came into view. It was a huge castle on the seashore. It was tall and beautiful, and yet austere in its design. Steady rock was on its base and bright blue sky above it. I could hear bells in tolling in the distance and spices where in the air. I wish I could live there forever, but the boat is my life and I was drift along on it. The boat is my destiny and the vessel to my end of days. It navigates me through the storms of my life and lets me experience the world.

The people that have come and gone from my life have told me that the kind of life I lead is sad and lonely. It is full of wonders and yet no place exists to take roots. Some days I wonder why I did it, but I will tell you a secret, I will tell you how to be as old as the stars themselves. Trust the boat you were placed on and enjoy with all your soul the places it brings you. Do not forget it when you reach land, always go back to it and then you will never get old, you will never get bored. You will live forever.

The Song

The man finished his song and silence filled the pub. He had hoped for applause, but he was not surprised when he received none. The usual customers of the filthy place could not appreciate good art. Even they did, they usually preferred to keep to themselves and never talk to anyone else about their problems. For that reason, he was surprised when a woman planted herself in the seat next to him and offered him a drink.

“Nice song” she said and waited for his response. She got none as he was still too surprised to come up with a proper one. “Where did you learn this song? You do not hear songs for the Great Dragon City often in this part of the world” she continued trying to make conversation.

Her topic was posed as light and general; a good excuse for small talk. However he gave again no response, but this time not because of surprise but because of worry.

He looked at her closely. She was short and plain, the short of a person you would not notice unless you pumped directly into them, and after that you would forget her face as soon as she had moved a few paces away from you. He had learned to recognize this type of people as the most dangerous ones. His opinion of her was reinforced when he spotted the hilt of a knife under her garments.

All this time she observed him closely. When she caught him staring at her weapon, she smiled.

“Not very talkative, but this is good. I do not need you to talk a lot, I need you to sing. Do you want to go on an adventure?”

“No thank you. I actually like this place and I do not wish to leave it” he finally gave her answer. He was rewarded with a raise of her eyebrows that could only mean she mocked him.

“You like this place?” she waved around the filthy and dark bar with her tiny hand. “This place is dark and dirty. I would have expected a mage of the Dragons would leap out of joy when offered with a chance to abandon this place once and for all.”

He stiffened and his stomach tied to knots. Without a moment’s hesitation he started imaging of all the possible escape scenarios. He could dive under the table and disarm her. Or he could run towards the back door and take his chances in the sewage system. He was used to adventurous before he had ended up cooped up in this place and they were never good for him. Last time he was on an adventure he lost all he hold dear and he did not afford to go on one again. He was left with his life and he cherished it. He had managed to stay away from adventurous for ten years, but adventurous caught up with him.

“Won’t you listen to me first?” she asked him. The small woman had understood his intention and tried to spark his interest in her quest.

The mage would have liked to say that no, he was not going to listen to her, but for some reason he stayed put in his place. She offered him a half smile. Gods, she is so arrogant, the little bitch, he thought but did not move from his place. He could listen to her and then he would take his chances with the sewage system. It would not do any harm to me to just listen.

“Alright, I am listening” he said reluctantly. Or at least he tried to sound unwilling and bored with her.

“Great! I need you to sing for the Queen of the Sirens! I need you to use your magic songs so that we can infiltrate her castle the castle” she said in a hushed voice. She had leaned over the table and some of her red hair fell into her beer glass without her noticing. “Do you think you can do it? Or is it too much for an old mage like you?”

Challenge was in her voice and he noticed it. He did not like to be called old. The truth was that by human standards he was a middle aged man, but usually the servants of the magic song did not leave to have a midlife crisis.

He pretended to think of her offer for a moment. The challenge she threw at him was not needed; he had decided that he would join her the moment she mentioned the Queen of Sirens. There was bad blood between the two of them. She was the only person on earth that he hated with all his heart. The Queen was the reason his young and beautiful fiancé remained young and beautiful for the rest of her life. She was the reason his little bird rested in her grave so soon.

Nothing good would come out of this adventure, but he decided to go on an adventure. The final adventure of his life. He would help her infiltrate that castle, even if it was the last thing he did in his life.



Archetype: The Rebel

A person who refuses allegiance to, resists, or rises in arms against the government or ruler of his or her country. Also a person who resists any authority, control, or tradition; Foolish, bratty, valiant, headstrong.

Before going out of the room, she straightened her head and back. She cleaned a bit her clothes and moved her small package under her jacket. Then she joined the masses on the street as if she was a part of them, as if she was a part of the common people. As if she was not carrying the only thing that could destroy the Queen.

While she was moving around, she felt like she was going to die. She felt like the small package waited as much as the whole world. Was it so hot today that made her sweat like a pig? Or was it the anxiety that made the sweat look like pearls on her face?

She was worried she would not be able to reach her destination without drawing any attention. She was afraid she would not be there on time. Every guard scared her; were there always so many of them? She thought that the shiny weapons were mocking her: We will taste your flesh and drink your blood. You cannot hide from us.

She continued walking around till she found the place she wanted to reach. Her breath quickened and without wanting to, the same happened to her pace. She wanted to break to a run, but then she felt a strong hand touch her shoulder and her heart stopped.

As she turned to face the guard, her stomach turned into a thousand snakes moving round and round. The Resistance will fail, and it is all my fault. The guard looked her into the eye, searching for something. His friend was checking a drawing on an old paper. She tried to remain calm.

How long did they look at her? One second? Two minutes? Three hours? She would never be able to tell. She stood still as a statue, with her eyes fixed on the ground. The guards liked the people to keep it low, to show respect. They thought they were ruling, just because they were the Queen’s guard. But finally they left her. When they disappeared in the corner, she covered the rest of the distance running. What a marvellous rebel she made.

AN: Inspired by the Archetype: The Rebel playlist on 8tracks. You may find the tracklist here. Or listen here. Italics are for thoughts. 

Everyone knows

Everyone knows somebody that has done something wrong. Everyone knows somebody that has fallen in love. Everyone knows somebody who have all that they wished for. Everyone knows somebody. But you do not know anything for me.

Because you have heard of something someone did, you assume you can tell about me. You think that you know better than me. You thing that you can think for me. But you know nothing for my life.

Do you think you know how I think? Do you think you know my soul? You assume that I am a calm person, that you can read the letters of my heart on my face. But you are wrong. The song my actions sing is not what you think. I sing of flowers and sunrays and all I want is hail and storm. I sing of honey on bread, but all I want is your blood on my wine glass.

You think that I am a nice person, but I am not. You think you know how I should live my life, but you do not. Only me has the key to the deepest locker of my heart, the place I keep my desires and dreams. Not you.