Franz

A halt, a deafening screech, my eardrums nearly splitting.

Where did sh-

I'm awake.

Instantly thrown into consciousness, I look around. Signs. People. Suitcases. Old wooden benches. The old station, a big blur lost in the mist.

A crank.

Footsteps in a hurry. A woman walks in, breaking into my own personal wagon, piercing the isolation. Worry. All worries.

I stare through the window, killer glass mirror I'm yet again rested against. She walks up the aisle.

Middle-aged. Blonde. Hugged by a beige jacket, warmness I'm missing since... long. The warmness taken away, washed away by pouring rain, ripped apart, shattered, broken to pieces, flowing down a dimly lit pavement in a cold night, never to return.

Empty wagon.

She sits opposite to me. Why should I care?

I see her lips moving, remarks flying through the air and echoing through the once quiet train. I feel my mouth opening, fake answers thrown at her. Pretending. Lies. A thin screen to cover the desperate pathetic sight sitting there.

'Talk-with-the-hand'.

Desperate.

Replies, a conversation, a subject, a rant.

It never mattered. Nothing did. Nothing out of my inside world, my reality, nightmare, the purest vision of hell – recklessness.

Announcement. Vibration. Screech.

Don't leave me now.

Another lie, broken smile, disappointment.

The silhouettes under a spotlight, explanations and excuses that didn't satisfy me, as destruction happened before our eyes, lacking a reason, a why.

There was no need.

Was.

Me, the one to leave, to implode a dream, sending a massive shock wave as hell slowly broke loose. The dust rising, choking us, as a superior laugher came from a corner, the eyes lazily watching, grinning as it collapsed. Popcorn and Coca-Cola, yet another drama, yet another Hollywood-made piece of crap to bring the idiots joy. Just another set of characters, directors, actors, liars, pricks and phonies, the very same plot repeating itself over and over.

Welcome to the club, Franz!

Screeches and the slight hum of voices, suddenly interrupted.

Too busy to take notice.

The beige jacket miles behind.

All mixed, all needless. Just a faint noise, ringing in my ear.

The dull landscape, the cold glass, the hazel eyes, thoughts, red seats – all part of an abstract painting made by myself I couldn't explain.

It will be-

Another lie. Nothing more, meaningless words to the wind.

Sleep. Harmless false comfort, as you die inside.

Goodbye, cruel world.

Pole. Positive. Magnetic.

Without a single reason, an explanation, an excuse I could defend myself with.

I wasn't worried about her – selfish bastard I am.

I couldn't offer myself an explanation.

That night...

Let go of it.

Something else, to keep my minds busy and scare away my memories, cover the cuts as if nothing ever happened.

I can't.

I rest my head against the window, looking for a lie to stick with, staring at the gloomy, dull countryside that flies past, just a blur flashing past.

The open fields, extending themselves over the hills, where a farmhouse stands, a fortress isolated, with its white walls blending with the sea of gold around. A tractor surfs over the endless tide, crushing anything beneath. A farmer carrying his scythe, the blade as sharp as ever, waiting to cut whatever it sees next, tearing it apart, hungry for destruction.

We could as well crash.

Derail, turn over, skid over the grass, just to be smashed against a dull rocky house in an innocent peaceful village near the tracks, sweep anything in our way, as we're crushed inside this metal cage, just to become unknown celebrities, making the covers of all journals, famous for dying for nothing.

Coach 5, row 13.

I'd even die alone, as the glass I'm resting against would shatter, throwing deadly darts against my neck, cutting it open and leaving me to bleed to death, but not before my skull's struck for the last time by some loosen object bouncing around, knocking me out of existence, of reality, of life, never to wake up again.

Lived alone, died alone, lived without a reason and died for the same cause – what a fucking celebrity I'd be.

But alone?

I'm n... I wasn't alone. Not until that night.

I wasted it. Blew it. Left with nothing.

I try to forget it, look away, erase it with a thick rubber.

Rest.

That's what I need, my solution, realization.

I just let go, as my eyelids slowly start to drop, kidnapping me from myself.

“May I see your ticket, sir?”

I'm back already.

“...your ticket, sir.”

I stare in confusion, before absorbing the words.

The man, probably in his sixties, with a calm friendly expression stamped in his face and combed white hair, delivers the message in a subtle soft voice.

My ticket.

I take my time before locating it and pulling it from my coat's pocket and handing it to the aged hand sticking out of a tidy, well-kept dark-blue uniform.

“May I ask, is there anything wrong, sir?”

It was obvious. I was screaming it, no matter how silent I remain.

I look for words, trying to get my voice to work.

“I'm... No, nothing.”

Faint, dead, lifeless, just a give away to answer the stupid question.

I didn't mean to be rude.

“Just not in my best day... Thanks.”

He knew it, of course.

My whole story, what happened and that anything was indeed wrong.

I wasn't in the mood to keep it up.

He just smiled, returned the ticket, said something kind to cheer me up and walked towards the next wagon.

What did he say?

My thoughts, memories had taken over before he said it.

Kind, calm, peaceful.

Checking for tickets, stamping pieces of paper, having a wife, growing a family, living with completion...

A life.

I had none, nothing.

A stamped ticket, a coat, a suitcase, a guitar...

Absolutely nothing.

Future?

I was a scythe. Sharp, tearing through it, ripping my bloody own future to pieces.

Just let go of it. Now.

I get my head against the window again, glancing through the glass, to find the answer to the problem.

The hazel piercing me.

Dark.

Delicate Sound

It's cold.

I try to focus, find myself, keep my mind in-

Thunder.

Piercing my ears, crashing on my eardrums and making it into my brain.

The word bears an electrocution, leaving my thoughts fried, and myself in a state of shock.

It was useless.

I blew it...

She didn't deserve that, and then I just... I just fucking ruined it.

Her “Jack of Hearts”, the last card on top, just turned into an Ace of Clubs, out of nothing, for nothing, because of nothing.

The house collapsed.

For nothing.

It's useless...

I could stay here all night, post after post, running through endless streets looking for her, forever chasing the next street lamp hoping to make out her silhouette a few meters from me, highlighted by the dumb yellow beam, with her unmistakable shy smile... It's been hours. But it's too late.

My hands are shaking – I can't feel my fingers...

A vile wind cuts straight through me, as a revolted wind gust shoots heavy water drops, deadlier than bullets, at my body.

I feel naked.

Night turns into day – I look around, no sight of her.

A long, blue lightning bolt tears the sky apart, revealing an alternative, a way to escape.

I try my way through the gap, a leap to the other side, bright, where sanity is defined by the lack of itself.

But it vanishes – a sweet thought, a mindless dream, just an illusion; it was never there, it never existed.

There was never an exit, after all.

Thunder.

I surrender to it.

I just sit down.

On a pool of water.

Near a street light.

Under heavy rain.

I hug my legs, like a pissed spoiled child – fuck, but that's what I am, no?

He stares at me.

The black shade on the pavement, staring deep into my eyes.

Disappointment.

I nod in agreement.

(Editor's note: As the only people who read this thing have read it through Skype and La-la-la-la-Lola insisted... yeah. Unedited, raw version, with all the crappy grammar, organization, story and writer enclosed - yay! :P)

DON'T PANIC.

Through hell and high water. Through the deep valleys of imagination. Through the wastelands of my mind. Fighting my way... Until touchdown.

Touch down to Earth, down to reality.

Touchdown in a paradise... A paradise I didn't want to be at.

The place I used to call home... Home?

The warm bed, the messy room, the pile of books resting on the drawer...

Misplaced.

Carefully picked, with amusing criteria, to ensure I feel misplaced in every single way.

Yes, that's the word... Misplaced.

Home... do I have one?

DON'T PANIC, it said.


Panic, panic, panic... Am I panicking? Am I... have I panicked already? Is this just sheer panic?


DON'T PANIC, screams the cover.

Panic...


Perhaps I should. Perhaps... Perhaps I must.



Perhaps I am just wasting my time.


DON'T PANIC.

I flick through it.


Wasting my time...


Time... "Time is an illusion," it says.


An illusion?


Illusion... The word flies through my mind, back and forth.


Time is an illusion. The days, hours, minutes, seconds... The sands of time dripping slowly inside a dull scratched piece of glass... An illusion?

Maybe... this is an illusion. Time, the world, the book, reality...

Myself... An illusion?

DON'T PANIC, it read.


PANIC.


Like a couple of small laboratory mice, the big capital letters run around my maze of thoughts.


Panic...

Do panic.

Running to Stand Still

OK Computer, so there I was... In the Broken Bricks, Lost! in Planet Telex, living my Favourite Worst Nightmare. Then she appeared. She was... she was a Fluorescent Adolescent. Her bright Green Eyes stared deeply at mine. “Lost?”, that was all she said. Quietly, I replied.“Yes”. After a while, she went on: “Follow Me Home”. She left and called me, guiding me through The Bends of Telegraph Road, In The Cold, Cold Night. I asked myself What She Came For, but for an instant it just didn't matter at all. It was dark. I just made One Rainy Wish. Home.

It was dark. I was Dazed And Confused. The world started spinning, the vision slowly fading away... The black blur was involved by a white smoke. I decided to Ramble On, but my mind didn't let me. I was Running to Stand Still. It was dark. My thoughts, suddenly woken up, got me Trampled Under Foot. I was alone, lying among the Dead Leaves in the Dirty Ground. In the sky, only a Champagne Supernova in the pitch-black night. She took me to the the House of the Rising Sun. I couldn't see, I couldn't Escape. I stayed in that Cave, sucked into the Supermassive Black Hole of my mind, waiting for the Morning Glory....

I opened my eyes. There she was. “Hello”. I look around. I'm resting against a Wonderwall. Before I can get my mind in place, she offers me: “Have A Cigar”. I grab one. I'm shivering. My body looks Yellow. All over the place, I see Clocks. With a faint voice, I thanked and said “I'm So Tired”. She smiled. “Here Comes The Sun”, she said. Deeply, her green eyes looked into mine again. “I Want To Tell You Something”. She waved me to follow. We walked a bit, until we reached this place, Where The Streets Have No Name. “Look,” she went on, “Everything Will Be Alright”. I thought of asking her “Can You Read My Mind”, but before that she was gone.

I broke down. “I Wish You Were Here”... She wasn't. Not anymore. And there I was, Sitting on Top Of The World, standing on a Violet Hill, Running to Stand Still...