HALLOW’S CREED

You board a mat, headphones firmly tucked around your head, one that you’re losing, as Holocene- Bon Iver tunes sink you deeper into the melancholy. You have it on replay, dead to the world. You position yourself at the front of the bus, because from your research, people seated at the front have a 2.8% chance of survival, if an accident was to occur. Those statistics warm your insides.

You take pleasure in fast speed, wishing the driver could peddle more and break the limits. You smile when there are close shaves with other motorists, but frown when no accident occurs. You loosen the safety belts, anytime there’s an adrenaline rush increment. You feel the heart pound, anytime a collision seems imminent, but sadly, you reach your destination safely.

Streets, filled with all kinds of humans. You still have the headphones on, only this time it’s Sam Palladio/Clara Bowen followed by Belasco on the playlist. Utter disrespect for the traffic laws reigns supreme, you cross as you close the eyes, but open them upon hearing the tyres screeching. Why? Just why? You ask yourself. Why can’t one motorist be on phone and get blind on me? Why do they need to be soo keen on the roads? They hurl insults, they call you a lunatic, a crazie, a psycho, and you know what? This entices you. Maybe, just maybe, they have a clue of who you are, unlike the annoying lot who feign concern by sending stale jokes in their pathetic attempts to spark a chat.

Small talks dread you, and vice versa. But this doesn’t deter some ejits from wanting to be all up your space, saying how “They understand” your agony, how you feel. YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOW I FEEL YOU ANNOYING LITTLE 
#%&* !! You text some, because you know all too well a response is never coming your way. That prospect warms your insides, they don’t give a hoot about you, and they shouldn’t, no one should!

You think of how people might read your thoughts and deem you petty, naïve, superficial or even shallow. But, your thoughts are honest, if they get a glimpse into your story, they might share your agony. This is an important part of you, a part of you that always leaves you vulnerable. But beneath all that, their validation is the least of your worries. 

You reach your destination, just not the one you constantly hope for. You wear a phony smile, and pretend to work, but all that you’re wishing for is for that pane buzzing overheard to kiss the roof on top of your head. You log into you social media accounts, and see how a certain someone lost a certain someone, how a boat capsized, how an Asian plane crashed, how some Muslim extremists beheaded someone and suddenly, you feel so jealous. How lucky could they all be? Hyperactive sadness kicks in.

You end the day disappointed, having forwarded a shitty job to your superiors. They rant; they always do, saying how much potential you exuberate, how you have a brighter future ahead of you. They blame the women in your life, they blame you for slacking, and threaten to lay you off, but none of that perturbs you, nothing does, except the obvious.

You leave for home, it’s a bit late. You’ve heard stories about late night carjacking, how people taste lead for defiance, a virtue you have in plenty. You yearn for their acquaintance, but they don’t show up. Disappointment seems to follow you in indecent haste. 

You fancy being under your own steam, alone, away from all clatter-chatter and the agitation of their thoughts, in a moonlit night: Through the shimmer and glimmer of moonlight, you carve your own fate, you make your own way. Smiling through the dark alleys and indolent wanderings, you smile and welcome the risky deathly breeze whispering into your ears. You savor this mellow buoyancy, leaving behind the baggage of drudgery and tedium. This exhilaration seems never ending. 

You reach the place you dread the most, home. You pour yourself some whiskey, as you stare at the pills on the cabinet, the small weak and “giving up” voice tells you to consume all of them at once, but deep down, you know that’s all too easy. Self inflicted wounds bring no satisfaction.

You light a blunt, and another, until your body subdues, on an empty stomach, and a gliding heart.

Between the time sleep sneaks in and out, you think of how mortals usually yearn find an oasis of happiness in this dreary periods, and how you don’t. You’ve been there, you’ve been happy, but happiness abandoned you eons ago along the streets to perish into bone dust. Happiness, joy and satisfaction left you at a time you needed it the most. It abandoned you in solitude, quivering, awaiting your tragic demise. But when all hope was gone, something didn’t forget you, it lent you a helping hand. Pain was there to accommodate you; it sheltered you, acknowledged you, and raised you as one of its own. Pain was too kind to even lend you some friends, namely depression, grief, despair and trepidation. Along the years, you all carried each other, you found light in a dark environment. You know happiness doesn’t deserve you; it’s not worth all the hype.  You found joy in this intricate enigma, you both found yourselves with this exposure of emotion.

The alarm rings, dawn has come for both of you, a new dawn, more reason to frown. Life is still there, when you open your eyes, you close them again, and hope to never open them, ever again. This pursuit of passing away is no longer out of reach. No longer a fable, but a reality, your reality.