Writing away the clouds
faced me, then intertwined her fingers with the pale boy's, leading him to where I stood; inaudible. As they both got closer I instantly noticed that the boy had a piney scent, surrounded by the musky smell of smoke and cigars. His cheekbones were prominent and his jawline was smooth. His hair was so light of a blonde; some might've mistaken it for silver.
"This is Kabi, Oscar. Oscar, this is Kabi," Sabrina said, and then turning back to the boy she seemed so fond of. "In fact, Kabi was helping me this morning."
Oscar nodded, not saying much. And I'd thought that I didn't speak enough. With the slight wave of his hand, he greeted me, and then smiled sternly, nothing tugging at the corners of his pale lips. I did the same, respectfully.
***
Within a few more minutes, three more people streamed through the wooden door. Still the loud sounds of restless drivers and irritated pedestrians echoed through the streets and the once quiet neighborhoods. Worst of all, the chirping of little red and blue birds, calling out to one another drove me mad. Their innocence killed me. I couldn't pin down why. Maybe it was because, in comparison, their species was still pure. Humanity was a smear of black ink smudged into the book of sin. We'd made so many mistakes, but we'd done many things right. And still, the bad deeds would forever outweigh the good.
Two of the people who'd joined us were twins; identical too. One of them was a girl, the other person a boy. Both had dark black hair and big eyes. They had pale skin the shade of moonlight, thick fingers and thick faces, skinny waists and lanky legs, plus beautiful faces. More importantly, as I found out, an even better sense of humor. Their laughter complimented their hearts, both were free and flying. They called themselves Trinity and Tristan. I just kept calling them the Twin Towers.
The other girl was curly haired and dark skinned, with beautiful lips. Sometimes she was so dark I saw her as a gorgeous royal blue. She was quiet, but brilliant. She had one of those minds that were mistaken for inactive, but inside were just ripping and deteriorating from her imagination. She was too smart for her own good, too inventive. But then again, she had a different perspective, as always. She'd told me that others were too bland for their own good. That normalness was the weakness of humanity, that the thought of fitting in would slowly destroy civilization. Her mind was dark in the right places, but bright in areas that naturally were. She was an enhancement to herself. Her name was Brandi.
We'd all taken a seat in the mini lounge to the corner, where three tall lamps seemed to stand gallantly, illuminating each of our tired faces.
"Just finished last night's shift at the shopping center," Trinity said quietly, her eyes red rimmed. She began to rub her eyelids groggily, and then took a large bite out of her raisin bagel. "Worked from 11pm to 8am this morning, I only managed to squeeze in 20 minutes of rest on the train today." She shook her head in some sort of tired disgust. "Nobody even shops that late."
Tristan poked her in the side playfully, attempting to alarm his sister. "I do. I don't like the daytime crowd." He poked her again.
Her jaw clenched. "Stop being so annoying, Tristan."
"I'm just being you." Snapping his fingers, he ran a hand through his black hair, grinning. Everything about them seemed to say 'midnight,' even their charcoal colored irises.
"I'm too tired to reply to that. But if I was awake we all know I would roast you."
He smirked, and then poked her in the side again. "Sure you would, sure you would. You always say that, but you never do it. I'm still waiting for some action."
Trinity just ignored his remarks and kept eating, with her eyes closed. Crumbs were sliding down into her lap, tiny little ones managing to stuff themselves down her denim jean pockets.
Sabrina put her Styrofoam cup down after a quiet sip of coffee, and then coughed twice to gather our attention, which she'd already had. "So, I was thinking that we could just start off today with a little activity." She handed us all a yellow sticky note and a pencil. Mine was unfortunately not sharpened. "Write down what you think insanity is."
I scribbled messily across the paper, soon finding that it wasn't enough room for all of my thoughts, all of the analogies I was ready to bring about. Insanity is me. I am insanity. Insanity is when you can't control yourself. When fear has been haunting you, has been controlling you, making you hallucinate. It's the one word that can describe people with schizophrenia perfectly. It's a synonym to those possessed. It's when you've done something wrong, or something right, and the emotions you once tamed run rapid again. Insanity is merely a word to describe a man who's mentally ill. I am ill. I am very ill.
"Brandi, tell me what insanity is. At least what you find insanity to be," Sabrina said, tucking little strands of golden hair behind her large ears, smiling with her blindingly white and crooked teeth. And still she looked so sincere.
Brandi didn't say anything for a while. It was so quiet I could faintly hear the sounds of traffic outside the wooden door, the footsteps of civilians marching around with black clothes. Maybe inside her mind she was even marching with them, up in the front, screaming nothing. She was possibly shouting at the world through whispers. Maybe she was chastising our universe for being so bored. Then she spoke, quietly. Her voice was hushed, her back hunched. She didn't call for attention but she had been given a gift. "Insanity is mental torture that leads you to believe in things you normally would not. Torture is infinite, thus insanity is. And most of all, it's when we say we're fine but really we're drowning and no one is bothering to pull is out of the water. Insanity is a realm of reality for some."
Sabrina squinted at her, hands clutched in her lap, body trembling as if she had seen herself in a mirror. Maybe she'd had. I'd never know, but maybe I wasn't supposed to know. "Who is insanity?" Her voice quivered when she asked the question. "Don't answer me, answer yourself. Answer the question for yourself."
It's me. Insanity is me. You're a victim of the rules you live by. Whatever you think, it's what you become in the end. A prisoner of the bars you set and the standards you watched others raise. I can't help that my mind is filled with elsewhere and details that I don't care to share.
The rest of the day was uneventful for the most part. I watched the others talk chat amongst themselves, and I managed to sneak a peek at Oscar's little yellow sticky-note. Sabrina had told us to keep those sticky notes, to just keep them for a while. What he had written was interesting enough, and I'd decided to stuff it into my pocket, doubting he would notice its disappearance. As a club we played a few more games and took quizzes about what type of era we were supposed to be living in. I got the 50's, and I'm not too sure why. Was it because things were taken a lot more seriously back then? Was it because of the innovations made during that period? However my mind could never be as colorful as it was then.
comparison, their species was still pure. Humanity was a smear of black ink smudged into the book of sin. We'd made so many mistakes, but we'd done many things right. And still, the bad deeds would forever outweigh the good.
Two of the people who'd joined us were twins; identical too. One of them was a girl, the other person a boy. Both had dark black hair and big eyes. They had pale skin the shade of moonlight, thick fingers and thick faces, skinny waists and lanky legs, plus beautiful faces. More importantly, as I found out, an even better sense of humor. Their laughter complimented their hearts, both were free and flying. They called themselves Trinity and Tristan. I just kept calling them the Twin Towers.
The other girl was curly haired and dark skinned, with beautiful lips. Sometimes she was so dark I saw her as a gorgeous royal blue. She was quiet, but brilliant. She had one of those minds that were mistaken for inactive, but inside were just ripping and deteriorating from her imagination. She was too smart for her own good, too inventive. But then again, she had a different perspective, as always. She'd told me that others were too bland for their own good. That normalness was the weakness of humanity, that the thought of fitting in would slowly destroy civilization. Her mind was dark in the right places, but bright in areas that naturally were. She was an enhancement to herself. Her name was Brandi.
We'd all taken a seat in the mini lounge to the corner, where three tall lamps seemed to stand gallantly, illuminating each of our tired faces.
"Just finished last night's shift at the shopping center," Trinity said quietly, her eyes red rimmed. She began to rub her eyelids groggily, and then took a large bite out of her raisin bagel. "Worked from 11pm to 8am this morning, I only managed to squeeze in 20 minutes of rest on the train today." She shook her head in some sort of tired disgust. "Nobody even shops that late."
Tristan poked her in the side playfully, attempting to alarm his sister. "I do. I don't like the daytime crowd." He poked her again.
Her jaw clenched. "Stop being so annoying, Tristan."
"I'm just being you." Snapping his fingers, he ran a hand through his black hair, grinning. Everything about them seemed to say 'midnight,' even their charcoal colored irises.
"I'm too tired to reply to that. But if I was awake we all know I would roast you."
He smirked, and then poked her in the side again. "Sure you would, sure you would. You always say that, but you never do it. I'm still waiting for some action."
Trinity just ignored his remarks and kept eating, with her eyes closed. Crumbs were sliding down into her lap, tiny little ones managing to stuff themselves down her denim jean pockets.
Sabrina put her Styrofoam cup down after a quiet sip of coffee, and then coughed twice to gather our attention, which she'd already had. "So, I was thinking that we could just start off today with a little activity." She handed us all a yellow sticky note and a pencil. Mine was unfortunately not sharpened. "Write down what you think insanity is."
I scribbled messily across the paper, soon finding that it wasn't enough room for all of my thoughts, all of the analogies I was ready to bring about. Insanity is me. I am insanity. Insanity is when you can't control yourself. When fear has been haunting you, has been controlling you, making you hallucinate. It's the one word that can describe people with schizophrenia perfectly. It's a synonym to those possessed. It's when you've done something wrong, or something right, and the emotions you once tamed run rapid again. Insanity is merely a word to describe a man who's mentally ill. I am ill. I am very ill.
"Brandi, tell me what insanity is. At least what you find insanity to be," Sabrina said, tucking little strands of golden hair behind her large ears, smiling with her blindingly white and crooked teeth. And still she looked so sincere.
Brandi didn't say anything for a while. It was so quiet I could faintly hear the sounds of traffic outside the wooden door, the footsteps of civilians marching around with black clothes. Maybe inside her mind she was even marching with them, up in the front, screaming nothing. She was possibly shouting at the world through whispers. Maybe she was chastising our universe for being so bored. Then she spoke, quietly. Her voice was hushed, her back hunched. She didn't call for attention but she had been given a gift. "Insanity is mental torture that leads you to believe in things you normally would not. Torture is infinite, thus insanity is. And most of all, it's when we say we're fine but really we're drowning and no one is bothering to pull is out of the water. Insanity is a realm of reality for some."
Sabrina squinted at her, hands clutched in her lap, body trembling as if she had seen herself in a mirror. Maybe she'd had. I'd never know, but maybe I wasn't supposed to know. "Who is insanity?" Her voice quivered when she asked the question. "Don't answer me, answer yourself. Answer the question for yourself."
It's me. Insanity is me. You're a victim of the rules you live by. Whatever you think, it's what you become in the end. A prisoner of the bars you set and the standards you watched others raise. I can't help that my mind is filled with elsewhere and details that I don't care to share.
The rest of the day was uneventful for the most part. I watched the others talk chat amongst themselves, and I managed to sneak a peek at Oscar's little yellow sticky-note. Sabrina had told us to keep those sticky notes, to just keep them for a while. What he had written was interesting enough, and I'd decided to stuff it into my pocket, doubting he would notice its disappearance. As a club we played a few more games and took quizzes about what type of era we were supposed to be living in. I got the 50's, and I'm not too sure why. Was it because things were taken a lot more seriously back then? Was it because of the innovations made during that period? However my mind could never be as colorful as it was then.
20