20 Temmuz 2025

SEVEN BILLION VERSIONS OF MYSELF- chap-2

nlybyrm

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SEVEN BILLION VERSIONS of MYSELF

-Chapter II-

‘’Do you ever get abandoned by the feeling of your own stubbornness of not letting your hatred go to where it belongs and stop the urge to come back beside your itchy feelings, giving you a smirk on the corner of your shoulder, just as if it were the most casual, effortless act to maintain throughout your lively momentum?’’

In the book of a lonesome valley, those wise but cruel as a high-pitched melody's words had always stuck with Annie since she first fell for that damn smile. She wouldn’t dare, with all she held back; she wouldn’t dare...

‘’This is probably a dream.’’ The words came out of her soul, but her brain preferred to ignore the solid fact within milliseconds. What made her doubts disappear was the echoes of the pitiful noise slandering the walls of her reality within and without. She was leaning against the walls of the place that – she still had no idea where she was or where these walls and its structure of existence came from – but she kept going with withheld curiosity and hope.

She came to a drought of delusional dreams and was in need of something raw and blended with purity.

‘’It was funnier from where they were standing, but clearly with the confusion we endured, we missed the joke.’’

She flipped when she heard the flickering music stop, and the words started flowing through her memories again. She came to a standstill when she saw the old almond tree right in front of her, just like a Van Gogh painting came to life, except this was all a lively dream that lies beneath her injuries.

Below the surface of the tiles, there was a piece of paper. Annie thought, ’Finally! Something I can lay my hands on, something I can touch, vivid and washed with a glimpse of reality.’’

The texture of the paper was rough and weathered. On the folded side of the paper, there were three words carved with cheap ink; the moment she read those words, the bells started to ring. The bells were loud, as they were her unbent dreams, and kept going until she had read all the letters on the paper that wrote of someone who drowned in his/her sorrows. She was in the severity and urge of tears, and finally she couldn't hold herself back and burst into tears.

She wanted the letter to keep for herself, but her insidious consciousness deceived her within her good intentions, and for a flicker of a moment, she let him read her thoughts that she has regretted immensely afterwards.

‘’Clearly there is another page continuing with the letter,’’ she thought, but that missing page was nowhere to be found. ‘’Maybe he/she isn’t at the end; it sure as hell should be somewhere near the place where I found the letter. Maybe there isn’t a second or a third page; even if there is, there shouldn’t be an end. It can’t end this way, no, please no.’’

As Annie let her prayers ignite through this realm, with all the selfishness she had absorbed from her father, she prayed there was no part 2 of this letter, and even though there was, she took an oath to never do further search and never seek the hopeless wanderer's last words that would never be found. She read the letter for one last time before she tore the piece of paper with all the second thoughts she tried to fight in her mind relentlessly.

the letter:

I GIVE UP

In the context of meaning, I am utterly deflected by this idea that eventually – unfortunately – I GAVE UP.

Now don’t give me the sour eyes; we all knew somewhat and somehow that this could end. I somehow managed to distinguish my pain of chains and nightmares apart from the cruel reality of bitterness and sweetness altogether. But the awkwardness of this act on its own won’t give me a break even now, at my terminal fracture of times.

Actually now I’m realising that I never think this through, as the meaning of this was a whole piece of information that I had to put up with for the past 26 hesitant years.

The opposition that comes and goes back and forth between my hands is deafening my will to suppress the feeling of the immortal act. I was never a beloved member of the teary-eyed club. Maybe that's why it was all built on sand, and I was waiting to drown in the stubbornness of the substance I relied on for the final tears that I had to let go of.

The mistake that has been made can't be turned around. That was the oath I was paralysed to conquer: the forgotten and the rotten. There is no need for false judgements in my will; I am only and truly here for the broken ones. And my time in the godforsaken land has come to a pitiful, hopefully a merciful end.