Eye of the Darkness

Tag: fiction

  • Shepherd S

    Would ONE be heard in a herd?

    -…and the sane one would turn…
    -They’re not turning, why should I?
    -…if you don’t wanna listen to me, here you go, look at it by yourself
    -You don’t understand, they know better, I know better…
    -I’m one of them, and I say Turn!
    -One of them doesn’t mean them. I need the same info from many, that’s the correct information.
    -…you know I never lied to you, you call me ‘a friend’. Please turn..
    -You are my friend, see I’m holding your hand, yet others don’t see what you see, so do you think I can?
    -I’m not asking you to see. I’m asking you to turn. There’s still time.
    -Make others move, I’ll join then.
    -Turn for your kids! Please! Do it for your children, grandchildren, for your family!
    -It’s terra incognita. This squeeze is not something I wished for, yet I know I can rely on them, lean on them. It’s my security. You, on the other hand, are somehow changing in front of my eyes, breaking down, disappearing
    -TURN! I beg you…

    …yet the mass of 7.8 billion bodies kept walking to the edge. While the frontlines kept already falling off a cliff in millions, the centre and back still didn’t pay attention, since it wasn’t the mind of the herd that was moving them, but their belief in “a story of a shepherd”.
    The one, who’s unlike the others. The one, who watches over them all. The one, who would warn them if something went wrong. The one, who guides them, protects them. The one, who touches a dead mind drowned in the stream of belief.
    And that’s when the only road, that existed and they all shared, suddenly forked. By her steps.
    She was followed by no one, but a silent chant of a herd ‘she part, she part, she part…’. Yes, their part departed.
    Over the years that followed you could still hear the stories echoing the whisper of tails of a herd.
    The herd which didn’t exist in billions anymore, as only few millions survived, changing their direction by the swift movement of the last moment.
    They kept walking in a new direction for centuries, reflecting on the words of the one that had left.
    They thought her to be different.
    Unlike them.
    They thought her to be A clairvoyant.
    They praised her.
    They remembered her in a story of a friend that fell into pieces and disappeared one day.
    A story of She that parted the herd.
    A story of She that finally got heard.
    All of them connected into a story of A shepherd watching over them.
    No words were to be trusted, no one else was to be heard, but her spirit.
    And so blind, deaf, numb, they kept on moving, breath by breath…

    -Are you saying this is what humans do? Ignoring each other, waiting for “the sign from the spirit”, accepting dead words only? Does it mean they will never learn?
    -They’re learning by every breath, love. Yet they are still unable to accept an honest information of the other. And so they keep on following that, what they think they know, what they feel.The vibration of a tale

    of the other🖤

  • Mira

    -mira?
    -Yes, love.
    -Why you never got married
    -Hm, how do they say it? You see, there was this boy..
    -Just like in that song😁
    -Yes. A very lonely boy, who hungered for love that of a father. And because he was a very creative little boy, he created such a father in his heart, carrying him within himself everywhere he went, cherishing him. 
    As the time went on the boy created for fun a whole family, this one occupying his mind. Its members were a bit funny, a bit intelligent, a bit annoying, a bit mad, a bit selfish, a bit you name it- resembling a real family. And because he created them, they were all not only truly connected to him, yet also under his total control, unable to hurt him in any unexpected way. 
    The years flew by, carrying the boy on their wings, dropping him back to the ground as a young man. Who began to long for the love of a young maiden, his divine counterpart. 
    And so he set up to create her, once again virtually, by fishing in the waters of virtual reality, searching for the threads to weave the virtue of his heart. 
    -Threads?
    -Yes. When our virtual eyes met, he wanted to use me as such, yet with time he understood I was too dark, too dumb, too unpredictable, too not right. And so he left, deleting my footprints on the go. He lives nowadays with his virtual divine match.
    -And you?
    -I can’t change my true nature for anyone, love. Being nothing but A mirror of the core. Of the other, in this very case pretending to be deleting my being, my features, my fingerprints, my footprints, my hair… 
    -I don’t understand.
    -You see, those parts of me, he was trying to delete, were just a reflection of his true core. His true persona. Meaning, his mentally created divine counterpart was about to delete the figure being reflected by the mirror, not the mirror…

  • Let Your Ship Set Sail

    7/06/25
    Last night eye dreamt about a large black ship in the sky, floating over the horizon from right to left, passing the buildings, then descending smoothly to sail the river of the South.
    I, as usually, took photographs of it, with flamingo sky and buildings below, intending to show them to my Dad…
     
    When I woke up, eye knew the skyline didn’t belong to London, since its aircrafts spinning my head were always heading in the opposite direction. 
    6 weeks later, eye followed a black airship, melting in the west into the mellow magenta of Italian sky, offering the very twin of a photograph from my dream..
     
    8 weeks later (2/8/25)
    -…by the way you’ve heard of that earthquake in Kamchatka? It’s supposed to create a tsunami, I’m not saying it to scare you, it’s just popped on my screen the other day…
    Lotus’s innocent gaze gifted me with a silent slap. 
    -You’re telling me now?? Did you check?!
    -No, there was no time and theoretically we are at a safe distance..
    -Ok. Was there ever a tsunami in Galapagos?
    -Dunno, I’ll check.
    The Google came up with an evacuation of the area 3 days before our arrival to Miami.
    -Slavka, and now what?? All that money, such a journey and for nothing??
    -Why nothing. If you insist I’m pretty sure, someone will take you there. The question is whether you’ll see anything. Still, I can’t believe there’s a real tsunami,- I said with a smile.
    -Which part of that sentence is supposed to make me smile??
    -Guess, none of it. To me though, it’s my dream from 11/7/25. Told you we were in Galapagos, descending the stairs of stone, when I suddenly felt the big tidal waves coming from the distant horizon. We wanted to go left, yet water was faster, wanted to climb the stairs again, yet a giant rock slab, carried by water, pushed us back. Eye was correct🥹 yet no one’s gonna believe me, like usually.
    -I will, since I remember you told me about it back then
     
    The last intuitive card eye picked up this morning in London was the one uploaded with this post.
    43. Let Your Ship Set Sail
     
    And so one dark craft, leaving the eastern magenta skies behind, descended in the true West to smell the forever rose and skilfully navigate the mighty river of South💜

  • Lughnasadh

    “Slavomira,
    I wasn’t asking for anything about you, and yet, YOUR MAIN GUIDE came to me.
    In the middle of a session, while I was connected to my own questions, he came to me with a strength I had never felt before.
    It was not a simple visit. It was a spiritual emergency.
    He delivered a powerful message, a clear call.Because there is something you need to hear before August 6th…”

    Your Jenna
     
    Eye scanned the email, discarding it, just like all the others from my friendly “astrologist”- click the link, pay the money and “I’ll helpya”. 
    The number though somehow still rang the bell, and so eye hit the Google, expecting to see the date of August’s foolish moon, coming up with “an error” of three days.
    Smile slowly melted away, perceiving nothing but the numbers deeply known to me, whispering 123.
    Leading the fingers to another Google search, and then connecting the dots in my usual insane way-
    Yes, it was only yesterday when eye had finally a free afternoon, leaving gigantic sunflowers of Vera’s garden for the first cornfield of this year, winking at the train-tracks attracting the people expecting the trains, chasing there a scent, that of a scorching summer in cool blackberries.
    Cut
    Morning picture of Emma’s new yellow tracksuits, refusing to leave my mind.
    Cut
    Tarot reader “confessing” of not liking her very own “strong orange” shadow, which she happened to be wearing, screaming “liar” in my mind that night.
    Cut
    No Italy was not burnt this year, unlike the previous ones. Anywhere my eye anchored, it got swallowed by the luscious greenery.
    Cut 
    The place, where I was usually staying was taken, hence I was looking at the 6 swallows and their two core shadows, instead of my usual heart tearing quintet of seagulls. Thinking about nothing, but 6
     
    Eye woke to the storm the next day.
    Later on eye met sunflowers again, embellishing a trashed tray, lighting up the choking dust of one Italian parking lot, preceding the way to the playground, neighbouring but another field of true corn giants.
    Cut
    -Ok, your name is Filippo, and my proper name is Slavomira. Slavo mira. Try.
    Two soft hazelnuts of one, nearly two, looked at me with all due respect.
    -Fiyi minna.
    -Filo🙄 Slavomira. Sla vo mi ra.
    -Sawka minna.
    -I’m Minna?
    -Yem!
    Cut
    Searching for children’s songs on YT that afternoon, YT kept on offering me the video of Mira’s wedding song (where she stops the artificial pull of one liar, and calls out for her dragon). Awaiting the storm.
    Cut
    In the evening eye remembered it’s the last day to send flowers to my mum, getting lost in the avalanche of virtual sunflower bouquets. Yes, it was simply the season…
    of the harvest…of that one had managed to sow…celebrated by those, who “worshipped the spirit”… blooming in yellow, orange, soft greens and a sacrifice…
     
    You see, once eye paused and paid attention, the highest guide was no one but me. Unable to unsee what was to come- the long time awaited “apology” from someone, who believed in his righteously deserved harvest🤷‍♀️
     
    P.S. as I typed the last emoji instead of a full stop, the bells of Santa Anna gave birth to the Midnite🖤 

  • 1/5/2024

    No, I did not dance, neither did I sing. There was no magic spell to cast, no one to throw the ring.
    There was only Sara and her concerned gaze, spelling out loudly- Slavka, I had no idea, yet you’re exaggerating… you’re not saying it in chronological order, that means it’s emotional…. please think about it. I can help you find someone good, there’s no shame in seeing a professional. Few sessions and they’ll help you, you’ll see it differently. Please, before it’s late…Will you promise me, to at least think about it? Let me help you…”, her dark eyes got filled with tears.
    My answer was a simple no, which her eyes translated as stubbornness, a sky-hitting ego, and I didn’t try to correct them, since her words- “…in a way you’re behaving like your friend- you like being submerged in it…” outlined the picture she was seeing.
    No, there was no need to tell her that a psychologist is no one but another human being, who is paid to pay attention and to actually hear you out, since there’s no one else who would listen.
    So you can relive “the stressful” experience without being stressed, you can find the logic of illogical, stamp the “meaning aka label” on the very issue, cast the light on the misunderstood.
    That’s the whole healing process, which I was more than familiar with, for I used to be my own psychologist my whole life. Not in a verbal form, I preferred writing, since the dead letters had the unique quality of possessing an actual spine, holding their ground, no matter the circumstances.
    I knew I had to write it, just like those years ago. Yet back then, it was different. It was only one summer day filled with a heavy scent of wood, flowers and burning Sun.
    This time I began many different times, tried to stick to the timeline, still, it throws me back into the loop. Of hearing the shuffle of old slippers. Seeing a tall skinny determined man wearing black, walking up the hill, bracing himself for the gale….

    Walking home few evenings later, eye picked up but a few linden sprouts, a couple of wild blue flovers swinging in the rhythm of Strauss, and gathered all the light eye could dig out in this thick darkness. It certainly was no bonfire, yet neither was I a true witch.
    The hands groomed the hair of the remaining painted cushions and there she was, sitting on a dark green sofa, the midnight herself, just like she had never left.
    The old books insisted the portal was open and so eye tried to speak to him. Verbally, yet failed again, the only words leaving my mouth being insanely repeated Prepáč mi, prosím, drowning in salty waters of one desert…

    That night, for the first time since my dad’s death, I wasn’t dreaming about his death or his burial. Instead I ran to the nearby village to pick up my niece Kaya from school. It was raining, and I had just enough time to pop into a shop to buy some cheese. Out of the shop, I wanted to cross water-jets barrier, which was an obstacle on the way to the nursery. I tried to walk through, yet the pain was too great, hence I retracted my footsteps, thinking about the cattle being held within the water-jets corral. Regaining the balance eye saw a tall man, cutting through the water-jet barrier just like me before. It didn’t hurt him at all, yet he got trapped inside, since the time inside was different-denser, the consistency that of honey.
    The rain thickened, followed by a thunderstorm, and eye found a shelter under the old bridge, together with other people. That’s when my phone rang. The man next to me asked who’s calling me.
    I replied “my dad”, and as I was saying those words I knew my dad was dead. And yet I also knew, it was really my dad on the other side.
    I picked up the phone and heard his voice clearly- “Slavka, that rain is much too heavy, I know what you’re gonna say, still I’m gonna give you a lift…”

    “…In dreams, our dead come calling… Usually when we make contact with our dead loved ones the dream tends to be more vivid and detailed than your average dream, in fact the conversation often contains a hidden message that can be decoded metaphorically…”

    The indisputable fact is that my daily nightmares about my dad dying, or being buried, fully stopped that very night🖤

  • But you…

    14/5/25
    …was standing in front of Emma’s giant kitchen window, pointing out to her a mellow early-summer day outside.
    Suddenly I could feel on my skin the incoming high wind, knowing exactly what was to follow, hence rushed to close the window, and get at least one potted plant in. 
    At that moment there was nothing but numb darkness outside, full of crazy air, suddenly opening a nonexistent door of Emma’s kitchen, rushing in.
    I pulled Emma out of the airway, shut the door and went to the window again.
    That’s when the tiny snowflakes began to brighten up the darkness outside, and eye knew
    I was seeing the soft light of the returning midday…
    22/5/25
    I shouted in the very kitchen (this time in real life) at someone standing in the doorway, tall, wearing black, being deaf to my words, being blind to one little girl, still asking whether I was aware of the decibels I was creating. Few minutes later I found out the mentioned someone was to be out of my life the following day…
    14/6/25
    Couldn’t sleep so began to read the tarot readers on YT, found someone finally talking about something else not just the viewer being a superhuman, yet about taming the inner beast- the anger.
    Since I was not holding the phone properly, it kept falling, and every time went to the video used in this post. 
    It took five attempts, till I gave up, and decided to listen to offered Carl Young’s take on “How not to be angry ever again.”
    The final picture in the video was an image from my dream, I just didn’t perceive myself back then as the dragon causing it, yet someone separate, someone “righteous, since I was protecting someone else”. Still, the gale of that day was caused by my very own breath…
     
    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=exuUcuQwXlA

  • Danseuse

    …fascinated, I studied her mouth, constantly giving new and new forms to the stream of sound, raising out of her throat, creating cascading rivers, morphing into almighty deafening waterfalls, seemingly living a life of their own, never tiring, never stoping.
    Weirdly enough, it made me think of a perpetuum mobile, which I never imagined with such clarity, of such intensity and yet, so fragile. Then her gaze wandered to my feet.
    -Those shoes…you’re wearing…OMG!! I’m speechless! Why… they are gorgeous! Love them!! Where did you get them?
    My fingers caressed the smooth skin of lilac heels, resting peacefully on my feet, tenderly, with a touch as light as lover’s breath.
    -Got them delivered. The left one came last year. The right one this February…
    -What the…. You’re really loosing it, hun.- her eyes darkened, sinking in the mist of suspicion. -Why would you buy one shoe a year?! Not to mention the obvious…-
    -I’m not loosing anything, for I didn’t buy anything. This whole time I thought they were from my hacker, you know, one of his impractical jokes…Turned out to be a gift from VA. Rather electric in its nature, wouldn’t you say?
    -Does he know…-, the light embarrassment bloomed on her face, -he knows that…you can’t, erm … that you’re… you’re paralysed… right…-
    -Yes, he does.
    -And isn’t he… Well, is he not the one who got you in that wheelchair at the first place?
    -Nope. That’s what people think. He just happened to be there. When I landed. Could be anyone, really.
    -Still, I don’t get it. What did he send them for? He knows you can’t dance anymore.
    -According to him, he sent them to make me happy.
    The waterfalls calmed down. Even the giddy droplets ceased. And from that stillness shined a blushing beauty of silence. Followed by a blue petal of a smile…

  • Land of mad

    In the land of the mad

    Lived once one normal one.
    Looking at the hot cross bun only in her memories, since her naked eye simply couldn’t bear its brightness, its heat, its refusingtodie EG🙄
    Where, for years, she tried to reason with the hun, the unquestionable, the undeniable truth of the existence –
    -You see me, love…
    -Sure I do
    -And the same way eye can see you, too
    -Nope! Correction! You’re nothing but my reflection!! There’s no need for you, or anybody else, I’m the one that CAN do, willing to save the world from the war, cold or hell, with my mighty sword, that of belief,- said the lord Number One, heating up, knowing its powers, unaware of the true existence of love, this devoted lover.
    And so she finally understood her old dreams, resting in peace deep underground, in the core of her extraordinarily ordinary mind, projecting nothing……. but his back.
    Yes, light he was and always will be.
    Unable to read his very own hole, lost in the crazy mightiness of his very own sole, ignoring the number of feet of an ordinary human 🤷‍♀️
    And so she stopped.
    Since the altruistic mightiness didn’t need anyone. Just the followers, the copycats, the wannabees. One would only wonder at that point, who in such a world was creating all that war, hatred, cruelty, in one breath- the unnecessary death.
    And so the story of zero light never happened, leaving baba Vanga truly blind, never touching her lost sight.
    -Zero light? You mean darkness, right?🙄
    -No, I said ZERO LIGHT, fracking zeroes everywhere
    -If the complete darkness grows in the footprint of light, nothing remains!
    -No. On the contrary. At such times ordinary human becomes blind to their ever present dark, able to perceive the fracking light. Said Stephen.
    -King??
    -Other. Stephen. Other. King…

  • The scent

     
    Of three peonies and one coffee 
    Embraced the fresh air
    Of two morning windows
    And one evanescing V
    Of fifteen geese 
     
    Noting one 
    Adult 
    Male 
    Full of sorrow
    That of an orphaned child
    Sleeping alone 
    In a large house overflowing with people
    Hugging 
    The icy chill of his once homeless nights
     
    One van 
    Sharing the honeyed pastry
    With the driver and his son
    Pausing the time
    Of two crossroads
     
    Joined by one
    Giant father 
    On his way to school
    Holding the hand
    Of his elfie daughter
    Gingerly
    With pride
     
    Followed 
    By seven ravens 
    Of satin feathers
    Ravenously ripping
    The leftover corpses
    Of the idea
    Of once Great Britain 
     
    Passed by one 
    “guy” 
    Roughly the age of the crown and ‘heart
    With two shoes
    Large enough
    To fit his soul twice
    And also my inappropriate wonder
     
    Despite the one
    Constant migraine
    Refusing to let go
    Knocking 
    With a force
    On the door
    Of one impatient
    Coach
    Blocking 
    One pelican 
    Crossing
     
    Resulting in my first words of that day
    To myself
    “What an Rsall”
    To him
    “What are you doin’?! It’s RED!!!”
     
    Eye bellowed
    Just like an insane poster up above
    Claiming
    “In the age of light darkness arises”
    Screaming
    FAKE
     
    For the light
    Had its way
    To touch
    Even the Nite
     
    Pulling her gaze 
    Off the ground
    Anchoring her
    In nothing
    But 
    The gloomy clouds
    For some
    For her
    Behind a tattered web of dark threads
    Dusted
    With myriads of shimmering stars
     
    Melting the skies
    Into honey drops
    Caressing
    The delicate green babies 
    Of one ancient pine
    Bathing 
    In a heart 
    Of one twilight
     
    Being the breathtaking background
    For the silver lining 
    Of two wings
    Singing 
    The graceful silhouette 
    Of one seagull
    Into the existence
     
    Painting the veils of apricots
    Onto the powder 
    Blue canvas
    Printing the embarrassed letters
    Of one blushing maple 
    To hundreds 
    Of mosquitoes 
    “Leaf
    Leaf!
    Leaf!!!”
     
    That’s when she realised
    The stabbing pain to be completely gone
    Feeling
    Nothing
    But that indescribable non-touch 
    Of her long lost friend
    Feeling its presence 
    Dancing all around her
    Insisting
    On something
    She intimately knew
    Years ago
     
    “Em”
     
    Unable to tame 
    A soft smile out of the blue 
    She remembered 
    “…first you slow down your steps
    Breath
    Hearing
    Sight
    Will follow
    That’s how you meet the silence”
     
    In a rustle
    Of one tangelo fox 
    Tiptoeing ‘round
    Not noticing her
    Being preoccupied 
    With proudly carrying 
    its Sainsbury shopping bag
     
    The same sound echoed 
    In the wings 
    Of two raven thieves 
    Stealing carmine rich cherries
    From one 
    Summer 
     
    “already??”
    Her sudden tear whispered
     
    Mirroring her Dad
     
    Asking
    The true reason WHY
    the flowers had to close their eyes 
    to see 
     
    True nite

  • On one’s way home

    “….on the way home, it was impossible to ignore the change in “them”- the subtle was viciously turning into obvious. 
    Dry coughs entangled the bouts of sneezes, the hollow tap-rap of crouches, canes and limping, was creating an eerie melody echoing in the thick haze of fatigue.
    Suicide pedestrians kept challenging insane drivers, every couple (no matter the age) was discussing nothing but the health, each of them walking light years in preservation of their personal space and opinion, with zero respect for the other. 
    And so it made a perfect sense the fighting clubs kept springing up all around the city of London like fly agarics.
    It was only four years ago, when I travelled by the very same train, accompanied by the very same people rushing home from work. With closed eyes I could dive unnoticed into their conversations of many topics, or just listen to specific sounds of the train, following my own thoughts. 
    Eye could walk home, down the lit up pathway of family houses, bathing in silence, or melodies of many eras and countries, complemented with laughter and children’s voices. 
    Not anymore.
    There was nothing left but yelling. On the busses, trains, planes, at the airports, stations, in the shops, hospitals, schools, homes, streets.
    The defenders of the insanemanmade rules upgraded by ten levels. 
    Fellow pedestrians turned into kamikaze walkers by, seeing nothing but their highway. 
    My friendly neighbour (who, would be over the moon I’m using his exact words), decided I needed a saviour, since he was depressed, and eye still refused to see the world in a positive way despite the contagious worldwide covidpositivity, (bad bad bad, unfriendly Slavomira).
    Seeing him, after eyeing up this blinding bright cherry tree (echoing to me in petals a surprised quiet voice of one white angel from 20/11/23. “He is still able to walk??” I did not understand her surprise back then, still learning the true meaning of her words that very night.), proved to be a rather difficult task, since his usual question “How’r’ya?” got answered.
    “There’s still war in Ukraine, and my father is dead today just like he was yesterday. So how am I supposed to be?”
    He offered his knowledge of evil Putin destroying the world, followed by his empathy, since his dad died 15years ago, so he knew 100% what I was feeling.
    And yet I was talking about British government tickling the core of a nuclear war (media don’t say any of that, how am I supposed to know?!), just as I was not talking about his dad…
    “Did you have to kill him too?” eye asked.
    “No, what… why would you ask such…”
    Yes, the world is full of zombies to be. And full of friendly neighbours, who may decide you need to be saved, without actually hearing a word dropped by you. Since all they can hear is their own understanding of an event, just as all they can see is nothing but their experience…