Tortured Genius

Chord's Memoire

Disclaimer: Trigger Warning. Read at your own risk.

Using black and white, I paint images in your minds. Using beats and my voice, I can lighten your mood up, or the other way around. Using my headphones and being drowned in music; art is the only reason why I found my way back.

As I am walking into this cold, endless night, I saw you. Murmuring into thin air, gibberish words coming out from your mouth, and staring past me. I waved my hand and shouted your name, inhaling all the air I can just to make you dart me a glance, but all sounds I made have fallen into deaf ears when I saw you walk away.

I tried to followed you, but the demon swoops me over into his arms and I am now sitting in front of my computer. This is a trance, I guess, because I do not know what I'm doing. But on the screen, I can see, I'm looking at a gun that will soon be unmaking me. I wonder, how many bullets that are sharp as a glass will it take to carry me into my bed? Jesus, my imagination is playing with me again.

A cold hand tapped my shoulder blades and there I saw a kid who got eyes so dreamy, and lips muttering words I can't understand. She gave me a Disney book and I thought she wanted me to read it for her, but then, some woman started to drag her away from me. Her hands are trembling but she still wants to reach me. Out of confusion, I want to reach her too, but the demon kidnapped me once again.

I remember I'm standing on a cliff with these three girls. I looked around and we're in a middle of nowhere, but this sensation on my chest says that I am happy to be with them. I can't help myself but to let these tears out from my eyes. I gasped when the cold droplets of sadness started to burn my cheeks. I touched my face and I realized that my tears already turned to steam. I tried to ask the person with me but pitch black matte swallowed my vision again.

I am in the middle of a concert. I'm lost, and that's for sure. I tried to ask for help, and call some random names in the crowd but no one is responding. The floor started to collapsed. My ears are ringing and my body was moving on its own. My hands are grasping my neck, and choking me to death. I want to scream for help but the people around seemed so blind and chose to ignore me with my tragedy. Noises turned into my own voice, telling me things I don't want to hear. Cursing me. Shouting at me. Tempting me to end everything.

That is when I realize that the demon got me again.

I stood in front of the mirror today, and I never saw a body across it. A garden full of thorns are blooming in my chest but I'm not feeling pain. I can set this whole world in fire, and call it rain. I can fly without using any kind of improvised wings because I am certain that there is nothing holding me back. I can rip my throat apart and let my blood drip to to the floor. I can scream whenever I want, wherever I am, because nobody can hear me now.

I laughed when I started to remember everything that I've done. I bargained with the Demon because he promised me that will be happy if I offered myself on him, if I became empty. And that is what I really wanted. This happened the moment I gulped all the pills in my cold hands, sunk myself to the tub, and closed my eyes for eternity. I made a deal, and I was given 30 days to bid goodbye, but I didn't. I ignored myself when she's in pain and mumbling words just to distract my anxiety for a while. I ignored my sister when she's making me read her a book, I missed the last hangout that my friends arranged for me and I did not enjoy the concert I payed for bucks. I mean, what's the point? There's nothing for me here.

Using my headphones, drowining in music; art's the only reason why I found my way back. Oh, I forgot. I can never find my away back again because the demon already asked me who I am and I responded with a name no longer living, "Chord Maddison Odino."

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This is Chord's POV, written in a chaotic and unusual manner, and as we all know, Chord talks in metaphors. It's much better if you interpret this passage in its figurative sense. 

I might write more of her episodes when I feel things again.

Thank you for...listening.

- Chris Oca