~ "Say good bye
tada good bye
subete no wazurawashisa ni good bye
Say good bye
tada good bye
kawaru koto osorezu ni good bye" ~
I can't get these lines out of my head.
I'm staring into a certain direction.
I see a figure, lonely and sad.
[Die]
The stinging pain brakes through the walls of numbness clouding my senses.
I let my head sink.
Fine drops of red blood drip onto plain white tiles.
It was a starless night in autumn.
Exhausted from the concert Inoran fell onto his bed and closed his eyes for a moment, reviewing the gig.
The powerful sound and blazing lights, screaming audience, ecstasy...
It was all just like it had been back then.
The sound of a slap broke the tense silence.
J winced as the hand hit his face, leaving a burning red impression.
"How could you?!"
Inoran's tears fell freely, his eyes never leaving the scene.
Sugizo was sitting on the bed, his body hardly covered, eyes wide in shock.
I was awoken by my phone, that rang.
Tiredly I peeled myself out of the sheets and walked to the phone.
I felt strange, like something wouldn't be alright.
My hand closed around the phone, tighter as needed, as I picked up.
"Moshi moshi?"
"Izumi-san? This is Dr.
Do you believe in angels? I'll tell you a story about one, named Sugizo.
The one who's happy life in the wonderful world of angels was only disturbed by his visions.
Visions from the human’s world.
Visions of pain, torture and tears. And he knew who made them cry...
My ears are ringing just by the sound of my blood thumping through my vains, as if on lightning speed. My vision flares blinding white, my nerves singing with a surging mix of what seems like a thousand different emotions, none of which I can dicipher anymore.
Once born, a humans heart resembles an empty, bottomless pit. Therefore life is nothing else, then the quest of filling it up. This is done by all the memories we collect along the way and the countless people we meet, who leave their mark on us, one deep another shallow.
Ever since I know you, you´ve been some kind of a hero to me.
Undoubtedly you possess the kind of physics, so irritatingly attractive in their forbiddenly sinful beauty, that they won´t ever fail in stunning anyone coming along - even that Weiss ice-prince Abyssinian -.
Stark white walls, gapingly empty, enclosed plain, spartanic furniture, consisting of a bed, a small table, and a spotless, marmorate PVC floor, that just seemed to belong to this kind of places, like a stamp to a letter.
Hello, I’m Ling of Silver Ash. Have you maybe heard of us before?
Ah, yes, you’re right, of course you haven’t. After all we’re still one of these young, struggling for fame newcomers in the business.
An eerie quiet lay across the night, only disturbed by the whining engine of a bus winding through the narrow driveways of a quiet and conservative suburban housing estate. It was very late, so the dimly lit inside of the bus was empty. At least almost.
Slashing rays of spotlight.
The roaring of distorted guitar chords from the amp in front of me.
The screaming and cheering of a crowd running wild.
Against my expectations the show went quite well, the atmosphere was jaunty, far from how tense it had been lately.
Jack pushed the kneaded and cut biscuits into the oven, switched it on and waited. After 10 minutes the oven beeped. He opened the oven, pulled out the baking tray and wondered: "Funny, why aren't the cookies golden yellow? And why are they still so soft?
Jack sat at his desk and typed the report of yesterday's mission into the computer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone was putting a cup of hot, black coffee on the desk next to him.
Little Angela was delighted every year on Christmas, because every time she celebrated with her parents and her grandmother in her grandmother’s old house. There always is a beautifully decorated christmas tree, and she always got the nicest gifts: new cl
Captain Jack Harkness sat in his office thinking about his two new partners: Christian Humberstone, son of a professor of Victorian history at Melbourne University, who has a sense of the psychic, and Angela von Faber, daughter of a musician couple, who h
“Eliot, did you know its 17 freckles?”, his so quiet and low voice would erupt after hours of silence, and nothing but the flow of the stream, and the birds chirping in the trees above us.
“hm what?”, I think I was dozing off, when he spoke to me.
The Master finally captures his oldest enemy. But with him comes a peculiar young woman. A glitch in reality lets everyone forget Roka, making her a mere ghost in the TARDIS. Only the Master seems to be unaffected, and as Roka tries to free the Doctor, sh