Releasing the system.

In small village going by the name of Darkyr, there lived a girl.

A girl nicknamed Vicious.

Everyone avoided her, because they thought her smile looked scary for she had very pointy teeth.

They said she had a vicious smile. That was why she was nicknamed Vicious after all, said the smarter girls and boys whilst nodding their heads.

But really, it wasn't quite so.

They never recognized her smile for what it was - a gentle one.

It wasn't her fault she was born with pointy teeth. She spent hours looking into the river, trying to smile in a way that people would interpret as kind and caring, but all the people ever saw was her teeth.

It was sad, really.

And I'm not in the mood, to change it to what it was supposed to be - to change it into something beautiful.

Horare

It was a calm and quiet afternoon, with the sun shining and rare breezes of wind passing the lonely hills of the Palace.

Chiaki was in what her Master had dubbed as "thinking", ever since he had ordered her to do so, in hopes of her attaining human emotions. But of course, the pale golem couldn't know that without understanding her Masters emotions towards her. 

So she sat there, rigidly, without moving a limb, staring at the pond, the surface clear and untouched. It acted as a mirror and reflected the light of the sun back into the sky.

Humans, she supposed, were not that different from golems, she mused. She had noticed this something in them, a something she could not name otherwise as Horare - the Eternal Flame of Golems, the Flame of Life.

It was what kept golems going. The scroll gave them their purpose. The flame gave them their ability to fulfill it.

And humans, yes humans were in that perspective the same as golems.

They had an inner Fire, which drived them on. A Fire, which was as easily extinguished as a golem's Horare, once you knew how to look for it.

And in her Master, she knew, the Flame was burning with extreme intensity.

Since Chiaki did not fear or hope, she only stated to herself that if it kept burning on with the same intensity, there would be many trying to extinguish it.

Unknowingly to her, there was a slight jab of anxiousness slowly forming in her chest. "Thinking" was working as the Second Prince had calculated, though at a much slower pace than he would have preferred. 

Rändaja.

A nice title, fitting for someone who flits around in different social groups daily.

Traveller.

Flowers of Algernon.

Gotta write that letter.

Anywho. Today, I think I was off the glue. No, I am not an addict. But I felt off. First off, I fell asleep in class. A miracle of its own.

Secondly, I had no strength to do practice after doing to full speed dashes. That was simply sad.

And then I got agitated over the most childish thing ever, a visit to the cinema. And when someone Random pointed out I could have incited them as well and upon hearing my explanation decided that assumptions were bad things. Which didn't lift my mood really. I agree with the idea, but I at that point was completely incapable of saying something that didn't sound like picking a fight to me.

But I restrained myself.

It also dawned to me that whilst I am pleased with my new point of view of trying to be happy, I am not satisfied with my opinion of bad moments. Because disliking them isn't making it easier to tolerate them.

So I'll try to change that some day. But for now, I still have to write that letter.

Ich übe Stille,
H.

I am uneasy. I am anxious. I am worried.

It was pouring when Rebella stepped into the temple.

The temple of impurities was a temple designed in the style of the eastern cultures. It was a temple with almost no roof at all.

As expected, it was mingling with people. The temple, usually so empty one could hear their own breathing, was filled to its brim with people, because the Rain God was angry.

And only letting go of impurities could help. So Rebella, like all the other people around her, tagged along with the people to get to the Inner Temple.

The Inner Temple was really a courtyard, so Rebella adjusted her hood before stepping once again into the shower of rain drops. There was a queue for paper, but Rebella had brought her own anticipating it.

She pushed her red hair back, to keep it from dripping on the paper as she wrote down her worries.

I am uneasy, because I have no future.
I am anxious, because my prayers won't be answered.
I am worried for my family.

Three simple wishes. Three simple prayers.

Rebella's most sincere thoughts. If that didn't please the Rain God, she didn't know what would.

The culture of Aryn was most extraordinarily obsessed with the element of Fire and Water. They were opposites, but Aryn had weaved them together, in more ways than just religion. Every shower was welcomed with a fire, a child knew how to swim and make a fire even before they learnt to speak.

It had become a lifestyle.

Rebella crumpled the paper and grabbed a bow. Not many used the bow and arrow, mainly because they were afraid of missing. But Rebella knew her green eyes wouldn't deceive her even in this rain.

Her hands were slightly numb as she lighted up the tip of the arrow. The Fyre resisted at first, but Rebella was resolute enough to set a spark. The whole tip burst into rainbow coloured flames.

Not even a second had passed when Rebella threw the paper high into the rain and sent the arrow after it.

It catched at the very moment the paper began falling. A rainbow coloured tiny comet fell straight down, following the pattern of the rain.

Many red and blue robed figures turned to look at the spectacle, but turned their attention back to their papers once the ball had landed.

Only the grey robes adorned with woven blue rain drops and red flames observed the flame carefully, extinguishing it with Waeter once the paper had completely burned.

Rebella felt her chest lighten. She had come here often enough after the disaster, but perhaps this was the first time where she felt that her prayers had been heard.

She left with a slight smile, carrying happiness within her like a tiny flame.

On my way home, there was no thunder.

Ima wa sekai ga watashi wa kirai.

Ima no boku wa watashi wa daikirai.

I dislike everything about negative emotions and problems based on them. They rile you up, put more volume to them and give you serious breathing problems including a head ache with it.

I want to throw up.

I hate the fact that I can't even mention those problems, because society has made me grow into a person who does not talk about these things. Or if, then always round the corner.

I hate the fact that no one will ever truly know what was going or what wasn't going through my head my whole life.

I hate the fact that I can't get over these petty problems. That analyzing them in a "calm" manner gets me even more riled up, because I feel that every time I get mad, I can't treat myself as a human.

I want to get out of here. Abroad. Anywhere, where I don't have any people I know to face. It'll be sad without the people whom I like and care for, but it would be so much easier to get rid of every emotion ever felt associated with a person, start in a new country with a blank page.

Evenings like this make me feel that there's two people inside me: The somewhat mad something thing, who actually likes to draw stripes on her face with a lipstick and the rather destructively mad person, who really tries their best to make sure that I am miserable. Neither of them deserve to be in each other's company.

I hate the way I keep blaming the society for things, but I really can't seem to figure out who else came up with the idea that everything remotely negative inside me must be suppressed, without ever giving up the hope that if I let something shine through, then maybe someone will notice.

I hate the way that my head is complicated apparently, cause all problems are so easy to solve and I'm supposed to feel the emotion without being it.

I hate being called an ego.

I hate being separated from myself, with someone simply dictating, that the ego is a sickness, thinking is a sickness, everything I am and live for is a sickness.

Because what is not important is your love for the people you've grown to love, but the amount of strangers you love. You gotta love everybody.

Nobody cares that you don't have enough love for that. Morals. Never trust em.

If my mind were a spine, then I'd really like to bend it to the point where it'll break. Just to see what happens.

H.

Musicless.

With a total amount of two balls and a New Year celebration, I feel that I might've crossed my limit of social interaction. Not the individual kind, but the, there are loads of people kind.

I honestly feel that I don't want to go anywhere for a long time.

I wonder if it's because I've stopped trying so hard in my life, which means that I am attempting to get along less and less with people I don't know.

I've also become quieter...it's like I do everything, yet when I need to talk about something, nothing comes to mind. Mainly since I haven't watched any kind of movies or anime or anything.

Nor read. I've just been...everywhere else. Which is more eventful and everything, but I have nothing to talk about.

Weird.

I feel like I've lost sight of the self I was before, my behavior and responses change more and more. Although I've been trying to go for the better, I have no idea what's happening.

I don't have trust issues anymore, I think. It's more of the question on which topics I am comfortable to talk about.

I read a lot. The whole Hunger Games series. Funny I actually did what a finnish fangirl told me to.

But now, I don't know whether it's the history lessons lately or myself going somewhat haywire, I feel for the whole series a bit more, take it in more seriously.

It's like growing up.

I really don't what that, mainly because I have no idea what that'll turn me into.

I wonder how the seventh grade me would feel like now.As arbitrary as the number seems, it's actually not.

I need something of a fresh start.

Should put that good thought down as well.

I know it's meant to be in a jar, but honestly, I have way too many pretty notebooks, which I should use.
I can always cut the descriptions out and put them then into a jar, ay?

H.

Dancer in the Dark

I feel like a sick pervert, who encourages people to talk about themselves, by pushing some simple buttons.

I feel fake.

I feel like I am caught up in a loop, never ending, always returning to this very same Sunday morning, where the only thing I do is write, write, write.

I get weird ideas, I feel oddly at peace, yet when talking to other people, I feel so very fake.

I feel Christmas.

The weather is windy, the sun is shining, yet I feel not confined, but somehow restricted to myself.

I feel like I am pacing impatiently in my cage, knowing I could break out, wondering what I am still waiting for.

Am I hesitating?