Little note.

I've lost my thoughts for "The Institution" ... Any ideas anyone ? :)

The Institution - part 1

The sun was just setting over the busy streets of New York City. It was already Christmas eve. Many people bustling, hoping to catch a taxi or the subway to reach in time for their own Christmas dinner. Looks of excitement, happiness and a little bit nervousness were plastered on their faces, each having different thoughts as they head off for their Christmas plans for the night. Christmas jingles could still be heard from those shops that are still open.

Snowflakes rained upon the city streets, bringing down a wonderful atmosphere with it. I for one, had always admired snowflakes. They each have a different pattern and unique, just like me before I was inside the Institution.

Ah. Yes, the Institution. A wondrous place for discipline to be infused into the minds of "stubborn" and "opinionated" humans. It is located in the heart of Kotenski, Russia, deep down under the surface, where special classes are held to "redirect the mind" for the students there. I've lost my creativity there. It was a gloomy place, in a pit of darkness and dullness. Right now, I've lost most of my memories before I was sent there, but I am still trying to get them back, slowly and steadily, with the help of one of my acquaintances, Alex.

The only memory I have right now, is of the Institution. It seems like that was the only thing I could remember. Exactly how long was I in there, I sometimes wonder. I could remember the place perfectly. Dull grey uniforms worn every day, washed in a laundry room only occupied by a dozen or so washers and you do your laundry by yourself. Breakfast was at 9 every morning, lunch at 12 and dinner at 7. We will all wake up at 7.30 am and take turns to get ready. Everybody has their own queue numbers, probably given when we were first enrolled. Surprisingly, all I remember was the repetitive actions of everyday life. I remember the dull walls of the school. It was spotless and metallic. We had pathways to walk on daily, at an allocated time. We spend most of the day in classes, learning the habits of mundane humans from the thick heavy books with security cameras everywhere. I was reading out of habit. I had no other thoughts. It was like, my brain did not have any other forms of creativity. It was like a computer, spitting out numbers all the time, in a scheduled and orderly manner.

One thing that was odd about the Institution was that every night, I would hear footsteps, a weird smell, a sharp pain in arms, a cool liquid flowing in my blood, then a calming relaxation after the whole thing and I would slowly fall into slumber. The next morning, I would not think of anything and just get on with the routine.



-To be continued-

Pushed to desperation

"I'll do it. I'm telling you. I will do it." I threatened as I stood at the edge of the Empire State Building. I looked down. The roads were bustling with pedestrians and the trees were adorned with the Christmas decorations. The winds were chilly and picking up speed. I stood at the edge. I was mentally prepared for all this. I know what was going to happen. I've made up my mind. This is one life I don't want to save. It's useless. I know I can't continue. I looked at her in the eyes. She was wearing a chocolate brown winter coat. Winter was around the corner and I knew that I did not bear to live through another Christmas, especially after that accident. Her black hair fluttered in the wind at the top of the building. Slowly, I edged closer to the edge. I knew this is not something I want to reflect on. I jumped.

Unaccepted.

My heart pounded in my chest. Time seemed to stop. I could take notice of the world around me. The sky was ashen grey. The birds in the background stopped chirping. Maple leaves in the trees rustled against the autumn winds. I turned my attention back to your brown eyes. For a moment, I lost myself in those deep brown eyes. Then, I noticed the emotions in your eyes. I could read them. They were full of pity and disappointment. For once, I thought you would have understood me. I guess I was wrong.

I ran away. As far and fast as I could. I thought you could finally accept me for who I am. But what did you do instead? You looked at me in shock. I thought you could comfort me. I thought you could understand me. But you gave me something I can forget. That expression. That sad smile. That widening of your eyes. Your disappointment.

I've let you down. I'm so sorry. I just had to tell someone. You were the only one I trusted. You didn't need to know that. I'm so sorry. My conscience told me that you were the right person to share the secret with. I was finally coming out of the closet. I'm sorry I'm not good enough. I'm sorry for coming out as a bisexual. I just didn't want to be who I was not. Is that so wrong ?

The world is just wrong. I just wanted to be myself. I trusted you to calm me down, pull me away from the cruel system of society. Tell me it was fine to be myself. You're my best friend. I just wanted you to understand, being bi does not mean that its wrong. It just means that I have other likings rather than just one gender. I may still be considered straight. Don't be so judgmental. I just needed some support. I'm sorry.

My lungs were screaming for oxygen before I stopped to catch my breath. I jogged to a corner of a street, just behind the blocks for a rest. There, I released my emotions. Understanding. Sigh. If there's a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I would have won it. Why did I have to like somebody of the same gender ? When will I ever learn that if you were different, it means that you're abnormal and you should be shunned away from humanity ? Well I'm sorry for being myself. I'm sorry for being alive. I'm just trying to be myself. I'm sorry for being me.

Bottled up feelings.

I knew this was going to bring myself to tears. I looked at him. He continued to talk. He never knew what I was going through. He acted as if he understood my predicament, my situation, my life story. I hated that. Why must they act as though they know everything, when they don't even half of the whole thing? I hated the way they talked, obnoxious counselors who think they can solve everything by saying they've had something worse. Don't they know that it makes us feel small? Don't they know that our story is just as important to us as theirs were to them? Is it so difficult to understand that? Stop saying all those words of "wisdom". I know that I'm not supposed to do the actions that I did, but I had my own reason. To you, my life is part and parcel of your ticket to another expensive restaurant, another file you keep with all the other files in your metal drawers. It irks me to see you pretend to care.

Why must you act so lively? I don't care anymore. I know you're trying to talk sense into me, but I know none of it is going to go in. I can choose to listen to them but I know, I'm just gonna scream my lungs out and cry my tears dry. Is that what you want? Why can't you think of it from my point of view? Appreciate the feelings I am going through. I don't want this to happen, you know? I may get moody, I may get rough, but that's because I'm a teenager. What can you expect? My feelings are very vital to my survival. I hate you for looking down on my feelings. I hate you.

This is one of my earliest stories... It's uncompleted. :B

When someone important leaves you, it feels like a hole in your gum where a tooth falls out. You can
chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth around but your tongue would still go back to the
hole, where the nerves are still a little raw.

I could still remember the crash. A very unfortunate car crash. One that would change my life so very
differently. So long ago, yet still etched freshly in my mind like it was only yesterday.

Exactly 10 years ago, when that young and foolish me was still burning with vigour like fresh coal
into the furnace on Christmas Eve, I was trapped in a body that wanted to explore more on the social
privileges of being an adult. So being the dare-devil that I am, I set out to explore, from the deepest
trenches of the night life, to the adrenaline junkie of the 20th Century.

I was still so young then, only at the age of 18, but growing up in a large family with 8 younger
siblings, I decided to take the risk and start living my own life. What a poor choice that was.

Since when I was young, I was trained, whether knowingly or not, that you have to fight for what
you want to get. Growing up in the family taught me that life is a battle of the fittest, prey versus
predator. This was a silent and unspoken rule. A rule acknowledged by all, whether in the family or
in school.

Being the eldest means you have to usually give, and let the younger ones take. That statement
itself explains all that is happening in the family. Like how I was only able to study and complete my
primary education, whereas all the others would finish high school.

I could no longer take the chauvinistic set of parents that I had. They were completely biased, and
spent their time either working their butts off or taking care of my younger siblings. What was I
doing? I was doing the same job, almost like a third parent. Despite being young, I also had to work.
On my 15th birthday, I could no longer take it. I ran away from home.

Description of protagonist (male)

His warm eyes enraptured my heart, his warm touch makes my skin burn. His dark hair drenched in rainwater. Suddenly, my mind starts to capture everything in detail. There was small dimple at the corner of his right cheek, a cute small mole on his nose. His eyebrows were thick, and curved with slight hint of confusion. His brown eyes, which has captured my heart from the start, looked deeply into mine as I did into his... Oh the depth of his eyes... I could've practically sunk into them, a bottomless pit of curiosity and warmth. His mouth curved into a small smile, and my heart races into a fast-paced rhythm. The seemingly endless time I spent scrutinizing his facial features was only 10 seconds long, but for me, it seemed eternal...

Rainy day... (Building up to climax)

The rain pattered onto the tin roofs of the houses in the village. Strong gusts of wind blew and howled, like a wolf to a full moon. Sharon was alone. All alone in the enormous castle-like mansion, all because of her curiosity. Her parsimonious desire to explore the mystery behind the castle attracted her there, and there she was, with her teddy bear and her schoolbag alone, in the exorbitant house, with 200 years worth of dust.

All of a sudden, the thunder roared, and all of the inanimate objects, that looked typical of an antique worthy house in the sunshine, started to look ghastly. They shone creepily under the light intervals from the lightning and under the blue light, things looked twice as intimidating as before. Sharon could imagine the terror and frights by the occupants 2 centuries ago while walking down the hallways in the middle of the night, and thunderstorms, especially when tales and folklores of witchcraft and wizardy shrouded the minds of the 18th century dwellers.

Out of the blue, a creaking came from bedroom upstairs. Intrigued, Sharon went up the majestic staircase and found the door ajar. A foul smell emitted from one of the rooms. Curiosity got the better of her. She went inside the room and...............................