The master of illusions...

He sat on the floor of his room and wondered what did he do in his past life to bring the wrath of gods upon him in such way. 'They' weren't merciful, 'they' weren't good to him at all.

                                                                 'They' were not his parents.

And they clearly showed it to him.

He was alone, in the darkness surrounding him. He liked it there, if he was to be honest. He preferred being alone, not knowing why people would be so afraid of the idea. He didn't have to mind his attitude, accept conventional showcase of emotions and perform expected behavior in patterns. Mainly, he did not have to pretend to be someone else who he was not. He could be just himself. "Himself... "

But who's this 'yourself' really? Rhetorical question, because not even the self knows the answer. Shame...

He lied, when he said that he liked being alone. Nobody does. Not even "aloneness".

He hated it in fact. He felt no validation to his existence if it can't be proven by someone else that he was there. Cause nobody noticed. Not when he cried, not when he was sad or when his body hit the floor.

He was and felt caged. He wanted to stretch his wings, like the angel, they put on a Christmas tree with a person he barely remembered.

Therefore he willed to create something meaningful from the darkness. He searched for a mean, a mean that could help him fulfill his impossible desire: to never be alone.

Then it happened. The lights seemed to flow out of his veins, out of the center of his palms, illuminating the black room. It was a wonderful sight to behold. He felt excited as the lights took shape, morphing like clouds in the sky, forming into something he didn't want to believe. It was a form of a  little girl. The first creation of his subconscious. She appeared older than him, but her face looked as youthful as his.

He thought to himself filled with wondrous joy, making a bit of ruckus in the room:

"I knew she would accept me. And I was sure if I could create such masterpiece, then I could have as many friends as I desired. In my mind at least...Although 'they' hated me for who I am and I could blame the ignorance of humanity for it, I just had to have an emotion to survive on. That's why I let anger "fuel" me, and I welcomed it. 

I recreated anger in the form of a  little girl, although it swiftly dissipated into the air in a show of small fireflies. Everything comes with a price. The energy toke its toll on me. I was alone again."

                                                  Something or somebody was choking him. Again.

"I wanted to see her again. Mother...

Yes, Mother... I remembered. That was her name. It came deep from my hazy aloud again, it sounded so familiar to me, as if I knew somebody with this name. Sweetness coated my tongue. Just a name, a seemingly insignificant thing made me feel like home. She smiled at me with white tooth, missing one here and there.

I chuckled sadly as my hand swept through her transparent body...

She came back to haunt me. But her presence was comforting. It bugged me a little that I couldn't reach her. She felt so close and still far away. But I knew one day I would meet her. Till then I had to cope with this afterimage of her."

And the more the time passes the more you crave it. In the end, you get caught in your little scheme of webs and you can never get out. Or can you?

"Standing there I watched myself in the reflection of the window illuminated by the nearby lampposts flickering light. I was proud of myself. Of making a friend today. The disturbing thoughts of past seemed to ebb away in hurry. I felt at ease. What I had lost within these walls of existence, I may have taken a little piece back that time. At least a didn't dream about darkness darker than black. But I knew my consolation wasn't meant to be, that it wouldn't last. When I tiredly closed my eyes that day in my cupboard, I had dreams of betrayal in my mothers smile.

Next time John happened. He seemed to be around the same age as me. He was all adorable and charming. The kind of child, who could persuade you to kill someone with a bright smile plastered on his face. Dangerous, murderer behind shadows. Although he had scary eyes, I still considered him a friend. I knew he wouldn't harm me. We were too alike from the start till the end, I guess.

His illusion or manifestation didn't last long though. I quickly ran out of energy. I was still too young. To keep up the illusion took on a toll on the body.

As months passed by, I began to get used to conjuring bodies of my "friends", as I called them. They accompanied me through my years. Sometimes John would just creepily whisper to me as if he knew something I didn't : "you will die soon, you will die, soon". And I felt some sort of certainty to his words. Like it was the truth. So I just replied : "I know, I know it the best..." The idea of death didn't bother me as much as this living hell. I think people fear it, cause they fear the unknown. Its nothing to be scared of to be honest. You are scared biologically till your body functions, it's just natural. Your brain can't override that fear or with only very much discipline.

But when you are a dead, you don't feel anything. You don't have the worries that you had before. You cease to exist, your brain and heart stops working. Maybe it's when I played hide and seek. I find it calming to think this way. I would love to see that angels. They have such big fluffy wings. 

"Although you can try to run from it, but you will face Death one day. "

Maybe he already knew. "Johnny, help me!" Gurgling and choking sounds were heard, in the otherwise quiet room. "I can't, I am not capable, for I am you, and you are me.""

                                                                  It's just a dream.

                                                         That's what I am telling myself. 

                                                                          I think.

"Heaven cannot be found up there, but in yourself." At least that's what his Mommy used to say. Don't know whether she was wrong, but "it is so hard down here."

(You know what? I think our destiny is predestined. We have the road paved ahead of us, that we can't change. Cause with beginnings we know its end, destruction, death. You would say, that I don't believe that I don't make choices. It is just an illusion. The illusion of freedom, that we can't hope to achieve as long as we are humans, like perfectness. It's in front of us out in the horizon, but it's so far away, that it just doesn't seem real. To be free in a humans life means to make a choice that was already made for us. We may choose what option we want to go with, but in our hearts we know that there is no choice. It may seem infinite, an endless range of causes. But it is only for us. It is limited as our body, as our will and as our existence.

It never was, cause this is not what life is about. Our life is about acceptance, that we get to live for a short span of time, and we get to make the best out of it. That is all it is about. So live so that you don't regret.)

"I'm rambling and I feel dizzy. If at the end of your life you can think back on it as it was truly nice to be here. Then you have achieved what you were here for. I wanna be able to do that. And you should be proud of yourself. But why can't I breathe?"

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He thought years were passing by, as he was realizing that nothing comes without a price. Not 'magic', not 'illusions'. The cost of having "friends" resulted in accelerating his aging process, at least that is what he was telling himself.

When he would get to 17, his body would be dying. Was it not already?

 He often felt his hands getting a little weary. Why?

The first symptoms came when he got 8 years old. His hands started to become wrinkled. How?

He didn't really think about it, but later all his body parts showed, that they are aging at a much faster rate, than it's normal. Do you get it now?

Illusions take a great toll on the body, cause the brain is supposed to create something real, which is impossible, but it tries at least.

But he never wanted to give up on illusions. They became an essential part of his life. He couldn't give them up, no matter what. They left him with a warm feeling. 

                                                             Something was trickling down.

                                                     The master of illusions is life or you, yourself?

He was just one of the many, the ones who were abandoned, one of the suffering under human, "civilized" hands, knowing the only escape is the world he created for himself.

He knew he was gonna die.

He knew he would never got to live till 17.

He was dying at the hands of his foster'father' at the age of 8. Suffocating on his own blood. His only thought was filled with relief. To be gone at last. No more beating, no more pain, no more suffering. Not like he felt anything after years.

He thought his 'world' would never leave him. But it shattered in an instant, then blackness.

'We never wanted you in this world. You shall be gone, you filthy- piece of sh it.' The shouts were slowly drowning out...

I don't wanna go. Help me ple...