För bara något år sedan kunde jag komma på idéer till berättelser bara sådär, utan anledning. 

Kreativiteten flödade. 

Nu är jag visserligen fortfarande kreativ när jag väl sätter igång med någonting,

men den kommer inte på samma flytande sätt som den gjorde då. 

Samma sak som med ritandet. När jag var liten kunde jag komma på världens idé om vad jag skulle rita, 

komma på en helt ny växt eller varelse utan någon riktig inspirationskälla.

Det är inte så längre,

och det är tråkigt. 

Jag vill vara lika påhittig och lika kreativ nu som jag var då.

Jag vill kunna skriva såna här saker:

The reek of five  

We went out for a walk, my black umbrella and I, on a cold October night,

We had to clear our head from the thoughts that had come to us out of fright.

We had seen many things that night; we had seen them very clear,

Things that might to you seem strange, but to us were very near.

We were not afraid to be seen, since we were not able to,

Nobody would ever see us, not him, not her, maybe not even you.

If you would have seen us, though, we would have startled you by our look,

If you would have come near us, you wouldn't have known all the stupid chances that you took.

Yes, we are crazy, that I can tell,

But we were not so from the beginning, it was made out of the smell.

We will tell you about it soon, but not really yet,

First my black umbrella and I will have to tell you where, when and how this story is set.

It began like most days in our life, we woke up, we opened the door, and we went for a walk.

We didn't bring our voice, because we knew they wouldn't talk.

We met them like most mornings at this time,

In the building down the block, where we had, not long ago, committed our crime.

I, for one, was not really that involved in the killing itself,

I mostly helped to hide our victims and put them on the shelf,

Well, not really on the shelf at all, I just placed them all around,

I put them down so carefully, just so they wouldn't make a sound.

There were five of them, our victims, all together,

Some of them heavy, and one light as a feather.

We liked them all for different reasons; we knew them very well,

It's all about them, really, the story I'm going to tell.

Well, first there was O'Neill, the man with the cat,

He would sit, smoking cigars in his apartment, always wearing his worn out hat.

He would feed the cat, let it sleep, and pet it too,

Until it walked into the hall, and shred his favourite shoe.

Then, first he would ignore it, but very soon tire,

And take the cat, up in his hands, and put it in the fire.

There also was Monique; she was the pretty girl,

She was the only girl in town, who could make your neck hairs curl.

She loved to go out on long dates; she loved to make boys laugh,

She was the boss of a big company, and she slept with all men in her staff.

Monique was very special, we like that girl the most,

If it was here right now, we would be glad to meet her ghost.

Delilah and Maurice were the cutest couple in town,

She would bring him back up, whenever he was down.

We saw them every day, and we were jealous of their love,

We wanted to have it too, all of the above.

The last one of the bunch was Emily, the small,

She was not that young really, no, really, not at all.

More like an old-timer she was, almost 95 years old,

And she actually is nice; don't trust whatever else you have been told.

Now, you may wonder, why all these would end up dead,

Well, then you are just stupid, haven't you listened what we've said?

We felt bad for the cat, so we gave it its revenge,

And Monique was far too gorgeous to bee seen; we sat her on the bench.

Delilah and Maurice were too happy for this life,

They made us both be jealous, so we put in them a knife.

Poor old Emily we liked, and did not kill ourselves, she died of age,

But nobody ever found her; so we took her, all out of rage.

These people are now our friends, and we've kept them for quite some time,

We didn't want to feel the smell, so we froze them down and sprayed the building with lime.  

Although, this day when we went to see them, the smell had come back again,

A fuse had broken, and they had melted then.

So now we're back to the smell, which we were going to tell you about,

It reeked so bad, that it smelled worse than rotten brussel sprout.

Many people felt it, I'm sure,

But none of them ever came to the door

This is because we were there,

And they couldn't see us, we were invisible, they had made that very clear.

They were too afraid to talk to us; they thought we were strange,

Before we would cry about it, tears and moaning would range.

But now we have gone past that, we don't cry any longer,

As they say, and it is true, that don't kill you, makes you stronger.

Now we didn't care about the smell, we let the bodies lie,

We went away from there, never came back, hoping the other people in town would also die.

We had a good time with our favourite five, that's true,

But now it's time for us to leave, my black umbrella and I have more important things to do...

<3

There´s a golden suit in the back of my closet,

that I bought some time ago.

It was always meant for me to give away, 

but I never really had at chance to.

This suit I thought could never fit you,

so I got you jeans and shirts. 

But from what I´ve seen your old clothes are too small,

and I can´t help but think that the suit would fit great. 

All I want is to give it to you, 

but I can´t bring myself to. 

I´m afraid that you won´t like it,

that you´ll reject it.

Then I´d be left with the suit on the hanger, 

hiding it far behind, 

where it stayed for so long. 

If I tried giving it to you now

and you didn´t want it,

would I ever be able to give it again?  

I don´t want to rush this,

I´ve done it before. 

But this time it´s different,

isn´t it?

I just had to let you know

Though the decision was a hard one

To take

I just had to let you know

How I feel

Cause there's no real communication

Without affection

And without the affection

I don't need the communication with

A person like you

Though you might find it hard

To understand

Why I did this

It was something

I had to get out

Of my system

Before I got stuck

Where we were

In a non-existing relationship

Of familiarity

Without your calls

My life will get

Easier

Probably

Hopefully

The time to see has yet not passed

And I hope

I made the right decision

And I think

That I did

Jag kom på en sak.
Eller, egentligen har jag tänkt att jag ska göra det så småningom hela tiden, men nu kom jag på att jag lika gärna kan fixa det redan nu.
Ja, fomatet på min bok alltså.
Istället för att skriva i det vanliga fomatet det redan är i i Word har jag ändrat så att formatet är mer likt en boks format. För hur många böcker läser man i A4-format egentligen?
Nu är det istället en halv A4 per sida. Och med det kan jag räkna lite lättare hur många bok-sidor jag skrivit. Hittills är det trettiotvå.
Dock har jag fortfarande inte börjat fortsätta skriva än... så det ska jag göra nu.
Men snart kommer nog alla hem igen och då finns det inte så mycket tid kvar för mig att skriva. Men ändå.


Där slutade jag skriva igår...

<3

Jag vände bort blicken från spegeln och ställde mig med frambenen lutade mot fotkanten av min säng, sedan vek jag ut armarna som vingar och lät kroppen hejdlöst falla ner. Jag landade på mage, ovanpå alla de tusentals saker som låg i min säng. Om min mamma hade sett mitt rum skulle hon nog dö av förskräckelse, och det är väl anledningen till att hon slutat gå in i det. Hon var nästan aldrig på övervåningen längre, övervåningen var liksom mitt territorium numera, det hade bara blivit så. Det enda som fanns här uppe var mitt rum, ett badrum och arbetsrummet som mamma inte förmått sig att städa sedan det hände. Jag rullade över på rygg, stirrade in i taket några sekunder och stängde sedan ögonen.    

Utdrag:

"why do you like me?" I asked him.

"I just do."

"But why?"

"Because."

"a real reason."

"you're you."

"I'm me?"

"Yeah, you're you."

"That's why you like me?"

"Obviously."

"But what makes me... me?"

"Why are you asking all these questions all of a sudden? Aren't you happy?"

"Well yeah, but... I wanna know why."

"why you're happy?"

"Yes."

"You're with me."

"I know... but... why am I with you?"

"Cause I love you, and you love me... right?"

"Yeah, I guess. It just feels like..."

"Like what?"

"Like somehow it's not real."

"That's how it feels when you're with the one you love."

"Maybe..."

Tänker inte avslöja handlingen. Inte än i alla fall. Jag tycker i alla fall väldigt mycket om den, och jag gillar att skriva den... Så jag ska fortsätta, NU! :D

<3

I am your blood,

Running through your veins,

filling you with lies.

I am your flesh,

Embodying you

and all of your mistakes.

I am your legs,

Letting you walk

In the wrong direction. 

I am your voice,

Allowing you to speak

Whenever I want you to.

I am your mind,

Controlling every thought

And stuffing your brain with false information.

I am your eyes,

Seeing the truth that is mine,

And nothing else.

I am what you've become,

A shell of who you used to be,

A compound of nothingness.