Labyrinth. Of fear.

Sometimes he wonders if it is ever possible to find someone else of his kind. He has one more eye than everyone else, those so-called Homo sapiens. His right upper body is severely deformed- you can hardly see his right 'arm'. It's more like a XXS sized meat lobe hanging from the shoulder- if that body feature of merely some darkened, burnt-looking skin wrapping a twisted, ball-shaped scapula could be called a 'shoulder' at all.

Of course he can live with people who don't belong to his own part of the world- no one lives there anyway. He can live with people who are drastically different from he himself, he can talk to them, make friends with them, like them, hate them, eat with them, meet them, learn their names and forget them the second after. He absolutely can. They know he can, too.

But just like any other kinds of monogamous animals, like most wolves, or jackals, they need one of their own kind to spend the rest of their lives with. I am not sure if he is able to get back to his own pathetic blue cocoon whenever he wants (or as he says, 'needs') to recently. Or does he still want the blue cocoon, which was built and laced with layers and layers of fear and rejection and distrust, occupied full of endless labyrinths of his mind, only he can get himself out of there with his own mind, his imagination- 'to kill off an imagination by imagination'? It is a series of never ending labyrinths. I somehow suspect he has built them unconsciously to isolate himself. Maybe I just enjoy watching him walking in labyrinths of his own mind alone, maybe not. Labyrinths are amazing art pieces though, no matter how dark and wet they are.

Some people are trapped in their own labyrinths, but some realize maybe there's someone of his own kind on the outside, in someone else's labyrinths. After years and years of hitting, screaming, crying, digging, crawling, leaping, climbing and at least one from the both sides of the wall of labyrinths develope wings or very long arms and start to reach for the dark sides. I think he ended up growing an eye on one of the fingertips of his hand on the very long arm, so he could have a look at the angel crying on the even darker side of the labyrinths- he knew her. They've met before. The angel was sent to help him build his own newest final labyrinth when it was snowing. No, the angel actually took him out of his first labyrinth, and it was chaos. He had never been completely out of one before. He did not know what to do and went mad. As mad as me. Yes, ME. THAT mad, yes. Then it was all chaos and history. Now he saw the angel crying and the angel saw his arm... their labyrinths mystically joined, so did their hands.

And now they walk the labyrinths together again. No fear, no sorrow. Full of unknowns and excitment, full of expectations.

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When have I started writing shitty stories about fucking labyrinths?
Forget 'bout it. It's the damn heat.

So I saw my first years and the norwegian tourists- it was pretty fun to see them all again, the 'kids', you know. It made me feel so old seeing them coming 'back' here.

I don't know. Seeing them a few times more later on might trigger more thoughts and emo-boy whines and cries. We'll see how it goes.