Killing a person is monstrous.Destroying an idea(l) is unforgivable.
Ever wondered how a lycanthrope feels, surrounded by selfproclaimed humans, in a small town which looks as if it was directed by David Lynch himself, where girls really drink plasma wine, where all the walls have thousands of ears, and where you can easily feel loneliness, but never solitude?There's really no such thing as paranoia. Yes, there is anxiety, there is fear, there is panic, there is widened perception, there is concentrated perception, there is dull perception, but paranoia itself is an illusionary concept which hushes down many desperate screams of those who really do need help, either themselves, or those who they care about.The stench of these streets is killing me. Just yesterday, I felt this strange sweetness in the air, the one I feel every now and then, especially in the springtime and in autumn, the one I learned to love. And now it's not here. It would be nice to smell some flowers, too... now that I am able to... but none are around either. Damn.A lonely clay boy is sitting on a bench, holding a pen and leaning towards a notepad in his lap. I knew him once. His heart is made of stainless steel, and has three shackles around it, two of which are now broken, and the third is cracking. Every heart can be broken, and sometimes I wonder how long his will hold. Two iron plates cover his back. They are already rusted, scratched and beaten now, but I can still see dragon wings engraved in them. His cheeks are burnt out by the saltwater, and his eyes are so, so old. Sometimes I wonder how he got so old in such a short time. He could be around his 20s, but when I look into his eyes, it seems he's way older than me. Yet, there's strength in him, more than I'll ever have, and he just might rise from that bench once again. Heh. I know some people who would see this as a threat, but also I know of some who would see it as a treat.An iron killing machine on wooden legs stands behind him. Not a nice sight, although sometimes necessary for the boy to survive. Yeah... survive.Shrug. Just... keep on walking. There's surely more to see around here.A vampire. Well, that's a start. Look at him. Sitting at the bar, listening to other people's small talk. Probably in one of the worst bars in this godforsaken town – well, not the cheapest one, but with the worst “clients”. People sticking their nose into other peoples' lives. And just look at our friend... Just picking up all that information and keeping quiet. A cigarette in an ashtray in front of him, a glass of liqueur in his hand. A black vortex in his heart. A bottomless hole, he is. But he doesn't care. Myself, I can sit and have a good talk with him. He won't drain me. I don't know why, he just won't. But he will anyone else, though. He once told me that if someone had the power to destroy the entire Universe, he would have asked him “What are you waiting for?” How... charming. I never liked vampires, although I thought I was one myself for quite a long time. Anyway, let's go. I don't like this place. Too many bad memories, and too many people knowing too much about me, since I was careless enough to visit this place with some people I trusted and tell them some things. It's unbelieveable, after some time here I got the feeling of being constantly listened by people I didn't want to see, hear or talk to.Ah, something else. A gothic angel quite high on a pillar. Why is she here? That's what I never understood. I mean, what are angels like this one supposed to do in a world like this? There's grief in her eyes... what is she looking at? Or whom? I try to look around, and to catch her aim, but I can't. I mean, I know where she's looking, but there's nothing to see there. Her heart is golden, and still beating. I can't believe someone gave her that. Hearts won't ever be any good, until someone makes them unbreakable. And gold, although I like it, is a bit too fragile for that – at least for my tastes. Her black pelerine covers her entire body... I remember when I dropped my innocence, and payed dearly for it. That was a long time before I first saw her, and she said there's something evil in me, although none of us could point their finger on it. The pelerine can't cover her beauty, though, despite her opinion that she's not even a shadow of her former self. I don't think I ever told her that, although she's been through a lot – way more than the clay boy – and although they almost destroyed several times, no one could have ever hidden her beauty.Memories, memories... time to move along.A dark street, somewhere between the town centre and the industrial zone. Most of the people are asleep. However, one house looks pretty alive... lights are on, you can hear music coming out. All kinds of music, such as oldies, house, rock, et cetera. Seems like there's a party, and some people seem to have quite a good time. There's the sound of a water closet... someone just said goodbye to everything they drunk. No worry, they'll start filling back up soon. A young man and a young woman sitting on the staircase in front of the house. They are talking... wait. They aren't. How odd. I can't believe there are still people who can sit and keep quiet, and still have a good time. Yes, it seems as if they are having a good time. Are they a couple? Lovers? No, it doesn't seem that way. How I envy them... both of them. I wish I could do the same with someone. But I never found anyone for that. Let's not bother them.Let's take a walk out of town. There's a nice park on the edge, right by a river. And hopefully, it won't be too crowded.Well, well, well. A golden statue of a warrior. Actually, stainless steel, but gold coating, so it looks so shiny, and is quite strong on the other hand. Nice hairdo, I must say. A little funky, but suits him rather well. I always admired this person, although I don't think I ever told him that explicitly. He's always shining out some positive energy, and he bears some funny curse – or a blessing, whichever you prefer. Anything he says, he's right. This occurs so often that I can freely call it a rule. With very, very few exceptions. And sometimes I even didn't agree with him at first, but it always turned out what he said. When I look at his eyes, I see a person almost ten years older than me, but in some aspects still a little child. In good aspects mostly, mind you. He never liked the little vampire I mentioned earlier. Oh, well. Standing a few steps away from him, one can realize there's way more than a statue to see here. Well, not exactly see, but one can feel very strong energy around this one. Fascinating.And a woman beside him, another true beauty. Her benign, yet wise, eyes are looking around, and her heart is among the purest I've ever seen. However, she's a warrior, too, and seldom an even greater one than he is. Her back holds a pair of feathered wings, but these are more like on winged lions, rather than birds' wings, spread wide and covering quite a large area. Seems either like she's protecting something – or someone – or getting ready for another attack. Evil, beware.Let's take a walk back to town.Another bar. I've spent a lot of time here, too. With lots of different people. I'm not going in here now... Memories. Of the top five most painful memories I have, at least one is connected to this place. Taking a glimpse inside... shrug. Moving along. Now, where could I go? I should end the evening with something nice. Well, at least I got rid of some damn feelings I had earlier.Or not... here come the drunk kids. I assume they know absolutely everything about me. Not that I care, really... Let's turn to some other street. Or maybe...Maybe I should go back. Back to the beginning. Or – even better – someplace calm, if one can find such a place in this Lynchlike town. Or just stop caring about the distractions and do what I have to do. Do what we all have to do.Let's climb up those town walls. There's a nice fortress beyond those, but on those town walls one can get a relatively nice view. I'll probably waste another hour just to find at least one bench here where I can be alone. Doesn't matter. Nothing really matters. And especially those selfproclaimed humans don't matter, and the things they do. This is my town. My home. And what is important? What really matters?The heroes. They must be awaken. As much as the hero in me. As much as heroes in all of us. This is what matters.