The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had...
The utter unbroken silence was more appalling than any ominous noise, than the loudest yells of anguish, than the most piercing screaming... Dead silence. Literally dead.
I was beginning to agree with the thesis that some truths were better off dead. And buried.
You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.
You kissed me once and now you feel as if you’ve got some special kind of licence to do it whenever you want?
The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.
I can be anything – and nothing, and everything at the same time. It all depends on the role I am in.
Paranoia. The more you think of an imaginary problem, the more you feel as though it’s real –
Everybody is equally weak on the inside, just that some present their ruins as new castles and become kings –
I lie more convincingly than I tell the truth.
