1
Sometimes one's mind can be inflicted by one's ideas, but one person is not their ideas they are simply their mind.
Once darkness arrays its suffocating grip around one's mind, not even the simple love from a woman can save one's darkened soul. A soul is born pure and a person is, therefore, accountable to keep the pureness and not simply demolish it and walk past it calling it "maturing", but I do wonder is it me who is to behold accountably or the world that surrounds me? Is it myself that has let me have ideas I cannot phantom, ideas causing me wanting to end my life, is it me? Is it my world? Is it my childhood? Does childhood cut deep within the root of one's heart or is it simply the emptiness of one's pathetic and mediocre life which leaves empty space causing the mind to wander and become engulfed and becoming their ideas and not simply observe the idea and move past it. Is it life which causes the air to taste bitter one day and sweet the next or is it I who can control which direction the day goes?
While my mind was wandering off, her eyes were drifting away while her innocent and frail body laid beside mine. Her left boob laying over my upper ribcage and her face resting on my chest. She looked like a small child that laid her head on her dad's chest watching a movie. The movie is a filthy, yellow, 5-meter wide wall. This was such a vulnerable position to where I could drag a sharp pocket knife across her carotid artery and end her with one simple drag across her small and child-like throat.
Yet my mind tells me these ideas do not belong to me and only belong to the people before me, the green coat is only my fathers, not mine. It is only a coat I do not think about and care about. Yes, I do wear it all the time even though its patchy, gross and smells like dead rodents I still wear it.
Yet as I still cling on to this piece of ruined military-green fabric I remember abandonment and a feeling of an overpowering disempowering feeling eating at my every fiber. I cannot do anything about in the end because I am merely a figment of two lowlife-white trash garbage of the world which no one cares about if found dead at a ditch or alive at the park-bench with needles hanging from their arms or a bullet in the head.
What is there more to do? This is my reality, they say adults can be addicted to everything, no need for substance yet most people do not notice that the substance is not the problem it is the mind that handles the substance that truly destroys a future. My one true dream in this life is to have a family and kids of my own, own a small grey cat with big grey eyes while a mini-me is swinging on the garden swing set and a mini Bella is dancing with the butterflies as the sun shines its glistening light on us as I and Bella enjoy one of life's greatest luxuries.
Yet a man can only dream because not all ideas can become a reality for one and not every reality can become an idea for someone. For all I know I can end up like my father or found dead in a children's park with a heroin needle hanging from my arms while I look disgusting and am wearing worn-out dirty clothes that do not fit. Leaving me looking like a homeless hooker on the streets of a whorehouse.
2
I slipped the petite Bella off me and felt every muscle of my body using all its power trying to help me stand up and put on some pants. The floor was so cold to the point my bare feet were jumping in response causing Bella to raise her head and land face down not wanting to face the horrifying daylight.
I quickly tied my worn-out tennis shoes which looked like a dog had chewed on them from the holes which are at the most random of places and the half-eaten dark blue shoelaces.
I freshened up in the bathroom and stuck my head out to see if anybody was awake, it was 5.30 AM after all and the breakfast buffet just opened. Then out of nowhere, a loud voice comes shouting out from the wall! What the hell? What is that thing with many holes hanging over my door? The voice spoke out in polish which was nearly impossible for me as an Italian to understand and thankfully Italian was spoken and I understood that we are an hour away from Poland. Oh my god. We are so close. I did not prepare for the reality to hit me that I escaped. I am free. I have no burden on my shoulders. I can change my identity and start over to the life that I want to build. The life with no evil, with no hate, with no bitterness and no murder nor theft. I am Frank and I am going to live, survive and come far, I cheekily smiled to myself as I spoke a little too loud causing the angry Pole to yell something at me from across the hall and close the door loudly.
I walked down the crammed carpeted hallway with zero space causing you to walk one at a time and walking up the short stepped long staircase that can make you trip if you were under the influence.
3
A loud thud was heard and the sound of the gate opening filled the cruise while I was drinking my coffee and Bella was starring at the floor completely focused on the textured and quite dirty white and grey spotted floor.
-Bella, we are here.