Flare: A Visual Narrative

 

(Actually, it would be clearer if I wrote it in words. But, you know since my memories -- and inspirations -- were too visual to be translated into words, so I choose to keep it in the most original form.)

 

“You didn’t notice me”, she said. “You busy yourself with your world, your rational world. Your compass and ruler.”

But he can only look at the outside of things. He can only look at this world rationally, not emotionally. On the inside, he’s dead. He doesn’t feel her. He’s soulless and hollow.

So he waved goodbye to the unborn baby, who stays at mother’s womb during the winter – and crash-landing to the world, violently, in spring.

And he know, he’s no savior for her. For he, himself, got a problem of his own. So he dethrone his King, only to find another nail to crucify someone other. A theory of hundreds years old. A scientific formula of Redemption.

And they both run. Across the Pacific, probably to China mainland. Where they can blend in with far too many people in Beijing. Too many people of the earth.

 

So they run. Their lungs, hearts and all of their internal body organs scattered along the road. But they run.

The Creative Fuel

 

 

There’s only two condition for me to being stay productive and creative: upbeat or beat-up. I can never go in-between, it’s horrible.