Pay a visit to the most dangerous place.
By: Tantya Ani
Tags: Battle, Yourself, Propaganda, Dangerous, Deep Thoughts

Pay a visit to the most dangerous place.

It’s 2 am, the night is thick, the stars are shy, and the shadow creeps through the branch of your window to your wall. Eyes shut. Silence.

Image from Pinterest.

In that black of night, you saw a creature that had been hiding during the sunlight, lurking, and waiting till this very moment. Her figure was familiar, a beautiful woman with dark eyeshadow, red lipstick, and a red dress made from silk. Her beauty resonance from her toe up to her dark, mysterious eyes, as if somehow her eyes contain with secret no one could fathom.

She put her cold and pale hand on yours, dragging you to the place where you thought already settled, years ago.

…

The Ranging Wave

When it comes to the word beach, we always imagine white sand and the laughter of seagulls that circling the wave. The same waves that been playing with our feet are now deep under the warmness of sands.

Unfortunately, that was not where she took you; she took to you to the edge of the cliff where thunderstorms are dancing while the rain pours down on you. Cold.

The only warm thing was your tears, coming from your left eyes all of a sudden. It funny that our senses work at their best when others are dormant. It was so dark, yet you could hear everything, clearly. The thunderstorm of desperation, the waves of emotion under the cliff where the waves were crashing corals, you could listen to wailing voices. Your voices.

You have been tossing those emotions, those feelings, those scars to fill up your sea, to help you get to the other side of the ocean. To a place where now you are standing.

For years, you thought this ocean was no longer exist, or at least you became a pirate that used to this kind of sea. Isn’t the best pirate comes from the most dangerous tide?

The inner propaganda.

Ever since the ’40s, propaganda had been a magical tool used to win the war. Even America that did not want to use propaganda at first, had to change its strategy. So was Japan.

Somehow, I believe that long before World War I, this propaganda exists. It exists during the Julius Caesar era; it exists in your head and been battling inside for a long time ago.

Now that you wet from the emotions, she dragged you to another cold, dark, and soggy place. In the dim light from the moon, you get familiar with the smell, the copper smell. You are even familiar with the figures that locked up, beaten in front of you.

Those who chained and beaten are no other but yourselves — the prisoner of your mind.

“Just let me go” Just by hearing his weak voice, you now understand that it was the usual voice you hear during the day, the night, the depressing time, the happy time. It was the voice you hear when lonely strikes.

Now and then, whenever we hear the voices, a question of where their being always popped up. Now that you have the chance to meet him, eye to eye, you realize how he became the echo of your actions.

“Don’t let him go.” Said another you, another figure that got more beaten than others. “Don’t you see, I am the one who always protects you from the humiliation, the heartache, the stupidness, not him. Trust me.”

“You psycho! sadness is needed.”

“You, Psycho, do we need to mopping all the time when we have the chance to avoid it why not? I am so fucking tired of you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Just kill him.”

“No, you kill me. You’ll die too.” Now he’s talking to you.

You stood there didn’t know what to do. Cry and cry your tears swollen from the amount of the waterfalls. Seeing them, or you to be precise, was a revelation. You knew voices like them were not supposed to be heard, was it? But you have no idea that the battling of your inner thought could be this worse. You were so broken, beaten, thin, barely alive.

The morning

You still there?

Your alarm rang, your pillow wet, your body is numb. You just had the weirdest yet the most realistic dream you ever had.

Visiting your deepest darkest place was not the greatest idea of all time, but sometimes you just need to visit them, to see how much you grow, how much you heal, how much you hurt.

Those inner voices are used to be outer voices we heard from the harshest moment that we believed in and somehow echoing inside our brain. But as the Cherokee once said, it all depends on which wolf you fed the most, or in this case which one you hear the most.