- Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Controversial As It Seems

"Controversy is a perception of questionable statements. One can ask why while the other can agree. In other words, what seems controversial to me may not be to another. Just like Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code. Who can dispute whether it is contrary to the truth or not, since truth is what one believes to be true not what the universe agrees on." Angelina scribbled, without a stop.

She read through the paragraph. This isn't good enough. Sitting beside a window with gleaming sunlight shining onto her face, she looked around the room. Loneliness. And silence.

Henry walked into the room. The man she loved, and adored, and would sacrifice her world just to be with him. If she were asked to write a dictionary, Henry would be the first she wrote. She saw him coming, and instantly a smile cracked through her pale face. "Hey," a voice so soothing to her heart streamed through the atmospheric molecules, vibrating into her ears. She smiled.

"Henry," she whispered, while rising from her chair, and then extended her hand to grab his strong arm. "I-" She paused.

Henry disappeared when she touched him. And all she saw was just dust floating about. She gasped.

Illusion. Controversial refraction of the truth.

She knew, deep inside her, things have gone wrong. She understood, deep within her, that life was meant to be tormenting, and in the end, when she passes the border of death, she would enter heaven and tell St. Peter that she was a better preacher, at least of the sermon of controversial chatterings, than he. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believing it. "Why?" She whispered. A tear streamed down her cheeks.

Looking out of the window, she stared at a poor young lady from the farm nearby, named Pixey, waiting in her old rugged dress for a man she adored. The lady's face was clean, at least cleaner than the normal stained one she used to wear, and hair tied together. The checked dress Pixey wore swayed irregularly as the dry summer wind blew by. The lady waited. And waited. And waited.

Angelina looked on. For half-an-hour Pixey stood, trying to convince herself that her man, the love of her life, would arrive, eventually, to fetch her and take her by the hand, swing her in the air and hug her, then whisper into her ears the phrase he always said, the phrase she always loved, "My beloved morning moon." But after such a long time, the man hadn't appear. Where was he?

Unknowingly, Angelina said, "Controversial." But then asked herself, "What does controversy have to do with this?"

Finally, a young man came by, in a handsome coat and a pair of dark slacks, decorated with the dark hair laying loosely onto his broad shoulders. The man's uniquely awkward green eyes stared at the wretched lady and extended his arms to her.

Ah. This was the moment. The moment of love. The moment of acceptance.

Pixey ran into his arms as if she had not seen her lover for a long century, opening her arms as she ran.

They hugged, tightly and lovingly. But something was wrong. Anglina gasped.

The usual energetic Pixey stopped moving, her eyes paused in the middle of her scleras, discharging impedences of shock. Her jaw fell open, but her grip on the young man's clothes didn't lessen. But at the same time, the man kissed her cheek gently, and fondled with her hair, as if she was his wife, and intimacy by the roadside was a norm and a privilege.

Angelina couldn't believe her eyes, but she wasn't shocked. Controversial, the air sounded.

Dark red sparkling blood, reflecting the sun's ray, raced down Pixey's back. It flowed so quick that her pulse weakened second by second, but she wasn't afraid of death. She wanted to know why. With all her strength, Pixey asked, her voice staggering with disbelief, "Why?" Tears welled within her eyes, but she blinked them away as she pushed herself away from the young man. "Why, Daniel? Why?"

He giggled, "Thanks for showing me the meaning of love." And shoved the little blade further into her back. Pixey yelped.

Dead.

He layed her onto the ground and walked away, wearing a satisfied smile. His hands slipped into his slack's pockets as he started a tune. Whistled, whistled, and whistled. Freedom at last. He heard an applause resounded within the Hall of Live Drama, with people shouting for an encore. "Do it again! Do it again!" He looked back at the dead lady's body. A smirk. He walked away.

Flies swarmed about Pixey's lifeless body, and chorused together, "Food! Wonderous food! Glorious food! Magical food!" Then leaped about, stretched their wings, and buzzed around, sticking out their tongues licking each part of the body. "Ah, what a majestic moment of feasting!" They seemed to continue.

Angelina nodded her head, and sat back to her chair again.

"Controversy is the essence of believing in something, and receiving another. It is an illusion of reality, a mirage simply unbelievable to the human eye, but if viewed with the heart, a fact unchangeable." She scribbled without taking note of her grammar or meaning. Perhaps by this time of life she could never understand what she was supposed to understand.

Controversial, after all.

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