The Observer

Chapter ONE

                                                                             " Untangled Strings "

Have you ever woken up one morning drenched in sweat, shaking and you know that something's off about everything not in its rightful place or time?

That lingering feeling in your stomach that sends shivers to your spine? That warm feeling you feel only when you're dreaming? The warmth of love, coldness of hate, blood red anger and the bitterness of sadness that overflows with great intensity you just can't help but to sit on your bed staring on your empty room; as beads of tears slowly traverse your cheeks.

But every time, your mind fails to give answers on what unexplainable tragedy can cause all those feelings, like a void that's longing to be filled, with something or someone; God knows that you tried everything in your power to convince yourself that it was all a crazy feeling that everyone who dreams feels.

And the best part of it is, try as you might but no matter how hard you bang your head on the wall, you just can't remember anything, and yet it felt like heaven and earth switched places, like fish suddenly learned to fly and butterflies, well they are still lovely as they always are, but the thing is, you woke up and you feel like you're not the same person as before; as if you lived on a different world you just can't remember; but your soul aches deep inside it pains you, as if something should be done but you failed to do it.

And after minutes pass you just tell yourself that it is just a dream, as loud as you like; fooling yourself that this time you just might believe it.

Sometimes it's easy to be torn between dreams and reality, but in our world it those two just won't touch, want to why it won't touch? I can give you a reason why; bills, projects that needed to be rushed, appointments that cannot be missed, jobs that we're trying hard to cling into; well that's four actually

But my point is, life hinder us to do things that we used to do all the time when we are still a child;

That is to let ourselves go, let our mind fly wander through the vastness of the sky, feel the soft blades of grass on the field, smell the intoxicating scent of all the flowers we don't know ever existed back then,

As if life plucked our feather one by one as we grew older, the feathers that gives us freedom to be whoever we want to be, wherever we want and whenever we want; the moment our feathers are gone;

The void in our chest starts to grow, little by little it grew, every sadness, heart breaks, lie's and almost everything that sorrows us no matter how little we might think it is; it feeds the small blackness in our chest until we can no longer feel anything; until it is too late, we are no more; no more than a living cadaver waiting for its destined moment to be celebrated and led six feet under.

Only a handful of people understands, only a handful accepts and only a handful person can endure,

Now let me tell you a story that made me tear that very thin fabric of dream and reality;

As they touch it led me to believe that I can still live with this; that like birds feathers grow,

That it is never too late to fly again

this the story of Jack and Lucille tethered by the invisible thread of fate.

Atop of a rocky mountains surrounded by a handful of grass and tree line, and a magnificent view of a once great lake that almost everyone that see it for the first time left them in awe, this rocky monolith is located on top of a mountain that is very well know at that time for its great views and ethereal ambiance almost it was almost like once a paradise, littered with people climbing to and fro; trails not that recognizable anymore, and once grasslands is now a dusty place where hikers pitched their portable homes ( tent ).