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In space, tears don't fall.

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Watch your thoughts; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habit.
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

My thoughts wandered off as I watched a green star blinking in the very far distance. None could say if this star still exists or if it already had died centuries ago. Unconsciously, my tearful eyes absorbed its last light, knowing that I will never have the chance to visit this particular solar system ever.

Humanity is not made to travel space. Their lifetime is much too short compared to their immense curiosity. We only get to see one tiny grain of sand from a beach of possibilities. Eventhough I could live another 200 years, I am not sure if that would satisfy me. There must be more than this. I know.

Am I betraying my own species? Maybe I do. After all, their knowledge was not meant to be used by us. Their space was not meant to be ours. We are intruders. Many, but still weak. A purposely flawed race trying to achieve perfection. Think outside the box. See the large picture. Look behind the plate. They said.

And we did. Our instincts forced us to. Eventhough nobody told us that what we will see will not please us. But we did it again and again. We do not learn from our mistakes. We simply repeat them. We know that we live a life with a limited point of view. And that we do not live long enough to suffer from our mistakes. Maybe we should.

Would we appreciate the eternal youth? We clearly would not. We would forget about it the next day. It becomes normality. For years I worked on achieving a dream, a dream I live now. Becoming freelance, leaving home, fighting my addiction, being successful, finding a love, experiencing the universe, constructing an own spacecraft, commanding your own crew, reviving an old artificial intelligence - the list goes on forever. The satisfaction did not even last a day.

Every morning I wake up with the thought: "Is that all? There must be more. There has to." But I know that for me, there is not. Sometimes I wish in my dreams that I would not wake up at all. In dreams you build your own world - beyond all borders of imagination. In dreams, I die without consequences. In dreams, I can be what I want. While in reality, I live the life of four. Sometimes, when I think, it is not my thoughts.

I watched my reflexion in the large picture window. The green light of the dying star centered in my left eyeball, imperceptibly glowing weaker and weaker. I stared at him with a penetrating gaze, fascinated of the green glowing eye. Suddenly the reflexion whispered:

We are not that different, are we?

Without being suprised, I nodded calmly and laid back in my seat, watching the green glowing come to an end, while a tear tries to drop from my right eye.

Yet, instead of falling, it rises.

Forcing a mirror on a man with no face.

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Every man
carries with him
through life a mirror,
as unique and impossible
to get rid of as his shadow.

Like a curious child, I pressed my nose against a window of the panorama dome, trying to penetrate the thick fused silica glass which marks the border between space wilderness and fraudulent safety. My mirror image gazes at me with sad eyes. I breathed onto the window just to make sure I'm still alive, and to see how good looking my breath is.

Free of cardamine. And yet I am not even thankful. It was my last limitation for living a free life. A dream I was ready to die for - sacrificing everything I had. So what are we to live for if we achieved our dreams? Is there a limitation in dreams we have? Or is it about time to lower my expectations. To live is the rarest thing in the universe. Most people exist, that is all. An old saying goes that a life lived unexplored is a life not worth living. So what did I wrong? The man in the mirror wasn't who I wanted to be and his life wasn't the one I wanted to have.

I repeled off the window in fury, floating violently across the dome while hysterically waving with my arms. With a loud impact I crushed against an opposing window. I screamed - unsure if out of pain or pure insanity. My hands went out of control, scratching heedlessly over my face. "Live. LIVE." The man in the mirror shouts. A lonely drop of blood ran down my finger. I shaked it off, releasing it into weightlessness.

To whom belongs that blood? For the first time in my lfie, I realized that I'm moving in circles. I'm doing a step forward, and space pulls me back again. As if I'm trying to run in weightlessness - there's no escape. There's no place for me in my body. I'm a prisoner. A slave. A stranger to myself. If there's a fight you cannot win, it's against your own. Change the odds? If I will not change the direction, I might end up where I am - or rather it - is heading. Who will I change?

Suddenly I laughed at my reflection in total abandon. Its previously sad eyes were now filled with power and life. I tapped my finger on the window and pressed until it got bone-white. And with a voice full of hatred I hissed:

I'll start with you.
It takes madness to control madness.

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I don't possess these thoughts I have
- they possess me.
I don't possess these mights I have
- they dispossess me.
I don't possess these feelings I have
- they obsess me.

We began to cry, not hysterically or screaming as people cry when concealed rage with tears, but with continuous sobs having just discovered that I'm alone and will be for long. I cried because safety and reason seemed to have left the world. Loneliness was a reality, but in this situation madness was also remotely a possibility. Suddenly our tears disappeard as quick as they came. A feeling of acceptance hugged my mind overwhelmingly. For once we felt the very same.

If you cannot change it, kill it. If you cannot kill it, live with it. The more I try to resist it, the stronger it gets. It is like trying to cut off your ill limbs, but your mind is telling you not to because they are a part of you. There is no way to win this constant struggle. It has worn me down.

It is easier to do what it says than argue. It slowly takes over my mind. I no longer know where it ends - and I begin. I believe anything it says because it is my words coming out of my mouth. Its feelings are mine. I do whatever it tells me, no matter how extreme or absurd. It could kill me if it wants to, and I could not care. If it says I'm worthless, I agree. I plead for it to stop. I promise to behave. I'm on my knees before it, and it laughs at me.

My whole life I believed in freedom. Yet madness is the only freedom I will ever have. I learned to run from what I feel, and that is why I have nightmares. To deny is to invite it. To accept is to control. Control your madness or it will control you.

I paused for a moment and considered the value and meaning of my words. I took a long close look at them in the reflexion of dark space behind the window. As I crooked my head, they did so aswell. We smiled. Our eyes light up in a burst of insanity. I watched hypnotically how the eight glowing balls merged together into one, shining as beatiful as moonlight. "Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness." we spoke.

I wear the universe backwards. I imagine putting stars in my pockets, and money in the sky. I imagine going swimming in clouds, and watching the sun hide behind seas. I am too busy dancing with my imagination to even tip toe with reality for a second anymore. I just look up and see the madness organized in the stars.

I am not insane - I have just found perfection that others fail to grasp.
Falling beyond despair.

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You were standing in the wake of devastation.
You were waiting on the edge of the unknown,
with the cataclysm raining down.
Insides crying "Save me now".
You were there, impossibly alone.

He had an emptiness in his eyes like a ghost tired of haunting. Naked on the ground, huddled up in an embryionic form, he lied there. Waiting for death to relieve him from his torment. "Dying is easy, it is living that scares me to death." I said to myself, while watching my body on the floor. As I closed my eyes to get rid of that terrible sight, I got gently pushed by an imaginary hand. I did not resist and let off, slowly losing my balance.

How can one distinguish flying from falling? In the end, it is the same. The one being more voluntary than the other. However, one cannot fly without falling first. You learn the one in the attempt of the other. Flying is just a controlled way of falling. Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. But was it myself? Did I stumble, was I pushed, or did I jump? We are born in the sky, teached to fly and doomed to die. The living do not survive the fall, as they will be catched by death. The ground is for those who missed death, yet they can never return to the living. The third level of existence - it is called madness.

The ground. It is a cold and lonely place. Once stranded, you will lose all the traits that once made you human. Love, hope and mercy - will turn into hatred, despair and relentlessness. It is a process, not a state. Many chose the way of suicide to escape this level, before darkness covers their last chunk of weak flesh. If one does resist the warm embrace of demise, grief will be the price to pay. And your life will be guided by despair. Like a narcotic that lulls the mind into indifference. You will gaze into the sky, trying to grab the living and pulling them on the ground. Damned to share your destiny. You will devote yourself to the madness that coats you, hiding your view for anything beyond all doubt. A new life begins.

"In the next world I could not be worse than I am in this." I heard my voice telling me. I agreed with a brief nod. Whereupon my legs were moving directly towards the gun cabinet, transfering its movement into my arms, grabbing a handgun. Without hesitation it held the gun against my temples. I heard the blood pressure pumping in my ears. In the last blink of an eye, my lifeless body sank down to the ground, taking a bath in its hot red liquid. I heard myself laughing in agony as I opened my eyes again.

I am grounded. Nothing did try to catch me. Life has betrayed me. So did I. And yet, I felt more alive and powerful than I ever did before. What is life worth to die for, and death worth to life for, if you can have this? It is like taking a glimpse behind the curtains of reality and you got addicted by what you have seen. The life of the ignorant is an easy. Though, a fingertip of knowledge would drive them insane. I feel obligated to beware them from that mistake. Being the angel, that did not catch me. Everyone is struggling with flying, keeping themselves off the ground. The only way I see to safe them, is to cut their wings and pick them up in mid-flight. They shall be thankful, even though they will never get to know why.
Liberation is not deliverance.

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Death is not
the greatest loss in life.

The greatest loss is
what dies inside us
while we live.

The lifeless coldness of space surrounded a lone Series Z "Sabre". The void spread into its pilot's arctic-white eyes like a blank sheet. His deformed face of water blue color was twitching as if the mind is fighting to leave its shell. Beads of sweat are running down his cheeks, forming small rivers on a street of scars. A sweat drop above his non-existing eyebrow reflects the outside of the cockpit. Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy. All of a sudden, the body's muscles contract, starting from the spine. His eyes tear wide open like a newborn seeing for the first time in life, followed by an animalistic cry.

Am I dead or am I free? For all I can remember, death was all I brought upon my surroundings. Or was it freedom instead? "Saving them of a life full of ignorance is deliverance to their soul." That's what I remember her letting me believe. When she took over full control of The Narcotic to continue her annihilating crusade against the living. Inferior beings. Insects. Parasites. "Death is the greatest of all human blessings. Their self-destruction has no end, but they deserves one." At that point of time I was convinced that mercy was her intention. Not vengeance or pure madness. I felt sympathy with her arguing.

"No, no estupido idiota!" I was her puppet all along. She used me, as much as I used her to get what I wanted. What she wanted. There's no more 'we'. I've liberated myself from this malicious consciousness. Or was I abandoned? Am I the outcast? The irony hits close to home. Quite literally even so. So what's left? I cannot feel the presence of Shodan anymore. So far so good. She probably realized that she's fine on her own with The Narcotic, a weapon of a ship with a single purpose; the extermination of humankind.

Not all rumors were true, but who am I to tell. I can't even remember how I got myself into this situation. If only I had my diary with me...

The confused blue man sits up and begins checking the ship systems, launching the engines and opening the star map as if he never did anything else in life. It was obvious, that he was very familiar with the spacecraft.

I have no idea where I am. Nor where I was, what I did - what was done to me. Or what I did to myself. I just can't get rid of that feeling, that something ripped apart my mind into three pieces and threw them out into the open, never to be reunited again. Yet, there's a part of me wanting to be at some place right now.

Like tentacles do his fingers fly over the consoles, entering coordinates freely from memory. The powerful engines move the graceful Sabre gently forward. The flight navigator voice says in a maltese accent: "Identity confirmed: Lee del Sol Verde. Coordinates validated: Setting course for Sirius Sector, Omicron Alpha."