In Continuum.

The Russian Doll


When i'm at the pearly gates
This'll be on my videotape
My videotape

She sits in the corner like a Russian doll, in her pretty dress and her pretty hair. The porcelain would glimmer in the lights, attracting the stares of a thousand eyes. It is not difficult to see why she receives the kind of attention that she receives, nor is it difficult - as a female - to feel jealous or hatred towards her. Her beauty is her doom, and nobody borders any more than what the eyes perceive. But a Russian Doll has many smaller dolls within them, secrets meant to be kept and stories meant to be untold. And as we open one doll after the next, we find that their faces begin to change gradually. Their mouths begin to shrink, their eyes begin to droop in sadness. Soon, you find tears rolling down their faces at the deepest places, with blood stream through their eyes and down their faces.

She sits in the corner like a Russian doll, so delicate and so beautiful. But shake her well enough, and you hear the sound of a thousand broken glass inside, the screams of a thousand broken hearts. Poor Russian doll, nobody bothers with how you feel, everybody cares about opening you up to reveal more of yourself. After a while, you lay bare on the floor amidst a dozen different versions of yourself, all with their guts split opened like eggshells. You fail to know which one is you - the real you - any longer. Poor Russian doll, if only people knew. If only people knew the truth about you, and why your broken hearts look so blue.

When Mephistopheles is just beneath
And he's reaching up to grab me

She on the top of the shelves and stares into the world. Everybody admired her beauty, but dared not come very close. Her beauty drew a circle around herself, it marked where her domain began and where the others stayed away. She couldn't help it, but sat there with the painted smile still lingering on her face. Everybody else looked on from the outside, speaking under their breathes of her beauty and grace, but always too soft for her to hear, because they were afraid that their words may break her delicate skin. All were enthralled, most were respectful. The majority remained in their territories, knowing their own limits. They understood the danger of venturing too far, they knew also the point of no return. But there were some who dared to risk the holy grail, creeping in too far into her radiance. There was he, the one that got too close to her beauty and her grace. His obsession overcame his reason, and his infatuation clouded his rationality. He tried to buy her love, tried to bribe her into loving him in return. But the doll smiled - as always - within her circle. It wasn't so much about his affection that scared her, but her feelings for anybody in return. Her porcelain heart was brittle, and she rejected the boy's call out for love.

The foolish one retreated into himself, though still filled with much love and desire. The rest of us looked on without a word, but there was a silent agreement in the air that the foolish one was a victim of his own stupidity. He ventured too far and was hurt, and his depression was hurting the rest of us as a result. The foolish one disappeared from sight for some time, looked for himself amidst the ruins of his heart, but mostly just the remnants of her beauty in the rubble. He still hopes to find a little something that belongs to her, a little chance or a possibility to regain her love. But his advancement caused her to retreat even deeper into herself, becoming even smaller for others to find. The foolish one wandered the empty streets and the broken towns of his heart, and asked questions into the vacated houses without answers. It is a foolish hope that he bears, but a hope nonetheless. I'm sure somewhere inside his heart, there is a place where the Russian Doll still remains. But everywhere else resonates the question of 'Why', for the reason is still unknown.

This is one for the good days
And I have it all here
In red blue green
In red blue green

The foolish one came upon a well one day, a well that seemed to have no end to it at all. He looked deep into the abyss, peering into the dark for a sign of water to dry his cracking lips. He threw a rock from the top and watched as the darkness swallowed it whole. He prepared for the sound of splashing water in the deep, or perhaps even the sound of the Russian doll calling out for help. But all her heard was the sound of the rock hitting something hard, something metallic. The foolish one looked deeper into the darkness, shielded his eyes from the blinding sun above - and saw nothing. He grabbed hold of the rope that stretched downwards into the darkness, letting himself down slowly towards the bottom. The wooden frame at the top threatened to buckle under his weight, and the circle of light at the top began to shrink. But the source of the metallic sound intrigued him beyond his craving for water, and his desires to find an end to his insatiable love overwhelmed him, like the darkness devoured his body entire.

He reached the bottom of the well, and felt his feet sinking slowly into the soggy grounds. In darkness, he searched around for the metallic object that the rock hit a minute ago, and brushed his fingers across something sharp. It sent a sudden jolt of pain up his arms and through his body, and he felt the warm blood trickle down his arms and soaked his shirt. He jumped down upon all fours to look for the object, a little bit more careful this time. He felt the ground with his fingertips, moving slower this time so as not to be wounded yet again. In the corner of the well, he found the object all over again, this time he manage to do so without causing more harm to his already wounded body and soul. It was a blade, or a shard of glass that must have fallen into the well when the world crumbled. He felt the edges again, and the smell of his blood was overpowering. It was then, when he found an answer to his endless questions. It was the way to win her heart back, to have the Russian doll kept safely in his heart this time. He threatened, to slit his own wrists with the blade if the Russian Doll refuses to show herself. He was sure of this to work, determined to see her beauty all over again. But this time, there was no sympathy from the Russian doll, only much hatred and resentment.

You are my center when I spin away
Out of control on videotape
On videotape
On videotape
On videotape

She walked into the funeral with her heart heavy with grieve, her eyes swollen from the night of crying. The love of her life, the light at the end of the tunnel, now cold and dead like the meat in a market. There he laid in the wooden coffin, with the lid opened for the rest of them to gaze upon, to say the last words, to kiss goodbye. Everybody had their faces drawn, with an invisible veil pulled over their faces to hide their true emotions. Her heart rammed against her chest, beating at a thousand beats per minute, as the death of her beloved finally began to sink in. They were supposed to grow old together, but life never gave them a chance to do so. Death came in between and took him away so abruptly, so suddenly. But then again, bad news never have good timing, and no one can ever be prepared for one's last breath. She stood next to the coffin with deep pools of tears welling up in her eyes, a drop or two fell on his cold dead skin.

He looked peaceful, as he would in her bedroom on those warm Sunday afternoons long ago. She remembered the whispered words in her ears, the hot breath that kissed her skin from his nostrils as they became so close. Her long hair was tangled up in his, their lips were only inches away from one another's. Everything was either behind or before them, and they were in the present, right in the moment of things - the one that lasted forever. She crept up closer to his wakeful slumber and kissed him softly on his cheeks. Her cold porcelain skin brushed against his own and he smiled at the tenderness of it all. There were so many possibilities between the two of them, endless avenues and channels for them to thread. It was possible to live together, and die together - because to her that afternoon, everything was possible.


This is my way of saying goodbye
Because I can't do it face to face
I'm talking to you
Before...

She was back at the funeral, standing by the coffin once more. She turned her back to the body of her beloved, the one that went away to a place she couldn't follow. Behind her was the presence of another, with the same sadness in her eyes. She had the look of a person that lost her loved one too, but not the kind that his family or friends had, but the look that resembled her own. She was confused, but she had little room left for doubts. Every inch of her body screamed to be hugged by the dead boyfriend all over again, to be cared for and whispered to. She clawed at her skin and concentrated on the future - but there was none. That was when the girl that came in line after her told her everything and revealed her identity. She told her about their past, and how she too had a relationship with the man. The one that she thought that she would marry eventually, the one whom she thought would grow old with her, was telling the same thing to another girl, in another bed, in another time.

Her heart began to crystallize, hardening with every word that the girl spoke. The tears on her face retracted, replacing those the subtle look of confusion and despair. But those were merely the tip of the iceberg, but there was much more than met the eye that day at the funeral. There were a thousand different emotions and nothing at all, racing through her mind that very moment. To feel loved, to feel love lost, to feel love tainted, to feel cheated. Too much emotions in one split second, too many emotions to behold. That was when she decided to turn herself into something else, something permanently beautiful. It was possible to hide her emotions afterwards - she figured. It was possible to runaway from deciding which emotion to feel. To have different versions of herself fitted into one, like those Russian Dolls she used to see in malls. So that was what she did with herself in the days to come, collecting the broken pieces of her heart and putting them into the deepest pits of herself. On the outside, she painted herself with those beautiful eyelashes and those wavy hair that smelled like summer breeze wherever she went. Everybody desired her, everybody was enthralled. Until one day when a foolish one ventured too far, until the day when he threatened to kill himself for her. She resented him afterwards, she refused to take him in. She hated anybody who spoke of death like the grocery list, she hated his foolishness - but mostly of how death took her beloved away without given her an answer as to - why.

The Russian Doll remains on the top of the shelves and stared into the world. A new environment, a new place, a new love. She wondered how long her new love would last, and if he is going to break the remainder of her heart all over again. Love is all about taking chances, the doll told herself. It is all about taking risks. Everybody thinks that she is handling it well, that the smile painted on her outer shell is a real smile. Everybody thought that she handled his death well, thought that she handled his betrayal appropriately. But in truth, she merely pretended that he never existed. At least it makes the nights that much easier to bear, and the bitter tea that much easier to swallow. Poor Russian Doll, still afraid to have her heart broken, still hearing the screaming of the broken pieces when properly shaken.

No matter what happens now
I won't be afraid
Because i know today has been
The most perfect day I've ever seen