Sunset to sunrise

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The school was to demolish. It has been closed so long time. So we used to sneak in to smoke, to drink and to paint on the abandoned walls. It became a ghost house anyway, and it started to give us a sense of fear that emits a Japanese horror movie of mental hospital. The committee one day announced us the date of demolition. So a farewell party was planned for the very last day of its existence. It was something like a prom of last year, or something like an annual meeting between graduates. The slight difference was that there were no electricity and no water. We planned the party, and we had to put all those urban civilisation back to abandoned warehouse; at least to a main hall where the party would be on.

Those who graduated, started to gather after sunset. It was already dark outside and the first floor were alight since we put a light bulb all around. They started to recognise one another, mentioning their classrooms and courses they crossed back then. Sometimes the curiosity got activated, so I went up stairs with my phone’s flash light. I wanted to explore the auditorium, the top-last floor and the corner toilet where we used to smoke indiscreetly. All doors were taken out, so I literally had all authorities to enter every room there was. Remember that from the second floor there were no light bulb but only the moonlight. I was sure sometimes that I almost caught up some sexual intercourse scenery but I didn’t dare to bother them. When I noticed an action in the dark, I kindly retreated myself giving up my own curiosity.

It was merely the last night of the very school. Tomorrow during the day it would be demolished. Those thick dark walls would be broken and scared. Those love stories and complains towards society would be erased. I was already on the top-last floor and the auditorium was in front of me and my little flash light, but still I could hear groaning sounds from somewhere down floors. We all have grown up beautifully and sexually, and this demolition party added up a romanticism between people encountering each other with different expectations they used to share when they were just children. We know better now and we enjoy better.

All night there was electronic music put on the gigantic speakers. The first floor was almost exploited, but the neighbours didn’t seem to care much of such noise. Maybe they were all generous knowing this would be the very last day of this school’s existing in physical form. I joined the group of people who were hiding behind the walls of darkness emitting a groan sounds. Maybe this form of prom or annual graduate meeting was meant to have this kind of relation. Easy it was, and every one needed to fulfil the imaginative expectation we had incubated inside us just in thoughts. Before the demolition, it had to prove to be real.

I fell asleep with others and when I woke up there was a sunlight touching my cheek that passed through the door-less door. So warm the yellowish light was, and so warm the touching the flesh. All night long dancing and touching wasn’t an easy job, but I made it somehow with the excuse of being the last day of its existence before the demolition. Tomorrow this place would be empty, and later will enter another building to seek a high rent. Education didn’t matter now but only the real estate return. This symbolic moment we couldn’t judge, because there were no more students than rent-seekers. No more urges for education rather than urges for monthly payment.

The music kept going on. But in the morning there were different type of music. No more hard electronics or mariachis, but something calmed me down and made me arranged.

I fell in love, or better said, I raised with love these last moments of existing. It’s a pity that I felt love at the last moment of its existing of such place. If I knew earlier, I’d be coming more often painting more and having dark sex more so to just banish these moments into the demolishing space.

Those two songs I tagged don’t mean of that this place was somewhat romantic. Rather, I’d say that I made this memory romantic, since it’s my own memory, and it’s about my own childhood. I’m reconstructing my past, since what others can testify is only the sour smell of cum detached on the wall and floor that they even won’t want to testify out of embarrassment. I myself am the sole witness, and this justice system is so vulnerable but trust what a sole witness’s word vomits from drunkenness.

But once one listens those two songs, they might understand this vomit doesn’t come from drunkenness but from helplessness, only.

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