He sits, staring blankly at the tray میز, جدول seven inches from his face. He leans his head ever so slightly to the right, then ever so slightly to the left, watching the black line jump the sides of his nose. He has watched it every دن of his life, always taking it for granted, never questioning its presence. But it is here, on his hands, his pants, his shirt, his nose. It is everywhere, a defining edge, دکھانا the ending of one yet the beginning of another. It changes from points of view, disappearing in your vision while still existing in your friend’s. It is there but cannot be touched, cannot be felt سے طرف کی the ones that wear it. And everybody does. Every single visible thing has at least one black line, living یا dead, big یا small, animated یا stationary – all do. Yet no one notices. It is such a common thing that no one cares. It exists; it must have a function. But it cannot be felt, cannot be touched, so how can it be tested? How will its existence ever be proven worthy?
Maybe without it everything will just fall apart.
Maybe without it everything will just fall apart.
When hate is in your heart
Don’t be afraid to tear yourself apart
Through your demonic fear
Until آپ hear
The angels sing
Thy blessing
When آپ hear heaven’s
Yell آپ wonder if the seven
Of sins were committed
It was آپ who committed them
And آپ wil burn for sin
آپ are consumed سے طرف کی wretched flames
And through everyones aims
آپ are never hit
Nor bit
سے طرف کی the آگ کے, آگ consuming you
Screams from hell
Sound like ringing from a bell
Things of silence
Are really screams
People of benevolence
Have bright beams
Of hope and light
آپ are consumed سے طرف کی wretched flames
And through everyones aims
آپ are never hit
Nor bit
سے طرف کی the آگ کے, آگ consuming you
We are listening
We aren’t missing
We know what lies within
So raise your chin
Look at the world with your pessimistic gleam
And seem
All so picture perfect
Don’t be afraid to tear yourself apart
Through your demonic fear
Until آپ hear
The angels sing
Thy blessing
When آپ hear heaven’s
Yell آپ wonder if the seven
Of sins were committed
It was آپ who committed them
And آپ wil burn for sin
آپ are consumed سے طرف کی wretched flames
And through everyones aims
آپ are never hit
Nor bit
سے طرف کی the آگ کے, آگ consuming you
Screams from hell
Sound like ringing from a bell
Things of silence
Are really screams
People of benevolence
Have bright beams
Of hope and light
آپ are consumed سے طرف کی wretched flames
And through everyones aims
آپ are never hit
Nor bit
سے طرف کی the آگ کے, آگ consuming you
We are listening
We aren’t missing
We know what lies within
So raise your chin
Look at the world with your pessimistic gleam
And seem
All so picture perfect
How are the winners determined from the losers? Easy. Whoever gave in first.
And if no one gives in?
Giving in is often easier. But not the desirable choice.
Taylor tapped the glass coated floor. The tiny black droplet that bloomed on her forefinger fell with a soft plink on a مثلث of glass below.
Taylor cautiously lifted the shard to the light. There it was. A small stain, barely the size of a pinhead, darkening the glass.
That's all I am. Just a flaw on an otherwise clear surface.
Just a flaw. A mistake that was never meant to be.
"I'm leaving," Taylor muttered to herself, getting back to her feet. She strode towards the corner, vanishing just as soon as the shadow fell over to embrace her slight form.
She closed her eyes and felt the end of her plait, fumbling with it until wove free.
She knew where she was going, if only this once.
But when she got there? She hadn't thought that far.
And if no one gives in?
Giving in is often easier. But not the desirable choice.
Taylor tapped the glass coated floor. The tiny black droplet that bloomed on her forefinger fell with a soft plink on a مثلث of glass below.
Taylor cautiously lifted the shard to the light. There it was. A small stain, barely the size of a pinhead, darkening the glass.
That's all I am. Just a flaw on an otherwise clear surface.
Just a flaw. A mistake that was never meant to be.
"I'm leaving," Taylor muttered to herself, getting back to her feet. She strode towards the corner, vanishing just as soon as the shadow fell over to embrace her slight form.
She closed her eyes and felt the end of her plait, fumbling with it until wove free.
She knew where she was going, if only this once.
But when she got there? She hadn't thought that far.
Blood Bound plot. No it is not cute, it’s not simple; it’s pessimist and frightful. The story is suggestive of Rosemary’s Baby, which does not seem accidental.
It is 2019, and we’re still exploring age-old subjects like Wicca, human sacrifice and sects. Somehow, those subgenres stand the test of time. Horror stories built around pregnancy never get old either, for obvious reasons. As saturated as these themes may be, in horror cinema these days, Blood Bound manages to impress and surprise. It’s its own thing.
