Make Me Spin

Make Me Spin


Verse I

The timing's off
Set's all wrong
Beat's gone to shit
But you've still got me
Dancing
Dancing to your tune
My hips can't stop moving
Not while you've got me
In your grip, so tight
Hypnotized
Mesmerized by the heat in your eyes

And it's so easy now to...

Chorus

Toss me, turn me
Make me spin
Just the way you can
You were always so good
At playing me
Like a record baby
There you go again
Setting me up on your turntable
Make me sing
Like a canary baby
For you
I'd do anything
You know
You're my everything

Verse II

When you're home again
Down from the high that's me
You'll shove me back up on your shelf
Collecting dust and
Wasting away with the fire of your stare
I hope you're proud now
So proud of yourself
For forgetting me successfully
Me and my scratched surfaces
Old bruises and faded scars
You've got new talent to replace me now
Jaded faces with harsh voices
Remember me then
And know you'll never have me again
After all the shit you put me through
Know that you were never the only one
Listening to the melody
That was me...

So...

Chorus


Toss me, turn me
Make me spin
Just the way you can
You were always so good
At playing me
Like a record baby
There you go again
Setting me up on your turntable
Make me sing
Like a canary baby
For you
I'd do anything
You know
You're my everything

Do you hear me now?

My Tragedy

Verse 1

The universe is spinning free
But I am lost and
The stars are trapping me
The shackles are not the type
That you can see
And I am nothing now
Left waiting
For a common ground
That'll never be reality

Chorus

My mouth's been sewn closed
My eyes long glued shut
My mind is the canvas
Wicked nightmares and fantasies
Confusing me
And painting gruesome portraits
Of who I used to be

Verse 2

Darkness surrounds
The scenes of tragedy
Playing all around me
Like a personal melody
And I can't scream
And I can't see
My eyes and words deceiving me
So easily


Chorus

My mouth's been sewn closed
My eyes long glued shut
My mind is the canvas
Wicked nightmares and fantasies
Confusing me
And painting gruesome portraits
Of who I used to be

Final Verse

I rip the stitches
From my lips
Breathing free
And peel my eyelids open forcefully
Praying to catch a glimpse
Of my personality
And sometimes I cry
Just to drink my own tears
In the futile hope
Of swallowing my own sadness

Final chorus

My mouth torn open
My eyes wounded wide
My mind come undone
In the wake of broken canvases
The brushes are split
The paint spattered
On the crumbling walls
Of my ruined psyche
And I am left
Picking up the ragged remnants
Of my tragedy

Sometimes

Sometimes I lie awake at night
Entertaining thoughts of you
Your smile
And your eyes
All the things I love about you
And as I lie awake
And think of you
I wonder quietly
If you're thinking of me too

Fallen

Fallen

My story begins many years before the son of God was born, even before man was intelligent, when they were no more than animals walking or four limbs. I was called forth by one of the Princes of Hell, Lucifer.

He sat in a high-backed chair facing a mirror so that he could gaze upon his own reflection for hours on end. He hardly spared a glance for me before staring back into his own violet eyes reflected by the silvery glass of the mirror before him. I waited in silence for him to speak, taking in his handsome appearance as I stood motionless in his presence. He smiled at himself before his rose-tinted lips opened to allow his voice to flow from between them.

“I have called you forth for a favor. You have pledged allegiance to Hell and I call upon you now to fulfill your duties. From now on, you shall be called Azmodeus. If you complete this task, you will be given privileges no other demons of your status are allowed. I have taken notice of your beauty and I have decided you will be best suited to successfully accomplish my plan,” He spoke softly, his voice carrying melodiously on the motionless air. I merely nodded in quiet acquiescence. “You are to travel to Earth and tempt an angel. The angel called Chastity, has been sent to watch over the humans in the northern hemisphere. You will tempt him onto the path of the left hand. You will make him fall. This will be my revenge on God for his denunciation of me. You must be triumphant or you will be punished. Do not return until Chastity's soul belongs to Hell.” His gazed never drifted from his reflection as he told me of my mission and he never once blinked.

“As you wish, your Majesty.” I murmured with a graceful bow, the onyx feathers of my wings whispering on the marble floor as I bent. I left with my new name and my task. I traveled as I had been instructed to, to the northern hemisphere and began my pursuit of the angel, Chastity.

I searched for many months for him before finally finding him on the outskirts of a human village. He was more beautiful than any other creature, demon or otherwise I had ever laid eyes on, of course I wondered if all angels held the same beauty as he, for he was the first angel I'd ever seen. His golden locks brushed softly at the backs of his shapely calves, long legs and a slim waist hardly noticeable beneath the folds of a crisp, white tunic, and eyes of the bluest seas. I could not catch my breath as I gazed upon him. His skin was so pale, it nearly shimmered in the light of the moon matching the dove white feathers of his pristine wings arching gracefully from gently angular shoulders. I did not approach him or rather I could not; I was much too frightened by his magnificence to move towards him.

I retreated into the forest swiftly without a backward glance, stopping only when I had reached the lake I knew to be hidden within its depths. I looked down at my own reflection in the tranquility of the water's surface. My own skin was bronze with sunlight and my auburn hair lay in stunning waves about my neck and shoulders. Incredibly ebony feathered wings protruded from broadly rounded shoulders and glimmering scarlet eyes met in the reflection of myself. I glanced down at my hand, raising it palm-up, glossy nails that seemed too feminine for a male shone dully in the dim glow the moon provided and I pondered how to make an angel fall as I gazed at my curled fingers. How did one go about pushing a messenger of God off the path of righteousness and onto the path of chaos?

I could not of course, simply ask him. He would never agree, but I thought that perhaps he might be persuaded if I became a keeper of his trust. Lucifer had given me no precise deadline for which I must retrieve the angel's soul only warning me not to return without it, so I assumed that I had ample amount of time to gain said trust. I smiled to myself, thinking my plan genius.

Days passed before I found the courage to return to watch the angel. I found him seated on a gigantic blue speckled stone by a small spring. The smell of clean water wafted from the pool of translucent liquid which had been trapped by the stones around it. More of the sweet-smelling water trickled from a crevice in the rock wall behind the pool and my mouth watered with the mere thought of the taste of it. I imagined it would be cool upon my parched lips and tongue.

I watched the angel as he sat, humming quietly to himself, hardly audible over the sound of the water in the spring, but my sensitive ears picked up each delicate note. I licked my dry lips as I stepped towards him. He did not seem to notice me at first or perhaps he did, but was ignoring me or pretending not to have noticed at all. Briefly I found my mind wandering. Did God send angels to turn demons onto the path of good or were they only sent to guide the humans? If he did, was this angel waiting for me so that he might turn me away from my chosen path?

I shook my head to rid my mind of such distracting thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Chastity sat vulnerably in front of me and he did not move away in fear of me as I proceeded towards him. Were angels capable of arrogance? Did he think that I was no threat to him? Was he so sure that his God would protect him from my wicked hand?

I found my lips tilting up in a smirk of self-arrogance as I continued my approach. He did not turn to face me as I sauntered up next to the stone he had settled himself on. I glanced at him, my breath catching as I laid eyes on his beautiful features once more. How could one creature steal your breath with just their looks? He had his eyes closed, sooty eyelashes resting lazily upon his prominent cheekbones and he did not stop humming the tune he'd started before I'd come. I nearly snorted in indignation as he ignored my presence altogether.

“Do you not fear me?” I asked, my tone telling of my irritation with his blatant rudeness. His humming stopped for a moment, but continued once more as if he had never stopped to begin with, as if he had not even heard me speak. I huffed angrily. “Aren't you afraid that your ignorance will be your death?” I asked, pressing for acknowledgment. I vaguely heard him snort laughably. I looked up at him with shock widened eyes. How dare he laugh at me?! I grit my fanged teeth, my jaw clenching in agitation. He was trying my patience and demons were not known to be patient creatures. I breathed in deeply before exhaling, trying desperately to regain my composure.

“I have no reason to fear you.” I had not expected him to speak, nearly jumping in my astonishment when the airy tone of his voice reached my ears. I grinned triumphantly as he acknowledged me at last. I had at least gained his attention.

“And why is that?” I inquired, leaning in, my bare, slightly muscled arm pressing against the chill stone he sat upon. He shrugged nonchalantly and opened his eyes, gazing into the tiny pool at his feet.

“He would not allow you to harm me.” He answered immediately as though it was common knowledge, as though I were an idiot for even asking such a question. I chuckled.

“How wonderful it must be to be so naive.” I said airily, picking at my nails as if I were bored with the conversation. I could see him stiffen in irritation at my comment. I was clearly hitting nerves as I continued to talk with him. “How can He protect you when He is way up there and you are way down here?” I asked humorously, gesturing widely from the Earth towards Heaven and back again. I saw his jaw twitch as he clenched and unclenched the muscles there. I smirked.

“You'd be surprised at his reach.” He replied evenly, his voice forcefully trying to cover over his anger. My grin only broadened as I watched him struggle to keep his grace. I thought that my task was going to be easier than I had first assumed. He seemed a little hardheaded for an angel. I nibbled my lips as I debated my next move.

Slowly, ever-so slowly, I moved my hand silently up to run a freezing fingertip down the exposed flesh of his thigh; it was the only part of his body that I happened to be able to reach from my place on the grass-covered ground of course. I saw a shiver run through him instinctively before he jumped to his feet as if he'd been burned, glaring down at me with furious cerulean eyes. I merely grinned up at him in satisfaction.

“You! How dare you!” He exclaimed before falling silent as his eyes fell upon my form, a soft gasp falling from my lips. I cocked my head just the tiniest bit to the left and watched him as he took in my appearance.

“How dare I what? Touch you? Did you think He would protect you from a mere touch?” I questioned knowingly. This game was turning out to be so fun. He shook his head, a rosy blush creeping over his cheeks as he realized he'd been staring at me for several moments without speaking. I kept smiling enigmatically up at him, not at all worried about God's wrath. What more could he possibly do to me? I'd lived in Hell all my life after all. I've heard there's nothing worse than that.

“You- I... Just...” He stuttered furiously, unable to say anything of substance. I chuckled as I watched him battle within himself.

“I did nothing wrong. Your God did not smite me, so nothing I've done is a sin. I have only spoken to you and touched you to gain your attention. Is that so wrong to you?” I asked innocently, full well knowing that I was confusing him thoroughly. I was sure that my actions had gone against everything he had been taught. I was positive that he had been told that God would protect him from the advances of demons, but he had not realized that demons did not always try to harm angels. His God could not protect him from words or persuasions. He could not stop us from meeting, could He? So how could He be expected to stop us from becoming acquainted?

Chastity looked utterly taken aback as realization finally hit. He met my eyes and I nodded. Yes, I was telling the truth. Yes, his God was powerless here. And no, he was not in danger. Well, at least not physically. I only wanted his soul after all.

“But I thought. You can't- You shouldn't be able to...” he trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought. I just kept grinning as he sputtered until he shut himself up, glaring angrily at me. I merely grinned up at him.

Many weeks passed after that first night and I spoke with Chastity every night thereafter when the moon was high up in the night sky, looming over us, hoping to hear all our secrets. It was not so awkward between us then, our conversations flowing easily like the water in the spring. We spoke of many things both good and evil and we became tentative acquaintances and then simple friends. Then on a night several months after we'd first met, I sat next to him upon the blue-speckled stone by the spring and stared up at the stars.

“What do you think of love?” Chastity's melodic voice whispered through my ears, asking me a long-awaited question. He trusted me now, but for some unknown reason, I could not bring myself to commit the sin to ruin him. He looked at me expectantly, trust shining from his glorious cerulean eyes. I sighed inwardly. Were we now more than simple friends? Had we begun to tread into other territories?

If that was so, then I had put my whole mission into jeopardy. How could it be possible for me to feel more than animosity for the creature that opposed me by the very blood that ran in our veins? By nature, we should despise one another. It was a wonder that we had become friends at all, let alone anything more than that. Would I be able to taint him as I was commanded by the one I called master?

“What of it?” I asked quietly, my voice cooling with the foul mood I was putting myself in even though I was careful not to let my thoughts show through. I would have to steal his soul soon. I would have to tarnish him, make him fall, and destroy him. With every image of myself doing just that, a sickening lump grew within the pit of my stomach. A hideously enormous black lump formed, taking up residence beneath the safe cage of my ribs; a sure sign of second thoughts. I watched him as he cocked his head, a rose blush rising on his cheeks embarrassedly.

“Well, I mean, do you think there is such a thing as true love? That love can survive through anything?” His eyes cast downwards as he spoke softly, his fingers twitching against the cool stone near to my own hand, itching to touch. I just watched him for several moments before answering. I knew what my answer should be; I knew I should deny the very possibility of true love. I sighed heavily as I managed to force words from my sticky tongue.

“Love is a fool's notion, made up for fairy tales. That's all.”I grit my fanged jaw as I ground out the awful words. Chastity's eyes widened impossibly at my outburst and I immediately regretted my recitation of what I had been taught to believe since birth. Love was not something that demons were supposed to believe in. Hate was a better tool for sin.

“Then I guess I'm just a fool.” He said bitterly in reply as unshed tears shimmered in his eyes. He stood up abruptly and turned to get down from the stone. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand had wrapped itself around his thin wrist, the smoothness of the pale skin reddening under my tight grip. I couldn't let him leave, not when I had upset him so badly.

“Chastity wait!” I exclaimed, the words hanging in the still air like a dark cloud filled with unsaid innuendos. I had no idea what I had planned on saying if he stayed. I closed my eyes as he stood awkwardly silent and without motion, hardly even breathing. “I didn't mean it like that. I don't know much about love, especially not when it comes to the survival of love. I don't even understand what love would feel like. How would I know if it can survive anything?” I tried to explain, feeling as though I was failing miserably.

Couldn't he understand? I was a demon. These things did not come naturally to me as they did an angel like himself. I wasn't equipped with the right knowledge. I didn't know how to proceed in this situation. My mission plan had seemed so simple in the beginning. I had thought to seduce him after gaining his trust and allowing him to fall with the mere sin of desiring me, but now something had changed drastically. I desired him, wanted to protect him, and keep him pure. How had it come to this and what did it mean?

He turned, his angry eyes softening as they met my own scarlet ones. “Really? You've never learned love?” His voice was so quiet, as if he could not believe what I had said. I nodded, words abandoning me. “Then, I shall teach you.” He finished in a tone filled with determination.

“How?” I asked, gaze glued to his face as I waited for his reply. He moved down to the grass and pulled me with him as he did. I lost my balance and fell on top of him, toppling us both to the chilled earth below, the fresh grass cushioning our landing. He laughed, his voice like a bell as we lay on the ground side by side and I blushed. Demons don't blush, but I did right then. Our eyes met and his laughter subsided into silent breath. I lost count of the time as we lay watching each other, no words passing between us.

Then, before I knew what he was attempting, and before I could stop him, he was leaning over me, so close that I could feel his cool breath on my face. His lips were warm and so soft, they'd make a flower weep as they pressed onto mine. I hadn't known a simple kiss could leave me breathless, but perhaps it was because he was an angel, or maybe I only imagined it. I closed my eyes without even realizing I had done so and didn't open them again until he pulled away once more. Our breath mingled as his hair pooled around us like a golden halo. My heart had never beaten so fast in my entire existence and I was utterly taken by him. That is when I understood love.

But from that very night, perhaps even since the beginning of this insane mission, we could never be. We were enemies by birth and we'd never survive our love. Impossible, it would be for us to ever live happily as one. And I knew it from the moment it dawned on me that I loved him. I would never ruin him; I wouldn't be able to bring myself to. From the second our lips brushed for the second time, I realized that after this night I could never see him again. And when I finally disentangled my limbs from his and our lips were reddened and bruised with kisses even as he begged me to stay with him, I never looked back again.

I know what you'll be thinking now. You'll say that I'm cruel, leading you on the way I have, but you are wrong. It would have been much more cruel of me to keep him. How could I have made it work? You'd probably like to believe that Chastity and I found a way, but we could not, for even though it has been said time and time again that love survives anything, that it knows no boundaries, clearly the ones who said it never knew a demon that fell in love with an angel. Heaven and Hell can never mix peacefully and so I set my Chastity free.

Art

Colours meshing
Flowing blue
Flaming red
Tears of black and green
Specks of orange and yellow and purple
All of it pulled from my very soul
Imaginary images
Coating an empty page
So many different masterpieces
Along the faded walls of my endless mind
Just waiting to
Be free

Fear

Darting, running, screaming, and crying
Breathing rapidly
Mouth feeling dry
Sweating, cursing, and staring
Turning away
And trying hard not to look
Freaking and breaking
Not thinking
Just fearing

The Ash

I come from deep within the flames
I am old, no longer fresh with the searing burn of fire
I am light
And carried softly upon the restless breeze
Away
Away from my home
All I knew
And I settle atop the frigid beauty of the grounded grass
Chill
And covered with morning dew
I am the ash
And as the tears of rain pour down
I am no more
I was once the ash
But now I am dead
Though
I will live again
Someday

Second-Hand Life

Second-hand Life

“You can't leave now,” Luke says softly, his voice barely audible in the chilly autumn air. He stand up as if to leave, holding out a hand to stop me from following after him. I anxiously await his signal that all is well as he creeps along the filthy rust-coloured brick of the alley wall outside the abandoned building we call home and peers around the crumbling outcrop, checking to make sure the cops are gone. They are and I sigh in relief as we make our way inside the long-forgotten building. We hole ouselves up in one of the abandoned apartments on the top floor. It isn't much, but we manage.

I sit down on the sagging sofa, an old spring jabbing into my rear uncomfortably. Luke is at the window, peeking out of the dusty rags that serve as blinds. “I think we'll be safe for the rest of the night. The cops are gone for now.” He says, letting the dingy material sway back into place before coming to sit next to me.

Police are always a problem in this end of town. You know the part where all the criminals hide out, with the cracked and dirty streets that smell of sewage and grime. Even all the houses here are ancient and worn-looking. The whole neighborhood is decaying. It's the way things are nowadays. That's why the cops are always around. They're looking for strays, like Luke and I, hoping to take us in and stick us in the system. You know, they'd probably separate us and I'd never see my brother again.

Our building is just like all of the others, blown-out windows, leaking roof, and molding innards, decrepit second or third-hand furniture scattered about each room. Luke sleeps in a chair that's right across from the couch we're sitting on, which just so happens to be my bed. It's hard to imagine what life was like before this. Back when we didn't have to hide out like Anne Frank did from the Nazis. It's strange to remember then.

I hardly remember it, I was only four when mom and dad were killed. I just remember the colour red and Luke won't tell me anything about it, he was twelve at the time. It's been four long years since then. Luke and I ran away from the house as soon as we saw our parents bodies. I wish I recalled what they looked like, but I was too young. We've moved around a lot since then, but I don't really mind much as long as Luke's here to take care of me.

We don't really have much to call our own, just barely enough food for the two of us to survive and Luke works so hard just to get us even that little bit. I feel so useless; there's not really anything I can do, I'm only eight after all. Luke says that I don't have to do anything, just smile for him. He says it keeps him going. I sometimes wonder how true that is.

Sirens sound in the distance and Luke stirs, shifting uneasily. He glances at me and I catch his eye. He graces me with the tiniest of smiles before he stands up and moves to sit in the chair he uses as a bed, resting his hands on the stained and torn olive-coloured material.

“Hey Maddi, it's time for bed, k? We're gonna move tomorrow, so you need your rest.” He says as he leans forward and ruffles my bangs, tugging on the longs strands playfully. I giggle and nod, pressing my body back onto the uncomfortable sofa and closing my eyes. Luke blows out the candle that has been lighting our home feebly for hours. He leans back into his chair and breathes a heavy sigh that speaks of years beyond his age. I smile sadly in the darkness.

“Goodnight Luke.” I whisper quietly in the direction I know him to be in. I hear him breathe in again.

“Sleep tight Maddi.” His reply is only a little late and I close my eyes once more. Sleep comes quickly when you're far too old or your years and Luke and I are ancient. Dawn will bring with it, a new day and a new home, but I don't mind, not as long as my brother is here to protect me. Besides, we're used to this by now, after all it is just another day in our second-hand life.

The Rake

I sleep
Until autumn's nigh
And when the coloured
Leaves fall
I'll wake
And collect them all
Within my arms
So close
Before the winter calls
And once the wind
Blows snowflakes about
Again I'll sleep
'Til the seasons change
Once more

Eulogy for an Apparition

Eulogy of an Apparition

I woke to the rancid odor of formaldehyde. My eyes heavy, I lifted a hand up to my face, my arms feeling light as if I were weightless, barely more than a petal on the wind. I sat up, looking blearily. Time dragged the moments it took for the voices to reach me, not my own, I realized. They seemed to be prayers, many, many incomprehensible prayers. Tears, by the thousands, all shimmering like tiny profound drops of stardust streaming crystalline milky way rivers from the eyes of loved ones; I could never remember all their names. All of them dressed to mourn, but to what did they owe mourning?

I searched the melancholy crowd frantically for just a glimpse of myself, a tiny fragment to connect me to this place, the people, their faces becoming blurred and disfigured in my haste. I ran and ran, and tripped, my hair floating down soft as ashes to my cheeks. And as I looked up, a horrifying, overwhelming, ebony coffin loomed, glaring back at me, its contents in the shadows. I gulped, I shivered, and I stood shakily slipping silently towards the open casket. Before I even glanced, I knew. I screwed my eyes up tightly, willing it not to be so as I twisted to lay eyes on the horrific truth that lay inside that fatal box of death. My heart jumped to my throat, beating madly, I imagined, my breath caught within my already breathless lungs. My eyes opened and my mouth followed, tearing into a soundless scream of horror.

There I stood, clutching white-knuckled to the polished brass handle of the too-large casket and yet, there I lay, tiny white and blue baby's breath and forget-me-nots like a mocking halo around my perfect golden-brown hair, curled just right for once. My lips pale pink glossed, simple rose tint powdered on my still cheeks, and tan dusted ever so lightly on lids long glued-shut, a blood-deprived visage, my own against a pristine, white satin backdrop. I shuddered viewing my own corpse, a morbid china doll in an eternal display case.

I stared at the explicit, naked, blunt truth, sharp as a pinprick on a fingertip. Those awful, horridly hideous, obsidian clothes I hadn't worn since the last funeral I'd been to, I wore now to my own.

Forsaken

Forsaken

I was not sure where I had been taken, where I'd woken up. The mossy aroma of earth and compost seized my nostrils forthwith. I nearly felt as if I might sneeze with the pungent potency of it. My dubious sight fought to focus fruitlessly, agony shattered and throbbed within the dungeon of my skull. I reached back hesitantly to touch the sticky, metallic fluid caked in my hair which fell mangled and matted about my trembling shoulders. Darkness surrounded me and I crawled, and I slunk along the cracked and dirtied ground, unsure and disoriented, creeping like the worms beneath me. I could decipher the sounds of tiny creatures scrambling about my body as I moved like tiny pebbles down a cliff, tittering and scattering nervously. Dizziness invaded my thoughts and I stilled myself abruptly, my blind eyes closing for what felt like only a minuscule second, but what must have been in reality many minutes, possibly hours even, for when I opened them once more, hundreds maybe thousands of mud-streaked, sun-damaged faces stared back at me.

I struggled, my hands seemingly bound about my back, my ankles too, my legs becoming scratched as I fought against my trappings futilely. I squinted down, catching sight of bundled twigs, kindling at my beaten feet. I glanced in horror at the faces below me, their felonious, heinous screams falling like thunder on my tired ears. I swallowed down rancid bile as nausea swept throughout my form, my head pounding angrily. I groaned, the incessant, malicious chanting of the mob running rampant through my muddled mind. Why were they calling me that? Witch. Demon. Enchantress. Was that what I was to them? Tears welled beneath my dusty, sooty eyelashes as I quarreled with my own trepidation. They spat putrid, abashed curses and stringy saliva upon me. I grit my teeth in my utter humiliation as the death dealer lit the kindling that would inaugurate my slow demise. My religion became my condemnation.

I wailed as the heat of the flames became unbearable, singeing my hair and scalding my flesh, blistering and melting and destroying. I cried, my tears never reaching my flesh, burning into air instantaneously. The murky faces soon blurred as my head sank against my own chest and the wretched steam and soot choked the oxygen from my very lungs. I shut my stinging eyes once more, the lids gluing themselves shut sickeningly. Then there was nothing more, just impenetrable silence as my melancholy ashes were swept carelessly and remorselessly out into the streets to be trampled and forever forgotten just like the many other innocent who's suffered before me.

Your Way

Strive to follow
Stumbling along in a life devoid of
Justice
Fight with the resistance
Of your inhibitions
Pull down your curtains
Turning days to nights
And nights to days 
Don't forget to pay attention
To nothing
Everything
Imagine
Listen to the voice of
The weather makers
Hear their proclamation
And be fed from
Their hope
Ignore the inconvenient truth
Believe in a cure
Challenge reality
Learn
Experience
Live a memory
Save lives
And free
Your soul
Craving something
Escape the tipping point
Return
Change
Don't lose your way
Let feeling encase you
Don't be
Afraid to
Soar 

To Be Lost Again: The Journey

To be Lost Again: The Journey

I don't recall how I came to be wandering along this beaten and weary path. There are various weeds, Dandelions and Buttercups, scattered along the trail and branches, plants, and poison oak have overgrown the debris strewn pathway, claiming it triumphantly as their own. I push my way through anyway, following along, my dingy sneakers crushing the decaying leaves from autumns passed as I meander aimlessly. I can hear the birds calling out from in the treetops and I wonder idly what they're chattering about. The path twists and turns restlessly, but still I follow, refusing to be thrown off.

It may be strange to say, but as I look behind myself, the path I've followed has disappeared; it only lays before me, not behind me. I can only turn back to face the front. I am not afraid though, as I do so. I notice that not far ahead, perhaps only a few steps, there is a cracked and dirty Styrofoam cup sitting sadly on the left side of my path and I am curious. The cup is nothing interesting, but what's inside might catch my interest.

Before I even realize that I am moving towards the cup, my legs are pulling me hurriedly. I very nearly run to it. I bend down to peak inside the semi-destroyed rim of the cup and discover a tiny emerald-sheened beetle scurrying frantically in circles at the bottom of the cup. I smile as I watch him. I reach out for the cup slowly and tip it ever so gently onto its side, freeing the disgruntled creature. The insect disappears almost instantaneously once I have released him and I grin. I pick up the cup and manage to cram it into the pocket of my jacket, breaking the brittle plastic into pieces within the confines of the pocket. I don't really mind though, knowing that I will be saving other unsuspecting creatures from suffering the same fate as the poor beetle.

I stand up straight once more, stretching as I breathe in a deep, lingering breath. There is the scent of moisture in the air and I imagine there is a stream nearby. I am not mistaken as I begin to walk again, stumbling upon a winding stream just a scant few moments after my acquaintance with the beetle. The water dances playfully over the pebbles beneath its surface. I listen to it whispering and giggling to itself as I watch it. Newborn minnows swim against the childish rush of the stream's current, their silvery scales glittering in the dappled sunlight hitting the water's clear surface.

I tilt my head, allowing my eyes to memorize the scene that stands before me. The stream runs directly across my pathway, but I don't mind one bit. It's not very deep and even though there seem to be stepping stones set atop the water's edges, I find myself already slipping the laces free of their knots with deft and nimble fingertips and sliding my well-loved sneakers from my otherwise bare feet. I set them aside and seat myself on the uneven and naturally crowded ground of the trail. I run my hands over my hair, brushing the silky, spider web fine strands from my face and eyes before rolling up the legs of my pants, wrinkling them carelessly.

When I am back on my feet with my size-sevens tucked safely under my right arm and I've brushed the dirt from my hands and backside, I am ready to make my way across. The stream isn't even very wide. I am almost disappointed that it will only take me seconds to waltz through it. The water is cool, but not cold and I am grinning in spite of myself. I had been expecting it to be chilly.

The minnows stray from their shimmering schools, avoiding my seemingly giant feet as I splash through the brisk water towards the opposite edge of the stream. The pebbles at it's bottom tickle between my toes and a lone jade-coloured leaf floats diligently between my legs as I walk. I watch it for just a moment before moving on. It takes only seconds to reach the other side. I wish the stream had been wider.

I sit again when I reach the shore and dry my moist feet as best I can with the sleeve on my coat before yanking my sneakers back on. Not bothering to tie the faded laces back up, I merely tuck them into the sides of each shoe and continue on my stroll. My damp pant legs unfurl themselves as I walk. Insects and tiny animals skitter on the outskirts of the path as I crash through the the trees, my steps kicking stones and cracking dead branches.

There is something in the distance, I notice. It looks like a house of some sort and I can't wait to take a look. I'll reach it soon, so I don't rush, but take my time instead. I let my gaze travel over the scenery, taking in every detail of my surroundings. I don't want to forget this place after all, especially since this path disappears.

I am at the house, if you can call it that, before I can blink really and I am searching for a window. I find one almost immediately and I have to rub at the grimy pane to see inside. I squint as I peer into the shack through the filth-encrusted glass.

Inside, there only seems to be one table and one chair. They both look aged, antique and rickety. The chair is in one corner and table stands proudly in the center of the single room. A lonely glass lays tipped on its side, imaginary contents pouring from its lips. The house is obviously abandoned, all of the furniture covered in a film of ancient dust. I smile broadly, looking into the lonesome room. There doesn't even seem to be a door to get in. I ponder that notion briefly before moving back onto the path.

I wander on, jogging for short distance until my breath runs short and I feel my blood rushing through my veins exhilaratingly. I stand still for a moment and then close my eyes, spinning myself in tight circles, my arms flailed wide. The wind in my hair tugs and pulls in all directions and I slowly come to a stop.

I don't open my eyes again until I am sure that the dizziness has subsided. As I do finally, my vision focuses on a glint snatched from the corner of my eye. I blink to make sure I'm not insane and crouch to pick up the tarnished silver of an elderly key. It seems odd that a key should be here, placed so eloquently on the forest floor, enshrouded by poison oak and dandelions. I run my hands over the trinket furtively and examine its ridges carefully. It's not very unique, just tarnished and plain really. It's long and only has three ridges altogether and the top is just a hoop, nothing more and nothing less.

It's heavy in my empty jeans' pocket, but the weight is comfortable and I am already on my way again, humming a simple tune now that I have found a treasure. It seems that today has been a lucky day for me and I am pleased with how it's progressed. I only hope it will end just as well.

As I hum along, my steps pattering lightly on the ill-trodden path, I pay attention to nothing in particular. That is of course until the buck crosses my path. The young deer stops in his tracks and regards me silently, his chocolate eyes sizing me up and deciding if I'm a threat. I watch him as he watches me and I'm not afraid. I'm actually thrilled to see him. His antlers are enormous on his head and I wonder how he possibly keeps his head up straight like he is and he looks so regal, I almost wish I could take a picture. But I wouldn't want to startle him.

Several moments tick by, barely more than a pinprick in the belt of time that's passed while I've been on this trail. I smile at the buck and he nods his head, apparently satisfied that I am no threat to him before he trots off into the foliage on my right. What a magnificent creature he was. The smile stays on my lips as I bound along once more.

I don't even frown as I come to stand in front of a pile of oppressive rocks. The jagged outcrop is not so intimidating as I search for the hand holds I know I'll need to climb it. I can see them easily and I know I can make it over the makeshift wall. I bend, falling to one knee quickly and tie my sneakers tightly before attempting the feat ahead.

It takes longer than I had expected to get over the rocks, but I manage it. My knees are scraped and bruised and my coat and pants are torn as I land on the ground on the other side of the stones. I don't mind. It was worth seeing the beauty I behold now. There is a clearing just ahead on the path and I sprint towards it, ignoring the burning in my joints. The stars are out above me and I can't take my eyes away from the brilliant indigo velvet of the night sky, the multitude of winking lights meeting my intent gaze. And I find myself to be pleasantly lost once more.

Melody For A Broken Heart

The strings are cold on my fingertips

And my lips are mourning for your lips

Bitter tears are streaming down my cheeks again

Staining my yearning flesh with bruised heartache

And filling my dreams with tarnished memories of then

You were once my whole world

Now you are the crumbled ruins of my universe

Lying in tattered remnants about my feet

And these strings are crying out for you

Your name hanging on every note

My fingers are bleeding crimson now

Pressing in so desperately to feel

The cords caressed in red

And I'm falling once again

But the worst of this whole ordeal is

I know you won't be here

Not like you were then

And there will be no bandages to heal my infected wounds

Nor sympathy for my shattered pride

After all,

You were the one to compose this piece

That breaks my skin and stings with salted tears

The one I am playing over and over again

And yet,

I am disappointed in you once more

You're not even here to listen to me play your melody

You remember it don't you?

It's the one you wrote for me.

'Til Bet Do Us Part: An Ending

'Til Bet Do Us Part: An Ending

The banker ran to his chipped and scratched oak desk, wrenching the drawers open one after another, searching frantically for an item he remembered placing in there years ago. He'd never had to use it before, but he knew he'd left it within one of the drawers of his desk. He rifled through the numerous compartments, sending gusts of dust into the air with each jaunty movement. The final drawer rattled fiercely, refusing him entrance within its confines as he tried to recklessly tear it open. The lock whined with each jerk of his hands, but did not budge. He cursed at it heatedly, glaring angrily at the delinquent lock. He stilled himself for a moment in thought before he realized that all he needed was the key to open the stubborn drawer.

He suddenly seemed to go mad as he tossed papers from his desk, regardless of their importance. It didn't matter anymore. He needed what was in that drawer. The papers fluttered to the floor and were crushed beneath his heavy feet as he stomped around the room, digging into his pockets furiously in search of the key. It wasn't there. He glanced apprehensively about the room, eyes roaming wildly.

Finally, a beaten and worn, navy blue overcoat caught his attention as it hung from a loose hook on the wall by the door. Dust had settled over the faded woolen material of the coat, but he paid it no mind as he scrambled towards it, nearly tripping in his rush. He searched its pockets, thrusting his fingers into each pouched orifice and finding nothing before finally finding the key in the last unchecked pocket; it was there he found it, hidden within the dark recesses of the coat's interior. He pulled the tarnished brass key from the pocket with a triumphant smile and meandered back to his desk, no longer in such a hurry. He had found the key after all. He didn't even notice when the decrepit coat fell from the hook, landing in a moldy heap next to still shut up door.

The banker sighed in relieved satisfaction as he slid the key into the keyhole and heard the unmistakable click of the lock coming free. He only waited mere seconds before delving inside the now unlocked drawer, his hand meeting with a round barrel of frigid steel. He fisted his sausage-like fingers around the object and pulled it out into the dim light. The metal shone dully as he placed it carefully on his desk.

He stared at the ancient-looking pistol for only a moment before he reached back into the drawer in search of another item he assumed to be there. He slowly drew a tattered letter out of the drawer. It was the one the lawyer had written to him years ago. He read the letter over and over again, solidifying his resolve with each passing. He, of course, had a plan to escape the bet they'd made.

He grabbed the rusted metal rubbish bin from its place beside his aged desk. It was mostly empty, but for a few rumpled and crinkled documents rolling about in the bottom. He swallowed an obese lump that had lodged itself uncomfortably in his throat and closed his eyes as he tore the letter in half. As he tore it again and again, he began to smile, then to laugh and before long, he was breathing heavily and crystalline tears ran in thick, salty rivulets over his plump cheeks in his hysteria. He opened his panic-ridden eyes to watch as he let the minuscule pieces of the shredded letter fall from between his fingers like a spring rain into the partially filled trash bin, an insane-seeming grin plastered on his ruby-coloured lips.

The banker rummaged in his trouser pocket once more, his stubby fingers fumbling with a packet of half-used matches which he managed to grasp and haul clumsily from his pocket. The delusional smile remained upon his overly generous, corpulent lips as he lit the first unused match and watched the tiny flame dance on the sulfur tip before dropping it into the bin after the letter. The letter, amongst the other articles of garbage caught fire almost spontaneously, burning swiftly into ashes that floated aimlessly to the floor. He watched in solemn fascination as the evidence of the lawyer disappeared before his eyes.

As the infantile flames subsided, he glared at the pistol still perched silently on his desk top. He knew what he had to do then. His hand shook uncontrollably as he reached for the weapon and he licked his suddenly dry lips, forcing his fingers to cooperate and close around the butt of the gun.

There was no other way. He couldn't possibly pay off the two million rubles he owed the lawyer and there was no way that the lawyer would forgive him for his foolish wager, having robbed the man of fifteen years of his life. He knew that the lawyer would be outraged when he found out that he had been cheated. The banker did not want to go to prison for such a crime, so the pistol became his only option. Dawn and the threat of the lawyer were fast approaching and time was of the essence. He gulped in a breath of stale air and held the heavy pistol within his grasp.

His hand trembled in fear as he brought it to rest against his sweat-slicked temple. His finger pressed on the trigger, slowly, slowly, until only a click was heard. The banker closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut and let his hand fall to his lap for just a moment before raising the gun to his head once more. He was sure there was at least one bullet in the foul thing and he was determined to use it. He kept his eyes screwed closed as he slid his paunchy digit over the trigger again. This time there was no click.

The sound of the bullet's release so close to his ear would have deafened him if he hadn't already been dead from its entrance into his brain.

The next morning, when the lawyer found him, he took off the hat from his balding skull with thin fingers and shook his head at the pitiful scene the banker's hunched and lifeless form portrayed before him. The poor man had ended his own life in the hopes of escaping the bet they'd made so many years before. The lawyer's smile was ruefully morbid as he turned from the sight, placing his hat firmly on his head once again before walking back out the doorway, leaving the chilled corpse untouched. It was a shame. After all, he'd only come to thank the man for all that he'd allowed the lawyer to accomplish in his fifteen years of utter solitude, nothing more and nothing less.

Exquisitely Ruined

Exquisitely Ruined

I didn't really recall when they'd actually begun following me and I didn't look back at them. I purposely paid them no heed whatsoever, praying they disembark from their chase if I ignored their advances. I quickened my steps, my size sevens barely pattering on the still rain-dampened concrete on that dispassionate October night. I thrust my thin, long-fingered hands into my enlarged Coachman jacket pockets with the false pretense of warming them, in reality, desperately hoping to cease the foolish, incessant trembling of far too dainty hands.

I could only decipher the blaring bray of my own heartbeat flaring like thunder in my eardrums. My static thoughts were jumbled, merging and mingling together until I could no longer think consciously. I could smell the impending precipitation on the frigid air as I tried to escape my guileless admirers. I stepped to a halt, not comprehending what had possessed me to stop so abruptly. I pressed a chilled palm to my overheated forehead. Then I listened to nothing. Silence overwhelmed the horridly lit streets. I heard no footfalls of a stalker on the disgustingly uneven asphalt. 'Where had they gone?' I asked myself, panic and adrenalin pushing me to run further swifter. I could feel the searing glare of their lustful gazes as they watched me from the shadows; I could not see. I swallowed rapidly, freezing sweat clinging to my panic-stricken body, their eyes were everywhere. I could feel them caressing the dips and curves of my body as sure as if they were fingertips. They stalked me as though as I was to be their last meal, starving to taste my flesh.

My breath rasped raggedly from within my fatigued lungs. I clenched a clammy fist to my heaving chest as I forcibly inhaled fresh, mist-moistened oxygen into the distressed organs. I practically catapulted myself around the jagged outcrop of an alley corner, not effectuating that they now stood directly before me until their destructive hands were upon me, grabbing, groping, and violating. I attempted, albeit ineffectively to exonerate myself from their potent grasp. I felt tears of anger and helplessness staining my delicate cheeks and the rain began to fall, tears of the sky seemingly sympathizing with my endeavor.

The unrelenting limbs mercilessly, ruthlessly pinned my body beneath them painfully. They aggressively hauled and shoved at me, tearing regardlessly at my designer clothes, now worthless and tossing my most recently purchased hand bag aside, scattering its contents across the abyss around us, this endless, dank alleyway which they'd dragged me into, successfully shunting all outside light and possibility of intrusion. I detached myself from my senses wholly and thoroughly as I heard that fateful clank of an unbuckled belt and zip of constricting fly. I didn't struggle, I didn't scream, I didn't give them the disturbed satisfaction of witnessing my despair.

They brutally invaded my body, ripping through my skin as if it were tissue paper, frail and ill-manufactured. I continued to weep inaudibly, but I did not cry out as they defiled me so entirely, so humiliatingly. They moved recklessly within in me for what was millions of desecrated pinpricks minutes, seconds, moments of dreadful agony wracking through my form. Finally finding what they'd been searching, desiring for, reaching their pinnacle, on the edge of an abrupt cliff, before plunging over the that long-since blurred line of morality, releasing their putrid essence inside of my innards. I screwed my eyes shut, vehemently willing the bile rising in my throat to stop its slow trek to the cement beside my scraped cheek. And all the while, the rain fell, and my sinful assaulter's, my unwanted sadists ran now, in fear of me.

I laid motionless, stagnant, retching on my violently desecrated, terrificly violet, bruised side. Wrapping unconsciously indifferent, aching limbs around my torn and ravaged self, I despairingly fought to revive some remnant, fragment of comfort, safeness I'd once held in my confidence. I felt the drizzle of the rain cleansing and dominating the salt of my unnoticed, inconsequential tears.

And I was splayed, used revoltingly, and abandoned, my tattered skirt shucked up about my waist, stockings long forgotten, my blouse shredded and hanging haphazardly from my palely rounded shoulders, insignificant freckles feathered upon the shivering skin, all of my personal effects sopping and scattered effortlessly around me. I knew in every molecule, every cell of myself, that I would never again be the same. I lingered, exposed in the wetness, hemorrhaging into the puddles swiftly consuming the filth beneath my exhausted body. I was faultlessly broken, bleeding out my indignation, my torment, and at long last I screamed out my utter anguish, the sound recoiling and shattering against the decaying brick, until it disappeared so utterly, forsaking only the stifling softness of the sky's weeping in its wake.

Poison

Poison

Harry followed every slight movement with his eyes closely, beads of sweat clinging to his temples. As Dr. Ganderbai lent forward to press the narrow peaked point of the needle into Harry's moist flesh, I could see him swallow reflexively. His eyes screwed tightly shut as the pinpricked edge of the surgical steel needle slid in, but he did not flinch. I watched the clenching and unclenching of his stubbled jaw as he fought the forceful urge for movement. Dr. Ganderbai nodded silently in appreciation of Harry's blatant efforts as he emptied the yellowish anti-venom into Harry's bloodstream.

I winced as if the pain of it was my own as I gazed on. As soon as the syringe was completely empty once more, Dr. Ganderbai ever so gently withdrew the the minute needle tip from Harry's pulsing vein and sighed softly in relief. He set the now useless syringe onto the nightstand before pressing a clean cotton swab onto the miniature puncture wound, like a one-sided vampire bite, staunching the slow oozing of Harry's blood leaking from the tiny hole. He removed the red rubber tubing from from around Harry's arm expertly. Harry's eyes opened once again and focused on the doctor, following his movements as he had done before. He looked frantic and nervous; the pressure of subduing his cough and remaining still must have been wearing on him.

As both Harry and I watched silently, sweat beading on both of our brows, Dr. Ganderbai moved about very quietly to the bedside on the left and very carefully lifted the sheet. A delinquent rivulet of sweat trekked a winding path between my shoulder blades as I held my breath in apprehension. The anticipation in the room was uncanny as the Krait was finally revealed. And as the light of the room reflected off of the creature's shimmering scales, it awoke, glaring furiously at Dr. Ganderbai. The doctor turned for no more than a mere moment, but that half-second proved to be his undoing as the snake took the opportunity to lunge at him, retaliation for disturbing its rest.

I stood, staring in frozen horror as the Krait latched onto Ganderbai's wrist, its almost insignificantly small fangs slipping into his skin as if it were nothing more than cheap tissue and pumping its lethal venom into his bloodstream. The doctor screamed in shock and agony, flailing his arm out frantically and smashing the serpent against the stone of the bedroom wall, killing the fragile reptile.

Ganderbai's breathing became labored and heavy, his breath coming in short gasps as if he were hyperventilating and his eyes were wide with fear. Harry sat up, realizing that he was now safe from the snake's poisonous bite. He peered at the doctor and I confusedly, his gaze fluctuating between the two of us. Finally, after several moments of utter silence, I concentrated on moving, making my way to Ganderbai who stood staring in morbid fascination at his wound.

“What should I do? Where's the rest of the serum? Syringes?” I asked hurriedly, my words coming in rapid succession, fully forgetting about the knife I'd hidden in my pocket earlier this evening in my rush to help my friend. Ganderbai didn't speak for some time as he began to shake his head in disbelief. I watched him, trying unsuccessfully to comprehend what he was thinking.

Finally he spoke in a tone that spoke only of fright, sweat on his forehead and running rampant down his reddened neck, “There is no more.” he whispered hoarsely. I rushed to his bag and searched inside. I found nothing. There was no more serum; he had used it all on Harry who sat silently viewing the scene unfolding before him as he remained unharmed, no bite marks on his unmarred skin.

Daddy

Daddy

It's three am and sleep is far away as it always is. The dark shadows under my sunken eyes are testimony to that. And I can hear his footsteps and see his shadow on the wall. I know what he's up to as he tiptoes to my room. This is why I don't sleep anymore, for my fear of what he'll do to me while I am asleep, what I'll wake to. He's creeping along the hall and I can hear his breaths. I want to scream, but I know better.

I don't eat like I used to, my body doesn't want it, especially when I am sharing the same breakfast table with him. And he's telling Mommy all the great things he's done and he sings my praises to her like he doesn't hurt me through the night. She doesn't know the truth. My brother watches with jealous eyes, listening with envious ears. He thinks Daddy loves me more and I think he might be right, but not the way he sees it. He's too young to understand and I pray he never will. I pray Daddy won't show him when he comes of age.

Every night is the same and I have no power to stop him. What can I do? Tears are in my eyes and I bite my pillow so hard that my jaw hurts, the muscles clenching tight. It hurts and I don't know how I endure it. He's tearing me in half and there's blood, so much of it that I think I should be dead. He threatens me too. I better not let Mommy see or he'll be angry. He says I'll get it worse if she finds out and I nod silently, tears still trailing down my thirteen-year-old cheeks.

My sobs are silent and I am limping as I throw the soiled sheets in the lake. Mommy is none the wiser. She never will be. Mommy will never know what Daddy does to me.

Nothing ever changes. That's what I've realized as my fifteenth birthday finally passes. And I'm sneaking a cigarette as I sit on the rooftop. The moon is out and I can see without a light. The smoke feels heavy in my lungs and I treasure the feeling. A cold cup of coffee sits next to my hip and I don't care. Tears are on my cheeks once more. Will tonight be like every other?

I suck in another cancerous breath and smile bitterly. I look at the coffee in disgust. I am too young for this, aren't I? I smash my fist into the pale blue mug and watch as it topples over the edge of the rooftop, the contents falling to the ground like dirty raindrops. The stub of my forgotten cigarette burns at my fingertips and I wince, but let the butt stay dangling in my grasp until I let it fall. My fingers are red, but I don't mind. The pain is dull; it's nothing compared to others I've felt.

When I am inside once more, in the false safety of my bed, I am awake. Hours are slipping by and my eyes are burning with exhaustion, but I will not sleep. I know that he will come and I try not to panic when I hear the creaking of my door. There is no sense in screaming now. He'll only hurt me worse. And Nicolas' room is just across the hall. My baby brother is safe from this and I will not purge him of his innocence with the vision we present.

Daddy is already on top of me and I close my eyes real tight, trying desperately to imagine I am anywhere else, but here. He is whispering to me, asking me if I like it. Do I like the feeling of him inside of me? Do I? He wants to hear me say it. 'I do', I tell him, just so he'll be quiet. I can't stand to hear his voice. I cringe in pain from his weight, and his rushing in me. My eyes close just a little tighter and I forget where I am.

When I open my jade eyes again, he isn't there and I am relieved. My body aches, but it will pass, and I am relieved. I am pleased that it is me and not my baby brother sleeping peacefully across the hall. I wish Mommy would listen to me when I tell her what Daddy does to me, but she is deaf when I speak. She only hears his words. Him and I are so close, she thinks, like a father and son should be. He is a liar and what Mommy doesn't know won't kill her.

I am looking up at the pearl white ceiling and I'm thinking. I'm dreaming that he's dead. I'm dreaming that I killed him and I am smiling. Smoke drifts out from between my grinning teeth and the moon is nowhere in sight. I don't even sneak my cigarettes anymore and I've taken to biting my nails right down to the quick. Do you know how it is? Do you know what my dreams are like? Would you like to?

In the one I like best, I am standing over Daddy and there is fear in his eyes, eyes that match my own. And he looks like he might cry and I am hoping that he does. I ask him if he's scared and he doesn't answer. I smirk at him since I already know that he is, scared I mean. He's even trembling as he watches me. I yell at him.

In my dream, I'm not afraid of him anymore and he can't hurt me. But I can hurt him and I can make him sorry. He has to apologize. He has to pay for what he's done to me. He has to beg me. And in my dream, he always does. And then I rip his throat out and I wake up laughing. Do you know how I feel? Can you understand? He needs to pay after all.

I wasn't always like this, you know. He's made me this way. I'm so sad I want to die and I'm so angry that I want someone else to instead. Is it so wrong for me to want to watch him drown in his own blood? Is it so bad? And maybe Mommy too, since she called me a liar.

I tried to tell her what he's been doing, but she doesn't want to listen. She doesn't want to hear my words. She's covering her ears and ignoring what I have said. She screaming at me to shut up, that I am nothing but an awful liar. I'm not lying, but she's not listening anyway.

She can die with Daddy then. Since I am a liar and she isn't saving me. And Nicolas doesn't know. And he never will if I have any say. He doesn't need to hear it. He doesn't need the pain. He doesn't need the shame of it. I'll bury it with their bodies. That will be all right.

You know, I spent months planning what I'd do to them, just how I'd do them in. But it all went down the drain you see when Daddy didn't sneak into my room that night. Instead, he opened the door just across the hall from me. And that was the last time he ever saw my baby brother. I stabbed him right there in the hallway. He'd been planning to hurt my darling brother, my innocent Nicolas. That just wouldn't do.

And Mommy came to see what the thump was while Daddy choked on his own blood. It was in his lungs, you see. And I was smiling. Mommy didn't even scream. She just looked at me and then she understood. And the knife went in so easily and she didn't even scream. She looked so sorry right about then and I almost thought to regret that the knife went in. But then I remembered that Mommy had known before and I was a liar, wasn't I? Isn't that what she'd said?

I bet she didn't think I was lying anymore when the knife went into her chest. I bet she realized then. I bet she'd never forget it either, now that she was dead. Daddy's lips were moving and his eyes were getting foggy. He looked like he wanted to talk to me, but all the sound he could make was the blood gurgling in his throat and I kept smiling. Nicolas didn't stir. And Daddy was dying outside his doorway.

I stood over him and I asked him then, “Are you afraid of me now Daddy? Do you understand?” My voice was real low, like a whisper really, since I didn't want to wake my brother. He didn't need to know what I had done out here in the hallway outside his door. And Daddy didn't even answer me. I think he was dead before I got to finish asking. But I bet he was afraid. And I bet he understood.

The blood was everywhere. I hadn't realized just how much blood was in one human being. But Mommy and Daddy were lying in it and more was coming out as I dragged them down the stairs. They weren't as heavy as they looked or maybe I was stronger than I thought. But it didn't matter as I rolled them into the lake. Nobody had to know. Nobody ever would.

I scrubbed at the floors until the sun was rising. And Nicolas was stirring. He didn't even ask me where Daddy was. Or what Mommy was making for breakfast as he sat next to me at the breakfast table. But his hand held onto mine and I didn't mind. He didn't say a word and neither did I.

His fingers were cold and small entwined with mine, but he didn't say a thing. He didn't ask me why my hands were red or where the butcher's knife went. He didn't ask me why my clothes had to be burned or why he couldn't go to the lake anymore. He never asked about the stain in the hallway outside his door or why I wouldn't sleep in my own room anymore. And every time our eyes met, matching jade with jade and we didn't say a word. Nicolas understood.

Insomnia

Sometimes I lie awake at night

Fending off the dreams

The ones where I see you

And you're always smiling

I hate those dreams the most

Even more than all my nightmares

For every time I close my eyes

I have to see your face

And remember you

The way you used to be

It hurts

And I can't stand it

Now I can only lie awake

And hope to never dream of you

Again

Little Brother

Little Brother

accompanying narrative to 'Fix'

I follow him around the debris-strewn room, the filthy palet of the floor tripping me as I try to make my way through. It's so absurd to imagine that he actually lives here in this destruction. It's as if I've walked into an abandoned building, but I have to force my mind to wrap around the obvious fact that he lives here. He sleeps here, on this sickeningly grimy couch and he eats in this disgusting dirt-encrusted room with its rotting walls, melancholy ragged wallpaper drooping from the surface of the walls. Its as if the walls have been left half unwrapped, a disturbing portrayal of a Christmas present.

I feel as though I might be contaminated if I even breathe the air which actually holds the nauseating odor of old smoke and stale piss. I struggle against the nearly overwhelming impulse to vomit as the air shifts around me, permeating into my clothes, hair and clinging to my skin. I can't even imagine what it must be like to live day to day in this war zone. But he manages to do it day in and day out. I find myself shaking my head as he leads me through the mess.

Liem looks like he belongs here, nothing more than another piece of the forgotten furniture in this place. His clothes are tattered and worn, not having been washed in weeks probably. His hair is greasy and caked with filmy scum on the once soft strands. The mass falls in shaggy clumps, shadowing his sunken eyes. His skin is a sallow yellowish tinge and his lips are cracked and chapped. His t-shirt hangs from his bony shoulders like a tent and his arms are marred by angry scarlet scabs and lined scratches from the needles he holds so dear. His jeans are slung so low on his hips, barely clinging on to his protruding hip bones. His teeth are yellowed and his smile no longer reaches the rest of his face. His eyes I think must be the worst, the glassy jade that once matched my own, now whispers of an intimate relationship with fly.

I can hardly bring myself to believe what my eyes are telling me must be true. My brother is an addict. He's just barely twenty-three years old and he looks like he's going on forty instead. And I remember the only reason I am here is to make sure he's still alive. I can't remove my gaze from him as I try to understand. He's searching around the room, tossing papers and garbage as if they don't exist and shoving things out of his way recklessly in his pursuit. I know what he must be looking for; I can see his hands shaking like mad and the frantic gleam in his eyes. He's needing another fix.

He doesn't call anymore, probably forgot the number. He hasn't spoken to mom or dad in over a year and that's why I am here. I need to give mom some kind of hope that Liem is still with us. How can I tell her what he's become, a walking corpse, a broken shell of his former self. He used to be so alive; he laughed and cried and called. And now he's someone else. I guess that is what they say drugs do to you, make you into someone you don't recognize. Are all addicts just like him?

And I can't help but to feel that this is all my fault. And before you go and tell me not to be so hard on myself; no one's at fault in situations like this. You need to know that Liem wasn't always like this, some junk-starved case on his way to self destruction. He was just fine until that night, not so long ago. In just one night, his world would change dramatically. Yes, that night was the night I introduced my baby brother, innocent, naive Liem who always looked up to me, to his first shot of silky sweet lady heroin.

Fix

Fix

This room is open, enormous really, and its cold, my feet already chilling in the frigid air. The walls are crumbling, decrepit shreddings of what I assume was once wall paper clinging desperately to the threads of glue securing them to the surface. There are hundreds of spiderwebs, but they no longer catch flies, just miniature particles of insignificant dust that builds up and up and up until you can't see what the surface beneath it looked like previously. And all of the windows, all three of them, I mean, are painted an eerie opaque black that I'm sure is faded on the outside from the years being beaten by the sun's rays. Those rays, the tiny spikes of autumn daytime hardly more than illuminated pinpricks on the decaying wood of these molding walls. The dampness of the whole atmosphere forsakes a heavy scent of mustiness, one that fills your lungs and suffocates without warning. The odour of stale smoke lingers in the still air, attaching itself to the stagnant, moisture-ridden oxygen, if that's what you can even call it. And underneath it all, if you're brave enough to take a deeper breath, the pungent aroma of urine creeps into your nostrils, overpowering any other smells. It's difficult to gauge where exactly the scent orginates from; it's more like it permeates from the very flooring, which is torn and filthy. You can't even identify what color it used to be, yellow maybe?

I'll ignore your presence while I continue in my search of this room. I am looking for somthing in specific and I won't allow you to interrupt, but you can follow me if you like. Scattered about the room are numerous articles of dirty clothing and garbage and I shove them out of my path impatiently. Papers lie wasted and destroyed on the floor beneath overturned chairs with agonizingly broken limbs and a sagging sofa fills the center of the floor; its cushions are torn and ancient, dust and scum forming a film over the once soft fabric. Dingy pillows and crushed blankets have stuffed themselves within its elderly confines, hiding from prying eyes, just barely peeking out to make sure the coast is clear. I rouse them from their sleep unexpectedly as I look around them for what it is I am missing. I spare a ruined television nothing more than a mere passing glance as I swish passed in my haste to find what I am furiously searching for. It is of course absolutely imperative that I find it.

This whole room whispers of abandonment and it seems tragic to leave it crying for attention, but it is a liar. Its whispers are meaningless and deceitful; you mustn't listen to it one bit. Though this place screams of being forgotten, it is not. This place is where I live. It is my home one might go so far to say, if you believe that home is where you sleep at night. For if that is the case, then this room is most certainly my home, that sofa is my bed and those chairs are my company, well at least before you came. And now I can see the look on your face. You're wondering how I live like this. How do I live in such meloncholy rubbish. There is a simple answer, but you must be sure you want to know. You're nodding now. You're so sure you can handle it.

The truth is nothing so exciting that this room withholds. It is my life, the one I live every day and it is of my own choosing. I have made my bed and sleep in it, as the saying goes. I am still searching as I tell you this in a voice that's old and used beyond repair just like this room. And finally I lay my shaking hands upon it, the important object that I need. It was pressed in between the sofa's crevices, playing hide and seek even though it knew just how much I was needing it. And the shakes are the worst bit, like insects crawling under your skin, I might explain if I were not in such a rush. And I spare you no more than a flash of my hysterical, glassy eyes, you understand I hope. I could not care less about the state of which my room is in or just what you think about it, not as long as this syringe slips into my skin and the sticky sweetness of its liquid slithers beneath my flesh and through my blood like rain into a sewage vent. This is how my life is and now you know the truth. I am long gone from reality before you ever leave. I don't even hear the door as you close it on your way out. You couldn't handle it after all, I guess.