Sunday, November 13, 2011
They wrap their sticky fingers around my face
Blurring my vision.
My eyes and the edges of my lips,
Watch the space my feet take
And speak more to the world than I could ever imagine.
I do things I do not wish to do
Only because in my dreams I can handle it,
But I can never stop dreaming.
People only see me in one mirror image,
The other is mat and unreflective,
I sometimes forget it’s there,
And let myself get carried away with my dreams again,
Only to be disappointed,
When the mind hurricanes
Come again and disrupt my peace,
And demolish the foundations I have built.
Anxiety it is called,
In a world I used to believe in,
But in my real fairytale it reigns.
I understand that now
Much more clearly.
They tell me nice things,
But I have lost all sense of faith in humans.
My mind wonders
Days and nights on end
To the very word and twitch of a muscle,
To prove that theory,
But I wish it to be untrue.
To progress with people,
You must first understand said people,
But how can I, when they do not wish to understand me?
Saturday, November 12, 2011
consider the simplest of things.
But the sudden jolt of pain had woken her up. Of course her nails were a result of the monster. It was killing her, decaying her body before she was even dead! Her skin was pale and blue tinged and the gash on her lip had stopped bleeding, but was still wide open and not even beginning to heal.
“Why are you doing this to me?!” She screamed to the glass wall that made up the fourth wall of her sterile prison. Behind it were three people, dressed perfectly in white lab coats and slicked back hair. They didn’t move, they didn’t talk, they didn’t even flinch as their experiment died in the most brutal way possible.
In 10 days only, she had been kidnapped off the streets of her city, drugged, tested and tortured. Deep inside her stomach was something; she didn’t have the slightest clue. All she knew was that it was some horrible mutation and that she probably wasn’t going to live through its birth.
Up her throat a thick substance came, without warning, and shot from her mouth to the bleach white floor beneath her feet, dragging its claws all up her throat. The projected substance, a brown-black, mixed with the red of the woman’s blood, melted into the floor to a watery liquid, revealing a large egg-shaped object.
The woman sat on her knees, wobbling only slightly. The tear in her lip had reached her chin, to make room for the black egg. She looked at it was glazed over eyes, before tipping to the side and landing with a thud on the ground.
For a moment all was still. Life seemed to have ceased in the experimental room. The only movement was on the other side of the glass where the three emotionless people stood watching, their heart beating steadily, writing notes on the horror that was happening before them.
The egg shook vulgarly , breaking the moment of motionlessness, and suddenly split open. The hatchling that crawled out from under the bloody sludge was the first factor to ever cause a reaction within the experimentalists on the other side of the glass. The abomination caused a sick feeling in the guts, nothing like the feeling the woman had first experienced, but somewhere along the same lines. The monster’s disgusting face, squashed and disfigured, was still partially covered in the black goo, but some skin white was able to shine through.
“Is this like the one before? I thought we had overcome the disfigurement.” Spoke one of the experimenters.
The others nodded in disappointment at their failed experiment. Another held down a button on the computer board in front of them and spoke into a microphone.
“Experiment number 3587, test subject 783. Failed. Begin extermination of result subject.” He spoke.
The little monster blinked its new eyes at the bright, white world around it, and took in it’s first breaths, which unfortunate to it was a toxic gas pouring in from vents in the walls.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
I have to write words,
Words I don't understand,
Words I don't want to understand.
"It'll be worth the drain,"
Words of the higher man.
"It'll al be worth the degration of your brain."
With his broad smile
And skinny words.
Numbers that mean words;
That mean life
Dictate my years before
Suffocating my future,
Just a two diget number -
If I'm lucky.
Stars are bright
And shinny ahead
Of me and waiting to be touched.
But my human body does not wish
To let me live that dream.
Knowledge only last as long
As the breath that passes through your lips,
But somehow, we've let it take control
And now the heart attacks are coming,
The sicknesses are digging into our skin.
"Let it come!"
"Let it diminish our bodies and carry away,
All that we have worked for."
Because mental abuse
Has finally taken it's toll.
I am waiting for the day,
when it too, hits me,
crushes my body like I have crushed my mind
And takes me into the sweet ignorance
Thursday, October 27, 2011
She sits in the quiet classroom, desks either side of her empty and quite. She is not alone, but in the noisy silence of scratching pens and turning pages and shuffling seats and the consistent inhaling and exhaling, she feels all too lonely.
Words, splayed out the page in front of her, forming words she has no energy to read, make out like nonsense words to her.
She wants to leave, but has no authority to do so.
Tapping fingers, ticking clocks, a sniffle of a winter cold here and there. She could hear every sound, every note, and they were far more interesting that what she should have been doing.
Sighs of the hard worker, chewing of the hungry nail biter, cracking and popping of joints of the fidgeters. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want the laughing eyes of her school mates on her back any longer.
What had she done to deserve this?
A giggle of a girl, somewhere behind her. She didn't know who was the cause of the noise, but she didn't want to turn around. They were laughing at her! She did nothing wrong.
Whispers, secretive words passed person to person, words not audible to her, who believed it was something she shouldn't hear.
"Stop it!" she yelled, whipping her head back. She had cracked the noisy silence, and now every eye was on her. The culprits of the giggles, sitting few seats behind, large, rosy smiles on their faces.
She ran out of the room, finally, a startled teacher screaming after. She had no authority. But that didn't stop her this time.
Eyes like little green gems hidden deep like treasures.
Fingers long and slender,
fit perfectly to the worn curve in the ivory keys of her piano.
The same song plays over and over,
sometimes a fast pace and full of smiles,
others slow and lullaby like.
Skin, never blistered by the harsh sun,
is only smooth to the touch when a truthful smile commands the lips.
But the longer the fake smiles dictate,
the longer the skin is rough.
She likes the feathers of a song bird,
Hung from her neck,
from her ears,
from her wrists,
hoping she might spontaneously take flight,
only hoping, ever hoping.
because what do we really know,
about flight itself?
Man might have conquered the sky, the land and the sea,
But does not understand the feelings so animal like,
so passionate, that we cannot contain it in ourselves.
The feeling of flying, truly flying,
but enclosed in a box we are,
in the skies as much as we are in life.
Honey hair and eyes like emeralds,
sees the skies for what they truly are.
Wisps of pure heaven,
little pockets of peacefulness,
a great land just out of reach of discovering.
It is lost on her,
why we travel the land,
and the vast blackness of space,
but we have not yet discovered our own sky,
and the truths it has captured.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
“I can’t…” is all I ended up saying. “I can’t stop.”
“But why? It’s killing you. You’re killing yourself.” He pleaded. But I didn’t want to hear it.
“It’s my job! I was given this gift to help people!”
“You’re helping the rich get richer, and screwing their competitors. What your doing isn’t heroic. Don’t delude yourself into thinking so. You’re doing a job, like everyone else in this world, but if you keep pushing your powers you’re going to get yourself killed. Why can’t you understand that?!” He was beginning to shout his reasonable words, but he was just making me more aggravated.
“You don’t understand anything! Who the hell are you to tell me how to do my job? I have worked so hard to get here, and I’m not going to let you of all people distract me from finishing what I came here to do. Any day more spent here than I have to is a waste of time! So leave. Me. Alone!” As I shouted those last words, I could feel the sickness coming. I didn’t expect it, but I should have. It’s more likely to happen when I get angry. It’s not a good combination with my fiery personality.
The sickness starts first as a splitting headache. It’s horrible. It tears at your brain with the hooks of its hate and swims through every nerve in the body. Not a pleasant experience. That is the warning. It’s a heavy hammer of a knock to tell you to get the hell out of there. You want to be alone for phase two, or things might get tricky. He was about to start talking again but I couldn’t let him see me. I turned and stormed out of the living room, like it was all part of my bitchy tantrum. He didn’t know that I was hiding. I slammed the door behind me and locked it just in case he decided to drop his usual manners. I couldn’t take any chances now.
My run away was just in time because I could feel the change happening. I ran across the room to the hanging mirror and watched my body and face change drastically. He was knocking at the door now, testing out the handle to see if I’d locked it.
“Please let me in. I want to talk to you. You have to stop running away from me.” And the pleading continued, but I wasn’t listening. My only concern for him was that his worry would lead him to knocking down the door. I had no doubts he could.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from my image on the wall. I’d gotten used to the idea of my image changing, since I first discovered I was a shifter, only five years ago now. But I have only seen the change like this once before, but at the school, when a shifter lost control. They took him away and I haven’t seen him since. I was out of control too. That was part of the sickness. The face that stared back at me was constantly changing; another feature shifting each second, until my face was just a blur of different people. I didn’t know what to do, but I started panicking.
I started scratching at my face, but I couldn’t even feel it. All I could feel was the burn of my transition. It was horrible and terrifying, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was almost tempted to open the door. But I didn’t let that idea take over. I sat of my bed and did everything I could think of to calm myself. It was hard to stay still in the pain, but sitting down helped a little bit with the headache. I thought calming thoughts, about my family and my future, I even prayed, but nothing would stop it. At one point, the pain got so intense that I finally lost it. I passed out on the floor, the refreshing relief of unconsciousness taking over.
I don’t know what happened between then and when I woke up again, but I had moved. I was in my bed and it was morning. Had any of that happened? Was it all just a nightmare?
I sat up in bed, a headache rolling over, crushing my body like a heavy stone, and looked around the room. Nope, definitely not a dream. The door was leaning against the wall, splinters sticking out at the hinges.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
"...I'm both." I answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was.
"But that doesn't make sense."
"Well you don't ask 'Are you Doctor or are you Steve?' You just know that he is Dr Steve." She still looked at me with blank eyes. "A doctor named Steve."
"Yeah I get that. But what name is Michael for Death?"
"Well I don't know! My mother didn't look at me when I was born and say 'Oh he looks like a Death. We should name him Death.' What kind of sick mother would name their son Death?!" I was bitter and frustrated and I knew she didn't deserve that, but I was in a bad mood. What am I talking about? I'm always in a bad mood, but she wasn't making it any easier for me.
"Sorry, I was just asking. I'm Shelly." She extended her hand out to me, which I plainly ignored, continuing on my travels.
"Shelly the Shadow. Well that sounds about right." I sighed. As I had noted earlier, she was a supernatural being, unfortunately paired with the personality of a very annoying human. She was a shadow creature. I didn't come by them very often in my travels as they are pretty hard to spot. But then again once you did get attached to one they were very hard to shake off. They were creatures that were made of primarily gases and light, and they attached themselves to the shadow of a living, moving being, feeding off their life. They detached themselves of that being when that being was dead. They usually go on through life completely undetected by the humans. But since I was not human, she had more of a problem than just being able to be seen.
"Whatever, I think it's a pretty name. I reminds me of the beach. I was attached to this really cute diver before you. That's where I came up with the name, because he used to collect shells." Her very long, personal but pointless story was beginning to ebb away at my patience.
"So how long does it usually take for your kind to die off when they don't have a life source?" Blunt, rude, well that was how I liked it. To the point. I didn't particularly care for her. She was getting on my nerves. Both of us knew quite well she wasn't going to live being attached to me; me being a lifeless creature, and we both knew that she was stuck with me until one of us died. I could see on her face that this had shocked her as much as I had hoped.
"Uh...about a month." she said in a small voice. I kind of felt bad at how simply she had answered me, just giving me another fact about her life that I didn't really care about. A pang of guilt rang inside my chest. But I held it back, ignoring her sudden quietness. 31 days. That was too long away. 31 long days having to work with this thing attached to my back. Like a leech. A dying leech. But still, I didn't like my work being interrupted.
There was a cottage ahead of us, down at the end of the meadow. As I got closer I realised that it wasn't much of a cottage, but really a farm shed, filled with hay and cow stalls for milking. There was work equipment and a tractor and the door was battered and large enough to fit anything through it. Above the stalls was another room, which you could get to by a ladder near the entrance. It looked like the living quarters of the man hanging in the corner of the work room. I took in all that was in the room - the rotting hay bundle that a calf was chewing away at, the picture in its frame of a woman and child sitting on the writing desk, the dirty working clothes thrown away on the floor.
Shelly on the other hand couldn't take her eyes off the man hanging from the noose.
"For someone who feeds off people's life, you don't seem to be taking death to easily."
"I've never seen anyone kill themselves before." she said to me, a little nervous.
The dead man looked at us with cold eyes wide open, skin pale and sickly. His mouth was ajar and facing downwards in a bored expression.
"A little help here?" the dead man asked us. I smiled to myself at seeing Shelly jump so obviously. She was so shocked, I could see that she was ready to jump out of her skin...if she had any skin to jump out of.
"He...he just spoke to us! Isn't he dead?" She clung to my sleeve, digging into my arm. I shrugged her off, my amusement suddenly gone.
"The dead aren't dead until I take their soul away. Everyone except me can't see that their soul is still in their body. But now it seems that you can also see that by default." Shelly still looked confused and scared, but I couldn't delay the process any longer.
"Hello Mr Evans." I said, addressing the man. Shelly giggled suddenly, but I didn't see any humour in the matter.
"How's it hanging." She said between bouts of laughter. The man stayed expressionless but gave her the finger. She stopped laughing and frowned at the man, obviously taken aback by his gesture. "What's got you so grumpy."
"Are you Death?" asked the man, ignoring Shelly.
"Yes." I didn't like when they asked questions, but it was better than when they were begging me for mercy or something like that. I couldn't take their souls easily unless they accepted the situation.
"You don't look like Death." he said, looking me up and down.
"That's what I said!" said Shelly, excitedly.
"Shut up." I whispered to her.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Rule number three. Death, unlike life, is forgettable. No one celebrates their own death each year it comes round again - for obvious reasons. But the people you leave behind are only going to grieve you for so long before you are forgotten . Eventually you will no longer be important enough to be spoken of again; to have your memory emerge and be spoken as words. After that you will no longer be important enough to have you memory accumulate in someones mind, and you will have truly died your final death. Depressing - I know.
These are the rules I live by. These are the rules that dictate life of the humans. I don't make the rules. Trust me I didn't. I only follow thme - it is my job. I am Death, the Grim Reaper, the Fourth Horseman, and it goes on. But you can call me Michael.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Everything is stopping, slowing. I can feel it happen before they can see it. My vision is clouded with images, outer worldly and my hearing stalls. Stomach acids are moving and filling the places they shouldn’t, sending waves across my body. Every muscle contracts uncontrollably. Oxygen is passed through every vein, every capillary, but I’m filling with the poison of the outside. My skin burns, itches and irritates until it bleeds.
Shutting down, turning off.
My body seems to be delaying the sweetness of unconsciousness, the utter bitterness of the cold blackness. It wants to hold me here in a painful embrace, holding me to grasp onto the life I no longer care about.
Shutting down, power cut.
Souls, trapped in the bodies of idiots stand, lifelessly trying to help the lifeless. They could do so much more, but they don’t, and I applaud them. Paper rain, and roses in the shapes of hearts showers me from the heartless loved ones. Maybe the heart shaped roses could replace mine? Maybe I would wake and see the world differently. Maybe, maybe. But maybe not.
Shutting down, zoning out.
Tick, tick, tick. But no tock. No clock makes a sound so sinister. The sound beats away in the darkness, beats away in the brighter days, beats away when all else has fallen to the floor. My whole body shudders with this sound. I lay, seemingly motionless, and watch as the sinister clock, counting down the seconds of life, trembles within my chest, like a monster, beating at the ribs to get out. Playing its musical number.
Shutting down, blacking out.
My throat tightens, cutting off golden breath and taste. Ice cold. Touches of something horrifying and sharp. Needles and pins prick the skin red. Drops of rubies, so precious, gone; mixed with the dust of the floor of the attic. Dust fogs up my lungs. I have been stored. Put away. Forgotten forever, like windows of the past we only ever take out once in a decade. I’m stuffed in a cardboard box, rotting away, decaying.
Shutting down, shutting down.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
But I didn't say a word. I never do. I kept on a clam face, making it look like the dark, venomous words would drip off my skin like water on a ducks feathers, not peeling at my flesh and boiling my blood like it really was. Maybe that's why she never gave up on taunting me. Maybe she really believes that my front is as deep as it goes; that she hasn't broken me. She persists and digs deeper, hoping that one day all her hard work will finally pay off.
but I won't let that happen. The invisible tears run down my cheeks, drenching my collar, but I won't let them see it. i won't let them judge me with their piercing eyes and tongues as sharp as devils' horns.
"Your stupid if you think you can get away with this forever." The words were barely whispered from my tongue, but I let them sink in, a torment of the mind. I left her there, speechless, her stupid blue eyes, reeling back on what had happened. What had happened? I wasn't sure myself, but the blood of my enemy left under my nails told a different story. Bones crack like dry twigs and crumble to dust. How was I to know?
it was never held against me what I had done. the one who had never done anything to correct the wrongs in her life before has finally cracked; one big explosion in the brain that set of thousands of sparks and reactions until it was all one big nuclear war within the mind.
but I wish i could take it all back. I wish I could reverse the time. I wish I could control it all, but it's all out of our power isn't in? If only....
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Travis misjudged how strong she was and fell back to the floor from the impact, hitting his head on the glass table, shattering the top and knocking it over. He could barely see straight and his view of Demi above him was hazy. Demi didn’t know what she was doing, just going off what she could imagine Anastasia doing. An ongoing battle pulled within her, compelling her to strangle him and screaming at her to get off of him. She went for his neck, cutting off his airway. Travis battled to get away from her, but his head was dragging him down, disabling him from making any coordinated movement or use his strength. He couldn’t do much other than struggle and paw at her strong arms around his throat. He weakened and at one point he realised that he was going to die. When he had no energy to hold his arms up in an attempt of protest, they fell to his sides, landing on the shards of glass from the table, not that he noticed the shards piercing his skin. However, he did notice the tip of the knife. Against his hopelessness, he tried to grasp it. Maybe is would show her how close to death she came, he thought. She watched him struggle, watched him grasp for one last breath and watched him give in.
And it was so easy.
Of course it wasn’t easy leading up to that one moment, but just killing him – Travis, her love – was easy. Easier than expected. Too easy perhaps? remorse and guilt flooded her whole being. What had she done? What was she doing? She felt sick and instantly let go of Travis. Was it too late to save him? He wasn’t breathing and he didn’t move.
The voices had left her head. The horrible voice of Anastasia who had prompted her to murder Travis’ family; to murder an innocent child; to kill the man she loved. What had she become? Everything she had done and everything she had thought had happened all came rushing back to her, and she was drowning in her despair. The hollow look on his face made her weep.
“Travis?” she cried, pleading that he would breathe. And then she saw it. His chest rose ever so slightly, and his eyes moved in their sockets as he assessed the situation. A sudden joy welled up in her; but it was only momentary, because the next moment Travis had plunged the knife into her chest. She rolled off him, panicking and gasping in pain. She had never felt anything so painful in her life. Even the injuries she experienced in the past few days combined were dulled with the adrenaline and murderous thoughts and didn’t even compare. Her vision was fading fast, and she knew she had no hope. She would be gone in a matter of seconds. As the life fled from her body, her last sight was of Travis, kneeling above her, looking down with his eternal grief.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
"What? Demi, do you hear yourself. Why would I do that!" Travis sighed, frustrated. "Whatever. I'll leave you to this then." He left the room in a hurry, leaving Demi alone in the large, dim kitchen. All that she could hear was the loud thump of the knife hitting the board each time and the sounds of her frantic breath coming from clenched teeth.
"How do you do it? How can you just stand there and deal with all the crap they throw at you?"
"I don't know really. I love Valerie. I don't know what I'd do without her. But I guess I just know that I only have to see them for a short time each year. Besides, now that you've come in, they've taken a little of the heat off me."
"Great." sighed Demi. Brian wasn't helping her much, so she turned back to her work, knowing that in a few seconds, Travis' mum was going to come through those doors and start yelling at her asking why the vegetables weren't cut up yet.
"Just...you need to calm down, I guess. I can see the anger, every time they talk to you. And they can see it too. They're loving that anger, Demi. Just ignore them. They're not worth ruining what you have with Travis." Demi smiled, know that he was right.
"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd only say that to keep me here so that you can get out of the worst of it."
Brian was about to answer when the doors behind him swung open, hitting him in the back.
"Brian, get out of the way!" Yelled Travis' mum. "Didn't your mother ever teach you some decent manners.
"Sorry Mrs Parr. i don't know what I was thinking." answered Brian, rubbing his back and scurrying out of the room. She looked over Demi's work with her nose up in disgust.
"No, girl!. What are you doing! You don't cut the carrots lengths ways! Stupid girl! Let me do it!" She yelled, pushing Demi out of the way with her humongous body and taking over. Demi snapped. She was sick of getting thrown around like a rag doll.
"No, Mrs Parr. I've got it." She argued, pushing back hard, and taking the knife.
"Don't you push!"
"If you'd just let me-" They fought for the knife and control over the bench, when in one hasty movement, the large blade came down hard, slicing the tip of Mrs Parr's finger. There was no doubt about it, it was Demi's fault. No only had she caused the fight, but she had also forced the knife down, unintentionally bringing the woman to screams.
"What have you done you little brat!" She screamed. Demi, frantically looked around for a cloth and the woman wailed. Soon the whole family was crammed into the kitchen, trying to help. There was no time for blame and insults, other than from the woman who was howling them at Demi by the second. The woman was carried out of the house and into an ambulance, and members of the family jumped in cars to the hospital.
When all the hype was gone, there was only Demi, left in the kitchen. There was blood everywhere, covering the benches and the floor and all of the food lain out. It was as if the woman had purposely flailed her arms out everywhere, so that her blood covered every square inch of the kitchen, just so she could smite Demi even more for cutting her finger. Demi guessed that she was expected to clean up.
She stood for a moment, quiet and still. She barely breathed. All her senses had shut down except for her sight. And all she could see was the blood. The glorious blood. Blood of a horrible woman, but blood none the less. It was the substance which she most prominently discussed in her novel, and all of her writing since her first horror movie when she was twelve years old.
There was something different about her now, something different, yet oddly familiar.
But now nature was going to force them out of safety, to force them to find safer ground in the worlds of the unknown. This is their home and they were relying on me to help them. I had been alone for so long that seeing fresh faces that were living and safe was almost a shock. They were faces that were scared and intimidated by my arrival, but were still fighting strong for some sense of civilization.
I turned southbound, following the direction of the wind and gazed out over the fields of crops that the villagers continued to slave over. None of the people I had seen looked to have eaten anything for weeks. They looked like only skin and bone, imitating the thin wire that protected and supported them; feeble to the eye, but strong and hard working.
Out in the fields I watched children and a father clawing through the dirt, searching for potatoes. The children- as innocent as they were – had made a game from the search, laughing with their hollow voices and rolling in the dirt.
“Simon, stop that at once!” yelled the father at one particular boy who was throwing the fresh potatoes at a small girl. “Don’t you dare bruise them, or you won’t get dinner for a week! You’re old enough now to know that that potato is all we have!” The father had a young infant strapped to his back and as he searched desperately for his weekly meals, the child wailed and screamed for her mother. She flung her limbs all over the place, trying to resist the hold of the carrier, but the struggle was pointless effort and soon after being continually ignored, she calmed down and hung loosely, enjoying the ride and falling asleep.
Monday, February 14, 2011
a love so beautiful
that it shone brighter than the sun
and the stars combined.
There once was a love,
a love so strong
that it stood tall against every war and every hardship
until the ends of time.
There once was a love,
a love so perfect
that it was studied for centuries after love grew extinct
considered as complex as the Pyramids.
There once was a love,
a love so fantastic
that it brought the entire human civilization down on its knees
and a tear to the eye of the coldest soul.
There once was a love,
a love so craved by others
that they poked and prodded, wanting it desperately to fall,
so that they might not feel so destroyed under its light.
There once was a love,
a love so united
that they were bound by blood, soul and mind
that couldn't ever be destroyed.
There once was a love,
a love so hard to find
that people spend their lives searching for it
an endless and hopeless journey for this one desire.
There once was a love,
a love I wish for everyone.
You will find it one day, trust me.
Love is a fate that doesn't want to be searched for,
that doesn't want to be categorised,
that doesn't want to be forgotten.
Trust in fate, it knows what it's doing.
Happy Valentine's Day everyone :) <3
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Travis though was the total opposite. He stood there shivering, hoping that she’ll just get over it and come inside like a sane person.
“Did you just bring me here to hurt me?” she asked, not looking at him.
“What? No, Demi, I would never do that.” He answered, crouching down to her level. “Trust me, it’ll all get better in time. You just have to be strong.”
“No, Travis! It won’t ever get better! Brian told me that. He said he’d been criticized and hurt by them every time he sees them. That’s why you barely ever see Valerie, because he never lets her come home.” She cried. She could see the shock register in his face, and instantly regretted her words. “Travis, I know that sounds awful, but I could never do that. I don’t want to ever separate you from your family, but I can’t stand it anymore.”
“Well what do you want me to do?” He asked standing up again. Any sympathy was gone from his voice, and Demi knew she had said the wrong thing.
“I…I don’t know. Anything… I just feel so angry, but I can’t do anything about it. And it’s killing me inside!” her frustration was getting the better of her and she was beginning to shout.
“Demi, I’m just getting so sick of you complaining all the time. You’ve got to get used to all types of people! I know you haven’t had the best of family lives, but you can’t expect to meet all loving people all the time. You can’t kill off people like you can in your books!” he yelled back. She didn’t look up at him, she didn’t want to see him angry. His words were enough to cut deep.
When she didn’t speak again he turned and started to head back to the house, deciding he was sick of the cold.
“Anastasia could…” she whispered. She intended to keep that to herself, but her words were carried on the cool sea breeze.
"What did you say?" asked Travis.
"Nothing." she quickly countered.
"No, you said Anastasia... Demi, don't do this."
"Travis, what am I doing!" she shouted, her rage boiling up inside. Her eyes burned and her throat tightened. Quicker than Demi had expected, he got down on his knees and grabbed her shoulders so that she would look at him.
"Do not say that Demi! Anastasia is a character! A cruel, cold-blooded character!" He began shaking her shoulders lightly, hoping that she realised how serious he was.
"But she could." Demi replied darkly.
"Yeah, and do you know what happened to her? Of course you do, because you wrote it! She was caught and was killed!" He stared desperately into her dark green eyes, but he didn't see any changes. She still wore her brutal determination on her face.
"Kill them all, Demi. Do it." he told her flatly, seriousness in his voice.
"W-what?" she asked in utter disbelief.
"I said, please come inside with me." he repeated. Travis didn't see the confusion Demi was experiencing, and with those words in her mind, she got up subconsciously and followed him in.
Friday, February 4, 2011
“Wait,” she whispered. She stroked his warm cheek and looked at his innocent face. “Please, wait. I need to tell you something.”
“I’m not going to be here much longer.” He looked at her confused, not understanding the curse that had held her down for centuries. “But I want you to know… that I love you.” The last few words came to her lips as easy as she could breathe, but she had to force them out, force them to be heard. And they were heard by the boy leaning on her bed. He understood them and ate them up like they were as common as a greeting.
“I love you too.” he told her, but she didn’t know if she could really believe him. But it didn’t matter what he believed. It was only the fact that she had finally felt love, and she knew she had, and that she had said the words before she was taken away. She could feel it coming.
By falling in love she had broken the one rule of the contract, and now she would have to pay for it in the depths of Hell.
A pain began to swell in the centre of her back. She reached back as far as she could to feel what was happening to her. Her back was bare and the skin was warm and smooth, but there was something wrong. Where the pain was accumulating she could feel a bone protruding out and pressing against the skin. She heard a snap and felt the new pain radiate through her body as another bone shattered out of place. And another and another. She didn’t cry or scream; she knew this was her fate now and she didn’t want to bring her love rushing in just to see her taken away in her worst.
She let a breath and a squeak escape from her mouth as she felt the skin break. She realized then that he bones were not the cause of the tear; they were simply making room for the something coming through.
She could feel something moving up her back and over her shoulder, a creeping sensation and yet oddly familiar. She didn’t want to see it; she wanted her execution to move as fast as possible. Though she knew she didn’t have that luxury. Her breath became more rapid as she forgot the pain and waited for what was about to happen next. She took a cautious glance at the hanging mirror in front of her, instantly regretting her decision, because crawling over her shoulder was a bloody arm, its fingers stretched out as if to grab her. It stood out strong against the bright flame behind her as it reached down and cover her mouth tight to stop her from screaming the breath she just inhaled. It clamped down hard on her face, too strong for her to release. She pried at it with all her strength, but fighting back was useless. Another arm reached over her shoulder and began pulling her shoulder down, back where it came from. Same was done to her other shoulder, and arms and legs. Bones were broken as easily as twigs and blood was left dripping on the floor.
The tears ran down her face in an endless stream of desperation and she was yet to let out a single noise. The boy down stairs in the kitchen would be left alone, wondering where she had gotten to. He would miss her, search for her. But then he would get over her and move on. She was forgettable to him, like most things in his short life. But he would stay burned into her mind for the rest of eternity as the one who sent her to Hell, all because she loved him.
Her limbs had been completely sucked into the black hole that had formed in her back as a gateway to Hell. All was left was her head really, and like with the rest of her, an arm reached out and pulled her back. At some point, after having her head dragged back to the point of her neck snapping completely, she lost her vision and all she could see was the blackness, but she wasn’t dead yet, and she didn’t expect to die.
Her love entered the room only a few moments before she was gone altogether to find only a puddle of blood where he expected to see a beautiful girl…
Monday, January 31, 2011
In the bathroom she soaked her face with a wet cloth, trying to calm herself down. Her face was an uneven red and her eyes were puffy and blood shot. She looked up into the mirror. She felt utterly pathetic. Her face was clean of makeup, and the redness had softened, but she felt so ugly. She would breathe a deep breath and reapply the makeup. She would brush back her hair from her face into a neat ponytail. And she would go back down stairs and pretend that nothing had ever happened, that she wasn’t just called worthless. She would pretend that they were all friends, and that no body hated her. She would go on and ignore all the stares she got from Travis’ family and all the rude remarks saying how he could do better. No, she was going to play good.
But she didn’t want to.
She looked at herself in the mirror, deep into her eyes and she began believing what they said. She was worthless and pathetic. She was just another fling for Travis. It ate at her, deep deep down until in burrowed itself into her brain.
“I am nothing.” She said to her reflection. But no, she realised then that she was more than that.
“I am Anastasia.” She said after a moment’s pause.
(The 2 weeks in hell shorts are not in order for anyone who is confused. They are just random exerts from the story.)
Saturday, January 29, 2011
She stopped fighting back and let him handcuff her to the broken glass covered window pane. It was fairly weak, but he was sure that it was all he needed to get away, and for the police to find her. She didn’t look scared and she didn’t look defeated, though she felt that way. She didn’t want him to realize that he had won just yet.
“Is this seriously all you’ve got? You think this is going to hold me back from finishing them off?” She was starting to tire, but she wasn’t about to let her tough façade wear off just yet. Travis didn’t answer her questions, just stared her dead in the eye with a deathly look that made Demi’s heart break the slightest bit.
Her smile faded to a scold as he left the room. She was running out of ideas.
Travis sprinted down the stairs and out the door. Molly was still unconscious in the front seat and he exhaled knowing that she was at least safe from Demi. He could feel Demi’s eyes on his back, a feeling he knew quite well now. He turned and looked up at the window. It was swinging back and forth in the strong, stormy wind, but Demi was no where to be seen. The window panel seemed to be unbroken, but the handcuffs were also gone.
“How the hell?” But he could still feel her watching him. She was somewhere – somewhere close, but he didn’t have time to find her. He didn’t want to find her. There was nothing separating him from the car, but he still ran; sprinting as if his life depended on it.
No sooner after starting the car engine smoothly, did the screen crack right in front of him, sending waves of scraggly, thin arms reaching out to the end. The glass then shattered into thousands of pieces and sprayed onto them. A large smooth rock lay on the floor at his feet. Through the shattered glass he tried to see where it had come from.
Demi stood in a doorway, second floor of the house shaking and cradling her left arm in the other. She did what most people would consider crazy, but she couldn't let her love escape her just yet. To get out of the handcuffs she did the only thing she knew would work. As Travis was running down the stairs to the car Demi pushed down on her left thumb as hard as she could. Tears began to flood to her eyes as she realize the pain and severity of what she was trying to do. But she didn’t stop. In one swift movement she fell back against the couch below the window, crushing her hands under her body weight. Her right hand was still pushing hard on her left thumb and she heard a solid crack which sent shivers through her body before waves of excruciating pain. She carefully slipped the handcuff off her broken hand and released herself from the hold of the window. She brought her hand to her face and looked upon the mutilated thumb. The small joint at the bottom of her thumb which usually jutted outwards now faced in and she could no longer move the thumb at all! Her breathing became rapid and she felt dizzy as shock set in. She could barely see straight, but she could hear the engine outside start. Without looking, she grabbed the closest solid object she could reach and flung it out the window with her right hand, much against the distress her body was under. She heard the screen smash and knew she had done something right.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
“Your eyes look like they’re about to pop out of your head.” Laughed Travis, they only voice that could break Demi away from the story. He handed her a cup of coffee in a paper cup. She looked up at her boyfriend and noticed how good he looked with the bright orange glow of the sunset behind him. His jet black hair glowed a fiery red and his smile looked brighter than ever.
“I just got a text from my publisher.” She told him after she stole a quick kiss from him.
“Yeah? What did she say?” Demi had been writing for as long as she could remember, and finally she been able to finish a story that she could call a novel, but the next process was excruciatingly slow for her, and she realised that her life’s work might be for nothing. Much because of her love of gripping murder stories, her finished novel went something along the lines of a murder, but she was feeling doubts from many that had read it so far; all except for Travis who sang praise for it to everyone he talk to. He was her cheer squad, and at the moment her only support for how her chosen career was going. As a freshly graduated high school student, she decided to take a year of before university to take a break to work on the novel, despite what her friends and family suggested. She had high hopes, and she wanted nothing more than to just get this novel published.
“She asked me why the character killed the family.” Demi said, slightly disappointed that she didn’t get the text she was wishing for that would have went on about how fantastic the story was.
“That’s easy!” exclaimed Travis, stretching an arm over Demi’s seat. “Because she hated them. Because they were such arseholes to her. I mean, that’d be enough to make me snap.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that when you get caught for murdering a whole family!” laughed Demi.
“Well, it’d be the truth, whether or not I admit it…”
Travis gulped down his scalding hot coffee as easily as he would water, while Demi went over the text a few more times, waiting for hers to cool. Each time she read that words, it ate away at her, making her feel as though publishing this book was some impossible task that could never be cracked by someone as simple and plain as her. She wouldn’t know where to start to modify the story to make it better; to make her publisher absolutely love it as much as Travis did. Or at least half as much.
“Give me that!” said Travis, taking the phone away from her and erasing the message after about the fifth time she had read it. She sighed, realising that the message wasn’t the only thing that was bugging her at the time.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” Demi asked, leaning against Travis to look out the window at the images of the ocean rushing past. She was talking about his family. Demi and Travis had been dating for almost a year now, and Travis thought that Easter break was the perfect time for her to meet them, as they’d all be there for a little while to celebrate. Demi came from a completely anti-religious family, one that had members spread all out across the country, so she either spent holidays like these with friends in similar situations or alone. And that’s what made her especially nervous to meet Travis’s family, as she’s never been to anything resembling a big family gathering in her life.
“Trust me, they’ll love you.” He said, wrapping his arm around her. But there was something in his voice that she just didn’t believe. She looked at him suspiciously. “Ok, they might attack you a bit with the whole interrogation deal, but honestly, what family doesn’t do that when their son brings home his girlfriend.” Demi’s cheeks flushed and she smiled when he called her his girlfriend. She’d never get used to that title. “Besides, when they see you like I do, they will take you in as though you’ve been part of the family for years. I’ve seen it with Valerie and Brian when she brought him home for the first time. If you can get through their first line of attack, it’ll be all yours.” Demi sighed a breath of relief, trusting in Travis’s words.
The water view rushed past in a blur, and Demi wished she could stop and just slow down. She imagined lounging on the beach, just her and Travis. They were heading up the coast, away from the city, to where Travis’s grandparents owned a huge house close to the ocean where the whole family stayed for holidays and events like this. Demi could see some romantic getaway; a little hide out where they could sneak away from the harsh realities of real life. But knowing her luck, it wouldn’t be as grand as she would want it, and with as many family members as Travis had described, she wondered how any of the family members ever got a moments peace.
“Don’t think about it too much. Just be yourself, OK?” she nodded in agreement at his flawless logic, and hoped that being herself was all she needed to impress these people.
Demi sipped her coffee, which was now cool, letting the bitter taste sit on her tongue. Often in times like these, when she was granted a moment to think, a brutal and gruesome scene that occupied the novels that she was so fascinated in would accumulate within her mind; but now all she could think of was how this week could end up as her own personal murder, one not done with a knife or a gun, or even an axe as it is often depicted in more conventional murder stories, but more one executed with her complete and utter embarrassment and rejection by her boyfriend’s family. She wasn’t looking forward to this week if even her mind was going to torture her with the horrors of reality.