The Little Things (1)

Fate. It seems to be the happy ending to all stories. The ultimate fairy tale. It’s the fairy god mother that comes and fixes all disasters; too good to be true, just like magic. It might be a little blind, a little deaf, and just unpractical, but no matter how fate puts it, life just seems to be resolved in perfect ways. The lowly girl becomes the princess. The maid marries the prince. The wicked witch gets punished for all her wrong doings. Too bad life isn’t a fairy tale. No, instead the real world is harsh, unjustified, cruel and just to piss you off even more it likes to slap you straight hard in the face, and you can’t do anything about it. There’s no prince riding on his white horse ready to sweep you off your feet. No, your prince is just a retard in tin foil. There’s no genie waiting to grant you three wishes; instead there’s lies to draw you in, that ask for everything you’ve got in return for luxury and riches, only to turn around and dump you on your ass on the pavement with nothing.
There are some people in this world who understand this early in their lives. They figure out that we don’t all grow up to be princess or super heroes, but middle class citizens, working an office job. But there are others who have a hard time letting go of the dreams, the wishes. They go through life, being crushed over and over again just because everything doesn’t turn out like the plan they had in their heads, and it kills them.
Charlotte had a hard time letting go of things. One early Monday morning as she rode the train into town, watching building after building flash past the window in a colourful blur, she contemplated how her life would be if she had done it differently. Only a week ago had her boyfriend of three years broken up with her. This set off a chain reaction, making her realize that she had been do distracted by him to see how incredibly boring the rest of her life was. Building after building flashing by, just like the opportunities that flashed past her life, that she had missed because she had been so wrapped up in the little things that really meant nothing. She reached out and touched the cool glass, hoping that if she tried a bit harder she could really touch the buildings. Little sparkling rain drops attacked the other side of the glass, trying and trying like she was; her own little army, loosing the battle for her. Just like the rain, she knew she’d never reach the other side. The buildings all disappeared into darkness as the train rushed into the dark tunnel as it did every morning. Cheap, florescent lights lit up the train’s carriage; scarcely enough to see, but it didn’t really matter. Charlotte didn’t really need to see. She was alone in the train, as usual at six am in the morning; alone to drown in her thoughts that liked to suffocate her with torment. Shakespeare said that present fears are far less than horrible imaginings. Her future was melting away in her hands like butter; high calorie, fat causing butter. Charlotte was going into town to the university to study art and literature. It wasn’t such a bad school, but her end of school finals had hurt her enough, stealing her away from life, just to study people she didn’t understand, people she won’t meet and people who won’t change her life, even the slightest bit. And now she’d have to do that all over again, only ten times worse. It was taking its toll on her, and she wondered if it was even worth finishing her course. Her parents would tell her to stop being so melodramatic. She wondered how they would feel if they were in her position.
The train slowed to a stop at a station, one station before hers, and few people entered on the train. They stayed close to the doors, not bothering to move upstairs to the chairs like she had. She heard the occasional cough from a man down stairs, one she could see. It was getting close to winter; it would be a cold June this year, and many people were already sick. She wasn’t one to get sick very often, but that didn’t stop her from keeping her distance from people who were. Her school seemed to be filled with sick students and teachers. Coughing and sneezing. Disgusting. She couldn't understand how anyone could be a nurse or a doctor, and have to put up with it every working day of their lives.
Her stop was coming up quickly, and she stepped down to get closer to the door. She held tightly to the pole in the middle of the small room in front of the door to steady herself from falling and bumping into the man who was starting to cough his lungs out. He was an elderly man, with a short grey beard. There weren’t many people standing there with her; about four other people. Most of them looked young enough to be a student like her, and when the train finally came to a stop, they all hurried to the door.
“Excuse me.” Said the man with the grey beard. She spun around, and saw him holding up her sliver scarf. How did that fall off? She swore she would have noticed it.
“Thanks.” She hurried off down the station. She was going to be late again. She hated having such early classes. It was just past eight now, and Charlotte knew she wasn’t going to make it in time. Her art teacher already disliked her enough, because she can’t draw realistically. He tells her that she is too abstract with her painting. But it’s the way he says it. He basically tells her that her paintings are so unrealistic a child could have painted it. It was sad to think that the work that she produced after years of studying art, could have been mistaken for a child’s work.

Soldier's monologue

The nights grow darker every time I'm on duty. No matter how effective my weapons are or how many people I have backing me up, I still feel like a child, alone in the dark. Those reds, they could be anywhere, ready to attack. They're monsters.
My family are proud of me. "My son's a soldier" I can hear my father speak. But why is it when I fight, do I feel so sick, to the pit of my stomach? I'm just doing my job right?
Yesterday I killed a child. A little girl, not much older than my own. She was so small a fragile - just skin and bone, crouching in the shadows, squeezing her eyes shut. I don't even think she heard me coming. I heard her screams in my dreams last night, and I know it won't be the last time I hear it.
When you die, you don't go to Hell, there is no Hell in the after life - this is Hell and I'm living it now.

Victim's poem

I've run day and night,
And yet darkness is on my tail.
They never stop,
They never rest,
Not even for a minute

Friend or foe,
Blood is spilt,
Staining our great land,
a stale red
And it makes me sick.

Help me!
Please, help me!
Why won't you help me?
Don't just sit there!
Don't let them take me away!

Rose

I need help! Will you help me?
I’m trapped; a prisoner to a cruel and evil master. He has trapped my feet under ground, holding me in place; eliminating any chance for escape. He has cut off my arms, right to the shoulder. But when the fingers begin to show, my master, he gets angry. He sharpens his knives and cuts deeper into the flesh.
“To preserve your beauty my dear.” he tells me. My head is his prize; my beauty is his goal. One faultless head to preserve forever. Our only purpose in life is to reach perfection. I have seen many times my brothers and sisters falling to disease, dying before their time. Others I have watched reach acceptation from the master, only to reach the chopping block. My poor friends; I loved them so.
But if you’re lucky; if you’re perfect, you may get to live. My lucky brothers and sisters have their one foot in the grave, far, far away from our master. That’s what keeps me going.
Our conditions are harsh. We get fed once a day; always cold and in liquid form. But it is sufficient. Everyday we are groomed, to keep out arms and feet in check. The master slowly tries to sculpt us into his perfect prize.
Can you save me? Will you save me? My name is Rose; don’t let them kill me. Please don’t.

my Love is an Angel

My love is an angel,
an angel of glass.
Crystal eyes,
and wings of snow.

But now I sit by the fire,
watching them shatter in my hands.
I don’t understand,
how we are so powerful,
yet so weak.

My angel’s blood,
stains my hands forever.
the sun sets taking my heart
leaving me in the dark

Oh love, how I miss
the touch of your skin
the love in your eyes
forgive me my angel

I shatter the mirrors
like I shattered my angel
So I don’t see the monster
that sits on my shoulder
telling me what a good job I’ve done

when love is lost

When love is lost,
Sky greys,
Heads lower.
No one tries.

Lost,
I run,
High into the mountains,
Where air is thin.

I breathe deep,
Slowly losing my mind.
Where were you,
I’m so lost without you.

I crave your voice,
Your touch,
Your kiss.
Please come back.

My head spins,
Out of contol.
How can you save me now?
Would you save me now?

Many questions dwell inside me,
None that can be answered.
I hate my self,
But not as much as I hate you.

The Words of a Hated Man

I don't like where I am. It scares me. Every face I see; it's dark and soulless, empty eyes staring back at me. I try to escape, but it's impossible. I made a deal with the devil, and I have to accept that. Clawing at the walls of my mind, trying to find a tear or a rip is pointless. All I asked for was a good and long life with my family. Was that so much to ask? And in return all he wanted was for me to live within my mind. How hard could that be right? In my mind my world was my own; I could control everything. But I was sorely wrong. The fears and the nightmares that I had tried so hard to lock away at the back of my mind have found their escape. They terrorise the perfect world my mind has come so accustomed to. It was a beautiful, peaceful world. But that now is shattered. The ghosts of my past come back to haunt me, and though I no longer live and walk in the world, they still hurt me, reminding me of the horrible things I did while I was awake and walked the Earth.
I look upon what I have left behind. I see family, beautiful children, mourning for their loss. Oh if they only knew of the pain I had caused in my life, of the horror I had created. I guess I had it coming.
The blood shed by the men I once knew, but the men I trusted was done by my command. I am truly sorry for what I have done, but I couldn't change it even if I had the chance. There was no other way, right? What's done is done. These people's lives have shattered in my hands like glass, and I do not regret my choices. It is my people that I must protect at all times, and if that means living in hell for all eternity, then I must do what I have to do. Again, I am sorry.

The Water's Secret

He held the gun in two hands out in front of him, pointed directly at her. His jaw was set, and he looked completely serious about what he was going to do. But she saw it, only for a moment did he let his true self come though his eyes; a moment of weakness. Though she did not relax at this sight as he was still pointing a gun to her chest and was in the midst of mental instability. Of course she had an idea why he was brought to this decision, and she hoped there was a way to coax him out of this act.
“Eric-” was all she said before he pulled the trigger. The horrible noise created by the small object rang loudly in her ears, rendering her deaf for only a moment. She screamed and jumped back, tripping over her own feet and falling to the ground. But there was no pain, except for the pain radiating down her side from where she had just landed on the cold, wooden floor. He had missed her, purposely, aiming to his far right.
“SHUT UP!” he yelled. “Just shut up, ok?” There was a moment silence except for Eric’s heavy breathing as an endless train of thought passed though Maria’s mind. What had she gotten herself into?
“Please.” she begged, her voice just barely passing for a whisper. But in this cold night, not even the crickets sung their song, and all was heard by Eric.
“Why?” was all he could say. He let his arms hang effortlessly by his sides, the gun though still held firmly in one hand. She couldn’t look him in the eye, and looked down at the ground instead. She didn’t want to answer him. She didn’t want to admit that the only reason that she was here was because she was afraid. She didn’t want to admit that there was nothing that scared her more than love; a true relationship that really meant something and wasn’t just another high school fling. But she couldn’t admit that to him, not now, and not anytime in the future. But it was obvious that he wanted an answer and he was going to extremes to get it his way. But with his fragile condition she knew that there was no way for him to accept that without someone getting hurt.
He came to stand over her, but she still wouldn’t look at him. She flinched as he stretched out his arm to help her up. She paused before taking his hand and standing up. She was unsure why he suddenly changed, but she was grateful he wasn’t yelling and threatening her with the gun anymore. The gun, she was well aware of was still in his other hand. He held tightly onto her hand as he whispered in her ear.
“An eye for an eye has always been the best method, right?” he raised the gun to her stomach, this time he wouldn’t miss. She caught her breath, trying not to scream, and struggled to escape his grip. He caught on tightly to her arm, digging his nails into her skin and pinning her to the wall.
“Please, Eric, no!” she begged, tears streaming down her face, and her body shaking violently. The loud, shattering noise of the gun once again rung loudly in her ears. But this time her deafness wasn’t temporary, and immense pain radiated from her stomach. She didn’t want to look down, but she could feel the blood dripping to the floor.
Eric fell to the ground with her, never taking his eyes away from hers. He was astonished at what he had just done. But he had done it, and there was no going back. She was just barely hanging on to life, and her breath was slowing as the seconds passed. What had he done?
“I’m sorry.” he whispered as she finally left him, and he was alone in the world, with no one to help him no matter how much they tried. Maria was the only person who truly knew what he was going through, and some how she had pulled through her own painful past to live a perfectly happy life, even enough to come back to help him. But he wouldn’t let her. He didn’t want to move. He was too comfortable in his depressed state to ever fix things, and he knew that would ruin his life. And when she turned her back on him, realizing that there was no hope for him, did he really appreciate what she was trying to do. And now that was all gone.
He dropped the gun, and lifted her up, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Her blood had begun pooling around them, and as he carried her out of the room, rubies were scattered in a trail behind them, like foot prints. He took her outside and stood in front of the lake that had caused him so much pain. It was quite strange to think that all of his misdeeds of the past month and the misdeeds of many people before him were the fault of a lake; a body of water that moved and danced when the wind and the moon commanded it do so. He placed her down at the water’s edge on the soft sand, and lay beside her. The hours felt like seconds, and before he knew it, the tide had risen enough to finally sweep him under its grasp, taking him and Maria into its murky depths where they settled to it’s floor making their final resting place. And just before he let death take him from this world he opened his eyes one last time to see the treasures of the water; the price paid by all those before him. Into the eyes he stared of all those who sold the souls to the water demon.

Nightmares

Screams and the sounds of rock crashing against harder rock.
That's all I hear. I'm pretty sure some of those screams are from my own mouth, but I don't care. I have to get to her, I have to save her. But something is holding me down.
Warm rippling muscle, twisting around me, turning me away, focusing in on me with sapphires with darkened souls. Their darkness wrapping around my wrists, taking me away from my world. More screams - this time I don't know where they came from - and then there's silence. A kind face shelters me, telling me everything's alright. But he lies - there's something wrong, I know it.
A bright light blinds me, and I'm gone from the world that scares me, and I'm back home. Back in my warm bed, snuggled under my blanket. I don't like my dreams any more. They scare me. I thought dreams were like worlds our minds create when our lives are hard, a place we can retire to after a hard day to live in a strange sense of bliss. Why can't my mind just be kind to me and give me a break for once.
"honey, what's wrong?" my mum asks from the door. "You were screaming."
"Nothing, mum. Just another nightmare."

Macbeth

They follow me closely,
Like the night follows the day,
And their pain radiates from them,
Like smoke from a fire.

They moan,
And they wail,
Constantly reminding me,
Of the deed I have done.

At every slight noise,
They scream in my ear,
making me jump,
And swallow my heart.

"My hands are your colour,
But I shame to wear a heart so white."
But I know her heart,
And it's is as black as the burden I carry.

My skin glistens with the crimson,
That is thicker than water,
But in my cruel act,
I have broken my sense of family.

The gold that surrounds my head,
shields my aura,
And hides my fear,
Surely they know.

Day after day,
I find that death is upon my door step,
never for me,
but by my command.

I have murdered sleep,
And while I wake and walk,
I do not fear,
But as I close me eyes they return to me.

My beauty has gone,
her heart to beat no longer,
And with her hands in mine,
I find I no longer need her.

I see my death in front of me,
in the form of a man,
born not of woman,
And I call to him and laugh.