Does anyone actually read this blog anymore?

I know I haven't been posting a lot. But now I've just started year 12, so you know what that means. I'll be procrastinating so I will probably be posting more. Sorry if all that I do post are freaky stories and poems about the HSC. I'll try to be less cliche'.

Thanks to all my loyal followers who still use blogger <3

Words are my Disease

Words,
I have to write words,
Many 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!"
They cry.
"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
Of stupidity.

Noisy Silence

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.

Honey hair and eyes like emeralds

Hair like honey,
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,
the deep,
and the vast blackness of space,
but we have not yet discovered our own sky,
and the truths it has captured.

Not Delilah

"You've got your music up so loud, you're going to go deaf!" Delilah's mother yelled.

"Maybe I want to go deaf." She said under her breath.

"What was that? Why would you want to go deaf?" She turned to her mother now, not watching the distant cars whiz past the window and avoiding her mother.

"So I wouldn't have to hear your voice again." She said, never letting her eyes leave her mothers. Her mother was dumbstruck. She almost didn't stop at the set of red lights ahead and almost rammed into the back of the car in front.

"Why would you say something like that to me?" Her mother finally asked, voice quiet and low. But Delilah wasn't about to answer. She pointedly turned away again from her mother and stared out the window at all the happy, passing people, wishing she could be one of them. She didn't regret her words; in fact she was happy that she finally got them out. But she was definitely afraid of the consequences.

Things hadn't always been so bad between Delilah and her mother, but you could say the same thing about every other relationship she'd been able to maintain lately. She was angry at everything. For what? Even she didn't have a clue. All that she knew is that she didn't want to talk about it.

She'd been on her own for all this time, so why let anyone intervene now? Her mother had picked up on this behavioural change some weeks ago. Little things hinted a change, like how she didn't talk or smile much anymore, or how she didn't go out, or sit with the family at the dinner table. She just stayed locked up in her room all this time. But this was the tipping point.

"What is going on with you, Delilah? You've changed." Her mother wanted so much to talk to her daughter, to connect with her. But Delilah had other ideas. She finally decided that she was going to be one of the seemingly happy people, shopping in her city.

She suddenly opened the car door, thankful that the inner city traffic had slowed to a stop. She got out and slammed the door behind her before her mother even realised what she was doing. She hopped across the street, dogging the cars, ignoring the screams from the blue van behind her, stuck at the red light. The middle aged, blonde woman was frantically undoing the manual window on the other side of the car and was screaming for the dark haired girl to get back in the car. People were watching, interested and curious, but no one was going to do anything.

Today, her name wasn't Delilah, and that ugly car wasn't hers and that screaming woman was not her mother.

Today, maybe she'd be happy.

Unfixable

Her cold blue eyes were looking at me, but she was looking straight through me. She wasn't here with us in this room. She was within her mind, like the first time I saw her.

It was a small room that we sat in, four walls, like most others. It had a door on each side, coloured green with rotting paint. The walls were also decaying, coloured paint flecks falling to the ground with the slightest brush or breeze. There were no other items in the room besides the two chairs we sat on. We sat facing each other under the dim centre light.

"Speak to me." I said, but she didn't listen to me. She continued watching but not watching me. "Please, Melissa, please just speak." I begged.

"Don't call me that." She snapped, her eyes suddenly focusing on me.

"But that's your name."

"My name is not Melissa." Even though her tone implied aggravation, I was taking her speaking as good and kept pushing for more.

"Then what is your name if it isn't Melissa?"

"I have no name. I don't deserve a name." Her eyes suddenly became unfocused again, as she sank into her dream world.

"Everyone deserves a name. Everything in fact." She didn't want to answer me again. "Why don't you think you deserve a name."

"I don't think, I just know." I wanted to continue, to search deeper. I thought I had made progress. But suddenly she stood up. "I have to leave."

"But why?" I asked, jumping up as well. I didn't want her to leave. I was afraid of what she might do if I left her.

"I need to go now." She turned to leave, but suddenly looked lost, undecided to which door she should take. "i need to leave. Let me leave." She directed her frustration to me, blaming me.

"Please don't leave. I want you to stay." She spun around to face me, her full attention focused on me.

"You can't save me. You're just another one of the boys who think they're in love with me. You think you can fix me and then we can be together and live happily ever after. But it just doesn't work that way. I'm broken and unfixable. So let me leave." I was stunned. All this time I've been trying to figure her out; trying to determine what was wrong with her. And yet in one go, she seems to have me figured out, just like that. Was I that easy to decipher?

"Wai, I-" I tried to give her some sort of answer, but my words were caught in my throat.

"No, don't. You don't need to explain yourself. I know you. I know your type. Just let me go. I don't want to be saved."

"But...you're drowning." With a sad look, she turned away from me.

"Maybe I want to drown." With those last words she took the first door she reached. I never saw that girl again.

My fault

"Is it bad that I haven't slept or eaten for three days?" I asked him. He turned to me with his beautiful eyes wide.

"What? Why not?" I didn't hear him though, when you're tired, many sense just seem to turn off when they want to.

"You have amazing eyes, has anyone told you that?" he was a bit surprised about my sudden change in topic, but he stood up, lifting me up by the arms as if I was simply a doll. He was a steady tree to my weak legs, and I lent against him when my body felt it didn't want to move again for a little while.

He realised I wasn't going to walk, so instead he lifted me up so easily and carried me in his arms like a child. I guess not eating might have payed off finally. I was lighter than a child possibly. His gorgeous face was all that I could see and the evening sun framed his face so perfectly. He looked like a golden angel, my saviour from my Hell. His sun kissed, light brown hair was lit up and his brown eyes were set straight ahead, filled with his concern.

Suddenly his halo was gone! It was dark, but in the afterglow I could still see the definitions of his face.

"Where are you going to take me?" I laughed, my words sounding funny on my lips. We were back at the car park, right at the door of his old, beat up car. He opened it so fluently while balancing me and put me in the passenger seat. How could we be back here already? It was over half an hour walk.

"I'm going to take you home. You're not well."

"I'm perfectly fine!" I said, suddenly angry at him. How dare he say I'm not well. He was trying to put my seat belt on me, but I shoved him away and put it on my self. He walked around and got into the driver's seat, only worry on his face.

"How can you say that! I've worked so hard to get here." My words didn't come out as clearly as I had intended them, and he looked at me differently this time. Was he sorry for me?! Of course there was sadness and worry in him, but there was something more. He pitted me didn't he! He didn't reply. He wasn't ignoring me, he just couldn't answer me.

"Let me out!" I yelled. "Stop the car." This got him talking.

"What, no! I can't stop. Please just stay in the car. We're almost home."

"No I want to get out!" I screamed, banging on the door. I couldn't find the handle to the door in the darkness and I leaned forward trying to see. It was a bad idea though, because instantly I felt sick. I sat up quickly and the world was spinning. The bright lights in the streets didn't to much to help either.

"No don't!" he yelled, grabbing my shoulder and throwing me back against the seat.

"Stop it!" I screamed. "What's happening to me?" I pressed my hands against my head and lent against my knees, but nothing could stop the pain.

"Please, just calm down." he tried his best. He truly did love me, because no one would care as much as he did. I was sobbing now, but I could hear his soothing voice perfectly. "We're almost ther-" I could also hear the other car ram into the side of ours. I can still hear it perfectly, ringing in my ears.

I woke up the next day in hospital, blurry faces watching above me, moving too quickly for my mind. I tried to rub the black stars away from my eyes, but I couldn't move my arms.

"What's going on?" I asked. I got my answer a few hours later from the doctor caring for me. He wasn't watching the road, he was to busy watching me. The other car had run a red light. They got away with just a broken arm. He cared for me so much, and I was barely awake to notice. I'll never get to show him how much I love him now.

I had been so determined to be perfect for him, but without him here anymore what do I have to live for? I know it's melodramatic, but how could you possibly know what I'm going through. I broke a couple of fingers and my nose, but otherwise I'm alive and well.

This just goes to prove my whole theory. Everything I ever put my all into is always taken away from me. But there's more. Every single time it's been my fault. Always only my fault.

The Queen of Hearts

She devours the hearts that she receives, like they were chocolate buttons, hoping that the more she takes the more likely that she'll have one of her own someday. Her body grows with the rolls of puppy love fat and the hunger intensifies. When she grew taller and bigger than anyone before her, the people filled with fear below her fought against her, piercing her thick skin with their arrows but none could break her. So they named her the Queen of Hearts, the beheader of all men, and wait in the shadows until her king can put her out of all misery.

Cathy's Challenge

Cathy carefully stepped one slow step at a time forward, following the line of people. She had been there for what felt like hours, no, days. She was tiring quickly, but her life depended on getting to the end. Others waited with her in the line, some tiring quicker than her and falling to the peril of starvation and weakness. All were taller than her. They all seemed to be stronger and wiser than her. Surely they would make it to the end over Cathy. Surly she would fall weak. But with each passing hour another would fall away. Angry with themselves most likely, they would fall back into the jungle and lose on the blissful prize that lay at the end.

Her legs were getting tired and her eyes were getting heavy. She had travelled so far, like so many of the others, through monstrous lands full of strange creatures that yelled and barked, nipping at her toes and fingers and swooping low.

She looked back over her shoulder. Behind the chains were her family, held back from freedom. Her mother, her father, her brother and sister. Their lives depended on her getting to the end of line.

"You can do it Cathy!" Yelled her older brother. They were cheering for her, they believed in her! With determination, Cathy turned back to her challenge, but they weren't making it easy for her. Strange bird like creatures of all colours descended down from the grey skies with their large claws and shiny beaks, believing her to be the weakest. But they were wrong. She put on her scariest face and roared as loud as a lion, and the creatures scurried away back into the jungle.

She was almost at the front, so close to the prize. Then, out of the darkness of the trees came huge yellow eyes. They stared down at her, hypnotising her. They were so mysterious and mystical that they distracted her from her task. The line moved forward, it was almost her turn, but she couldn't stop staring! She shook her head and grabbed her camera, using the flash to stun the climbing beast.

As soon as it was out of the way she ran up to the front. It was her turn at last! Finally she would receive her prize. All her hard work would finally pay off. She looked up at the tall smiling woman, the keeper of her treasure.

"Hi sweetie, welcome to the zoo cafe. What can I get you?" she asked.

"One hot chips, please" asked Cathy.

Shifter for Hire

I didn’t know what to say. Those gorgeous eyes were staring so deeply at me, so filled with concern, that it almost made me sick to think that I was hurting him. I opened my mouth, hoping to force the words out, but the truth wouldn't come, it refused to be told.
“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.