Two Person Inner Monologue

Garage: Why are we here? This is my favorite room. Do you feel safe? No, the monsters haunt me here too. Where do you feel safe then? Nowhere. Why are we here? It’s my favorite room. Why is it your favorite room? Because of my piano. I’m isolated here in the cold, but at least I have my music. Can you play for me? No. Why not? My music is only to lull the monsters. They like my music. Do they talk to you when you play music? They sit next to me and listen. I feel their cold skin against mine. So you feel them? Yes. They don’t usually touch me, when they want to harm me, but when I’m playing music, I paralyze them, and they don’t care. But I don’t mind. So they don’t speak to you when your playing, do they ever speak to you? Yes, when I’m finished playing. They ask me to play again. They ask me to keep going with the beautiful music. They say that if I don’t keep playing, they’ll hurt me and my family, they’ll kill everyone if I don’t keep playing. But you stopped? No, I kept playing. I was too scared. He let me see him, only his eyes. His red eyes sat beside me and bore into me, and I know if I just stopped he’d kill me then and there. But if you hadn’t stopped, you wouldn’t be here with me. But I’m not here. I played for days straight. My fingers started to blister and bleed and I was so so tired, but he didn’t want me to stop. I cried and begged him to let me stop for a few moments at least, but he didn’t let me. He told me he loved my music too much. So why are you here then? Because I’m dead. I passed out eventually, hungry, thirsty, tired. He must have killed me for abandoning his music. No you didn’t die. We found you, unconscious on you piano. We took you to hospital and you are here now, alive and breathing. Your family is alright, no ghosts have hu- They’re not ghosts! Don’t call them that. They don’t like being called ghosts. They’re monsters. Okay, monsters. They haven’t hurt your family, and you’re alive. The monsters didn’t kill you. But they will. They’re just waiting until I’m alone. If anyone sees me die by their doing, people won’t think I’m crazy, people won’t think I’m making this up all in my head. But that’s what they want. They want me to seem insane to everyone else. They feed off that isolation. Do you think I’m crazy? No, I don’t think you’re crazy, but I don’t think there aren’t any ghosts here with us. Monsters! Yes, monsters. I don’t think there are any monsters here in this room. That’s because there’s not. They’re hiding. They’re scared of you. That’s why I wanted you to help me. But you didn’t choose me to help you, I was assigned by the hospital. But I willed you to be assigned to me. Don’t you understand? I need your help! You are the only one who can save me. How can I save you? I don’t know, but I know that you can help. The monsters have run away and I am safe now. If you are safe, will you play me some music? No. Why not? Because the monsters will come, whether or not you are here, just to listen to the music. Can I not fight them away? I don’t know, I just know that they don’t like you. Play for me, and I will keep you safe from the monsters. No, I don’t want to play. Please play for me. No! I don’t want to! Stop asking me. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. The monsters understand me though. How so? They know what terrifies me. They don’t haunt me by just making noises in the night. They show me worlds that feel like dreams, but hurt me more than reality. How do they scare you? They drag me down into a world that at first is beautiful and happy, but then things change, I don’t know how, but it’s like a dark cloud covers the sun and this beautiful world becomes a sick, perverted world where I am just their plaything. But theses are only dreams. You can overcome them, I can help you. But these aren’t just dreams! They’re worse than dreams. They’re visions, and they attack me at anytime, anytime I’m alone, or in front of dozens of people, so the monsters can watch and laugh as I scream in terror for no apparent reason. Will you bring the monsters here so I can speak to them? They won’t speak to you. They don’t like you. Please. Play your music, so I can help you. They will hurt you. They will kill you. You have to listen to me, there are no monsters. Theses monsters are in you mind. They can’t hurt me. Please don’t make me play. I don’t want them to come back. But this is the only way I can help you. No! Please play! No! How do you expect me to help you if you are going to be so stubborn? You can’t help me, no one can help me. I can help you. You just said I could help you. They speak to me, they told me about you. They told me that they are scared of you, but if I bring them here, they will do anything they can do get rid of you. They’ve told me that they will rip you to pieces. They will tear each inch of flesh from your bone while you’re still screaming. They will do everything in their power to destroy you and I will be blamed. No one is going to kill me, you will not get blamed. You need to calm down and let me prove to you that there are no ghosts. MONSTERS! There are no monsters! Get out if you don’t believe me. Leave me alone if you’re not going to trust me. You think I’m crazy, just like everyone else. No one can save me. No one can save you if you are not willing to let them. We will have to work on this back in my office. I will arrange another meeting next week. I won’t be here next week. Where will you be then? I’ll be dead, and so will you. You will eventually believe me but by then it will be too late. No one is going to die. Yes we will. Our bones in lie in the earth side-by-side, stripped of flesh and life and the monsters will live on our fear long after they’ve stolen our lives. Who tells you these things? The monsters tell me the truth. They tell me things that I don’t want to hear; whisper to me in my sleep about their plans to kill me.

There is beauty in a large endless field, with no buildings breaking up the sheets of green merging with the crystal blue sky. They are isolated from great human expositor, but not so forgotten to let nature take back what once it owned. The grass is clipped, and the animals graze, but the trees run wild, stretching their limbs to the heavens like a waking giant.

There’s a point between normality and happiness, and the explosion within the mind that is insanity. It is one moment in an innocent day, where you can feel yourself going mad, those points where you know you should feel calm and happy, but all your insides are screaming in agony to fall apart and let themselves decay with the precious earth it grew from. And you are not certain for what reason they want to give up. Your mind just doesn’t want to try anymore. Inside you are dead.
I am dead, mentally; ready to give up my body to the demons that haunt me in the night, the ones that live under my bed. They are my friends. They understand me, because they know what terrifies me. They are prepared to take my soul when I let them, saving me from the real word that rejects me and my words that were so innocent and precious to me once.

There’s a music that sparks an anger within me. It is music that is on the brink of perfection, igniting in me an idea, a world so pure and perfect. But I still wait on the other side of an opaque window, not being able to touch my creation, but watch it vaguely. It drives me insane! To have something so close an it is so agonizing to not be able to put this unspoiled world into words, to share and admire. To be able to see it as real. It can never be done.

Stolen in the passion of night; time, money, love, life. Blood runs through to the fingertips that touch skin and pass through from soul to soul that hunts in the darkest hours, adopting the shadows like a god. Faces concealed and identity lost in the masses, they won’t be the same when the daylight strikes. Who will I be as the hours pass, cunning eyes searching the crowds for my next victim. My heavy eyes hung for him, waiting for my chance to strike. His lips curl at my sight, the skin of the lips thin, blood coursing a palpitating below, waiting to be touched. Come with me, I call, the darkness enveloping his soul within my fingers. Don’t worry about safety honey, we’ve only got tonight to wander through the unseen and find ourselves in the unknown. Follow me when I leave, lets run away from these people who only know our names. We’ve got death in common, lets abuse it. The goodnights of the soulless bodies drone our departure. I want to be hidden again, his hand in my hand, wrapped in the warmth, searching out for something more. The body is physical and real, but the mind can never been truly realised. It isn’t held like your hand in mine, would you believe me if I said that my mind has long gone with the disease. I live on air alone and desire to drag along your company, a heavy rock to hold me down to this earth. I will take you along for the ride, just close your eyes and hold your breath; it’ll all be over in a minute. Don’t think, just do, you won’t regret it. Kiss me, touch me, consume me while the darkness prevails, it’s retreating quickly. Tomorrow they will find us and the nightmares with return, don’t let the passion burn out. You’ll be mine forever, your blood on my tongue; my heart is your hands. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go.

Black circles hang from under my eyes
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,
And unperceivable.

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.

People lie,
I understand that now
Much more clearly.

They tell me nice things,
Wishful things,
But I have lost all sense of faith in humans.

My mind wonders
Days and nights on end
Analyzing,

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?

Monster Birth

That sickening feeling deep in her stomach suddenly increased to an unbearable pain. She only just stopped herself from screaming as she crumbled to the ground. All that was audible was a weak moan that just escaped her bleeding lips. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, taking some of the pressure of the burn off her back. Whatever it was inside of her, she knew it wouldn’t be long before it was out. Her blackened fingernails had fallen off only ten minutes ago, but she didn’t connect it with the monster inside of her. A few days ago her fingers were jammed between a door by her vicious kidnapper and had turned a deathly black. But that wouldn’t be enough of an answer for why all her finger nails, including her thumb nails, had fallen off all at the same time. Three days of sleep deprivation had been finding its way through her brain, and she couldn’t

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.

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.