You could laugh forever but never end up happy. You could love like only a parent can and lose it all to a letter and a gun.
And then what?
There’ll be times where you’ll laugh, but you’ll catch yourself. You’ll remember what you’ve lost and you’ll feel guilty for ever having smiled. You can’t know real happiness anymore. No, never again.
Yes, even as your eyes fill with tears Grievance washing over you like shores from a time long past Air shaped by your throat as it heaves choppy breaths into burnt lungs Yes, even then The stars of the desert sky write their will upon you And from this there can be no reprieve
Oh, if I could fade those heavens above They have shone their violent red starlight on you far too long Indeed, if your mother could see you now What would she think? Mouth agape As confused as Eve Staring from her orchard of Eden Down onto the barren desert that has swallowed us whole
Dearest Felisin, is it answers you are after? Do you only wish to know why she did it? Why you could not be loved, when you loved so feverishly? From you, Felisin, there is a hard-learned lesson in mortality To lose the fear of dying You must simply die everyday
In the end, it is all meaningless Did you find it that way? To be meaningless? The plots and plans Conspiracies and collaborations The treason and treachery And the final betrayal of truth - We will all die too soon
Oh, young Felisin There is much to say of mercy And so I shan't tell your story in truth As is my mercy to those that would hear it most But know this, lost Felisin Tonight I would weep for you
Oh, that I could have but one night free of nightmares, But alas, I believe my heart to have surrendered hope, My soul to have been tainted by the shadows of despair. For I have lost a friend.
Ever the brave soldier, You were not afraid of the darkness. Fitting to fate's affinity for irony, As it is now I that endures the depths of gloom Faced with but one truth that will outlast us all That whatever we do, We cannot prevent everything from falling apart
How I would ask for your strength now, Be it that you were still here.
Well I know this If I was there with you when the sky fell Watching as the debris rose in clouds Making its rapid march towards us You would say to me with a smile "The sky today is immaculately blue - Beautiful weather for an air raid"
After that night, each subsequent night was lonelier, colder. The memory haunts me still.
It was one of Zach's extravagant parties, back before he had given up on LA and it's crowd of try-hards and posers. He had this big pool in the back yard, something like you haven't ever seen. Imagine a resort in Tulum, and think bigger. Seriously, this pool had two full-service swim up bars. And people - myself included - were taking advantage of these bars.
Anyway, I was under the impression Kaitie wouldn't be there. And that's because Kaitie told me she wouldn't. She wanted to surprise me. Well, I wouldn't say it deserves the word ironic, but I know no other words to describe how reversed that situation became.
As I was saying, I had a few drinks and the swim up bar and made my way into a hot tub. If you've never drank in a hot tub, what you need to know is that it makes you noticeably more drunk than drinking in a normal situation. Being buzzed when I entered, the thought didn't occur to me that I might want to slow down. So I'm having a few drinks, and this woman across from starts playing footsies with me, and, being the idiot that I am, I reciprocate. I figure what the hell, it's fine, nobody else knows what's going on because of the bubbles. But me and her know, and she's giving me this look with her eyes, bouncing them back and forth from me to the inside of the of Zach's place. She has my libido stirring, and she can physically feel it now with her foot reaching up to my groin under the water.
Her eyes light up, and she gets out of the hot tub, giving me a wink as she walks out, grabbing a towel to dry herself on the way. I wait a minute, then get out to follow her, thinking "Sure nobody here will catch on," being the drunk idiot I am in the moment. I see her waiting around a corner, and she beckons me over and continues walking. This game of cat and mouse continues (though funny enough I'm the one chasing pussy) until we're in an empty room. And we start going at it immediately. Bathing suits off, lights on, on top of the covers - a particularly exposed position. And sure enough, after God knows how long of this going on, Kaitie swings the door open.
She had no words, just tears. They seemed to be instantaneous. I, on the other hand, tried to sputter out some sort of excuse or something, to no effect as she turned away and slammed the door on me.
Tick tock tick tock The benevolent clock suggests there's time for a break Put your pencils down, all you diligent bodies Students staring out the window in anticipation Workers with weary eyes from computer screens The ever generous clock says "Stop!" Congratulations, you have made it through another day
Tick tock tick tock Are you using your time well, young souls? Your rest is upon you, there is plenty of time Ah, but now there is one second less I hope you have made the most of it The assiduous clock reminds you that this time is to be cherished
Tick tock tick tock Back to work it is for you, friends You will have another break when the clock deems fit Too short, does it seem? The scheming clock insists that you do not waste its gift And it is, of course, a gift - would you question that?
Tick tock tick tock The occasion is running short Is there time left to call your father? Have you the moments to spare to thank your mother? The sinister clock reveals to us its final gift It warns us that we, too, will be forgotten Once our burden has been fulfilled
Mangled corpses and dismembered limbs lined Main street amongst fallen confetti and tussles of tinsel. Such was the aftermath of the bombing of Buffer on their 30th Independence day, a terrorist attack that targeted the massive parade on this day of would-be celebration. Such was the view of Tyrod Jones.
Tyrod Jones was twelve years old when terrorists first struck. He had lost a sibling and a mother; was left to be raised by his father in the remnants of a society that had devolved to a simple refugee camp. His people would be plagued with war for the next six years. Tyrod would lose his father to another such attack. He would move camp seventeen times over those six years leading up to his eighteenth birthday. And he would not lose the cold rage that pierced his core on that day of the first attack.
It was Tyrod's eighteenth birthday today, a day he long awaited. He was now able to join the freedom fighters of his home. Enlightened on the inside but wearing a serious demeanor across his face, he approached the enlistment tent.
"Hello, son. You lost, or are you looking for information?" asked one of the two men in full military camos from behind the desk, sitting in the shade the tent provided from the harsh sun.
"I'm here to enlist." spoke Tyrod in a matter of fact tone, making steady eye contact with the man who had spoken to him.
"Alright, glad to hear. I'm gonna need some information from you, and I'm assuming you have your ID? Do you have your papers on you, your birth certificate?" the same man inquired of Tyrod.
"It's all here." responded Tyrod firmly, while lifting a beige folder in his left hand.
"Excellent. Well-prepared, you are. We'll take your ID, and I'll need you to fill out some forms. Here, take these." the soldier handed the documents over to Tyrod, who in turn handed over his ID.
Tyrod scanned the documents silently and began to fill them out. The soldiers behind the desk examined the ID, then switched their gaze to Tyrod and studied him. Finally, the other soldier spoke. "Happy birthday, recruit. Might I ask, why are you enlisting today, on the very first day of your eighteenth year?"
Tyrod looked up from his forms. "For the people of my hometown, sir."
"It is too late to save them, son. We've no room for anymore hero types."
Tyrod stared at the man coldly. "I'm not here to be a hero, sir. You speak true, it's too late for saving. But the time is ripe for revenge."
"How'd it get like that?"
"You're asking me? How should I know?"
The two brothers sat upon one of the hundreds of thousands of boulders that made up the shore line, drizzled with mist from the lapping waves rolling in to their front. They both twisted their necks and stared to their left - the focus of their attention: a deep sky blue colored residence, only half hanging on to a solid pier, while the rest of the small, one story house, which was contorted diagonally , clung to the emptiness of about twenty-five meters that made up the space between the home and the rocky shore below. The face of the dwelling seemed to stare out into the sea, with each of the two windows on the protruding side appearing almost as eyes.
"Well, I mean, what do you think happened?" asked the smaller of the two brothers, his mouth still hanging slack jawed from the odd sight.
"They didn't build it like that, that's for sure!" laughed the other.
"So?"
"So what? A storm blew it over there, or a tsunami picked it up and dropped it there. Some sort of natural phenomenon is my guess. If there're residents, they're lucky, that's for sure."
The tinier brother's eyes widened. "A storm? Storms can get that big, that strong? To move a house right down a bridge? I've nev--"
"It's not a bridge, Adam, it's a pier. Besides, that's just my guess. Maybe they did build it that way!" He coughed out those words in a chuckle. "Those idiots!"
Adam, unsatisfied with the answer, kept his gaze on the house. A frown crept across his face. "Tommy?" he asked, eyes glued to the blue building.
"What is it now?"
"Do you think maybe the house just wanted to enjoy the view?" he inquired innocently with wonder in his tone.
At this, Tommy barked a laugh. "Adam, you think the house got up and moved itself over there? It's a building, buddy, it doesn't 'enjoy views'. It's not alive, you know."
"Are you sure?"
Tommy continued to show teeth through an amused grin. "I'm sure, bud." he said, and looked back out to the ocean sprawled in front of them.
And just then, when only Adam's eyes held upon the home on a pier, he saw a window close and quickly reopen, as if to wink at him in knowing.
It's been happening for a while now, and today I think it's finally complete.
Every morning I would awake in terror. A nightmare that I had slaughtered someone and butchered them in my shed. Just a crazy dream, I'd say. But I'd look in the mirror when I'd get up, and something would be... off. A part of my face would be replaced with someone, something, else's. My reflection yesterday revealed the truth to me. All that was left was my left eye, staring back at me in it's dark brown frightful gaze.
And today it's blue. It's a blue eye, and the eye on my right is hazel. These aren't my eyes. In fact, this isn't my nose, these aren't my cheeks - none of it is me anymore. Am I still me?
You see, the change has been slow. At first, it was a finger. Having someone else's finger didn't seem like that big of a deal. Even a hand, or an arm. I was still just me, with someone else's arm. But slowly all my pieces were replaced, one by one. And without warning, I seemed to vanish into nothingness. I'm not sure when the threshold was crossed. When did I stop becoming 'me with someone else's parts' to 'a new person with some of my original parts'? Does it even matter? The last remaining part of my original identity is now gone. I can't even be certain who's memories these are. Did the same thing happen to my personality, to my mind?
Anyways, there's a silver lining here. Maybe now that the metamorphosis is complete the nightmares will stop and I'll be able to carry on as a normal person, like I was so long ago. As for the shed, I think I'll continue to stay away from there. I'm afraid of what I'd find inside.
Nala and Rohan grew up together in a small town upstate New York. They dreamed of flying. When they were six, they would pretend they were birds or dragonflies and run around the yard. When they were ten, they would act as pilots, commanding a cardboard box or a swing set as if taking off and soaring through the air. At age twelve, they would eagerly rush home and do their homework, both top students in the eighth grade, excelling in science and mathematics. This, of course, was part of their plan to fulfill their life long dream - to defy the laws of nature, to make an affront to physics: to fly.
These plans, which dictated Nala and Rohans actions for years, turned out to be quite delicate. Much like a glass window shattered by a brick, these intentions of theirs were destroyed around Rohan's seventeenth birthday. Driving together to meet up with some friends from high school, a drunk driver struck their vehicle. Nala had lost an eye, and Rohan was bound to a wheelchair. And thus, the two were barred from ever becoming pilots.
After losing the one thing that had bound them together for so many years, the pair now grew distant. Though it was the fault of a drunk driver, Nala couldn't held but grow resentment towards her once dear friend who was driving at the time of the incident. Rohan picked up on this quickly, and the rift tore them apart. Years had past, each moved on with their lives on their own accord.
Then one day, Nala received a phone call from Rohan, and they talked. And talked, and talked. Turns out, neither of them were doing very well after the accident. So they decided to meet at Rohan's apartment complex, where he bragged of having a rooftop with views of New York City.
At the top of the 35 floor complex, Nala and Rohan could see for miles. They took in all the city surrounding them. Rohan was sure they were thinking the same thing - this must be what it would be like to be a bird, soaring at the height of buildings and even higher. Rohan rolled his way over to the edge. Looking down, he said to Nala "This might be our last chance. Why don't we take it?" And with that, he used his arms to lift himself over the railing, and flew to the ground below.
There was a slight breeze that riled blue, translucent curtains into a dance, then carried on to brush gently against Marie's forehead. She welcomed it. The air smelled lightly of lavender, a synthetic scent from the detergent of the completed laundry she now folded upon her perfectly done up full-size bed. She picked up an azure colored sundress, covered in a small, white floral pattern, and began to fold one side over the other in meticulous fashion, just before placing it on top of the pile of other similar attire that sat on top of her flawless white quilt. She had saved the socks for last, and these she now paired off and tucked into each other to make little balls of cotton cloth. She would soon finish her chores and use the rest of the daylight to enjoy a book in the cozy reading nook of her office which was vibrant with well-maintained flora. For Marie, organization was the crux of cleanliness, and cleanliness, which was, of course, next to godliness, was the key to a happy heart.
Tomorrow, Marie would have guests. They would witness her home in its pristine condition - not one blanket untucked, not one plant withered, nor one picture on the wall askew. They would eat, drink, play games and dance. It would be a good time, and Marie was happy to play host. But then, the guests would leave. There would be dishes in the sink and dust on the cabinets. She would need to clean the common areas and sanitize the bathroom. And so the following morning she would begin her ritual again. As Marie sat in the loveseat in her office, the sun alighting the book in her hands, the thought brought a smile to her face.
