Grandmas and Grandpas die, This is fact. The way of the world in all her vicious glory.
This fact is largely accepted and expected. We know the old will perish but, even then, they’re not easily mourned.
For mortality to a human is a spider’s web to a fly.
Worse still as not all flies succumb to such a fate.
We all succumb to ours, but, even then, it is expected.
The unexpected losses are what hurt most, I think.
I expected the cancer in grandmother’s smoke ridden lungs to devour her.
To remove the best parts of her until there was only suffering left.
In truth, that is when death can be a mercy. A welcome repreive.
Grandpa died slowly, drawn out. A broken heart his first symptom.
It was unpleasant, for us, when he started forgetting. Perhaps, for him, it was a mercy.
He died not knowing he had outlived his own grandson.
Which brings me to you. The grandson. The unexpected. The unaccepted.
I thought we were invincible, you see. The young I mean, not you and me.
I was under the impression nothing could stop us.
Admittedly, I was wrong. We are easily extinguished.
In truth, I know now that it wasn’t quite so unexpected.
For while you were no grandma, you were a corpse long before the grave.
I see the signs now. The dullness in chocolate brown eyes.
Sunken cheeks of an undernourished body. Oortrydung ribs of a starved soul.
Straw hair without shine. Looking back, I hate that I was far less than kind.
I digress because the truth is you’re already gone. Allegedly, forever at rest.
Still, it’s hard to accept that a world can end at only twenty four.
Mostly, I think I’m a hypocrite. I didn’t love you in life. Not really.
We bickered and fought but mostly we just didn’t talk.
You asked me to call you that week. The week of your death. I didn’t.
Sometimes I wonder if that choice smears some of your blood on my hands.
Because even though your death was bloodless it left a splatter.
Though it’s not as if this matters. This is but a fanciful conversation. Between the living and the dead.
Odette Eldrid always believed her kingdom’s old addage, the streets were paved in blood, to be a tad melodramatic.
For merely a year prior, the young woman couldn’t have imagined such a thing in actuality. The red headed warrior princess could easily imagine it now as she walked through the once bustling street of her capital city.
The very cobblestone street she’d walked down for her coronation, which had been lined with red and gold then, was now swathed in a reddish brown color.
Dried blood. For her city’s streets truly were paved in the rust colored liquid now.
Oddette’s stomach churned as she took in the devasation of her once beautiful kingdom.
Red filled her vision, sorrow turning to visceral anger in her chest. Twisting her ruby red heart into something far darker.
For, it was her fault.
She hadn’t taken the Auburn King, and his blood mages, threats seriously. At least, not as seriously as she should have.
She’d heard the stories, as all in her kingdom, Lymira, had. She knew the mages and false king where feared throughout the lands across the Vernillion Sea to the west, but she had her Gingray.
Giant, fantastical crimson scaled beasts capable of breathing red hot fire. Not to mention, an entire kingdom loyal to her and their fellow man.
She foolishy thought that was enough. It was not.
Her calamity of Gingray, twenty strong, was wiped out in one fell swoop by the Auburn King’s forbidden blood magic. Before her army had even finished rallying he’d pushed through their defenses with his savage army, causing all there to either retreat or perish.
Odette could do nothing to stop the bloodletting. For, while her magic was powerful even then, it was a healer’s touch she possessed. Utterly useless in a war, for she couldn’t even revive her Gingray - there had been nothing left of them.
So, now she walked painfully slowly through the streets of her fallen kingdom. Looking for any survivors, as she trudged toward her fate.
She found none, only blood and gore survived the latest battle. As did she.
One useless so called warrior princess. She was unable to save her kingdom from their scarlet hued fate. She’d protected some as long as she could, had held out nearly a year after the inital attack, but this last battle had left her city decimated.
There was nothing left for her to do now, far too many people had died to save her the fate of the prophecy. It was time she too accepted her fate.
So, she walked and walked and walked further still.
Until she made it to what was once her rose colored palace, but now belonged to someone else entirely.
Blood mages guarded the entrance. They stiffened at her approach, but didn’t move. The stiffening was a sign that they knew she’d learned far more than how to heal in this past year but she made no move to attack. Only walked up the carmine steps with bare blood covered feet.
The red mages smiled insidiously as she passed them, heading through the towering gates, and straight to the throne room.
The Auburn King, Edom, sat upon her ruby throne with a sickening smile on his too red lips.
“Welcome home,” he purred sweetly, but she wasn’t so easily beguiled. She knew his friendly demeanor to be a mask he took on and off at his leisure. She’d fallen for it once before when she’d called for a truce.
That truce was met with sweet words and fake smiles she foolishly believed - it ended with hundreds of her people dead. The memory made her back straighten and blood boil.
“You’re in my chair.” She said, held high as she continued to walk towards him. Her bare feet ached, having carried her tens of miles from her encampment on the outskirts of Lymira, but nonetheless she walked surefooted to the ruby incrusted throne.
Not letting a speck of her fear show.
“Am I now?” The Auburn King drawled, head cocked as he stared at the bodice of her gown, looking like the drooling mutt he was.
“Yes.” She stated, that one word holding so much power the roof of her palace shook. The blood mages guarding the king took a few steps forward.
The Auburn King held up a hand, halting his guards. They immediately stopped moving as if puppets on the King’s strings. It was a foolish thing to do, but something she had been counting on. Edom had always thought little of her and her lithe body, seeing no threat worth taking serious in her crimson eyes.
That would be his downfall, as it had been hers.
“Why do you come here, Odette?” The king inquired, raising a perfectly shaped brow.
“To die,” she said solemnly.
Before the mages or the Auburn King could react she was upon him, using the magic she’d practiced to move faster than should be possible. In a heartbeat, she was atop him, straddling his much larger frame with a dagger poised against his throat.
The Auburn King swallowed thickly, knicking himself against her sharp blade as a trail of bright red blood slipped down his pale throat.
“Honestly, you wench. You must know how futile this is. You’ll never make it out of my cas-“ The words turned into garbled nonsense as she slit the male’s throat.
Crimson blood sprayed her face, but she wasn’t the fragile princess she used to be. It didn’t sicken her, instead she smiled and lifted the knife once more before plunging it into his skull.
“As I said,” Princess Odette Eldrid of Lymira growled into the false King’s ear. “I came to die.”
She wrenched the blade free. A moment later, the mages were upon her. They grabbed at her viciously, tearing her clothes in the process as they attacked the woman.
They beat her mercilessly, flinging her into each other’s magic filled attacks. Her skin burned under their attacks but she gritted her teeth and bared it.
Bared it for all of those who suffered before her.
After a few more vicious blows, a particularly enraged mage apparently grew tired of toying with her. He raised his sword and plunged it into her stomach. The shock was immediate, as was the blood.
She looked down at the wound and past it to the palace floor and smiled.
Finally, it was her ruby hued blood that had fallen.
“Stop smiling, whore!” The mage growled, twisting the blade painfully but she couldn’t stop smiling. even as the pain deepened. Because past the frantic shouting and clanking of metal she heard the beautiful sound of her Gingray’s powerful wings.
The prophecy was true then.
A princess with a heart of rubies must, by her hand, end the life of another, the prophecy had went. A false king with a rusted heart of reddish brown must be felled. Only then, would order be brought to the world, raising all that was never meant to be lost.
Odette fell to her knees, the sword slicing sickeningly through her as she hit the ground, but she was long past feeling.
“You better run,” she said with watery eyes and a savage blood red smile as her blood filled her mouth. The mage’s eyes widened as hers began to close. She fell back, the sword slipping from her as she fell hard to the ground.
‘The Ruby Princess may die today,’ she thought, still smiling, as she slipped away. ‘But my kingdom will rise stronger from my blood and ashes.’
The last thing she heard and felt was the sorrowful trilling of her crimson hued Gingrays. And, the shaking of her castle as they landed, beginining their attack.
Then there was nothing, but blessed peace and for once she didn’t see red.
For the end was golden, beautiful, and hers.
I am not a butterfly, I am a moth which is to say
I am attracted to the light, but I do not live in it.
I have plenty to say, but no mouth to speak.
I do no harm, but strike fear in many.
I am covered in intricate designs, but not considered anyone’s beautiful.
I am a pollinator bringing life to the world, but am hardly recognized for my good deeds.
I live a purposeful life but am not meant long for this world.
All of this to say, oh how I wish to be a butterfly, or really, anything but me.
If your hand could reach inside my heart, what would you do with it?
Would you hold it as you might a newborn?
With all the delicacy love and care in the world.
Would you whisper to it sweet nothings as it fluttered?
Tell it how strong and golden it is, how beautiful.
Would you rub it as you might a sore, aching back?
Massage away the pain of grief and betrayal.
Would you kiss it tenderly blood, tissue and all?
Because you just know a restorative kiss could save it.
Would you shelter it from the world’s cruelness?
Create a fortress of love and trust around the too delicate organ.
Or would you treat it the same as past lovers?
As if it were a toy and you a badly behaved toddler.
Would you squeeze it in clenched fists?
If only to see how much it could handle.
Would you wring out every last drop of my love?
Fill it in a vial labeled useless juice and drink it for the thrill.
Would you poke and prod as if it was a lab rat?
Throw it into a tangled maze you knew it had no chance of escaping.
Would you dissect it as if it were an unlucky toad?
Pick it apart so you could see what makes it tick so prettily.
Would you tie it’s delicate strings into complicated knots?
Knots that could only possibly be untied by their creator.
Even worse to consider would you do both?
Love me as fiercely as you plan to hurt me.
Would you soothe old wounds only to create new ones?
Kiss and rub away the scars others created only to leave your special mark.
Would you love and hate me in a tempest of emotion?
Your hate the hurricane and your love the eye I try to shelter in.
The truth is, if your hand could reach inside my heart, I would be at your mercy.
That’s why grubby fingers never make it past the cage of my ribs.
I shall rhyme, to keep the time.
AA
BB
CC
Don’t forget, DD.
I shall count so as to know my syllables amount.
One
Two
Three
One, two.
Though, while I may count and rhyme, my purpose is not only to keep the time.
It’s truly about the emotion; the power of words well chosen.
See, I know of my power to make you cry to make your heart twist shrivel up and die.
I even understand how to make you laugh heartily enough you quake.
I see more than most know, I see exactly how to help you grow.
AA BB CC DD… perhaps even EE
I hate the structure of it at times I wish I could speak the way I wanted.
To flow unperturbed in ways only I could decide, To move like an ocean rather than a pool.
I do not wish to be stagnant, I want to rise and dip. Wax and wane.
I want to grow with you. I want to spread my wings and fly like the birds written in me.
But alas i cannot For no one has ever given me that shot
So instead It shall be AA BB CC DD until I’m dead.
Dont feel too badly for me though For I experience a world unlike any you could know.
I know the joy brought by a baby’s smile, For young mothers wrote of it for a while.
I know the sorrow in a widow’s heart, the suffering of being forever apart.
I know the rage in a warrior’s brow, though it isn’t written of as intimately now.
I know the misery of those shipwrecked, lost at sea For I’ve tirelessly described the debris.
I know the grief in a childless father’s eyes slicing deeper than any whiskey could disguise.
I know the scorn of women for they write often in prison.
I know the hearts of evil men too, for they also write me as they stew.
I know too of the inspiring young writer for they make my world shine a bit brighter.
I have the pleasure of knowing many hearts truth be told whether young or old, blackened or gold, weak willed or bold.
So, as I said, don’t feel bad for us, whether A Limerick or a Haiku or an Epic unlike any other because you, dear reader, are what brings us together.
A ray of sunshine pierces through the Blinds. A yawn splits my maw as I rise. Can’t wait. Gotta pee. Tail wagging, Dainty nails clacking on hardwood. “Early bird gets the worm,” I tell my mom. “F- off,” she grumbles but I bark again. Guess she wants to do this the Hard way. I howl my fury. It’s time to get up, my bark pleads. Just get up and let me pee! “Keep your tail on!” Mom grumbles and I smile. Loose curls frame her face as she turns to me. “My God,” she murmurs as she rolls off the bed Now take me out! I bark, with a whine “Odie!” She grumbles holding her head. Prancing around her feet I run to the back door. “Quit it, come on!” The back door opens and I Rush from the house. Tripping on my big paws. Sunshine warms my fur as I do my business. This is the life, I think as the grass tickles my pads. Under the bluest of skies, up before the sun finishes its rise. Very little is as cherished as this. I hear mom at my back, still in the kitchen, With her coffee and a smile. “Xavier,” mom greets happily and I turn, my tail whipping frantically. Yes! That is dad at the door back from his night shift. I rush to the door. It opens and Zoom. I’m there. I kiss them both. Best Morning Ever.
Is this the right thing to do?
I wish I knew, but I’m only twenty two.
Does this make me weak?
Choosing myself over the meek.
“Legs up here, hon.
Don’t worry. You’ll soon be done.”
A single tear slides from my eye.
Is it right to let my baby die?
The father is gone, no where to be seen.
My parents only bit of advice: “At least you’re not sixteen.”
Is this reason enough?
I take a deep breath; I knew this would be rough.
“Just a pinch,
Don’t move an inch.”
Gods, will I ever forgive myself?
This guilt is enough to make one off themself.
Should I even feel this guilt?
It’s not like I want my baby to wilt.
Why should I even feel this pain?
I believe every woman has the right to do the same.
Besides, what could I do different?
I’m young, broke, and alone. Not belligerent.
Why does this hurt so much?
My eyes squeeze shut. A nurse’s hand I clutch.
“There you’re all set.
It’s perfectly normal to be upset.”
Why do I feel so empty?
It’s not like I used a machete.
Tears pour freely from my eyes.
Was this truly wise?
Does it matter?
My baby is already no more than splatter.
I clutch my hands to my fading bump
as I swallow my throat’s growing lump.
Should I have done it?
While it’s hard to admit
And I truly feel like shit
It feels wrong to ignore
what I feel at my core.
Was it the right choice?
I don’t know, but I feel ready to rejoice.
Is it wrong to be relieved after a fetus’s death?
I don’t know, but I can finally take a deep breath.
Am I a monster?
No, I don’t think. I just wasn’t willing to be a martyr.
In my dreams, you’re a hero. The man who pulled his friends from a burning vehicle. The one who couldn’t turn a blind eye.
In my dreams, you’re a protector. The man who made me tell him just how awful my boyfriend really was. The one who sought vengeance in my honor.
In my dreams, you’re an adventurer. The man who traveled the world making friends wherever you went. The one who attracted people like bugs to light.
In my dreams, you are that light. The man who lit up a room by gracing it with your presence. The one who brought life into our family’s heart.
In my dreams, you are alive. The man who promised to me that God didn’t want you. The one who swore he’d be okay no matter what.
In reality, you’re a villain. The man who prowled the streets in the dead of night, searching for a fix. The one who didn’t care who got in his way.
In reality, you’re the aggressor. The man who demanded I tell him where our mother had thrown away his poison. The one who threatened suicide in front of me.
In reality, you’re a settler. The man rooted so deeply in a single substance you cared of nothing else. The one who sunk into it like it was quicksand.
In reality, you’re darkness. The man who cast a shadow over his family with a single syringe. The one who cast us in endless oblivion.
In reality, you’re dead.
Is it any wonder I’d rather be asleep?
The first year after your death was the hardest; Largely because I still expected you to come back. To walk in the door, with a sideways grin & a shrug. Asking, “Did ya miss me?”
I do miss you; you have not come back. Not that first year, nor the near six that’ve followed. Meanwhile, each passing year the grief has been harder and harder to swallow.
What am I to do this coming March? When my birthday arrives and I reach the age that you stopped aging.
When you pushed that filth into your veins did you think of the fate you subjected me to? How you doomed a little sister to become the bigger?
I try to remember the good; the leaf piles and igloos. But it’s overshadowed by the bad; the silent, immobile hearts and ambulances.
I wish for your return every day Still hoping one day you’ll respond To the messages I still send you. But Gods, I swear I’ll just never forgive you.
Sometimes I wish you were alive so we could fight Square up, and bloody each other, until I could knock the light out of your eyes, like you did mine.
You know what, I’m tired of trying to be kind, You want to know the legacy you left behind?!
You’ve made our father shrink Both in personality and in size he’s half the man he was when his son was alive. I can see it in his - your - eyes.
You’ve made our mother wilt a beautiful flower shriveling without her light. You’ve left her fair skin covered in angry red scars that only my weary grief stricken eyes can see.
You’ve made our angry older sister that much more bitter and she’s folded in on herself like a retired flag. Now I’m forced to miss her too!
So I f*cking ask you dear brother, Did you ever stop to consider, what would truly happen when you made your little sister the bigger?
