I’m killing Eliza Because everyone loves her
I’m killing Eliza Because you would dream of her
I’m killing Eliza Because her voice is sweeter than song
I’m killing Eliza Because she can do no wrong
I’m killing Eliza Because she’s who no soul can blame
I’m killing Eliza Because her and I could never be the same
I’m killing Eliza Because her hair glows brighter than fire
I’m killing Eliza Because her eyes sparkle like sapphire
I’m killing Eliza Because she is the one all desire
I’m killing Eliza Because to be like her we can only aspire
I’m killing Eliza Because she’s who I admire
I’m killing Eliza Because I can’t despise her
I’m killing Eliza Because when I close my eyes I only see her
I’m killing Eliza Because I want to be her
S weet summer air I feel the breeze run cool fingers through my hair L ying under a canopy of green E very moment of stillness is serene N o losing time that others stole C riss cross applesauce, hands in the bowl E ven a bit of calm is gold
I prefer the chatter of the brook to human voices S olitude is one of my best choices
G reat it is to be alone O n my own I could for hours roam L ittle do you know D ays go by faster, on my own
I snuck a peek at him as his fingers brushed my hand.
So softly
Ever so softly
I looked over at him, hands gripping the wheel, blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.
So focused
Ever so focused
I gazed up at him as he talked to the guy at the counter.
“We want a large popcorn and an iced slushy.”
He turned towards me and caught my eye. He smiled a little.
So slightly
Ever so slightly
I watched him looking at the screen, white and blue like the movie scene dancing over his skin in the dark.
He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “This movie is boring,” he said, his breath tickling my ear. I murmured my agreement, even as the man behind us muttered something about dumb teenagers talking too much. “Do you want to go somewhere?” he continued. I nodded without considering what I was agreeing to. Next thing I knew, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat.
So gently Ever so gently
I caught a glimpse of him smiling as we stood outside of the movie theater, just under the balcony so we wouldn’t get wet in the pouring rain.
“It’s a little stormy out,” I said, having to raise my voice to be heard over the howling wind.
“What’d you say?” he yelled in my ear. “I can’t hear you!”
He grabbed my arm and then we were running through the parking lot as the rain pounded against the ground and the wind blew water in our faces. We ran.
So fast
Ever so fast
The car door shut behind me, and I saw his grinning face outside the window. I watched as he ran around to the driver’s side. We were sopping wet, and I realized that the water could ruin the car seats.
“Won’t your father be mad?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t really mind. The worst he can do is yell and ground me.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.
“Listen, I really don’t care. It’s worth it anyways, being with you.”
This time, he smiled. Really smiled, and looked me in the eyes as he did. I felt a grin spreading across my own face.
This is how I knew It was all becoming real.
So real
Ever so real
The children we raised knew something wasn’t quite right with mommy and daddy. They asked about it, but I knew they weren’t ready.
Falling out of love is complicated, especially when the other person is clueless. How was I supposed to do this? Oh, how was he so blind as to miss how I’d recoil when he touched my skin, was so tense when I’d talk to him? Maybe he knew but didn’t want to leave me. That man was always so needy. I wasted away until my children grew bold, my house was sold, my hands too weak to hold, and my hair no longer gold, but gray.
That one man I’d been married to disappeared one day, as they all say. Now I’m in a nursing home where the people are old, and I don’t want to stay. I’m still 23, at least in spirit, even though the kids call me “Grandma dearest.”
Not all of my kids still visit me, and I’m keeping that in mind as I finalize the will. Jenny stops by every week, but the girl can never sit still! I’ve always liked Trevor, but he’d probably waste the money on some half-baked endeavor. Then there’s Beatrice. Next! (I’m not a fan of all her tricks.) I’m sure Frank is going places. I don’t want Trinity to have it, she’d probably waste it. As for Ben, that kid doesn’t need the money. But what about Honey?
I thought I had a cold but I feel extra bad. Every sneeze racks my body, every sniffly inhale feels like the last. My good health may soon be a thing of the past.
The sickness has become something more serious. I’m quarantined now, but I’m still quite delirious. Every day as I rot in bed, I think of the past. Every good memory could have been the last. But no, life has been good. I haven’t done too many extraordinary things, but I’ve had fun. I’d be was okay if it was all done.
The sand sticks to your skin. The grains are going to scrub at your skin, revealing a red, itchy spot when you try to wash it off later. You don’t care, though. All you can think about is the water.
There’s nobody here today. The beach is empty, but you don’t mind. You like it that way, as you’ve always preferred solitude.
The wind is strong today. It whips your hair around your face. The red flag, stationed several yards away from the water is swinging in the wind, too. You wonder what a silly thing like that could be there for.
The water is cold today, you realize after dipping your toes in a tide pool. It feels refreshing. The beach always feels more surreal with a cool ocean.
The waves are rough today. Staying afloat would be a struggle for a less experienced swimmer. You know how to handle yourself better than most, though.
When your arms and legs grow heavy, you float on your back, the ocean tossing you around like a group of kids playing with a ball. You let it, though, too sleepy to do otherwise. You’re feeling tired today. You let your eyes drift shut, and the light of the sun gradually fades away.
The water is definitely getting colder. Maybe it’s time to go home. With a bit of discomfort, you slide off of your back, and let yourself plunge downwards, wanting to feel the soft, wet sand under your feet one last time before you leave. Instead you sink down, startled when the floor doesn’t stop your descent as you continue to plummet. How deep does this place go? Where’s the ground? After a moment, you open your eyes.
Water. Too much. You’ve never seen this much water. And it’s all around you. Where’s the end? You glimpse a fish. You never see fish close to shore. Where are you? You’ve never been here before. Looking down into the opaque depths, you can’t imagine where the bottom could be. You can’t even find the surface!
How could you have been so foolish? The flag was red. A red flag means strong currents. Red means danger. Red means STAY AWAY.
Your head begins to feel light. Lack of oxygen must be turning your brain into a ball of fuzz! You let out a little laugh, and a few bubbles escape your mouth before you regain enough sense to close it.
You watch the bubbles float away. So that’s up. You follow the little bubbles. Push, push, push at the water until you glimpse a bit of light.
You surface, lungs burning. You can manage one breath before a wave slams into you, pushing salty water down your throat. You cough, heaving the liquid out of your mouth.
You go under again by the next wave, struggling to resurface. Is it necessary, though? Under the water, it’s so nice and peaceful. You only have to fight when you’re above.
When you finally make your way back up to the chaos, you don’t see the shore anywhere even after searching the horizon.
There’s nobody here today. You’ve never felt so alone.
The wind is strong today. Salt stings your eyes as the winds blast them with air.
The water is cold today. It numbs your limbs, making your head feel light. It inserts an icy syringe deep into your skin, fatigue reaching your bones.
The waves are rough today, you realize as you go under again, taking a mouthful of water with you.
This time, you don’t come back up.
Today is your lucky day You’ll see me try to rhyme (Key word: try) I swear, if this is a waste of time…
While you’re here, maybe I’ll tell you why this sucks Poetry is so RESTRICTIVE Don’t even get me started… It makes me feel a tad vindictive
Writing a poem is a struggle Even reading one doesn’t make sense And the poems we “analyze” (more like make up meanings for) in English class… Edgar Allen Poe, where did you think you were you going with this?
I must stop with this nonsense It makes me want to throw my phone across my room Punch a hole in the wall Make myself a tomb
I am truly sorry if this sucks My sincere apologies if it’s bad But I seem to lack the proper inspiration Probably because this stuff makes me mad.
Your “love” was poison Crept into my veins Your “love” trapped me Wrists bound by invisible strains
Why couldn’t I notice? Your “love” was fake Even if I thought it was true I should have known it would break
Your “love” nearly choked me Hands pressing against my throat All while singing a song But you never hit the right note
Your “love” is a killer Lurking in the night I was your victim You would hold my heart tight
Just to rip it apart from the seams You nearly ended my life Ignored my screams You didn’t deserve what you had, not even your life
One day I snapped Gave you a taste of pain My kitchen knife is in your back Cleansing your blood from my hands, red water down the drain
Sarah’s head had been resting on Sam’s shoulder when she got THE CALL. She remembered the way THE PHONE had rung, how she’d gotten up from her seat with a whispered, “I’ll get it,” and the ten second walk from the couch to the counter.
She’d picked up HER PHONE. It had HIS name on the screen. But Sam is sitting on the couch, she’d thought, looking back over her shoulder to make sure. There he was, looking up at her, a half smile on his face, book in hand. She smiled back, hiding her confusion. That’s weird, she thought, but answered IT anyways, making sure to turn IT on speaker so her husband could listen in case it was something weird.
After she picked up THE CALL, Sam, the real Sam, had said, “Babe, I’m almost back! I’m driving home from the airport. God, you wouldn’t believe how much the parking garage fees were. I’m thirty minutes out.” That was Sam’s voice.
Why would he be at the airport? The only thing she remembered was him telling her he was going on vacation a couple weeks ago, but he came back a few hours later saying the flight had gotten canceled. He’d been acting odd since then, but nothing out of the ordinary. He forgot her favorite color, forgot what restaurant they went to on Saturdays for dinner, but nothing big night to seriously raise her suspicion.
She had glanced back, but “Sam” was still sitting on the couch, now without a smile, and definitely without a phone.
“Who is this?” She’d asked.
Silence on the other end. Then, “Sarah, I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me, but money hasn’t been easy to come by. This isn’t the time to make jokes.”
Coming back from where? Wasn’t he on the couch?
“But… you’re right here.”
“Sam” wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was on his feet, expression unreadable.
“Sarah, hang up the call,” he told her, voice even.
Something clicked in her mind. She didn’t know what it was yet, but she knew it was bad.
“No thank you,” she said, taking a step back. “I don’t think I will.”
The speakers on her phone blared out, “Who is that?”
Something was wrong. “You, apparently,” she muttered.
“Sam” wasn’t calm anymore. “End the call!” He had shouted, his voice loud enough for the real Sam to hear.
“Sarah,” real Sam had said, “what does he look like?”
“Sam” made a grab for the phone, but Sarah dodged it and started backpedaling away from him, “Sam” still advancing towards her.
“He looks exactly like you,” she said into the phone.
“Run, Sarah.”
“What?”
“He’s not who he says he is.”
“Sam” watched as Sarah’s face paled, realization dawning in her eyes, confusion turning into fear. He listened as the phone relayed the noise of tires skidding, cars honking, and real Sam’s hollered instructions. He would be here any minute now. Unwise of him to drive to his death. The real question was whether or not to spare the girl. The girl…
He had first seen her walking through his forest a month ago, one of the first visitors in months. Most were scared off by the “deadly snakes” the trail was rumored to be home to. Really, it was just him. The few people not frightened off by the sign, he killed them too. Better to keep up the reputation of the doomed hiking trail so he could scare off the people. He preferred solitude, peace and quiet. He believed that all humans were messy, bringing destruction wherever they went. That was, until she came along. He remembered the way the sun had shone on her blonde hair, turning it golden, the way she laughed after tripping over a tree root. He recalled thinking that maybe she wasn’t scared of snakes. Then perhaps she wouldn’t be scared of shapeshifters like him either, or murdering someone. He could see them together, taking pleasure in cleansing their hands of the blood, laughing as their victims screamed. Maybe he could teach her the art of shapeshifting as well, if all worked out. She did seem to like it here, after all. She could enjoy this forest, living here with him, as much as she wanted. Yes, he decided, he had been alone for too long.
So he spared her life that day, and when the chance had come, he replaced her husband by pretending to be him. He shapeshifted into Sam, and told her he wasn’t going away after all. When he saw the joy in her eyes, that when he knew that he could treat her better than her husband had. He could make her happy, something Sam had failed to do after he left for the airport. He wasn’t good enough for her anyways. He traveled away and left her alone. He didn’t have enough money to spend on her. Yet she was content with Sam, so she must be happy with him.
Yet now her eyes said otherwise. So did her mouth. “Who are you?” She asked, golden blonde hair falling in sheets around her face.
“Whoever you want me to be,” he answered. “I can be Sam, anyone you know, or whoever you like. I can change myself to be whatever you want me to be.”
His words didn’t have the intended effect. She took another step back, away from him.
“I’m a shapeshifter,” he explained.
“You’re… a monster,” she had said, all the while moving away.
“You don’t love me,” he said.
This seemed to surprise her. “You think… that I love you? No. I love Sam.”
“I could be Sam. You wouldn’t know that anything is different.”
“I love him. Not some creature pretending to be him.”
He recoiled as if her words were a blow to his face. Sam’s face, actually. He’d changed himself, been someone else, all for her. If she couldn’t understand the extent of things he would do for her and couldn’t love him for that, she never would.
She had hurt him. Killing her could take the pain away.
He let himself change, heard her scream, felt the blood on his claws as her life drained away.
He saw a man in a car drive past and let himself become him. He studied his hands, now human again, but still stained with Sarah’s blood.
She was dead, that was for sure. Then why did his heart ache double what it had before? Why did his hands feel like they had betrayed him? Why was this feeling that this was his fault still pierce his soul?
She brought this upon herself, he decided.
Even after fleeing the scene, returning to his forest, which felt tainted by her presence, and repeating that it was her own fault to himself millions of times, it didn’t feel true. So he lived with the pain.
My fans in the crowd, I don’t think you know just how many people I’ve had to eliminate to get here. Would you still be clapping had you known?
Tonight my dress feels heavy and seems to drag me down, but at least it looks splendid for the cameras. It cost a pretty penny, but I need to look impeccable. Would you still be clapping if I didn’t?
Fame is overrated. It’s just a reminder that the world is watching and therefore judging my every move, and that I must be better than every other person to earn your love. Would you still be clapping if I wasn’t?
Why do you think that every one of the other stars in my field of work have disappeared into the night before your very eyes, all except for me? Of course I killed them. Who else would? I can still see the ghosts of blood stains on my hands. It’s messy work, but it worked like a charm. Earned your short lived attention, didn’t it? They’re gone now. Would you still be clapping if they weren’t?
You yell and applaud and whoop and whistle because you love me, all of you. I am adored by all gathered in the auditorium tonight. Would you still feel that way had you known the real me, had you known the person I am rather than who I pretend to be? I think not.
When I wake up, it’s not bright out yet, but I still feel well rested. I haven’t slept this well in days. Ever since the robots took over, life has been a struggle.
I get up and unzip the opening to the tent, pausing a moment to take in my surroundings before stepping outside into the crisp autumn air. Soon it’ll be winter, I realize. Food will be scarcer. Just another difficulty to add to my current list.
It’s been six months, I realize, since April 30th. If I could forget that day, I would. The Electronic Uprising, as it is now called, was, to say the least, an unpleasant experience. I’ve survived for half a year. All thanks to my own resourcefulness, of course. I’m always on my own.
I’ve been migrating from place to place for a while, almost like a bird. A few times, I’ve stumbled across communities, like this one. Humans are social creatures, so I guess it does make sense that they would band together. Safety in numbers, they say. I don’t stay at communities for either of those reasons, though. I’ve always been better on my own. Probably because I don’t trust people, at least not anymore. The last time I did that, it didn’t go so well. Once bitten, twice shy, I guess. Honestly, I’m not even sure if that’s what the saying means. My education was interrupted by the Uprising, so why should I?
I used to think my life was hard. Sure, my parents were lower class citizens. I didn’t live in a mansion, didn’t have the latest Chanel bag that was all the rage, didn’t have the new iPhone, didn’t have enough money to follow the short lived trends that were popular in my school. But money isn’t everything. Money doesn’t make it easier to survive a robot attack. High school now seems easy to me, compared to post-apocalyptic life.
I breathe in the cool air and gaze out into the distance. I’ll continue my journey east, towards the sun, which I use as my guide. If the rumors are true, there are less robots there.
I will begin my journey once the sun rises high enough in the sky to guide me, I decide. The thought of leaving this village caused me considerably more sadness than I had anticipated. I realize that I have grown quite attached to this small group of people. Perhaps it is because they are so determined to survive against all odds, similar to myself.
But I know I should leave. I never do cope well when I stay in one place too long. I’m nomadic at heart.
I return to my tent and begin packing my things. It doesn’t take much time, and before long, I’m ready to go.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take a moment to enjoy the view. I probably won’t be able to see it again. A sign advertised the names of the village in big print: Lakeside. The place is named appropriately. It’s after that wooden post where the scenery really begins. A forest rings the tents on the west side, and a field of grass surrounds the north. A lake extends for what looks like forever into the distance to the south, and mountains rise up in the east. I hope that the mountains won’t provide too much of a challenge. Maybe I could take a detour around them, but I decide against it. It would take too much time away, and I didn’t want my journey to take much longer than it needed to. I am unsure of my destination, but I hope that I’ll know the right place when I see it. As I am about to start my trek, I hear a squeal from behind me.
“Trin! Play with us!”
I turn around to see a few of the community kids running up to me. I consider walking away or telling them no, and then I feel like a jerk for even thinking about it. I just wouldn’t feel right to leave without spending a little more time with them. This would give me a chance to say goodbye. I’ll stay for just a bit longer.
I set down my bag and they run around me energetically. Looking at them, it’s a marvel these three are even alive. They’re so young, and it makes my heart ache to think of how they never got to live a normal life, but instead one of grief and fear. Maybe people think that when they see me. I’m only seventeen, but I don’t feel that young anymore. I have to admit, though, these children have blossomed even in this messy world. I feel it’s my duty to make sure these children still get to be kids, despite being orphaned and living during an apocalypse
I smile and say, “What do you want to play?”
I’m twenty years old now, and I’m still at Lakeside. I couldn’t leave the kids. They don’t have their parents anymore, and I had grown quite fond of them and the little village. It’s bigger now, and I’ve even begun to let myself hope that our world is recovering. There’s talk of even merging with PurpleBrook, the nearest village.
I always wonder what would have happened if the kids hadn’t stopped me that one day I was ready to leave Lakeside. I’ve always wanted to roam, always been a wanderer at heart. Even after the apocalypse, maybe I could have fulfilled my dream of exploring. But then I think, no, these children are worth more than anything, even my old dreams.
Despite all that I’ve been through, I’m happy.