A lot of things keep me up at night Like the moonlight The moonlight shines through my window The moonlight keeps me pinned down

Sometimes I wonder if the moonlight If it knew it did something wrong or right Does the moonlight wonder if it haunts me That I can’t sleep at night and let it be

Moonlight used to be my safe spot Until feelings caught Moonlight breaks through my peace of mind Moonlight doesn’t wonder if it’ll be fine

A lot of things keep me up at night Moonlight takes over my mind all night Maybe I won’t be fine but that might be alright Cuz all was good before the moonlight

The moonlight never cared about me Or wonders how it haunts me Memories of the moonlight swirl inside of me Moonlight will never let me be

Moonlight cuts my mind like it’s paper Moonlight thinks it’s the better Moonlight is wealth and important and well liked Peaceful and prim and proper and could never do that

Watch as the wolves howl to the moonlight Cry as I lay in bed looking up into the night Afraid of the moonlight getting away My caution tape should have a say

Use my memories as a joke Make me shrivel up and choke Time washed away the black and blue Moonlight’s stages lies, wouldn’t have a clue

Many people like the moonlight I would rather live in spite Moonlight will keep me up at night I despise the moonlight

For breaking my peace of mind Moonlight will forever be my ghost Haunting my existence Never letting me go

(This was saved in my notes app)

Finn: 28yo man - the villain - grumpy __ __ Eric: 32yo man- the villains assistant __ May: 25yo woman - the hero - sunshine __ __ Hanna: 25yo woman - hero’s sister/bestfriend

Finn

“Blades Eric!”

“I am not a supporter of procrastination.” He drawled. “You are not the princess of procrastination. I distinctly remember you being the princess of being an ass. That’s your job. The meeting is in five minutes so I would suggest you ready yourself quickly.”

He ducked out the door just as a book came hurling his way, denting the wall where Eric once stood. Finn ran a hand down his face as he let out a sigh. He threw off his day clothes and pulled on dress pants and a red button up shirt and walked as fast as his long legs could carry him.

He got to the tech room on floor 8B just before he was expected to be there. As soon as he walked in, a small laugh was heard from a chair on the far side of the room. He let his gaze shift to the sound. He was activated to see the girl from earlier with a hand over her mouth stifling the laugh that burst from her lips.

“Something you need to say?” He glared at her and her gaze dropped to the ground.

“No sir.” She said quietly, eyes still glued to the floor.

“Good.” He turned back to the group as they talked to him about who knows what. He picked up bits and Pieces, and from what he understood, it was some sort of complicated machine for the entrance that should scan the person trying to get in and identify them. If they had access, they would be allowed in and if not, they would have no way to get into the bunker.

“We just need your stamp of approval sir.” The lead tech was a woman that looked to be made of wires. Old, but had the brains of a genius.

“Have you tested it yet?”

“Yes sir.”

“Go ahead and build it, but if someone that should not go through that door, gets through, I still want the guards posted. And if that too fails, your position as head tech will be revoked and you will be sent to work as one of the test keepers.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room, ignoring the laugh that was undoubtedly Mays.

He was going to B-line for his room where hopefully Eric was waiting so he could rip his head from his body, but he stopped when he saw his reflection. His shirt wasn’t just a button up shirt, but a more pink than red shirt, with the buttons buttoned up wrong, giving it a weird crop on one side.

He ran his hands through his hair and almost laughed. Almost.

_May _

Holy shit.

He is undoubtedly going to kill me. And if he didn’t HQ would finish the job.

She thought as she pulled a device used by The Hero’s call a Gecar and dialed her friend Hanna, a neutral.

“Hey babe-“

“I am so screwed.” May grabbed her hair in her hand and began to pace.

“Hello Hanna a nice to see you too! You’re my best friend and all time favorite sister and I would like to know what’s going on with you for once!” She tried to mock Mays voice but made it much to high.

“Sorry Han. I just keep messing up this whole under cover thing. I laughed at him. And called him pretty boy…”

Silence. Then a sudden burst of laughter broke through the speaker. Wheezing really. “You what? Pretty Bo-“ then she spoke gibberish as her laugh turned almost silent with lack of breath.

“It’s not funny!”

“Beg to differ.”

“In my defense I was really tired. And happy. And you have to admit, you would have done the same…”

“That’s what the hero’s call him! Not you! You’re not a hero anymore! At least to him.”

“He doesn’t know that we call him that!” She exclaimed.

“And you’re lucky for that,” Hanna said, “if he did, he would probably have your head in his office.”

“He doesn’t have an office, he just has a little desk in his room.” She pouted.

“See? You learn something new every day. Why did you laugh at him? That was a risky move sweetheart.”

“First of all, Ew Hanna don’t call me that. Second of all, he was wearing a pink shirt. Like very clearly pink, and you would think the evil genius would know how to button a shirt! It was all messed up. There was a big loop where he skipped a button and it gave him a crop top on one side. A literal crop top Hanna.”

“Was it hot?” She could practically hear the smirk on her sister’s face.

“Hanna!”

“May!” She retorted in the same tone, “Just curious! We call him pretty boy for a reason girl.”

“I’m not answering your question.”

“So it’s a yes?”

“I’m blocking you.”

“Wait May-bug I was just-“

The line went dead as May threw the Gecar back under the bed.

.-.

The next few weeks went by flawlessly. May stayed in line. She went unnoticed. She barely even saw Finn other than when he came into the tech room to check the developments on the security door. It has a more technical name, but she didn’t want to waste time remembering it. He rarely came in, and when he did, she kept her eyes to the floor and her hands busy with tools she had no clue how to use.

It was one day in particular that she woke up from her sleep, and decided to take a walk around the compound. May threw on a sweatshirt and decided to make her way to the cafeteria. It was always open, due to the large supply of food, but only a few people were ever out at night.

Despite that fact, she walked into the area where food was stored, away from the tables, and grabbed a box of little crackers, each in the shape of a star. Not very flavorful, but very filling. Plus, the star shape made her smile. She turned back around to see the villain she was supposed to steer clear of. He was sitting at one of the tables, leaning against the wall.

His eyes were closed, his face tilted up towards the ceiling. His hair wasn’t combed, so you could make out the brunette waves in his hair. For some reason, she was sad his grey eyes weren’t on her.

But her main objective would be to get away without him noticing her.

Stay unnoticed

Should she stay in the kitchen until he left? That could be hours. But would it be worth it?

stay unnoticed. If it meant go out of hiding or die, you better take the bullet.

If he comes Into the kitchen, she would be caught. She had to sneak out somehow.

She wasn’t wearing any shoes so her steps were quite against the stone. She began to slowly sneak out of the cafeteria. At the rate she was going, it took her almost 10 minutes to reach the door, but right as she was about to make her escape, she heard a click. Did something fall out of Finn’s pocket?

Despite her instinct screaming at her to just run, she hid herself from view, and turned to see. A large figure was slowly approaching Finn.

Perfect. This only made her job easier. If that person killed the villain, she would be able to leave. Go home. Mission accomplished, and the hero’s win again. They always win. Why doesn’t she want them to win?

The figure was almost to Finn, his arms raised slightly in anticipation, ready for attack. Still her breath hitched.

Your job is to get the villain out of the game. Outsmart him, kill him, or capture him. __ _Stay quite. No matter what, stay away from any attention at all. Or you may never come home. _

Even With this in mind, she took a deep breath, and screamed.

The music is alive, making the air quiver with bass beats and copper strings. It pulsates, like blood through a vein, in the space above you. You can feel that flow in your arms, a tingle that permeates your skin and slithers to your legs and toes. From the stage, the artists look down on the gathered crowd, smiling, engaged, commanding. There are hundreds of people there, standing shoulder to shoulder, connected in this experience of enjoyment. At your side, a woman mouths words along with the vocalist, staring up in admiration. Behind you, someone is playing air drums along to the beat of the current song, which you know very well. A song you enjoy.

Yet even here, with all these people, faced with something that makes you happy, you wonder where they are. Who they’re with. If they’re thinking of you. You can’t help but keep turning around to look for them in a crowd - a crowd you know they’d never be in, anyway. Your crowd.

On the corner of a friendly and happy neighborhood, an old house stands on the corner, rundown and abandoned. It’s silhouette is a testament to years gone by. Weathered shutters hang askew, barely clinging to the fragile frame of splintered wood. Paint, once vibrant, now peels away in tired strips, revealing the gray bones of a structure that has seen better days. The neighborhood children dare not go near it, for each step on the porch is a cautious dance with decay. But still, The lonely boards Creek — whispering secrets of the laughter and tears they once bore.

Inside, the air is thick with dust, a shroud over memories long forgotten. The dust particles float and dance in the air before dropping to land on the left behind furniture, blanketing dishes and old figurines as if to tell them good night. Faded floral wallpaper curls at the edges like leaves wilting without a touch of the sun. The woodstove, cold and empty, no longer holds the warmth of a crackling fire. Atop the barren mantle, only the outlines still remain of photos removed long ago.

In the quiet, one can almost hear the echoes of footsteps through the halls. It’sa ghostly reminder of life that once filled these rooms. Light filters in through the shattered glass remains of the windows, causing shadows to dance and play on the walls. These shadows, so oblivious and indifferent. So unaware of how utterly alone they truly are.

The beds upstairs remain messy and unmade, waiting for occupants who will never return. In the corner lies an old deflated basketball, a silent witness to games that will never be played again.

The once colorful garden is now rundown with weeds, each vine a stranglehold on the beauty that used to be. As the neighbors walk by, they can’t help but stare at this old abandoned house. They wonder what it would be like to live there. They wonder what the people who lived there were like. If they were nice, or if they were happy. But after casting a curious gaze upon the house, eventually they turn around and leave. They go on with their own lives. For to them, this house is just a hollow shell where once there was a home.

A two way window If you peek in you’ll see the birds chirping the warm summer sun beaming and a calm blue sky.

That’s just the illusion..

Look through that window again did you notice the other end? The light is little to nun this place is dull. Here unwelcomed noise resides. Loud unsettling voices yell out constantly filling up this pitch dark sky .

The reality looks pretty different doesn’t it? Illusions can be so deceiving… They generally are dressed up so mesmerizing and pleasant at first glance. And when that two window isn’t clear but so indeed thick it can be difficult to see past all the bullshit. Don’t believe me when I say” I’m okay “.

I make my coffee black every morning. Maybe today I’ll add some cream. I gulp it down and go to work, my usual daily routine.

After work I make myself dinner, which is one of my, like, three recipes. I watch a rerun of Jeapordy, they yell ‘Winner!’ as I eat in front of my TV.

I’ve seen this one before, so I’m not really surprised, that the winner is that dude Jacob, or Mike? I dont know, it’s some guy.

I wash the only plate and pot in the sink, since I always eat alone. It’s not like I’m depressed or something, It’s just that I live on my own.

I collapse onto my bed; finally! This day is fucking over. I try not to relax, or grin too happily, I’ll do this again tomorrow, in the same order.

Tw??

He sat in the large room Many of his other peers flooded into the close together seats Chatting Laughing And wondering whose going up onto the cheep looking school stage first

The lights turn off And shine onto the principal who is welcoming all and teaching how to act

No talking No eating No disrespecting No leaving

When he leaves a girl comes up She clears her throat Picks up the microphone And sings

He watched silently Hearing the singing Hearing the beats Hearing the others clapping along And some even singing along

Hating it

It ends and everyone claps Some whistle The room filled with noise

His chest pounds His head hurts His hands shake His flight or fight sense kicking in

But no time to think, more people will come up and show their tricks

Lights flicker People dance People play instruments Lights moves

Its getting repeative

People clapping People whistling People cheering Clapping Whistling Cheering

But he has to remember the rules

No talking No eating No disrespecting No leaving

Even if hes shaking Even if his chest hurts Even if his ears ring Even if his body wants to move Even if his voice is shakey Even if he gets unpleasant butterflies Even if he wants to cry Even if he wants to grab onto something

Remember the last rule

Dont Leave The Auditorium

(This is based off smth I experienced :,] ) (Also idk if this is considered a poem)

Back home, surrounded by strangers. In the city where I grew up, so many people I don’t know. Old friends all gone, living somewhere else, only home for Christmas. But who am I to judge, I’m not home any more often. I avoid the heavy blanket of anonymity as well. I stand in a crowded place, squeezed from every side. The subway doors open and close ceaselessly, letting people in and throwing others out. So many stops, so many places that felt familiar a long time ago. Now there’s other people standing at the station, not a single face I’d possibly recognise. Strangers all around me in a city that once felt like mine. And in the middle of this crowded subway I realise that I’ve become nothing but a stranger too.

Sticky floors benieth my feet and a speaker with a busted bass blasting in my ear mixed with the giggles of college girls surround me. Another whiskey warmed my stomach as i raise my glass hinting to the bartender that id take another to fill the hole I felt so deep inside. The hole inside my chest felt like the stragest mixture of fire and ice. It burned and yerned all the while being so cold my hands shook and the hair on my arms stood straight up. Another sip down my throat, still no warmth to my outsides. The bar was full but i might as well have been lost at sea, the crowd of people just a mirage to tease my mind. And another sip, this time the fire and ice were starting to mix and create steam inside my belly. Warm, but not hot cocoa on a cold day warm, hot pavement beneathe barefeet warm. Steam that was lifting through my body and slowly escaping the corners of my eyes like a humid summer rain. Another sip and the sleeve of my shirt turning into windshield wipers trying to hide the storm that was brewing. The ice had fully melted through my eyes and the only thing that crossed my mind was i couldnt quite figure out why it was called happy hour at all.

The whole scenery draped in the curtain of rain.

Drops of water fell on the ground.

Some from the sky, and once, from the eyes of the ones who had lost him to the great beyond.

Drops fell on the faded roses. Bright red color, forced to melt away from the force of time.

Drops of water, dripping through dry leaves, tricking down the twigs and trunk.

Drops slipped on the gray stone:

        “In the loving memory of”
              “Tadashi Hamda”