In the Shadows

I was traveling somewhere.
My mother, step father and I.
And people.
About ten other people.
And we came across what seemed like a campsite.
With what seemed like a temple.
It felt very... Egyptian. 
As everyone set up to stay the night, I felt oddly cast out.
As though I was being punished.
So I stayed near this temple.
Until everyone was falling asleep.
They didn't tell me to sleep on the steps leading down to that sandstone entrance.
But I did.
Because I was being punished.
They didn't tell me that if I woke up, and the dark, damp entrance enticed me; not to go in.
But I did.
Because I was being curious.
I hazed out of sleep, the slick ebony doorway lurching in my thoughts.
But I only took a few steps in.
Because a sudden tear of horror ripped through my body.
Ripped through my sight.
Because I thought I saw a woman.
I thought I saw her eyes.
But I didn't think anything of it, other than I had to get out.
So I did.
Two steps.
Then I fell back asleep.
Now, I woke up again.
Hazy and tired. 
Wondering,
'Now, why isn't it day yet?  It's pitch as the sea on a cloudy eve, oh why isn't it day?'
And that doorway called for me.
Screamed for me.
So I went back in.
And this time, oh this time I saw more of a shadow.
More of a figure.
More of her eyes.
I only saw her for a moment, but I saw her.
Her willowy, sickly figure.
Her black thin, sticky hair over her face.
And her ivory eyes staring hollowly at me.
And I had to get out.
Panic swept over me as I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't breathe.
Oh, I couldn't breathe.
I stumbled backwards, out of the doorway.
Why?
Why did I go back in?
I knew something was wrong?
Why?
Why?
WHY.
As I was out, catching my breath, my mother came over.
And she didn't ask what was wrong.
Somehow, she knew.
She knew everything.
But she wasn't there, so how could she know?
And then her face grew terrified.
Her eyes as wide as saucers.
Staring at me with such an intense fear that I grew scared of her.
And then I spoke with choked speech.
"I saw her, and I don't want to see her anymore.  Not ever again."
I was crying.
I heard myself sobbing.
But her eyes stayed open as she shook.
She shook.
And she talked in a hushed voice.
"She told me that that isn't the last time you will see her.  You will see her again."
And then her name rang through my head.
Solid and clear.
Roberta Koskov.
That woman was Roberta Koskov.

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Hey guys, so this is partially a story, partially poetry and mostly from my dream (or nightmare I should say) from last night.  I woke up so scared that I couldn't move for a few minutes.  I was afraid if I rolled over I would see this woman that I dreamed of.
This entire concept was odd to me, mostly because my mother spoke to her, and I didn't.
But to be fair I was running from it.
But I have had many recent nightmares about ghosts where my mother can talk to them and I can't.  And that she can see them and I can't.  It's getting disturbing as it keeps progressing.
Another very disturbing concept in this dream was that I was told her entire name. Which I have never had.  I've only had one other name spoken to me in a dream, and that was only their first name.
Anyways, this dream definitely shook me up, and I was hoping writing it down would help get it out of my mind.
So, *poof* be gone, nightmare.

-E

Covered

It clung against the wall as his large frame shuffled as far away from it as he could.
The opaque figure seemed to stare at him with an eye-less face.  He didn't know what made him more frightful- the fact that he had been seeing this... 'thing' for the past four weeks, or that no one else seemed to see it like he did. 
He blinked.
The figure didn't fade. 
As he loomed on, his legs became the same heavy weights that they usually became.  His arms didn't sway as much compared to other people.  And it felt as though a shadow veiled his mind, as though a tree blocking sunlight.
But he couldn't figure out what the tree was created by.
His eyes flicked to the figure walking closely to the wall. 
He glanced at the other people around him. 
There was one woman there with a child.  She was cradling her sobbing son while kissing his cheek.  With him in her arms, his tears faded rather quickly, and he felt a sudden slash in his side.
A gasp escaped his throat as he gripped his side.  But there was no mark.  He looked at the figure, and he could feel the grin enveloping its dark face.
He could feel what the slash left behind.
Almost an emptiness.
As though a void of where love should be.  He looked again at the woman and son, and felt the slashing feeling again.
Jealousy?
No, he shook his head roughly.  He didn't want children.  But as he walked by the small family, the digging in his side grew harder to bear. 
He could feel the endless pupils grazing his skin.
The figure still seemed to go unnoticed.
But as his eyes scraped over the being, he noticed how it seemed taller.
A sharp shiver ran down his spine, his steps increasing with speed. But there, in the corner of his eye he could see the being keeping his pace. 
He began sprinting, filled with an internal pain he couldn't comprehend.
Everything seemed to become grey.
Gray skyscrapers, grey cars, grey families that were holding each other.
He cried out, collapsing to the cement, and the figure seemed to sit beside him.
Waiting.
He stared at it, as though he expected it to attack him.
Just like how it attacked his side.
And how it had blocked his colours.
And how it blocked his sun.
He blinked again, and he looked up into the cloud covered sky.
Grey.
A person walked through the being.
He staggered backwards in shock.
They walked through the being.
He looked at the black figure, and slowly reached his hand out.
But no matter how far he reached, he couldn't touch it.
He couldn't feel it.
He scanned around him again and fear ripped through him.
Every where there were black beings.  All of them were staring at him. He could feel their icy gaze scraping down his skeleton.
He jumped up from the cement, screams erupting from his mouth.
But no one saw him.
He was alone.
Only the shadows around him paid attention to him.
The shadows of his own being.
And the shadows of other people.
They clung to him, blocking out the light that illuminated around him.
But he was in the void,
too deep to see the light.
And it hurt his heart.
It hurt his heart.

Thump

The laugh was caught in his throat as his eyes met the deep brown ones before him.                
What a stupid thought.                                                              
To laugh at.
To think that a simple stray hair could be funny.
But it was out of place.
That was funny.
But the eyes weren't laughing.
Or giddy for that matter.
They were filled with a boiling rage that-
held something.
Something
Funny.
He blinked and for a second, the eyes were black.
But the blue rings below them framed them smoothly.
Leaving little else
but fatigue
and stress
and worry.
What a stupid thought.
That he hadn't changed.
The nose in front of him was thick but pointed.
Not up
nor down.
Just. Pointed.
But the pale glow he saw
was troubling.
He turned his head with curiosity.
The face before him didn't shift.
It instead seemed to laugh.
What... three days?
Weeks?
How long has he seen it.
The look before him.
What a stupid thought.
He's seen that look every day since he could...
remember...
But remember what?
In which context did he want to remember?
Did he want to see?
Of course.
Of course.
What a stupid thought.
But those eyes did not want to see.
But he wanted to see.
HE wanted to see.
He hushed himself.
Twice.
Again.
He leaned closer.
No.
Further away.
He took the nail of his thumb
and dug it into his palm.
But as the blood formed a small pool
And he rose his hand towards those
dark eyes
there wasn't a mark on their palm.
He dug deeper.
Screaming with rage.
But this time he dug to his wrist.
He lifted it.
Nothing.
No.
This isn't right.
What a stupid thought.
Of course it's right.
If he can't see it
it isn't there.
But it is.
He sees it.
Right there.
He dug further
up to his elbow.
Nothing showing.
To his neck.
Another agonizing scream.
To his chest.
Cries of fury.
To his heart.
And he dug there until he felt the solemn
thump
thump
thump
And he dug.
He looked into those eyes.
They were laughing.
At him.
What a stupid thought.
He couldn't be laughing at himself.
He wasn't even grinning.
He was shrieking.
In hatred.
But then he fell.
To the marble underneath him.
thump
thump
But he could still see him.
The look he's giving him
as he sits in front of him calmly.
thump
As his eyes shut
he saw
Those brown eyes
Happy.

James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.