Time

I walked hurriedly towards the bus stop, blowing my warm breath into my hands.  The breaths twisted out of my mouth in smooth clouds, contrasting into the chilled winter air.
My runners crunched into the snow in a fast pace, and I made an effort to make it in time.
I did.

First period.  I sit in my seat, Aria sits in front of me like usual.  She turns around and smiles at me. It makes my heart stutter.
We chat while walking to our next class and she grabs my hand playfully.  She kisses my cheek and flutters away to her classroom.
I'm happy.

Lunch time.  My stomach growls.  But mum spent all her paycheck on the apartment and on liquor.  It's been a week and we still haven't had a proper meal.
Aria shares her ham sandwich with me.
It tastes really good.

I hop on the bus.  The driver seems angry.  He's yelling to move back.  We can't, we are already suffocating in each others breaths.
I'm sweating.

I walk home, relieved it's so cold out.  I feel refreshed and light.  I get home when it's dark out, and notice the entire apartment building is dark.
My gut twists.

I have to climb the stairs because the elevators aren't working.  I get to the 5th floor a bit winded, but I'm okay.
I open the door.  Mum is sleeping on the couch with a piece of paper in her hand.  Curiosity fills me and I pull it out.
In large, upper case letters, EVICTION NOTICE.
I put it back.

I wake up late again.  Mum is watching the news.  It's weird that she's up so early.  I hear the newscaster say how the bombing in our country are getting more frequent as well as more intense.
I find an apple under a pile of rags.
I don't have time to wash it.
I run to the bus in the frosted air.

Aria sits down and talks to me about the bombings.  I tell her not to worry.  She smiles.
My heart stutters.

Lunch again.  She splits her sandwich again.
And she gives me her granola bar.  She tells me I need to eat more.  When I say she should have it she says she needs to lose weight anyways.
I tell her that's far from the truth.
She asks if I'm okay.
I eat the granola bar and kiss her.

I get home and open the pantry.  There's half a bottle of whiskey left.  I wonder what my mum did with the other ones.
She's not on the couch.
I scrap some money together for a small pizza.
I keep an extra slice for lunch so Aria doesn't worry.

Mum is watching the news again.  There's screaming on the television.  I ask her if she had breakfast.
She doesn't hear me.
I ask again.
She slowly turns her head.  Her blond hair is stringy and greasy.  Her brown eyes are bloodshot.  She slurs something.
I leave.

The bus didn't come today.  I went to Aria's.  Her bus didn't come either.
We lay in silence while listening to the radio.
They're saying our city is a target for the bombings.
She doesn't think I realize she's crying.
I stay the night.

We catch a ride to school.  The principle says class isn't cancelled.
First period goes slowly.  When Aria looks back at me it makes things better.

Second period comes, Aria and I part ways.

Aria gives me a piece of her sandwich.  When I got home after staying at her house I found my slice of pizza was gone.
I thanked her.
She gave me her granola bar again.
I thanked her again.

We go out after school and grab coffee.  She pays.  I hug her for a long time.
Her hair smells like flowers.
She always smells like flowers.

I get home later.  Mum is on the couch.  She yells at me for eating all the food.  I don't tell her she's the one who ate it, just to vomit it up.
Instead, I go to bed early.

I wake up late and run out the door.  My shoes are slipping on the ground as I run.
I just make the bus.
A few people laugh at me.
I watch the scenery pass as we drive.
A lot of people are walking around with large bags filled with what seems to be basic necessities.
We get to school.

First period.
Aria isn't here today.

I walk to second period alone.

I find a spot to sit at lunch.  My stomach growls.

I catch the bus home.

Mum isn't in her room or on the couch.  Her bathroom door is shut.
When I knock there's no reply.
I try to open it.
It won't.
The doorknob must be jammed again.
I notice there's no more alcohol.
Maybe she stopped.

I leave early, mum wasn't watching the news.  I didn't hear her come home last night.
I wonder if she's seeing someone.
The snow is melting into ice and it's even more slick.  I'm glad I left early because it takes me twice as long to get to the stop.

First period, Aria arrives late.
She whispers to me that her brother was sick, and her mum couldn't stay home to take care of him.
Her dad is out of town again.
I give her her homework.
We have time in class to work together.
She turns her chair.
Her hair flows behind her back.
She blinks at me.
Everything goes silent.
Suddenly, a loud ringing stings my ears.
Aria's eyes are wide.  They look like an endless void of fear.
Her hair is blowing to the side like in a photo shoot.
But the air is coming from the window.
The window that is shattering towards us.
Glass flies into our skin.
By the time that I see blood specking her face, everything is already black.
Everything is already pitch black.

Tragedies

She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like.  Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember.  But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan.  The man spoke.  She thought he looked rather dashing.  Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes.  Hm.  Handsome.  She had decided.
I'm coming, James.  Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house.  Rough shape?  Never.  The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman.  Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already.  It was devastating.  This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling.  It could be haunted. 
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
 They paused, admiring the home.  The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close.  She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly.  But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it?  What's wrong?  Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips.  Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing.  Oh James, I don't know about this.  I feel really uneasy.  Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed.  The pristine exterior was black and burnt up.  The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.

A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap.  She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now.  She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up.  But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor.  It felt so cool.  She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers.  It hurt, but she still had them.  They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.

Another flash crossed her vision.  She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her.  From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts.  And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room.  They couldn't get her in time.  They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.

Dreams Are a Strange Thing.

She stood in front of the mirror, but the girl who she saw was not her--- even though it was.
For her hair, it was much shorter.
Her nose, it was much smaller.
Her eyes, they were much larger.
Her lips, they were much fuller.
Her skin, it was much paler.
But it was her.
For, you see, as she lifted her arms-- so did the other girl's.
When she moved her mouth-- so did the other girl's.
But when the girl in the mirror spoke, the girl who was standing before it did not.
They girl with short hair said robotic-ally, as she poked her cheek "I am so much paler than you."
"But aren't we the same person?" Asked the original girl.
A large smile was planted on the short haired girl's lips.  "Oh no.  You'll never be me."

A Nightmare

This may trigger some people, so if you are easily triggered, please don't hurt yourself and read this.  I don't want you to hurt yourself.

My legs were numb when I woke up.  It happens a lot. When ever my hands or legs fall asleep... my dreams become nightmares. I think it's because my mind is trying to make sense of why my body is suddenly not being able to feel.

This is the nightmare I had when my legs became numb. 

The house was tall and dark. Six stories. Each floor was just a small shadowed room. And my mind kept flashing to cut up legs. The legs had thousands of shallow razor cuts, and each person on each floor had cut up legs. 

The cuts were from a shaving razor. 

The girl that I was speaking to looked like the actress who played Matilda.  Dark brown hair,  bow head band.  She was not on the first,  second or third floor. 

But before I began stepping up the spiral wooden stairs,  she spoke about being cut on her legs. How the people in the house all had cuts on their legs,  but a few were the ones doing it--- even to themselves.  She seemed terrified, but in a serious way.
After she talked to me she disappeared.  And that's when I began on the first floor.

The young adult I met was blond and had a slim build.  He had dark brown eyes and I when I found him shaking in the corner of his black, shadowed room with only a queen bed in the middle, I found he only had underwear on.  It isn't that kind of dream though, so if that's what you are hoping to read, just leave.
He was curled up, leaning his head against the dark wall when I spoke to him.  I couldn't hear myself speaking, but I knew I was asking him questions like 'What's happening?'  and 'Who did this to you?' as I was referring to his red, bleeding legs.  But he looked past me, and was whimpering and crying.  He didn't speak, but he looked up.  He looked up.

The young woman I met on the second floor was brief.
In fact, I don't remember it at all.
All I know is that it was the same looking room, only one higher, and that she was sitting in her underwear (white, underwear) and she was silent.  I didn't speak to her.  But I remember her raven black navy hair.  She had black irises.

The third floor is the final floor I got to, but I knew there were a few more above me.  The woman in this floor-- same bedroom like the others-- she was laughing the crazed maniacal way that insane people laugh.  She was cutting  her legs with a shaving razor.  Cutting horizontally.  She would whisper something, cut, laugh, cut, whisper, laugh, cut, cut, cut.
I said hello.  But she was unaware of me.  And as I was speaking, I realized she was answering me without me realizing it.  I would ask her what's going on, and she would cut and say something in a verse of poetry.  When I asked her why she was cutting herself she responded like this:

Living in fear, unaware of here
cut, cut, cut.
I can see, but cannot be
cut, cut, cut.
Wouldn't you rather have control
of the fist that hit you
an hour ago
than not be able to sleep
with a content mind?
If you were the one the dragged the blade
and slept in a bed that's softly made
than not be able to sleep
due to a restless mind?
My hand
My movements
My power
Not theirs.
They can't touch me
with my own cuts
because the room is gone
they've lost their luck.

And that's when I woke up in a panic.  I was so terrified I had to turn on the light and was unable to sleep.  Because as she spoke, my vision was flooded with images and I knew that the little girl who I first met was in the very top room, and that she was the one that scared every one and cut everyone elses' legs.  And Getting that rush of information made me terrified.

But as I say,
I would rather have nightmares than not be able to remember my dreams.