Sleep

He leaves his house dishevelled.  His sister didn't sleep all night again because of her... sadness.  He stayed up listening to her crying.  Knowing that he couldn't make her stop.
He goes to school, the teachers speaking are background noise.  They ask him a question, remark about how he should get his act together.
He wonders if his sister got out of bed this morning.
Did he see her in the kitchen?
Is she eating?
No, no.  He doesn't think so.
She's been too frail.
And cries.  She cries so much.
The teacher yells at him.
His tired eyes blink.
He doesn't have energy to speak.
His tired eyes blink.
He slowly falls asleep. He can sleep here.

She lays in bed shivering.
There aren't enough blankets to warm her up.
Her puffy cheeks are squished between several pillows and layers of sheets.
But she's still freezing.
Her alarm is still going off, but she doesn't have the strength to raise her arm and turn it off.
Why does she still set her alarm?  She knows she wont respond to it.
Her stomach growls.  When did she last eat?
She can't remember.  Her memory is failing.
She starts crying.  She doesn't like not being able to remember things.
She can't even remember her brother's face.
The last time she really saw him, he was starting to have a shadow of stubble.
She thinks.
Did he have stubble?
Her tiredness pulls her under.
Her breathing slows.

His classes go by slowly.  A few of his friends knock his shoulder, call out and joke around beside him.
He feels his fatigue lift a bit.
He eats a sandwich he bought with his change.
He gets to joke and smile with his friends.
They ask about his day and make fun of their teachers.
He thinks about how they're people too.
He didn't like mocking teachers.
A teacher walked by and calls him aside.
The teacher asks what's going on with him.
The teacher says that his grades are plummeting.
He can't tell his teacher it's because he can't do his homework.
Because he has to go straight home.
If he stays at school to do it, his sister is alone.
But when he goes home, he has to clean the entire house.
When he goes home he has to make dinner and try to feed his sister.
Sometimes she eats.
But then she goes to the bathroom.
And sleeps.
Then she will wake up and cry.
He blinks at his teacher and apologizes.
He says that he just has more important things to do.
His teacher takes it as he's lazy and doesn't want an education.
He just wants his sister to be here to have a chance at an education.
He walks away from his teacher.

Her breathing stops.

He walks home slowly.
His limbs feel heavy.
He wonders if he would have time to take a nap on the couch.
As he gets to the front door, there's an energy shift.
Suddenly he is awake and alert.
His parents aren't home.
He takes out his phone and sees that they should've been home already.
He opens the door and sees that everyone's shoes are gone.
Even his sister's.
It's odd to think they all went out.
He goes to the fridge, but freezes.
He should check his sister.
He walks upstairs, and knocks on her door.
"Amalia?"
No answer.
He swears and walks in.
Her room is a mess.
There's a pungent smell.
The bed is empty.
He heads downstairs and opens a can of olives.
He takes out some chips.
Cheese.
He microwaves the nachos.
Just as he sits down he gets a phone call.
It's his dad.
His dad tells him what happened.
His dad says his mother and himself came home.
They checked on his sister.
She was cold.
Asleep.
Shallow breath.
They took her to the hospital.
Her organs have failed.
They're doing surgery.
But she's not healthy.
She isn't okay.
They don't think she will be.
He hangs up.
He pushes away from the nachos.
He's very tired.
He looks at the couch, and slowly, slowly, slowly walks to it.
He sits down, and slides to lay down.
His eyes close.
And he falls asleep.Sleep

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.

A Memory

A simple memory passed through his mind.
Where was he heading?

A hushed wind blew over the hills, and he saw his old self standing on the top of the grassy dune.  His chest heaved. 
That's right, he ran.  
He had forgotten. 
His eyes looked upon the rising sun, and the stark yellows being blown across the lightening sky. 
Why did he come up here?
Insomnia?
Loneliness?
What made watching a sunrise make you feel content?
What made watching it make you feel in company?

He inhaled a chilled breath of air and pondered.

His thoughts dropped to Julie.  
Wondered... where she was.
Wondered... what she was doing. 
Just simply... wondered.

His eyes looked down below him, and he watched waves crash against the cliff.

His memories reached back to the last day.
She was tear stained.  
Her short black hair was frizzy and unkempt.
Her red lips were puffy and quivering.

His legs were shaking.

He reached for her, but she stepped backwards.
"Get out."

He stepped forward.

It felt like she ripped his heart out.
She was angry. 
This would pass.
She didn't mean it.

Another step.

He reached out again.
She screamed.
Why was she resisting?

Another step.

He felt defeated. 
Why is this coming up?
Out of the blue?
Julie... Julie listen.
I didn't mean to. 

He could hear the waves clearer now.

Her face.
Red lips.
Black hair.

He felt the wind as he grew closer to the ocean.

Red lips.
Black hair.

He was so close now.

Red lips.
Black hair.

He felt like he was flying.

Red lips.
Black hai- 

The Feelings of Silence

His smile was slight, but I saw it.  There was an awkwardness between us that I didn't really understand.
"It's weird,"  He sighed.  Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other."  A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say.  We were walking now.  "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--"  He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed.  We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine.  I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it.  It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed.  It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet.  It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too.  Something we couldn't really get past.  It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words.  But nothing came out.  I squinted and asked his to repeat himself.  I watched him laugh and 'speak' again.  But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew.  He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you,"  His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness.  He tried again.  I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too,"  I brushed away tears, "I was too."

Birthdays.

Growing up, I used to think about my birthday always.  I would watch shows and movies and be in awe about how caring and loved a person could be on their birthday.  Plus there was one thing that I fantasized about.
Surprise parties.
What says 'We all love you so much and wanted to surprise you to make you feel bombarded with love' better than a surprise party itself?
And every year I would pick up hints like, "Let's go out for the day and just have a nice quiet evening at home." And of course, people not mentioning my birthday at all.
So for the entire day I would get so excited about a possible surprise party, only to feel crushed to see that there was no one.
And every year, that hope had lessened ever so slightly.
My brother's birthday and my own are a month a part, so we would go on vacation in the summer and a month after my own birthday we would celebrate both of our birthdays. But it would be on his birthday.
And my young little self always felt so defeated and sad on this day.  Because it wasn't like the shows or movies.
You see, I loved seeing people picking out these heart-filled gifts for people without having to ask the question "What do you want for your birthday?"
Because when people ask that it feels like a jab in the heart.
They don't know you.
They don't care to put thought into the gift.
All of these thoughts just jumble together and make the sad day a depressing day.
I wouldn't want to get out of bed on my birthday.  Not because of growing older, but because of how isolated and lonely I felt.
How I feel.
I love other people's birthday's.  I enjoy picking out a gift for them and celebrating with them.
But it's never happened to me.
The go to is a dinner out.
I don't like going out for dinner.
Yet every year it's the same "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
And the worst thing about this day?
How incredibly selfish I feel.
Because saying all these things seem awful to me because that isn't who I am.  Yet obviously it is because these are my feelings about it.
So it makes me feel like shit.
With telling people how I feel about my birthday, whether I say I just want something they put thought into (or even just hanging out.  I really like being with my friends) or saying I don't want to go out for dinner (in which they get sad and don't know how to respond), they do comply.
They'll say, "What do you want to do then?"
And the most horrible thing is I don't know.
If I were to say a surprise party, it would 1. not be a surprise and 2. I would feel depressed then too because I brought it up.  Not them.
So maybe television warped my views on birthdays.
I just want today to end and not talk about my birthdays anymore.

Yours Truly, Jenny

I adjusted my jacket and moved the rear-viewing mirror to check my hair. My hands smoothed down the brown spikes and I stared at my light blue eyes for a moment.  With nerves in my stomach I cleared my throat and pushed open my car door.  

I looked at the home in front of me and began feeling giddy.  I had been abroad for the army for about six months.  I told Jenny I'd be home withing seven, so she wouldn't be expecting me.  

I felt my dopey smile fill my face and I adjusted my jacket once more before bounding up the stairs to our home.  

I felt the small box in my pocket and I closed my hand around it gently.  

With a deep inhale, I knocked on the door once.  Twice.  Two more times.  How many times was too much?  I'm not hearing anything, maybe another knock--

The door opened a crack, and I was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes.  Her hair was a lot shorter than it was; no longer falling behind her.  It framed her face gracefully.  

"Danny?"  The shock from her face drained, and I realized I was gripping the box now.  

"Hey Jenny."  My smile widened. 

"Danny, I--"  She half-laughed and fell into my arms, "I thought you weren't coming home for another month."  

I inhaled the soft lilac that coated her and squeezed her against me.  

"I wanted to surprise you, babe."  I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her arm length away to take her in. "You're so beautiful.  Oh my God, you're so beautiful."  I hugged her again.

She motioned me inside, "Come in, come in, oh you must be so tired."  Jenny wiped at her eyes and tugged me into our humble abode.  

Upon entering, I noticed everything was still the same.  The living room still had the old white leather couch, light wood coffee table and matching side tables.  The pictures above the fireplace were at the same angles and it felt the same.  It just felt the same.  Like home. 

That's when I noticed something different. 

"Hey, hon, where's--"  There was a excited yap and in a fluid motion a black blur whirled around the corner and into  my arms, "Luna!" The black lab nuzzled under my arms and sniffed me for what felt like forever, but that dog, my god, was the sweetest thing.  I played with her, letting her get out her whining and loving barks.  Finally she spun in my lap (with difficulty because she doesn't realize that she's not a puppy anymore.  In fact she's one of the largest dogs I've met, but she acts like a cat.  It really is the cutest thing.)  and rested her head on the ground. 

"Danny, when you left she got so sad.  She would stare out the window and just cry,"  Said Jenny as she leaned down to rub Luna's head.  "I'm surprised she didn't come out sooner, but she was sleeping.  So I think she assumed the door was just some random person."

I laughed, "What, you have a lot of random people coming over lately?"  

She squinted, "Just Lina and Jeff with their boys."  Her eyes widened, "They're expecting another!  Lina said she hopes it's a girl because all that testosterone is just consuming her femme fatale, also, my mother wanted to know when would be a good time to visit her and dad-- when you came back, but we don't have to decide anything right now as that would be-"

"Overwhelming?"  I interrupted while laughing.

She grew bashful and kissed my forehead, "Sorry, babe.  I know you just came home.  There's just so much to tell you and I missed you so much.  You got my letters, right?"

I nodded and reached for Jenny's hand, "I got them, read them, and held onto them every time I went out on duty."

She smiled with tears in her eyes. "Good."  Something caught her eye and her smile faltered, "Hon, why did you come back early?"

Luna turned on my lap onto her back, exposing her tummy.  I rubbed it as I explained, "I got shot on duty.  Went clean through my calf.  Hurt like a bitch- excuse me, it hurt a lot."  I corrected after her look of horror. 

"I don't care about you swearing, Daniel, I care about whether or not you're okay.  What-- how?  Are you okay?"  

I nodded, "I'm fine.  I was shocked when it happened and didn't realize it had happened because of the adrenaline state I was in.  A buddy stopped me and called in help.  I had to calm him down in order to tell me what was up."  I laughed again, but grew solemn, "He ah, he died while covering my ground when I was in emergency care.  Grenade."  My throat grew thick. 

"Danny... oh my god, I'm so sorry."  She pulled me against her, "I am so sorry."  I put my hand on her cheek and looked at her eyes. 

"It's okay.  I'm okay.  They discharged me and I am going to be looking for a therapist so I don't develop PTSD, or if I do have it then I can work through it."  I kissed her.  "I missed you so fucking much."  She laughed.

"Language, Danny."  We both sat there, hugging, kissing, talking, laughing, and every once in a while I ended up crying.  Or she would.  I told her stories about my travels and she told me about what had happened here.  

And we didn't notice how late it was until we saw the sun peeking through the window.  

We were exhausted physically, but mentally we were wired.  

So we went for a walk by the park.  See, it had this huge hill that let you watch both the sunrises and sunsets.  

And when the sun was high enough to bring tears to her eyes I went on one knee and pull out the tiny box. 

And when I opened it she cried. 

And nodded really aggressively. 

Like, I thought her head would topple off. 

And I put the small little ring on her fourth finger.  

And we fell asleep watching the sunrise. 

Sometimes Goodbye Doesn't Have to Last

The flower you hold so delicately
has thorns on its stem as it is not so fragile.
The way you caress the satin petals
is as though it will fall through your fingers like sand.
The same fingers that pulls through your hair
as a habit.
But the moment will come when the petals will wilt
and the thorns will grow weak.
And your hands will drop
this limp plant
and it will lay by your feet,
fallen.
But memories last
and the silk that you felt
will linger
hesitantly.

The flower you held so closely
with the thorns that broke your skin
will always reside withing you.
You'll brush your hair
with the same gentleness
that stroked those simple petals.
But there will be another.
With more vibrant colours.
Striking petals.
A stem with less thorns.
A stem without a weight on its shoulders.

But maybe the goodbye to the flower with an ethereal glow
Is not a different greeting other than that of 'Hello'.

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.

Your Story

There are so many possible stories that occur throughout your life.
Possible choices that lead to possible relationships,
Possible relationships that lead to possible romances,
Possible romances that lead to possible loves,
Possible loves that lead to possible lives.
And each choice you make
Shifts the new outcome.
For instance,
Deciding to take a leap of faith and saying hello to someone
you for some reason find intriguing.
Even
If
You
Don't
Know
Them.
The scariest part though isn't asking them how their day was, oh no this is easy.
The scary part is seeing their response.
From how their faces will either light up or grow bored,
From the way they shuffle their feet or clear their throats.
You only have so much power.
Half the power.
They carry the other half, even though it feels like they carry all the power.
You both need to step forward.
And even that is a new possible story.
Another story is if you step forward and they step back.
Or they step to you but you pull down a veil.
The hardest part is accepting who you are for them to accept who you are.
The hardest part is very similar to the scariest part,
But the hardest part is what you do rather than what they do.
But this is the mentality portion.
You have to build up the courage to force yourself to step forward.
You have to remind yourself to breathe and to stop shaking.
That's the hard part.
But the best thing about this story
Is the story itself.
The build up to events,
The reactions they give.
The best part is going to bed at night feeling waves of content and overriding joy fall asleep with you into pale dreams of a happiness you never thought you would have at this time two, three years ago.
The best part is that the story you are in is your story.
It is intriguing and scary and hard.
But my god,
It's beautiful.

The Chapel

She walked through the doorway, a smile lingering on her her lips.
"You're late."  His calm voice echoed through the empty house.
She stepped into the kitchen, gently folding her hands in front of her.  She felt the soft fabric of her dress and inhaled the smell of the forest.
"At least I showered."  She replied playfully.
The man walked into the light.  His jet black hair was greased back, and even though he was wearing a suit, she could see the dirt stains on his hands.  They watched each other for a moment before he rose his hand slowly, and closed the space between them.
In a fluid motion he brushed a stray curl away from her face, "You look lovely, Vi."
Her smile only widened, "Are you ready, Jackson?"
He didn't reply quickly, instead he stepped back and took her in.
Vi's smile began to falter, but before she could begin to doubt herself he grabbed her hands.
"I've been ready for a long time."
In the quiet house, they held still.
Jackson led her to the door, and they walked down to their small town car.  He waited for her to get comfortable in her seat before he shut the door and moved to the driver's seat.
The drive was quite.  Comfortable.  Vi watched the trees soar past them as they made their way to the building.  She tried to count how many trees they passed, but lost count almost right away.
They didn't turn on the radio, but instead listened to one another's heart beat.
It felt like a moment, but it took them half an hour to get there.
He pulled up and they sat there.  Comfortable.
He then turned to her and leaned to kiss her cheek.  He paused to inhale her perfume.  It was a mix of lilacs and fresh, light air.
As he pulled away he muttered, "I'll see you soon, darling."
Jackson exited the car, only to stop to pull her door open to let her out.  But she waited in the car for several moments until the man was inside the white marble building.
Vi squeezed her fingers, and let her right forefinger linger on the small, thin band that wrapped around her left ring-finger.
She smoothed out her dress and stood out, into the wind.
Vi pulled her little purse out in front of her, and pulled out a small, compact mirror.  She rose it to her face and began fixing minor make-up mistakes.  She smoothed out her kohl eye-liner, re-applied her deep red lipstick, and pinched her cheeks for a rush of red.  Then she fixed any dark stray hairs by tucking them back against her head into the already made bun.
Then she walked into the hauntingly beautiful building, and saw the man with dark slicked back hair standing at the very end of the aisle, staring at her with a slim, silent smile.
By the time she took a step forward she understood.
She was never late.

A Police Statement

     "I counted to four while standing on the edge.  My swimsuit wasn't like everyone else's in how every one else's was already wet from their jumps.  But my trousers were still dry and I knew they were laughing at me.
     I counted to five while clenching my teeth.  It was a high jump, but there was water below.  I knew this.  I drove past this every day.
     I counted to six when I heard them yelling to me from several feet back.
     "Come on, Christian!"  I think that was Kyle.
     "Deep breath and go, Chris!"  Definitely Sean.
     "Don't be such a pussy!"  I didn't recognize that voice, so I'm guessing it was one of the random guys that tagged along with us.
     I counted to seven, wondering how I got here.

     We were talking at lunch about how crazy it would be to jump off one of the cliff's near Lindell Beach when someone said it would send an incredible adrenaline rush.  Then someone else piped up how you don't grow hair on your chest until you've pushed your boundaries to the extreme.
That's when Sera scolded us for talking about something so dangerous.  About how we were making it seem heroic where so many people died from cliff diving; especially considering the recent deaths from a few people who jumped off the cliff's near Lindell.

     I counted to eight as I began to notice how shaky I had gotten.

One of the boys-- I think it was Kyle, he said it could be a gateway to manhood or some shit- crap, sorry.  But we all got pumped up about it and psyched ourselves up.  About two hours later we were cramming into Kyle's van with a few guys from our class as we drove to Lindell Beach.

     I counted to nine as I looked over the edge.  The waves crashed against the cliff, and I couldn't see past the thick black water.  I heard a bit of commotion behind me, but before I could turn I felt someone spin me around.
     "Hey!"  I exclaimed while trying to not tumble off the cliff.  I noticed the green eyes I was looking at belonged to Sera.
     "Are you seriously so stupid as to do this?"  Her lips quivered a bit, and she kept fumbling to keep her brown hair from being blown into her face.
     "How did you get here?  You don't drive."
     She laughed a bit, "Neither can you, but you managed to catch a ride too."
     I looked over her shoulder and noticed how restless the guys were getting.  Kyle scowled as he pointed to the cliff.
     When I didn't respond she pointed behind her, "Danielle drove me up."
     Just as she said Danielle, I noticed her short tan frame leaning against a vibrant, red convertible.  I'm surprised I didn't hear her smacking her gum before.  Then I noticed something.  They were both in their swimsuits.  Danielle was in a two-piece yellow one with large round sunglasses-- red of course to match her lipstick.
     But when I looked back to Sera, she was wearing a simple black one-piece.
     "We realize it's stupid.  But, I dunno, we thought since we know CPR and stuff we could just make sure if one of you got hurt we could help."  She shrugged, "Besides we're here now, and it's a bit of a drive to go back.  And Danielle wanted to be around boys."   She smiled at her last comment and we caught ourselves laughing at it.
     I ran my hand through my hair as I turned back towards the cliff, "Well, I'm about to jump, so if I need help I won't shout up.  But if you hear me shouting, don't jump after me, okay?"  I grinned as she nodded.
     "Just jump as far away from the cliff as you can, alright?"
     I answered by putting some distance between me and the edge.  I looked at her before sprinting to the edge.
     I lost track of which number I had counted to, so I just let myself leap off.
     And then I felt the rush as I fell through the air.  My breath became the air and my face was absorbing the sunlight.  My limbs were light and my hair was as soft as feathers.  I had to remember to position my body properly to land so I didn't hurt myself.
     And in an instant, water consumed me.  I felt exhilarated as I let myself stay floating under the water.  I felt like I was in another world.  I felt incredible and soft and peaceful.
     I slowly swan up to the surface, inhaling deeply as my lungs felt oxygen.  I heard someone yelling, but I was in such a haze that I couldn't make out what they were saying.  I looked up at the sky and noticed how the pale yellow light kissed the water so beautifully that it created a liquid gold.      A few seagulls squealed above me and I watched in awe as their wings spread wide to take the air current against the cliff.  They seemed to fly so easily.  I wondered what it would be like to fly like that.
     But then I realized I was just exposed to that feeling.  It felt like I was flying.  I want to keep flying.
     Suddenly a giant splash exploded beside me, sending me into shock as to what happened.
     A head full of long brown hair popped up gasping and yelling, "Christian!"
     I felt my stomach drop when I recognized her.
     I choked a bit on water, "Sera?"
     Her eyes widened and I saw anger flow through her as she splashed me, "Christian! For God's sake, I thought you were hurt! You didn't shout up, and you said you would if you weren't hurt, and so you were making it seem like you were hurt, and I was so scared because I didn't know what to do when I would get down here because right now I can't see a way to get back up--"  I started laughing.  Really, really hard.  "Why are you laughing?  Christian.  Christian!"  She splashed me again.
     I spoke between breaths and water, "I was in awe with everything.  The jump was incredible, I was just in another world.  I barely heard you yelling, and it was like every image and feeling was amplified.  I'm so sorry Sera."  I was laughing again.  But she sank a bit in the water and moved away from me.  I grew a bit solemn, "Sera?"
     She went to splash me again but I grabbed her wrists, which is really awkward when you're treading water.  I had to push her hands down and continue treading water.  She looked at me through her eyelashes and muttered something.
     "What?"  I swam a bit closer.
     "I said you're a jerk for making me think you were hurt!"  She splashed me before I could stop her.
     "Okay, you really need to stop doing that."  I wiped my face.  Sera glared at me and smacked her hand into the water to me, and she kept spraying the water for a good minute.  Finally, she stopped, huffing a bit.
    "Are you done?"  I asked.
    "Yes."  She mumbled, looking unhappy.
    "C'mon, let's head up.  With how long we're taking, they might be a bit freaked too."  Her face lit up a bit with hearing that we're leaving.
     We swam over to the cliff and I told her if we held on and moved to the right, there'd be a pathway that some people made so it's easy to get back up.
     When we got to the top again, the guys were sitting casually while Danielle was sun bathing.  You could see her talking to Sean, who seemed so into the conversation that he didn't even check out her body.  I gave him props.  When Danielle spotted Sera, she leaped up and shimmied over to her, all the guys swooned pretty hard that I could hardly refrain my laughter.
     She dramatically swept Sera up in large hug, "We were all so worried, Ser."  She air kissed both her cheeks and went back down to Sean.
    Kyle nodded to me, "Not so bad, eh?"  He smiled, "And you got Sera to jump, so you killed two birds with one stone!"  My smile felt a bit forced, but I asked anyways.
    "What do you mean?"
    "Everyone who's here has to jump."  I felt cold suddenly.
    "If they don't want to jump they don't have to."  I replied.  But the problem wasn't who jumped, but who hadn't.  And the only person who hadn't was Danielle.
     She waved her hand dismissing the idea, "Oh please, I'm not jumping.  I'm tanning.  See?"  The patted her towel.
     Kyle smirked, "Oh, if you don't want to jump that's fine, babe."  I saw her clench her teeth.
     "Don't call me babe."  She stood up, beginning to roll up her towel, "Well, Ser, since you've had your fun and saved Mr. Dreamy, let's haul ass and get out of here."  But as she kissed Sean's cheek and stood up-- leaving a bright read kiss mark, may I add-- Kyle stepped in front of her.
     "Go?  But you haven't made your mark yet, babe."  He smiled with his bright white teeth.
     I stepped up now, realizing how serious this was getting.  I chuckled a bit to break the tension, "Okay, guys, if she doesn't wanna jump, she doesn't have to."  I turned to Danielle, "We'll see you at school, have a nice weekend," I stepped to Sera and leaned to her ear, "And I hope to see you this weekend, maybe?"  She grinned and gave me her phone to put my number in.  As I was finishing it and Danielle was walking to her car, Kyle ran forward to her and picked her up.
     I rushed the number, gave Sera my phone back and stopped Kyle.  I noticed Sean was standing up now too.
     "Kyle, put her the fuck down.  What are you thinking?  This isn't the time, or area to be fooling around."  Sean sounded pretty scary when he was serious,
     Kyle snorted, "What, you want your little girl toy back?  Come get her."  And with that, he sprinted to the cliff edge.  Everyone was shouting now, and I felt Sera grip my arm.
     Sean, with his height, easily ran to the edge and pulled Danielle out of his arms.  He placed her on the ground and shoved Kyle in the chest, "What the fuck is your problem?"
    Danielle slowly crawled away, shaking vehemently.  I rushed to her side and helped her to sit next to Sera.  Danielle had taken off her sunglasses, and you could see the fear in her blue eyes.  Sera ran to the car and grabbed the towel, wrapping Danielle in it.
    I heard a bloodcurdling scream from Danielle as she pointed to the cliff with her sunglasses.
    I spun on my heels and saw that Kyle was standing over the edge, his back heaving from his lungs.  But I didn't see Sean.
    I whispered while stepping towards him, "Kyle?"  His back was still rising quickly, "Kyle, where's Sean?"  All the guys were in shock.  But Kyle didn't turn around.  I felt a gust of wind fly by me, and I saw Sera's brown hair flowing like the waves below as she jumped off the edge.
    "Sera!"  I was jumping before I knew what was happening, and I smashed into the water faster than a second.   I broke through the water, gasping for air, and saw Sera swimming through the waves, diving, coming back up, scanning for where he could be.  I dove under the water, trying to see him, but the water was so dark I couldn't see anything.
    I came to the surface, and panic struck me as I couldn't see Sera anymore either.  I looked up at the cliff and saw Kyle staring down intensely.  I squinted my eyes because something felt off.  But I went over to the path, to find Sera sitting, clutching her hands.
    "Sera, it's okay, we'll find him."  She shook her head.
    "I can't see him if he's hurt.  I know CPR, Chris, not how to save someone's life.  I can go call the ambulance."
    I reached for her hands and squatted in front of her, "When you go call the ambulance, please come straight down.  Take the path if you need to, but when I find him I need your help to keep him conscious."  I tried to smile, and she stood up nodding.
    "Okay.  I'll come straight down."  With that, she sprinted up the path.
    I hurried back to the water and saw that Kyle was still staring down.  I spent about five minutes scouring the water, and diving as deep as I could go.
    Then something came to my mind.  When Sera came back down-- by the path-- I asked her about what the water looked like when she jumped in after me, the first time.
     "The water was really choppy.  But not like how they were crashing against the cliff.  It was like a bulls eye."  She tilted her head, "Why?"  But then her eyes widened.  "The water.  It wasn't disturbed from Sean when I went down."  She covered her mouth as tears formed in her eyes, "He never made it to the water, Chris.  He never made it."  She was hysterical now, sobbing into her arms.  I comforted her for a moment before I had to pull away.
     "I have to find him, Ser.  Stay here.  Breathe through your nose out through your mouth."  She nodded.
    When I went into the water I looked up at the cliff.  There were a few spots where Sean could have fallen, but something told me it would be easy to see where he was.  Because Kyle was staring at him.
    It was all a blur after that.
    I'm sorry.  I don't remember anything other than climbing up the cliff, and having to push his body into the water.  Then I had to pull it by the pathway.  I had to help Sera try to help Sean.  And she cried a lot.  I began crying too.  I had been best friends with Sean for twelve years.  We used to play video games on NES when we were younger.  Especially Donkey Kong.  We loved DK.
    I held Sera because she couldn't stop crying.  So eventually we stopped trying to help Sean because he wasn't responding.  He wasn't breathing.  So we held each other as we waited for the ambulance.
   I'm sorry officer, I can't remember anything else."

A Cigarette

I brought the cigarette between my lips, pausing for a second- a second so quick no one could notice I breathed outward, before inhaling deeply.  I clenched my teeth, refusing to cough.  I will not cough.  He wouldn't cough.  He smoked like it was as easy as breathing.  He would place the cigarette against his mouth any second now, inhale, hold, exhale, laugh, inhale, hold, exhale, say something about how my sunglasses have finger prints on them, inhale, hold, exhale, offer me one.  I'd say no.  I always said no.
I brought the thin white paper to my face, and just held it.
A few girls walked by me, and I felt their steady gaze on the hand by my face.  On the cigarette.  I inhaled deeply.  Do not cough.  Do not cough.  Jane I swear to god, do not fucking cough.
They were out of site.
I hurled over, choking up my lungs.
"God!"  I slammed my hands against the wall I was now leaning against.  The rough red bricks scraped my hand, I cursed while pinching the still burning cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?!"  I shouted at the wall.  I could see him.  His head would be tilting ever so slightly.  His mouth would be slightly upturned.  The black leather jacket would be crinkled as he would place his hands in his jean pockets.  He'd pull out his pack.  He's pull out his lighter.  He'd bring both to his mouth.  And then he'd pause for a second.  A second no one could see.  But I saw it.  I saw it every time.  I saw his hesitation.
"Your hesitation should have lasted longer."  I spat at the wall, "You should have thrown out your pack.  Taken up some activity.  For God's sake--!"  A sob choked my throat, "Kept your nerves calm some other way."  I flicked the built up ash off the tip of the cigarette and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down into sitting position.
I stared at the cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?"  I flicked off more ash, "This was your plan wasn't it.  You do this with a lot of people.  You don't have to though.  You could stop this.  Stop hurting people."  More ash.
I didn't expect it to respond.
"You do realize that's an inanimate object, right?"  For a second-- only a second-- I freaked out because I thought it was talking to me.  To be fair though, I hadn't slept in the past month.  But I calmed down when I realized that one, the voice was right.  It was an inanimate object.  Two, the voice was female.  And I know this may be gender biased, but I thought a cigarette would sound kind of like a raspy old man.
I looked up, only to see a pair of green eyes and a quite noticeable chest that was being enclosed by a tank top.
I blinked.
She was brave.
She sat down next to me.
"Cancer?"  Her voice did sound kind of raspy.
I didn't look at her dark red hair pulled into a very high pony tail.  Or her  vibrant green, spider-like nails.  Or her stiletto scarlet pumps.  And I didn't even notice her very short jean skirt.  I brought the cigarette to my mouth, paused, inhaled. Don't cough, Jane.  I swear to- well, you already know who.
"You do know you aren't technically aloud to smoke in this area, right?  If you want to smoke outside a hospital, there are designated areas."  Her bright pink lips popped a perfect bubble with minty gum.
I inhaled.
"You might not want to talk, but I had to speak to ya."  Pop.
Inhale.
"You can't smoke here."  Pop.
Inhale.
"You may not believe this, but I'm a doctor here.  You can't smoke here." Chew. Chew. Chew.
I looked at her.  Her green eyes seemed so bright, and that's when I noticed the laugh lines by her eyes.
"Come on."  She stood up with ease, and offered me her hand. "Come on, sweets."  She tugged my free hand up.
We were walking around the hospital.  My limbs felt heavy.  I don't like smoking.  It makes my body feel gross.
We stopped suddenly.
"Here.  You can smoke here."  She smiled.  Her laugh lines were emphasized.
"Thanks."  I mumbled.  Inhale.
"She speaks," She said as she rose her eyebrows in awe, "What other words do ya know?"  Pop.
"Fuck." Inhale.
She let out a harsh, surprised laugh, "That was unexpected.  And crude."
"Aren't you worried about second-hand smoke damage to your lungs?"  I asked apathetically.  Inhale.
"Sweets, I'm a doctor and I've been smoking since I was ten. I know the risks.  I know how addicting it is.  I'm a walking oxymoron.  A doctor who smokes."  She laughed more heartily.  I heard the raspy again.
And for a second, while her profile was laughing, I saw him laughing.  He didn't have laugh lines though.  But I guess he always seemed permanently young.  He was supposed to stay young with me.
"So it took you a bit to speak, I'm guessing you're the same with laughing."  Her pink lips grinned.
Inhale.  Flick.
She exhaled slowly; calmly.
We didn't speak for a while.  My cigarette was almost out.
He would be putting it under his shoe, grinding it out.  He would be pulling out another one.  Pack, lighter, mouth, pause, inhale.
His hands eventually began shaking.
His hair was starting to thin.
By the time we found out, it was too late.
"Why did you say Cancer?"  I asked while trying to cover my cough.
She answered while looking ahead, "You'd be surprised, but working in a hospital you see a lot of Cancer patients."  Her smile was dripping with sarcasm.  But she still seemed happy.  Then she turned to me, "I saw you practically vomit.  You haven't been smoking long.  I'd say you started the past twenty-four hours.  And I realize I'm supposed to respect patients privacy, but I was Wesley's doctor."
My throat closed when she said his name.
"Wesley had been smoking for a very long time."
"Don't."
"But just because he died that was, doesn't mean you should."  Pop.
Inhale.
"I'm surprised you don't recognize me."  She said while chewing, chewing, chewing.
I rose an eyebrow.  I think I'd remember her bright pink lips and vibrant green nails.  Especially her doctoral dressing habits.
Inhale.
"Let me introduce myself to you again Ms. McKinley."  She lobbed her wad of gum into the trash can, pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe off her lipstick, released her hair from the pony tail and folding her hands carefully in front of her.  Her posture suddenly changed, and her voice grew serious.  In my sleep deprived state, her name rushed back to me.
"Doctor Hansen."  We said in unison.
I groaned, "For--"
"God's sake.  I know."  She pulled a slender tube from her pocket, and she tugged the cap off revealing a thick bubble gum pink lipstick-- one that was well used.  She laughed, "Hey, currently I'm on a break.  Losing a patient is hard, and we had to sort out paper work."
I clenched my teeth.
"Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you?"  She suddenly sounded angry.
"Yes-"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you could taste my words with nicotine staining your tongue."
I blinked, too shocked to say anything.
"Ms. McKinley, you don't have to take up his dirty habit."  She put a new stick of gum in her mouth.
I looked at the cigarette.
"There wasn't anything we could do for Wesley, Ms. McKinley.  But you still have so much potential."  I brought the last bit of cigarette to my lips and paused.
"He wouldn't want you to go down this path."
I laughed, "He was always offering me them.  He wanted me to be like him."  I frowned, "I finally am."
"Jane."  Our eyes met, "Do you honestly believe he would have asked you if he knew you would have said yes?"  We were silent for a moment.  The ask was building up.  "Well," she sighed, "My break is almost over.  Think about what you want, Jane."
And she clicked away in her red pumps.
Click
Click
Click.
I stared at the burning cigarette.
And then I felt it slip out of my fingers.
And I watched the ashes crumble against the cement.
And I brought my sneaker over it.
And I crunched it.

Dr. Hansen stopped at the door and looked at me.
And she smiled.

To My Mother

I don't know when I started to see you hurting so much.
I remember when I was younger, I would be downstairs with your best friend's daughters, and I don't remember you sitting with us.
I don't remember you coming downstairs smiling, in a soft t-shirt with a nice pair of jeans, nor do I remember you wanting to go out much.
But I remember your door being closed a lot, and when you'd come out you'd try to smile and pull my head to your lips.
I remember how you used to make me and my brother that hamburger helper almost every night because you couldn't cook.
I remember you gaining weight, then suddenly losing all of it.
I remember feeling the waves of sadness that you radiated, even though you would wear that red lipstick to emphasize your smiles.
But I didn't realize when I was younger that you were sad.
I was used to coming home to a babysitter, or staying at a friend's house.
I was used to not seeing you very often.
It felt normal.
And I wasn't mad at you for it.
When people asked me what was going on with my mum I would say
"She's sleepy, is all."
Or
"She's had a long few days."
But they weren't a few days.
They were years.
Mum, you've suffered for years.
And I didn't know when I was younger that you were depressed.
I didn't know until recently that you were sick.
I didn't know that it took you the majority of your living life to get the help you deserved.
And I am so, incredibly, terribly sorry that my younger self couldn't see.
I am so, incredibly sorry that even now I can't help you very much because we're trying to push each other up when we end up pushing each other down.
And I am so, terribly sorry that I make you worry.
I just--
God.
I just, I care so much that my heart hurts.
And I care so much that I can't not cry while I'm trying to explain what I've been wanting to say.

I remember,
when I was around fourteen or fifteen, when you told me about how depressed you got.
How you wanted to hang yourself.
But you couldn't because you know I would be the one to find you there, lifeless.
And you knew that would shatter me.

I remember,
when I told you about what happened
very recently,
and the fact that I had been living with the information for four-five years
and you began crying.

I remember so much, mum.
I am so sorry for so much.

And I 'm sorry for when I get such low energy, and such a low mood, that the few times we see each other,
I'm not really there.
It isn't you, mum.
It's my head.
It's my emotions.
It's the pressure in my chest.
That I've placed on myself.
That I inadvertently placed on myself.

I just need to say that I love you.
I love dad too... but I can't talk about him now.
Just like I can't talk about my brother.

Because we keep bruising each other,
whereas whenever my mood gets low around them,
it's like they're wearing a bullet proof vest, allowing my bullets to ricochet.
Our bullets don't ricochet.

An Undead Tale

Panic struck me as I rolled over, pulled the safety off my hand gun and was deafened suddenly by the three quick shots I released.

The body dropped on top of me, the hundred-and-eighty-something pound man pinning me to the ground.  His rotten smell enveloped my nose causing me to gag.  But I knew I had to hold it down, otherwise I'd suffocate in my own stomach waste.  

I shimmied my left hand into the inner side of my pant waist, tugging out a worn dagger and stabbing the man's gut to push him off.  

With great strain his body slowly slumped to the side, allowing me to turn over and hurl. 

What little that was in my stomach was now under me, and my body felt exhausted. 

That was the second close-call in the past day that almost sent me to my own immortal death. 

"Fuck!"  I spat, punching the cement beneath me, "Fucking fuck!"

I gasped and sat on my heels, looking up at the setting sun.  There was a stale taste in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste the water I had to rinse it out, so I pulled out a cigarette instead while adjusting myself to be able to see my ankle.  Or in other words, the ankle that the man had grabbed. 

Relief filled me as I realized he hadn't broken my skin with his filthy nails that were filled with this disease. 

I remember sitting at home with my brother when we were younger saying how the world needed something to purge people.  I know that's awful, honest I do, but we were young and heard all about over population issues and all of these terrorist threats.
When the virus hit the news, it seemed like a blessing.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't a blessing because it wasn't natural.
A blessing is something from the natural world that brings a person luck or sense of calm.
This was neither.

I pushed myself up, setting into a steady jog across this street.  All the doors of the large houses were bolted down with wooden planks, metal poles and simple cardboard.   As the sun kept setting, my panic was returning.

I remember when it was the sixth night when the disease started, we weren't too scared because media hyped things up, we knew that.  We knew that.  But when I was in bed, the front door started banging.  Really, really aggressively.  It woke my fifteen-year-old self, as well as my older brother.  Mum and dad were already up, they were always arguing and for the past few days they were arguing about whether to stay at home or visit our grandparents.  But I was really scared. Adrenaline hit me, see?  And my heart was racing.  My brother's room was right next to mine, and I rushed into his room full of fear, to see that he was in his clothes, a backpack on his back and his sword on his waist.  He got that sword for his ninth birthday.  He loved Japanese culture, so a family friend got him an antique katana.  He looked at me when I walked in and asked if I was okay.  I hugged him.
Dad when to check the door.
That was the first mistake.
That was the first damned mistake.
The thing lunged at him.
It didn't bit him anywhere.
It tore him a part.
Drove its hands into his chest with its nails.  Mum ran down to help him, but they travel in packs.  They're smart.  They're very smart.
My brother and I stayed in his room.

My breath was coming quicker, I was running faster.  The sun was almost gone.  I finally saw the lighthouse.  Thank fuck.

But like I said, they're smart.  This disease... I know people would call them zombies.  I know people get angry when shows call them 'walkers' or 'undead' but I can't use the term zombie.  The disease is a strain of rabies and tumour cells.  The people who made it thought the two could cancel out one another.  But it made a mecha-virus.   A terrifying virus.  The cancer cells multiplied muscle cells and tissue as well as rapid brain cell growth.  It protected their minds while giving increased strength and longer limbs.  Then the rabies... it made them crazed.  Rapid movement,  sharper teeth and longer nails.  It shut down the analytical mind and amplified the murderous, kill-or-be-killed.  Then once they began eating flesh like cannibals, it warped their sense of sanity to the extreme, just like how cannibals are affected.

As I reached the water to the lighthouse I dove in without hesitation, swimming to the little island.  And by the time I made it to the door, the sky was purple.

My brother was always into dressing up as a superhero- spiderman, batman-- even as a Jedi master.  He had his sword ready as I quivered behind him, we both were watching the door.
We heard and saw the door shaking.  I felt tears forming.  He was sturdy.  Finally, the doorknob began turning.  Really slowly.  I thought about how in movies they did this to create suspense, but it was the killer toying with the prey.  The door shot open and the thing jumped at my brother.  I remember screaming as he swung his sword against the man's head.  It was rusty, but it cracked his skull and he dropped.  My brother was heaving.  More were coming through the door and he was slicing them.  When there was a break he shoved me, his backpack and something I didn't see under his bed, and he pushed several dead bodies over the bottom so I couldn't be seen or smelled.  And I was trying not to cry.  I was confused as to why he wasn't hiding with me.  But I waited under the bed for days.  Waited for him to get me.  Waited for me to stop being afraid.  But finally, I pushed out from under the bed, and stood up.
My legs were sore, as well as me back.  I tucked the little package he left into the bag and looked around and grabbed what I could.  I also checked around the entire house for useful items.  By the time I got to the front door, I noticed that mum and dad were tucked on the couch, looking like they were asleep, and the front door closed.  I sighed and opened it while saying goodbye to mum and dad.
I threw my shoulder against the door, falling into the lighthouse.  Up, up, up I went.  Finding my little sleeping ground by the rotating light.  I sat on my sleeping bag, looking through my backpack.  At the bottom was the little package my brother left me.  
I added another day to my journal.
It had been Seven Hundred and Eighty-Two Days.
Just over two years.
I sighed and pulled out the package.  He would be Twenty today.
I opened the package for the second time and reread the note inside of it.

Keep going, Isabelle, I'm out there.  I love you.  I'll find you by grandma's as soon as possible.  When you get there, wait for me.  I'll be waiting for you too.  But you need to get to -----

I dropped the package in water before I read it.  But I'll get there.  The sentence after talks about me meeting someone.  Someone by town hall.  The lighthouse is a thirty minute walk to town hall, and I sit there all day, and come back here to sleep.  I've been doing it for two years.

I heard the Lighthouse door open, fear slicing through my skull.  I grabbed the knife and huddled against the wall, waiting. 

Calling

I thought I would try to write you a poem

because I could never explain how I felt

but my throat always tightens from sadness

at the cards that I’ve been dealt. 

So I can’t tell you that my knees feel like they’ll give

or that my face is burning away

just because you acknowledge me

and leave me with nothing to say. 

So I thought that I could try

to bring these to words

but I’m falling

but I’m falling

but I’m falling.

Your simple smile towards me

makes my heart jump into my throat

making my mind explode in euphoria

and escape from my emotional boat.

I get so shaky that I can’t tell if I’m cold

or if it’s just from passing you

and I think so quickly that I can’t see

I can’t see if the sky is blue.

So I need to feel your soul

I need you to hear

that I’m calling

that I’m calling

that I’m calling

you

The Little Mud in Life

When she was young, she tied her hair up away from her face.
His hair was trimmed but messy as he ran through the field with his friends.
She carried a colouring book to the swings, laughing with her older sister.
As she tried matching the blue sky to her picture, her sister pushed her gently.
He was slipping in the mud and yelling at his mates, screaming with joy.
But he slipped too close to the swings, and kicked up some mud onto her.
Her white stocking were wrecked, and the picture she worked on wasn't able to be seen.
Her sister started yelling,
He tried to apologize,
She didn't say anything,
and then the bell rang.
All the students scurried inside, trying not to be late.
But the boy stayed behind to try to wipe the mud off the swing.
The girl wasn't angry, just embarrassed that she was so dirty.
She was sent to the washroom to clean up, but on her way she saw through the window that the boy was using his water bottle to clear the mud from the swings.
She blinked a few times before walking into the bathroom.  She opened the closet full of cleaning supplies and grabbed the bucket and sponge.
She filled it up with soap and some water, but when she got to the swings there was no sight of him.
When she was about to turn away, she heard a slapping noise behind her.  To her feet were a pair of mucky black running shoes.  Her confusion was short, because after she saw them, she looked up.  At the top of the swing set was the boy, and in his hand was one of his socks as he was scrubbing the post.
She called for him to come down, but he resisted.
Finally, she soaked the sponge and threw it at him.  A squishy splat echoed in the air, and a large, oval, damp shape cloaked his navy t-shirt.
He was stunned for a moment, and both the boy and girl watched the sponge squish back onto the gravel.
He hopped down, and asked her what she was doing out of class.
She didn't speak, but pulled falling strands away from her eyes.  She reached down for the sponge and began cleaning his runners.
They didn't speak for a while, but cleaned the mess around them.
He put on his shoes bare-footed as she tried getting the mud out of her stockings.
And when they walked into the school again, they went into their own classrooms.
They didn't see each other again, for he played soccer when he was older while she drew.
But when they passed each other, he thought of her ruined stockings while she thought of his shoes.
And they went their ways.

To a Friend

The first time I saw my father, I was already a twenty-nine year old man with an ex wife and a daughter.
And hell, let me tell you, that wasn't no walk in the park either.  It wasn't as though I strolled up to him on a sunny spring day saying, "Care for a smoke?  Only the best for my paps."
Oh no.  It was a bloodbath to say the least.

You see, I was adopted at a young fuckin' age.  My mother died at birth, which my paps blamed me for.  Don't get me wrong, I don't blame the guy, but that ain't no reason to shun out your kid like a sack of rotten Chinese food.   Which is what he did.  By the time I was six I was so fuckin' underweight that I literally blew away in the wind.  Literally.  I was out with some crack-birthed neighbour kids, and we was racin' down the block the some fanny guy's rank old yard.  I chugged down that fuckin' hill like an unholy saint in a churchyard and when that wind picked up, fuck I was gone.  They was howlin' though.  Hell, I thought it was hilarious too.
When I was eight though, man was I fucked.  And I knew it toos.  See, my paps was a drinker.  Hard core, always drunken drunk that was so accustomed to bein' drunk that he was always sober.
But that was no ex'use of beatin' a kid.  A blood related one nonetheless.  But that sore fucker did.
There was a night when I came home late-- the streetlights were on.  That was m' curfew.  And I had screwed the fuck up.  I know that.  I triggered him.  Big whoop.
Or at least, I got a big whoop.
He unbuckled his belt, didn't bother spinning me around, and whipped me across my face, neck, shoulders, abdomen and thighs so many times with his fat, jiggly arms that I couldn't see anything but red on me.  I couldn't see anything but red.
That night I bolted to the police station.
I was rushed to the ER of course, he was placed in handcuffs.
The drunken S.O.B wasn't upset though-- the only time he wasn't upset.  He was laughing with anger.
"He's the fucken murd're!  You should've seen m'girl Nancy!  She was a pretty thang 'till he fucken came 'round!"
Nancy was my mother.  I've only seen photos of her, but she was a pretty little thing.  Short brown hair, large blue eyes.  Medium build.  She looked like a pixie.
My adoptive parents were sickly sweet though.  They've course were them gooey type.  Smilin' so big they always looked like them Asians.  Fucken' Asians.  They the type who sang the carols at christmas, and made you wear them stupid ugly fuckers.  Y'know, the sweaters.  Ughk.  Ugly little fuckers.
Anyhow, as I grew up, I became bored with everything.  In fact, by the time I was thirteen I sat in my new paps car with the windows up and engine on.
Of course, I got out before any damage was done.
Shame.
Fucken' shame.
Even as I grew up, I remembered that psycho.  I didn't see no one, because that would've seemed weak to me.  I need to emphasise it was weak to me to tell some'ne that I thought I had PTSD, because I was beaten so often when I showed even the slightest bit of weakness.  It's just how my mind worked.
As the years dragged on, I was constantly bullied at school.  I think I switched schools ev'ry year till highschool.  That's kind of when things slowed.  Because then I found art.  HA.  It sounds dumb of me to say, an' I know I ain't the best speaker, but art held my soul in ways I ain't ever had it held b'fore.  Not the sketchy-type art, with pencil, but metal work and woodwork.  I built everything I could've in those three short years.  And I was fucken' glorious with 'em.
I got so many of them awards that it seemed almost like a chore to go accept 'em.  Which sounds awful high 'n mighty of me, but I ain't tryin' to be.
Anyways, one of those award evenings, pro'ly in year twelve, I met this girl.  It sounds so cheesy when I say this, but when  I saw her it was like all the light focused in on her, and the rest of the gym was dimmed.  She had this short wavy-type bob that framed her face as it seemed to meld into her skin.  It was a light brown.  Then her eyes, oh god.  They were such a pale blue that they looked Gray.  And she wasn't wearin' those tight black skirts like most of 'em other girls neither.  No, she had on an elegant long sleeved dress that looked like the smoke that came out of people's chimneys.
And my god, when she was talkin' to her group of friends, she looked up under those thick light lashed and met my eyes.  In an instant her cheeks grew crimson, and I felt like I won a million bucks.  And then I felt like I gave all of those bucks to support fluffy bunnies who were homeless or some shit.  I felt giddy.
Of course I didn't have the confidence to speak to her, so we just kind of shared glances to each other now and 'gain.  It was like we already knew each other.
Next day at school she walked up to me.  She said she was Lucy and that she loved my pieces I displayed the night b'fore.
And I never asked her out, we just kind of were together.
That may be the mistake we made, now that I think about it.  I'd see her talkin' to some guy and I'd think she didn't like me any more.
But we loved each other.
We got married when we graduated.  We had Lillian when we was a bit older though.  We was twenty-four, twenty-five.  But then Lucy kept gettin' sick.  She had troubled with her white blood cells, so she got sick often and for long periods of time.  But it got to the point where she didn't get better one day.  Well I guess she did, because she wasn't sufferin' no more.  Lily understood right away when I told her mama loved her, but had to be free of her pain.  Lily didn't cry, she kissed my cheek with her plump scarlet lips and said sternly, "Daddy, we need to be happy that she's okay now."
Luckily she learned to speak proper b'fore Lucy passed.  See, she was an English major, and she was not lettin' her baby suffer with the way I speak.  I would smile, thank her, and kiss her.
She was twenty-eight when she died. Our little daughter turning five.
But something was naggin' me.
I would have nightmares about panic fillin' my chest.  Then I'd wake with a sweat drenched bed.  I'd fear for Lily.  I'd run into her room and cradle her into my arms, and I'd fall back asleep in her bed.
I never hit Lily.  If she done somethin' bad like runnin' out into the street full o' cars, I'd get upset.  I'd yell at her to tell her she'd hurt herself if she did that.  But I never hit her.  I guess that's a lie.  Sometimes, like with the car thing, if she kept doin' it, I had to spank her.  No whips, no belts, but I had to get across that it was unsafe.
And I hated myself for that every day after.
I realised that I had to see my pap.  I had to see where he was and know he wasn't comin' for me or Lily.
So I went to him.

I didn't mean to.  I swear to God I didn't mean to.
I found where he lived.  Some place in Oklahoma.  I drove for a few days.  I left Lily with a sitter.
I didn't want her to meet him.  I didn't want him to know she existed.  So I went up to the old, rotting door.  And this stern looking man with white hair and a wrinkled face opened the door.
     "I don't want the fucking paper, get the fuck outta here, boy."  He waved his cane at me, and I ducked out of the way.  Before I meant to I said,
     "Jacob Merth!  I'm Jacob Merth.  Your son."  He froze.  Then a sick grin spread on his lips as he gestured inside, pulling the door open.
     "Ahh.... I've been won'dren when your ass would show up."
     I don't know why I went in.  I shouldn't have.  I know that now.  But, it's too late.
     All the furniture was torn at corners, and seemed clumped in places.  The radio was on, but it was static, and the t.v was also on static.
     He sat me down at the old wooden table and said bluntly, "Come here to apol'gize?"  I felt shocked.  Twenty-three years, and that's what he asks.
     "What.. do you mean?"
     "Apol-o-gize."  His iron stare made me uneasy.  Why did I come here?  "For killin' my wife, and for getting me thrown in jail."
     "I didn't know you went to jail.  I was six and in pain.  I didn't mean to kill mum, she was pregnant and I was being bor---"
     His hands slammed on the table, "YOU KILLED MY FUCKING WIFE!"
     It happened so quickly, he pulled a large silver gun out from under the table, and cocked it back.  Suddenly I was scared for Lily.  Would she be adopted now, too?
     All the air breathed out of the house as we just stared at each other.  And before I decided to, I jumped up and smacked the gun out of his hand.  It went flying under the sofa, but as I lurched at it his cane came flying up and smacked the front of my head.  I hear a crack on my face, and with the blood pouring into my mouth I think he broke my nose.   He leaped onto me, grabbin' at my throat, but I stepped back against the wall, crushing him.  With him loose, I scrambled for th' gun, frantically searchin' under the couch.  My hand fell across the cool metal, and I pulled it out, aimed at him and shot without hesitation.  The ringing in my ears dazed me, and I found I wasn't holding onto the gun an'more.   I saw a thick red splatter on the wall, and his limp body crumpled by the table.
     I was breathing quite shallow, and suddenly it felt like I wasn't gettin' no air, which made me panic.  I got on my knees and felt vomit pour out of my mouth, onto his worn wooden floor.  The realization that Lily wasn't going to have a father any more hurt more than an'thin' I could imagine.  It hurt more than losin' Lucy.  But I was going to jail.  I couldn't cover this up, go home an' act like nothin' was wrong no more, because ev'ry thin' was wrong now.  My conscious was wrong now.
     I found the gun a few feet away, I think I tossed it out of my hands, makin' it seem like I ain't the one who shot him.  But it was me.
     I lifted the gun and opened my blood filled mouth, placing the hot end in between my teeth.  I love you, Lucy, Lily.  Please forgi------------------