Terror of the Flames.

Something isn't right. I feel like I'm deaf. No, not deaf, like I'm under water. Every sound is distant and muffled. Still, something more is wrong. I am suddenly afraid, terrified. What could be happening? I open my door and a wave of intense heat knocks me back. I can hear again - the alarms, the screams, the crackling of the fire's hungry voice. Emerging from the flames I see a figure, a silhouette holding a knife, making his way towards me. A scream escapes my lips as I fling the door shut.  Where is my knife? I run, search, scared. I forget to breathe. Where is it? There's no time, I hear him at the door. As it opens I race toward the window, flinging it open. I feel the frosted air on my face, I'll be safe once I get out, I just have to run. Hope makes my heart skip a beat, but it skips another when I feel the hot hand on my leg, pulling me roughly back through the window, away from life. I roll over and see his face. That face that will never leave me. It's horrifying, terrifying, and I am so scared I can't even scream. I see the knife and kick out as hard as I can. A hit, square in the chin. As he reels I scurry back towards safety, feeling the cool air on my face again.But still, I'm not fast enough, I'm never fast enough.He finds a hold on my leg once again and I try to scream. Nothing comes out, I'm just being pulled in again. I feel his blade in me, cutting deep into my back. It's searing hot, the blade of the devil. He pulls it out and I turn to face him again. Not for long though. I barely have enough time to shed a tear before his blade slams down through my skull.

And I wake up.My heart is racing in my chest, pounding away as if it meant to break through my ribs. I cannot breath, and I do my best to not scream. The "not scream" part gets easier with every time I wake up from this terror playing out in my skull, behind my closed lids. I fear, now, that it wont stop.

Bang.

Bang.
Half a second, and you're gone - dead before you hit the ground. My finger hovers over the trigger. In my mind's eye, I see the shot, the explosion of what once was his thoughts, and I see him fall. It happened so slowly, whole seconds until he hit the ground. It was so easy for him. It would be so easy for me, as well. I feel the cold metal on my finger tip. I adjust my grip as I grow weak and it grows heavy, a monster in my hand. Opening my eyes it is gone, and my medicine is in it's place. There is so much, so many to take. I see his face, cold, lifeless, covered in tears. Swallow, one pill down, another hundred to go. Another four make it past my lips and I feel sick. I spit the parasites out into the snow before me. My bare feet are in frozen pain as I shiver, clad in a tank top and shorts. I sit, and welcome the cold into my body as my mind wanders back to him. He must have done the same - welcomed the cold into his mind, that numbness that let him pull the trigger. Tears streak my face as I think of my love, my sisters, my brothers, my friends. I can't take the pain of the cold anymore. I see his blank eyes and run, stopping only just in time at the edge of the cliff. My toes curl around the edge and I feel the wind in my hair. My tears join the churning waters below me. I let my mind loose, all thoughts retreat. I fall. When I first hit the water, it's warm. My body is limp as I fall towards the soft floor. I watch the air escape my lungs in gentle bubbles, they float back to life. It only burns for a minute, then I am calm, I fade to black, thinking of the one. The gun. The blood.
Bamg.

I Feel My Wings.

Every happy moment ends in sorrow - sorrow to see it pass, sorrow for the unexpected. It doesn't have to be that way, though. We can end each happy moment in joyful hopes for the next one. We can wait with a smile on our face. Isn't that the job of an angel? To bring joy and comfort to the world around them? How can an angel do that with a tear in her eye? So said, I swallow hard, and look from the ground to the sky. Rain falls on my face like the softest of kisses. My white dress falls across my skin as I rise from my knees and spread my wings. I feel the wind between my feathers, lifting me off the ground. The rain falls harder on and around me. I close my eyes and treasure the smell, the feel, the sound, the taste. I exhale heavily, a sigh from the soul, and open them again. I'm laying on my bed, the moon shining through my window, and I am alone. I smile, though, because I wait, joyously hopeful for the next time I feel my wings.

Nothing is Real.

I see her again. She has a brother. This time, they stand. Her arms are limp at her sides, grey and blotched - the colors of the dead - and she caries a dark silver knife. Her pale blue-grey dress is again drenched, hanging heavily on her shoulders. Her head is down and her wet hair, full of mange, hangs down to her waist. I see her again. She lifts her head to look at me with eyes sewn shut. She sings with the music box I hear with lips stitched together. I am terrified but I try to ignore her, try to pretend she's not there. Just look away.
Then I see him. He is standing, her brother, perhaps they are twins. His clothes are the same, heavy, pale, blue-grey. His hair is the same black, wet and dirty. His eyes and lips are forever closed, same as hers. They stand so perfectly still. The music box song gets louder as his voice joins them. It's a broken noise. My heart races as I try not to cry. They're going to get me, with all these people around. How do they not see them? They're going to get me.
Frankie nudges me, "Aren't you going to eat?" I can hardly breathe as I shake my head. The song is drowning out the loud sounds of the cafeteria. I feel blood on my fingertips and look down, I'd been scratching my arm again. When I look up he's closer. I feel her breath on the nape of my neck. They are still so motionless. I stand, doing my best not to shake and swallowing hard against the tears, and throw my food away. When I return they're gone.
They are all in my head. Nothing is real. At least I don't scream anymore.

Will I wake?

Lost, is it me who is the ghost, or the world around me? Life glints like shards of glass with the pain of knowing. Everywhere I look, everything I touch, it's a reminder of that pain. The loss. There's no words. Swords sink deeper and deeper into my chest. Thoughts are no longer coherent, just babble inside my head. I'm shaking, shaking, steady me. I call out but you're not there. I scream, scream, tears streaking my face, but no one hears.

Suddenly, I am beside myself, calm, watching my own breakdown. Doing nothing to stop it. I stand and stare as my body doubles over in tears and pain and loss and sorrow. Sharp stabs of pain hit me like ice. And I'm falling. Over the side of the cliff. Did I jump? I don't remember. The rush of the wind kisses my tears away. I close my eyes and remember, ever time, those painful memories. No, this is my chance to let go. Push them away again. Releasing every disappointment, every heartache, I hit the water. The icy cold shocks my limbs, biting, nipping at my skin. I welcome the pain as I sink deeper and deeper into the oblivion. The light slowly fades from view beyond my fingertips. The rest of my breath escapes in a burst of bubbles, and I close my eyes. My body lays flat on the floor, I accepting my death.

And they pick me up from my puddle of blood. My hair is dripping red, my wrists bandaged hastily. The voices are trying to talk to me. The memory of every broken promise rushes back to me and I scream, not with pains of the flesh but pains of the mind. They don't understand, they push a needle into my arm, breaking the skin, and I slowly fade to an unconscious, dreamless black. Will I wake?

Confusion.

Something is wrong. But, what? I cannot tell. I know that there is something wrong, somewhere, though. Perhaps a life has ended? Someone dear to me? Thoughts that scare the soul race through my mind. My heart quivers, I don't want to lose anyone, not now, not yet. It's too early, always too early. No, no, no one can have passed. The time is not right. So, perhaps a change? A massive change. Whatever it is, it is not good.

I have lost sleep over it. I have cried sweet tears over it. And I am lost because of it. I am walking, spinning, in a black oblivion, with no sense of direction. Confusion in my only company.

The Demons Are Coming.

Goddess, what is wrong with me? My head might just explode, or implode. However, my stomach doesn't twist and fill with pain anymore. I am weak. I am hurt. I am sick. Watch me faint, watch me scream, watch me go insane. Food. Yes, that is what I need, that is all I need. Food. I am almost to the breaking point. To the point where morals mean nothing, and I am completely on my own. To the point were I become savage and will eat anything I can get my hands on. But, no. I must be able to keep my humanities, I must stay sane, I cannot let my mother win and watch me crumble.
So, is that it? I let her win as she watches me die? I can't keep my eyes open any longer, I'm fading, fading. So, that's it, she does win. Goddess above, have mercy, I haven't done you or any other wrong, at least, not intentionally. Of course, she knows that, she knows me. My head. Please, my head. Kill me now, I'm hurting so, I'm sick so, please kill me now. I feel like I cannot breathe - just a delusion, I could only wish to suffocate. My eyes strain to see, my heart scarcely pumps, my breath is shallow and weak, my mind is lost. I cannot function much longer. Hallucinations flash before my eyes, they surround me, attack me, leave me screaming, hiding, trying to protect myself from them, in a room all alone. The sheets are soaked in my blood, bleach white all around. How? Why? Just let me sleep. Let me close my eyes for good, and never have to see the dreaded light of day again. This brutal life, it's killing me. I've lost all sanity. Please, please!
Oh, please, love, help me. I cannot live like this much longer. Help me escape. Please. Soon, I will fall asleep, and my eyes wont open again of their own. Kiss me goodbye, please. I don't want my death to go unnoticed. For every death, someone should care. So, please, kiss me goodbye, one last time. The demons are coming, and I shan't return. I love you lots, my dearest friend. Please, don't forget me. I won't forget you.
The Demons.. The Demons! They're coming for me, help please, the demons are coming. They're scratching at me, all around me, killing me. Biting, scaring, hitting, killing. The demons. They're out for blood. Lots of blood. They want me, they want me, please, don't let them have me. The demons are coming! They'll take me with them, you know and you know well. They'll take me to that place beyond, that place of pain and suffering, oh please, the demons are coming. My head, please, my head, they're getting in my head, making it hurt, hitting it, again and again and again. Oh, goddesss, the demons are coming! I mustn't take their food, it's poisoned, deathly, they'll punish me for it if I do. Please, the Demons are coming, biting, killing. I cannot live much longer. Save me, please, please, the demons are coming to kill, for my blood, for my head on a stick, for their dinner.
Goddess! The Demons are Coming!

Just a Ghost

A ghost. Why am I always another ghost haunting the halls of the old hospital? I'm never seen, my presence is never felt. I'm always just... there. Maybe I'm just a slight breeze? A change in the temperature? No. Not even that. I am a movement of the air molecules that is next to never felt by another being. Could I walk through someone? Just maybe, I'm sure they wouldn't notice. I sit, and I sob. That's why ghosts always sob, because they are ignored and alone. Not because they have lost their bodies, no, because they long to be seen and felt again. There is no again for me, though. I'm just a ghost. Always have been and always will be.
Just a ghost.

Vanish

No! NO! This can't be. Not now. Things are getting better, they cannot get worse. Images flash, scream, and tear at me. So many things now can go wrong, why this?
A little girl sits in the corner, a faded blue dress hanging wetly from her skin, her hair in strings of mud and water. Her skin is pale white and spotted, gray spots that seem from beyond the grave, Her arms are folded over her bent knees, her head resting on them. She is crying. I hear a music box playing in the distance. No, I think to myself, No, why do I have to be so messed up? Why can't I be sane? I feel like screaming as she lifts her head. Blood is dripping from her liquid-black eyes, like tears from some demonic child. Her mouth is sewn shut, and I now notice the bow in her hair. She tilts her head, as if to examine me, to ease her curiosity of some exotic animal. A scream escapes my lips and I hide myself away from this wretched thing pretending to be human.
When I look back she is gone.
...
A shadow, only a shadow, I try to calm my pounding heart. It is not a shadow, though. No, there isn't any mistaking it. This is a hand, coming out of a dark, billowing robe. It is old and claw-like with arthritis. The skin covering the decaying bones and muscle, the maze of vanes, is yellow and hanging, not seeming to be attached at all. Brown spots cover it. It reaches towards me, death swirling around it like the thickest shroud of mist. Goddess, I plead silently, squeezing my eyes shut, please, Goddess.
Then, it's gone.

They always vanish. I know they aren't real, so then why do I scream? I always scream, I'm always so afraid. What if they do hurt me, like they so openly threaten to? Some day, I swear on everything I have, I will make them stop, and I will be sane.
Because the always vanish.
Vanish like smoke.

Could It Be?

I unfold the paper in my hands and can't help but walk that much slower. A smile plays on my lips. This is what I've been waiting for. His almost-neat print fills half the page in delicate words, from a soft graphite pencil that rolled over the once-wood. My heart pumps ever-so slightly faster, my breath shallows, and my mind screams at me. Yes, finally. Don't think twice, Alysha. This is what you want, this s what you need. Is it so? I can't be positive, but still a smile plays on my lips. No tears. No hurt. Just... joy. Something so foreign to me I'm not completely positive of how I should react. Joy. Don't let anything tinge that joy, Alysha. You know better than that. Yes, I do know better. I push thought from my mind and scurry off to P.E. class. In my minds eye I see myself in the middle of time square, spinning with my arms open and my head tilted to the sky, laughing loudly enough for the world to hear. Yes, this is what I want, this is what I need. The folded paper flips between my fingers and thoughts race past my mind. This is what I want. This is what I need. How do I say yes? Anything special? No, a smile will do. For once, this smile touches my eyes. For the first time in as long as I can remember there aren't tears hiding behind that grin, that half-laughter. For the first time.. it's really happening.
Could it really be?
Oh, Goddess, could it be...

My Love

How can I imagine? A sweet laughter shared between us. A smile playing on our lips, a sparkle in our eyes. This beautiful moment is so close. I can feel it. It's coming near, I just have to make it happen. I can't be vulnerable anymore, I can't only float down the river, I have to swim to shore. I have to swim to that grassy paradise and be with him. Finally, it's in view. Comfort fills me and I close my smiling eyes. Visions so sweet dance behind my eyelids. Visions of a beautiful future, filled with love and possibilities. A future I will make happen. It's my own heaven, my secluded paradise. His voice is the most beautiful song imaginable. Lulling and filled with excitement. Comedy-filled or somber, hearing it brings me to my perfect medium. Seeing his handsome face makes me smile, I imagine kissing his smiling lips. (A smile playing on our lips, a sparkle in our eyes.) In my mind I poke his perfect nose and he laughs. He is, no doubt, my angel. My savior, my love.

Be My Angel

Hollowed, Alone, and Broken. I need an angel. So desperately I pray to the goddess for one, so I can forget the heartthrob of mine. No, not forget, just... so I can remove the thorn. The scar will always be there, for better or worse, but I pray the thorn will leave. I figure that if I can somehow, someway, find an angel, someone so perfect, that I will be able to live through the denial of the bitter-sweet love of a real angel. Though an angel no doubt, he's stranger to me. Mother always warned to never take candy from strangers. I will neither feel his gentle arms nor taste his lovely kiss. Tears stain my cheeks and I drop to my bed, I cannot stand this, where is my Prince Charming, riding along on his majestic mount to save me from the vicious dragon that is my pain? As I fall I see red confetti all around me, my hair dances above my face. My lips part ever so slightly and I feel like I am in water, being rocked by the gentlest of waves. Angel, I think loudly, offer me your hand, please, I'm falling. It's blood I see, I'm falling! Please, offer me your hand! Save me, only you can! But, there is no angel, there is no savior, only me, in a pool of blood - my own blood - and I can feel no more. I no longer only feel gutted, I am. My hands clench the blade in my abdomen and tear it out, allowing a rush of fresh blood to warm my skin. When I wipe the blade clean I see a name, his name. I can't take it. Next thing I know the blade is flying across the room, spinning in air, towards him. No, my mind whispers, when did he get here? No! No, no, no! The blade lands in his chest, then goes through as he turns to vapor and disappears. I hear a dull thump as the blade sticks itself into the wall and I begin to bawl. He wasn't here. He'll never be here. I lay back down and gently clasp my hands over a white lily on my chest. Angel, time to wake this young girl with a gentle kiss. My eye's wont part until that day comes.
Angel, oh Angel, please. Please be my angel.

Stirring the Ashes.

How is it possible to be filled with joy and excitement, yet hurt and pain at the same time? I long, always long, for my love, though I know it will never be. So why can't I get over that, move on for just a while and forget while I am so ecstatic? I've no idea. I've pondered and pondered endlessly, searching for the answer, but I cannot find it. Such glee has pulsed through me, I want to hang on to that glee, no matter what. I know it will die though, and I will again be left with loneliness, pain, and longing. Am I to give up? I do believe so. I give up all hopes, and maybe, just maybe, I will be fine and well again. I just can't stir the ashes, as I have been.
Stirring the ashes always gets you burned.

Pourquoi, je t'aime, toujours.

Standing on the corner of Lucas and Priceless, I felt a wonderful sense of truth. I also felt, though, a severe pang of longing and hurt. What had I done to myself? No, not only to myself, but also to who I care so much for. The corner of Lucas and Priceless. That's where I want to stand, forever, and flaunt it to the world. It seems as though it's the only truth there is, as I stand there in my bitter-sweet oblivion. I fall in and out of trances, day dreams that are too real and vivid to be called dreams, and a pain runs me through like a double-edged sword. That's what I'm up against, that's what's cut me through and through, isn't it? the double-edged sword? Still, still, I stand below the only truth I can grasp. I stand on the corner of Lucas and Priceless. I drop to my knees, hurt and alone, and begin to cry. "Mon Lucas, mon amour" I whisper gently in a shaky breath, "Je t'aime, plus. Je t'aime, plus. Pourquoi, pourquoi, pourquio?" Words of different tongues roll past my lips on breaths as rough as the stormy seas. I collapse to my side, finally, and fade to black. As I do so, one last whispered breath escapes past my lips. "Pourqoui, je t'aime, toujours."

the Dirt Under Your Feet.

I am hated. I have no doubt about that. Not one at all. In my household I am either a ghost coldly ignored and unseen, or I am the child who does everything wrong, even when I do something right. I ask for something I am so passionate about. (and, don't get me wrong, I don't ask for things more than five dollars, and anything under that hardly ever. I know my place in the sceme of things now.) Music literally is beauty to me. Pure elegance. This is why I currently play three instruments. Now, it may seem greedy to you, the reader, that I am deeply upset because I cannot learn a fourth, the violin, but let me explain the situation before you judge, deal?
I have asked to play the Cello for a long, long time. I absolutely love it's sound. Though, I understand why I can't, it's way too expensive. I get that. What I don't get, can't get, is why I cannot rent a violin. If it wasn't for my mom, I would get it. Completely. I'm always told we can't afford it, and with the Economic Crisis and Debt crashing down around us, I understand. I don't get, though, how if we can't spare a few bucks every few months how my mother can afford Seventy-dollar swimsuits. How she can get a hundred dollar ring monthly, fifty to sixty dollar pants weekly, twenty dollar shirts daily, and a gym membership (when she can hardly walk). How does she think we can afford having her spend the money we don't have when we can't shave a few dollars for my passion?
Do you see why I'm grumpy now? And, though they aren't as bad as my mother, Papi and Bubu do the same thing. Being the unwanted one is truly hell, and I hope none of you can sympathize with that. Why can't they ever be proud? I've lost my sense of way in this house. I know my place but I don't like or want my place. Why, you ask? Because my place is with the dirt under my family's feet.
That's all I am... The dirt under your feet.

Gone.

Why am I so empty? This pain is something new to me, something different from every other pain I have felt, and it is so, bitterly harsh. Being denied does that to one, though, doesn't it? I don't mean being denied a stuffed animal, a necklace, a dinner out. No. I mean being denied one's hopes and dreams and love and longing. Have you ever felt longing before? That sense that you need to, need to reach out and grasp something so immensely special to you? Now, imagine that something - that orb, that ball of something so desperately needed - grazing your fingertips, but always out of reach just when you think you've finally - Goddess, thank you, finally! - got it, and its again gone. You're left empty and alone. Hurt and crying. Defeated forever in the grace of that which you venerate so.
I feel this every day of my life now. I know that I will never have what I so desperately want. And, worse yet, for reasons I don't understand at all. If I could understand why, then maybe it could all be the tiniest bit bearable. But, no. There is no luck with me, no force on my side. I am alone in this cold, cruel world, and I am expected to bear fruit nonetheless. I am left brimming with a cold sorrow. The kind that never leaves the pit of your stomach, the constant tightness in your throat, the anguish that cuts deep into your soul. And I am lost, forever, to the world.
Gone.