tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67944155829779412402024-03-07T19:44:35.192-08:00Thoughts of a Troubled Mind as a Story.Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-81508315331472956092022-12-22T01:47:00.000-08:002022-12-22T01:47:20.340-08:00With Regards to a Lingering Cold<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s cold. The sun stands defiantly in the center of the sky, toasting the back of my neck. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-49da6879-7fff-9f4f-1f3b-cf5e077cf02b"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s cold. Sweat begins its journey from my forehead toward my chin, stopping along the way to form tears in the corner of my eyes and fill my mouth with the taste of salt. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s cold. Each breath runs its nails across my throat as it escapes, expelling itself in a dry cough easily mistaken for that of a career smoker. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s cold. An erratic clinking draws my attention, causing me to reach for it. My hands find purchase - one at my wrist, the other at my neck. The chain betrays my fear, unable to quell its voice no matter how still I stay; no matter how hard I try not to shake. It is cold. I shiver.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I look up for the first time since realizing what had happened. I’m met by the faces of four others, each one donned in an outfit matching my own. We stand together, alone in a field of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Looking out brings nothing but a sense of dread - a fear of the void. I look back at the others for… for anything more than nothing. I’ve turned back quicker than all but one, seeing the look I wore moments ago on the faces of the remaining three. In this moment, a realization dawns upon me: these three are young. Far younger than me. The fourth is much older, and it shows. A look of compassion has come across their face. Whether this is their natural state or the facade that comes with being the Oldest I could not tell. How long ago had they turned back from </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to look upon us? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. It puts me at ease, and I do my best to try it on myself. These three would have more compassion to take in, even if I was only half as good at wearing the mantle. I would be </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Second</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and the oldest would be </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">must have turned their gaze from </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">long ago. The confidence with which they spoke paired with the compassion they shared for me as I struggled to keep my gaze from being consumed by </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> assured me of that. That they were able to take some of the void away by creating sound brought me joy. They were able to move through the field without any fear of misstep or falling into it. Each step created a path, allowing me to follow behind. The </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">became less empty, being replaced by </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> told me that this </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">had a name, though I found myself unable to recall the word after hearing it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While waiting for </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to turn their gaze away from </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">taught me about the nature of the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> surrounding us. It was a place that served as a safeguard against </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. It would ensure that the void couldn’t pull me back. It was a place of love and rest that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">created in preparation for us. The more they detailed </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, the more tangible it became. What began as bits of random material suspended in the void expanded, intertwining with itself to become solid. Walls formed around and above us, blocking out the void and keeping us safe within. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This structure had been here long before I found myself able to see it. It marked signs of my growth according to </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and it meant that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">would soon turn their gaze away. I asked how they could possibly have knowledge of such things, but they simply stated it was the way of this world. They continued to teach as the time grew near. I gained a voice. It was an imitation of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">’s, but they assured me that it would become entirely my own with time. The thought excited me. None of the new sounds that entered into my ears would ever compare to the first… no, the second. The sounds of my steps on the floor, the gentle rapping of the void on the outside of the walls, the clanging of pots and pans as </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> prepared food for us. These were wonderful sounds, but they paled in comparison to </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">’s voice. Nothing else brought me such peace. To think I could achieve even a fraction of that for </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">felt like a dream, though I wanted it more than anything. A voice could soothe, and the words it spoke could create a world from </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Though they were simple, my conversations with</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">sparked something new within me. Whenever they ended I found myself dissatisfied. They were not responsible for this dissatisfaction, as everything they had to say found a perfect spot to fit into the space between my ears. No, the problem stemmed from desire for… something I couldn’t find the word for. Though </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">spoke of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, gave me a voice, and told me of the ways I would need to prepare for </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, I felt as though there was more. I wanted to know about the fields of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">about how </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">found their voice if they had to teach me mine, and about why I felt such a lingering cold around my wrists and neck no matter how warm </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was - and it was always warm. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I opened my mouth to speak with what felt like my own voice for the first time, but </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">put up a finger to their lips and pointed toward </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s time.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I shifted to </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First’s </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">side and turned toward </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, unable to keep from fidgeting. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">placed a hand on my shoulder, bringing with it a familiar calm. I put on my best </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">face and waited both a lifetime and a moment. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> turned toward us, eyes filled with fear and solitude as they reached for their neck and wrist. They shivered. I motioned toward them, beginning to embrace them as </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">gripped my shoulder tightly, not allowing me to move. Confused, I looked back toward them.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There they stood, four legs, four arms, and two heads, neither of which possessed the visage of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I lurched away from the creature toward </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, picking them up in one arm, much to both our surprise. Looking down out at them gave me a moment’s respite from the newly formed fear and confusion. My own voice poured out of me almost accidentally, but filled with as much compassion as I could muster.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hello, little one. Do not fear, for I will keep you safe”</span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An unfamiliar hand found its perch on my shoulder, though I knew what it must belong to. I swallowed hard, looking as brave as possible for </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perhaps it was a trick of the void. A mistake. A result of me being nervous waiting for Third, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I ran through lies hoping one of them would be more convincing than I thought they sounded in my head. I turned toward them, knowing the truth. There the creature remained. No. There </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">remained. One of their new arms sat on my shoulder, though neither head paid me any mind. They looked down at </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with what looked like malice, though their voice remained as soothing as ever. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Welcome _________, LIttle One. We’ve been waiting for you.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In looking down at </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, my stomach dropped, as a truth I knew but desired to disregard become solidified. They looked so at peace. The fear fled from their eyes, replaced only by warmth. The creature who sounded like </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">was </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. They always had been. In the same way that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> became </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, so too did </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">become </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. The truth that solidified was that this had always been first, much in the same way that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">always had </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">there. It just took time for me to notice it. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> turned away and began walking through </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in a pattern I recognized: the same pattern that created the pathway for me to follow. I set </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">down and followed behind, as I didn’t wish to take away from them what I was given. As I followed, two new things came into view:</span></p><br /><ol style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a crack in one of the walls of </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></p></li></ol><br /><ol start="2" style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">’s new hand held itself in a closed fist at all times, as though gripping something tightly.</span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Both </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Third </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and I shivered. It was cold.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-20286005774069996132022-01-31T21:40:00.000-08:002022-01-31T21:40:35.026-08:00With Regards to Why I've Written This<p><span> </span> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I write because there’s something I’ve forgotten; something that I’ve been missing; something that eats away at me from within. It possesses an insatiable hunger, and I am but a midnight snack that simply whets its appetite. Whether it belongs to me, is of my own creation, or is simply a visitor making themselves at home during the harsh reality of a 2 year winter is hard to say - though there’s not much of me left to decide which it is. It matters little whether or not such a distinction is meaningful or an excuse. The end result is the same: a hole residing where something used to be. What lives there cannot be felt, heard, or seen. It is the kind of thing that I must believe has found purchase in the hearts of many, though it is skilled at making its emptiness feel uniquely personal. For something to make you feel as though you’re a layer of flesh resting upon another residing within is a cruel joke of the mind.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-c954a18f-7fff-92cc-bcbd-a7bb4032437c"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>I write because there’s someone I’ve forgotten; someone dear to me; someone who it would not be hyperbolic to say I could not do without. They are someone I’ve known my entire life, and have gone through extraordinary change. Years passed where they were unrecognizable, and oftentimes it felt as though we did not see each other at all. In growing older and “wiser”, I believed we had come to terms with each other. We became one, and the void within had been filled by me. Happily Ever After had arrived for me and myself. Unfortunately, there are no Happily Ever Afters to be found outside the realm of fiction. People change, and the worst is when the one that’s changed is you. To know that the war fought against myself to figure out how to be at peace was lost to the simple passage of time is disheartening. Whether the void changed shapes or I did is impossible to say. Again, perhaps it doesn’t matter. Or perhaps they are one in the same.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>I write because I’ve not written. Not really. I’ve conjured up stories, people, worlds, drama, love, loss, mystery, fantasy, and everything in between. But I have not written. Writing is quite unlike riding a bicycle. It is not the kind of thing one can simply do after not having done for years. Yet it is at the same time as simple as putting pen to paper or fingertip to keyboard. It’s the kind of thing that becomes uncomfortable to do after having left it alone for so long. One forgets simple rules of grammar; forgets the process of stringing together ideas and words into sentences that entices others; forgets that a piece of writing is meant to be read and should have a coherent thread to follow; forgets how to actually use semicolons. As with all things I’ve forgotten, this love of mine feels as though it has been forgotten too. Through neglect I’ve lost a skill, and it’s a muscle of mine that I think would be prudent to exercise. After all, this certainly has not been a good story. It’s hardly been a story at all.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>I write because writing is a difficult thing to do. And maybe - no matter how unlikely it may seem - if I can do this difficult thing, there are other difficult things I can do too. There is a certain comfort in that kind of thought. One that is pleasant to hold onto. I admit freely that this is a jumbled mess with little focus. This piece of writing dangles from a thin line overlooking a bottomless pit of an incoherent stream of consciousness. In this way, however, it is honest. I cannot draw. I cannot make music. I cannot dance. I cannot find an outlet for emotion that is not within the realm of words and stories. This is problematic as it often feels to be a fairly uncommon outlet for others to receive emotion. If nothing else, I hope that amidst the jumbled mess of words that emotion is conveyed. Perhaps it’s easier to find meaning in the jumbled mess of colors in a chaotic painting, but this is the only way I know how to do it. I just need to relearn how to be a bit more subtle.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I write because it brings me comfort. And right now? Comfort is what I need.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-51365228291952948932020-07-21T23:37:00.003-07:002020-07-21T23:37:53.952-07:00With Regards to Old Friends<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A shock; a sudden jolt; a chill. I look down and see it there,
sticking out of my chest – the dagger’s obsidian handle. My eyes dart upward
towards those surrounding me, walking by. No one stops; no one looks towards
me; no one sees the smokey black substance beginning to pour out from my wound.
The smoke continues to ooze out but does not fall towards the floor. It instead
forms two snakes, coiling and intertwining around my body to wrap me in a cold,
familiar embrace. The snake on my left shoulder hisses into my ear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey there, kid! Tcht. You’ve been taking care of yourself.
You look well. Looks like we’ve been asleep for a bit longer than I thought.”
Her voice sprinted through my mind, mapping out the terrain. “Well, it’ll take a
bit to get things back to normal, but I can’t tell you how great it feels to be
home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Panic sets in immediately as I feel her scraping away at the
back of my eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart rate spikes as
my breaths shorten and the world begins to spin. I drop to my knees, clutching my
head, shouting out for help. Those passing by carry on, oblivious to my
anguish. No one stops; no one acknowledges my voice; no one glances in my
direction. The snake on my right shoulder displays his forked tongue, touches
the back of my neck, and sends his chill down my spine, numbing the panic. He, too, hisses. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello my love. It has been far too long. I’d almost forgotten
the way your skin feels.” His voice dripped with lust. “You’re uncomfortably warm
right now, you know. It doesn’t suit you. Let me slip you into something a bit
more comfortable.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A sinister aura begins to pervade my body. In desperation, I
grip the handle with both hands, pulling it out only to have my heart sink
deeper. There is no blade. The hole in my chest in not that of a stab wound. Instead,
it is a perfect circular abyss. Nothing but shadow continued to pour out. I cry
out once more for anyone, anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Relax now, my love. I’ll take your pain away.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My cry is cut short by the pang of horror that fills me as he
reclaims the throne within my heart. For a moment there is a sharp, piercing
pain before a familiar numbness dulls… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
Everything.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
There is no longer a need for the
fear. There is no longer a need for the anguish. There is no longer a need to
cry out. He has made sure of that. He ensures that there is no longer a need for needing anything. She supports him, guaranteeing that any attempts to break free
are met with an onslaught of panic attacks and nausea. She twists and manipulates the world around me, causing every move I make to result in my own suffering. He then opens his arms
too me, promising to numb the pain she causes. They are vicious; they are cruel;
they are the ever-spinning cycle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
We return to our feet and look
around. We are enveloped by shadow and an abyss remains but have no need to
mind either. After all, this has always been a more natural state for us. We
step forward, matching pace with the crowd and blending in. A slight smile forms
on our lips. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 82.5pt;">
"What a wonderful feeling it is to be whole again."</div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-34539905736106401592016-07-15T21:22:00.000-07:002016-07-15T21:22:41.215-07:00With Regards to Funerals and Forgetting<div class="MsoNormal">
“The funeral was yesterday. It was a beautiful day; the kind
of day that would’ve motivated you to pull me outside so that we could set up
an impromptu picnic and experience it in its entirety. It felt wrong, Kate. You know how in the
movies, whenever there’s a funeral, it’s always pouring rain? Obviously that’s
not how it happens. People die every day. The world can’t stop what it’s doing
to mourn every person. The sun wouldn’t find any time to shine. Still, I wish
it had stopped for you. Just for an hour or two, you know? Ha… You’d probably
hate it if that had happened.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The service was – I don’t know; standard I guess? This was
the first one I’ve attended. It felt… lacking. Probably because you weren’t
there. Everything feels sort of lacking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your mother and father spoke. Sammy spoke. I spoke. We just talked for as
long as we could feasibly manage. I think we were afraid to stop. Despite the
sorrow, each story gave us a chance to keep you here a few minutes more. With
each word that passed through our lips, you stood next to us, the left side of
your mouth curled into that mischievous smirk. When the words began to fade,
you went along with them. We were not ready for that. I was not ready for that.
I’m still not ready for it. I don’t think I ever will be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m scared, Kate. I’m scared that your features are going to
fade in my mind. I imagine them being an old Polaroid beaten and weathered to
hell over a decade, only barely recognizable by the photographer. I don’t want to
forget your face; to forget the taste of your lips; to forget the feeling of
your head resting on my chest when we lay together; the sound of your voice. Oh
god. I’m never going to hear it again. The sweetness created with each word you
spoke into the world will never be tasted by my ears again. They say that a
person’s voice is the first thing that you forget about a person. I’m terrified
that they’re right. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The list of things I’m afraid to forget is too long to remember.
What do I do? I panic. That’s what I do. The anxiety and pain eats away at me.
I can feel it clawing into my chest. The fear opens me up and lets the darkness
in. How do I fight that, Kate? I’m defenseless. I’m a little boy again, afraid
of the dark. I’m losing my grip on the hand that pulls me through it; that shows
me the path through the pain: your hand. What do I do?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think I have to write. I have to write like I’m my time
is running out. I have to write like the darkness is about to tear a hole right
through my chest and engulf me. I need to tell a story, your story. I need to
grip tight on what’s left of you and move forward. I need to remember you. I
need to write the story of the woman who changed my life; the woman who saved
me; the woman who has done more good for and cared more about this world than
anyone else I’ve known. You deserve better than to be forgotten. You deserve so
much more than that…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry, Kate. I’m sure you’d tell me I’m talking too
much. That I’m thinking too much. That I just need to shut the hell up and
listen.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I do. I look up from her tombstone and look around.
Off in the distance a young couple kneels in front of a set of graves and rests
a single rose in front of each one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An older woman a few yards away stands next to her husband’s
grave. She seems to be mid-conversation. I’m unable to make out any of the
words. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Behind me a few paces back, a young man sits cross-legged, explaining
in detail to his mother’s tombstone the bullshit that he has to deal with at
work. He laughs aloud. “Yeah, that’s Tim. As thick as always.” After a few
minutes, he stands up to leave. “Love you, Mom… Yeah, of course! I’ll give him
a hug from you. I’ll see you next week.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain begins to fall. It starts slowly, only a few drops here
and there at first. But within a minute or two it begins to pour. I turn back
to her once more and hold my hands up towards the sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ha… I guess I’ll take it. It might be a day late, but it’s
something. I think you’re right Kate. I think things will be okay so long as I
just stop and listen. I won’t lose my way if I just listen. I will not forget
your voice if I just stop and listen. Thank you, Kate. I’ll stop by tomorrow. Be
good while I’m gone. I love you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I head back to my car, letting the rain soak into the thin
layer of clothes I have on. I pass by a man in a coat and hat bending down,
placing a single flower in front of a grave. Just over the sound of the rain I
make out his last words to his wife. “Happy four years, darling. I love you.”
He straightens back up, pulls his hat down and coat up, and walks back toward
the parking lot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walk a few paces behind him, admiring the man's commitment. A slight smile spreads across my face, as a feel a small fire lit in my chest, keeping the darkness at bay. I will not forget. If
nothing else, I will not forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-35981353651463312102016-02-05T17:44:00.001-08:002016-02-05T17:44:23.753-08:00Silver Coins and Dragon Eggs<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The peddler rolled a silver coin
between his knuckles, counting the number of times he could get across and
back. “<i>Five…” </i>The day was long and
customers were a rarity. As such, he had little else to do. Besides, he’d been
practicing. <i>“Six…” </i>He had yet to break
his current record of nine laps, and a determination to surpass himself had
taken over his mind. With a focus and care far greater than any silver coin
warranted, he followed the movement with bewitched eyes. “<i>Seven…” </i>With each lap he
leaned closer in, as though he were the spectator to some captivating event his
hand was competing in. Due to all this, you can understand why he failed to
hear the small group of 4 approach his modest selection of wares. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The tall one tapped his foot with
annoyance. As his annoyance grew, so did the rate at which he tapped. This, in
combination with the peddler’s slow, stilted counting (“<i>Eight…”) </i>threw his rhythm off, causing him to step on his other
foot. This, of course, only made him all the more furious. The short one giggled
gleefully at his companion’s error, resulting in a red-faced glare being shot
in his specific direction. “<i>Nine…” </i>Turning
back to the peddler, he sucked in a deep breath. The shy one turned away and
covered his ears. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“OI. WHAT’S IT TAKE TO GET SOME HELP
AROUND HERE?” he shouted, giving the table leg a swift kick, causing the peddler to lose control of his hand. In that moment
between the coin leaving his hand and hitting the table, the peddler’s world
crumbled into minuscule pieces. This was it. There was no point to life any
longer. His dreams, hopes, and ambitions just a sham. Why was he a peddler? He
hated traveling, got terrible anxiety when having to talk to people, and could
barely manage to sell a glass of water to a woman dying of thirst in the
desert. By all accounts he was a failure. He blamed his mother, to be quite
frank. She babied him during his childhood, never letting him get a scratch or
have play-dates with his friends. Heaven forbid her little boy get his knees
dirty or catch a cold. Maybe if he had been allowed to be a normal kid he’d
have toughened up and done something with his life. He could have been a
world-renowned actor, an athlete, an astronaut! Perhaps even a wizard had he stayed in school. Yes, if only he caught cold
growing up. Everything would have been different. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After all that had occurred, the
silver coin hit the table. With that first smack against the wood, the peddler
realized that he was, in fact, lamenting about his life due to an inability to
reach lap ten of silver coin knuckle-rolling. What a moron. He pressed his forefinger and thumb against
the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. He needed to get his priorities in
order. “My apologies”, he began. “Good afternoon. How can I…” He had finally
looked up at the group in front of him. Upon seeing them, the corners of his
mouth curled into a frown and he furrowed his brow. “Oh. Dwarves. Great.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What the hell do you mean by
that?” The tall one who also was keen to shout more often than not began to get red in
the face. The shy one refused to look up and kicked his foot back-and-forth at
nothing in particular on the ground. The chipper one with strikingly good looks
was distracted, looking at his reflection in the one of the pots hanging next
to peddler. The short one who others noted was also daft stared at the silver
coin, wondering why it had stopped rolling on the peddler’s knuckles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” It
was a half-hearted response for a reason. And a good reason at that, he told
himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Before the one who was irritable
often could respond, the gleeful, handsome one had broken from his own
reflection and stepped in front of his tall friend. He flashed a quick grin
before speaking. “Hello, good sir. My friends and I –“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“’Oi. ’Friends’ is a bit strong”,
cut in the tall, irritable one from behind and slightly above the handsome one.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“My friends and I”, repeated the
chipper, handsome one “were wondering if you’d be interested in purchasing
something from us”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Now, this seems like the type of
thing that would be odd to here as a peddler. After all it is the job of the
peddler to sell to customers, not the other way around. And you’d be right in
assuming that this was an odd question. In fact, had this been a group of
humans or elves, the peddler might have been so intrigued that he would have
been tempted to inquire further about the item that was up for sale. However,
these were dwarves. As a peddler, one must always be wary of dwarves. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
reasons for this are numerous. Dwarves are collectors by all accounts. What
they collect varies from region to region. This ranges from lumber dwarves,
stamp dwarves, coin dwarves, seashell dwarves, etc. The most popular of the
dwarves, as one might guess, were the ore dwarves. Though the reason for the
popularity of the ore dwarves is technically unknown by any non-dwarf, human
scholars have theorized that it’s due to the harsh working conditions that the
mining dwarves must endure. This ability to live such a strenuous lifestyle
exhibited the tenacity of the Dwarf race, and was a respectable trait that all
others should aspire to. This was entirely untrue, but far be it from the
dwarves to not use such a silly idea to their advantage. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Another much smaller school of
thought, held by those who were considered inferior by scholars, maintained
that the reason for the popularity was a result of a small group of miner
dwarves striking more gold than any individual could possibly imagine. With
this gold, the dwarves did what anyone would do: they built a kingdom. Rumors
of the origin of the kingdom spread throughout the land, and all that anyone
could guess was that the miners were responsible for it. This was much closer
to the truth, but still, no dwarf in their right mind would admit to anything
of the sorts. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A third thought was held by only
one person, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. He was preoccupied with
a silver coin on a table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
What is important, however, is not
that the dwarves are collectors. Far more crucial to why the peddler possessed
such a blatant disdain for the dwarves was due to their incessant need to try
and sell anything they collected that they considered “extraordinary”. These
things include (but by no means are limited to. Some believe the list to be
infinite in length. They are wrong, but not by much.) rocks that are perfectly
oblong aside from the occasional jagged edge or bump, black string, leaves that
have started to turn orange in preparation for the fall, moss that “absolutely
grew on the south side of a tree”, 5-legged spider corpses, and so on. The
peddler could not care less about purchasing any of these things. He was tired.
The day had been spent on knuckle-rolling coins. An exhausting feat to say the
least. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Listen, I’m not interested. I
haven’t been interested ever. I don’t want string. I don’t want dead spiders. I
don’t want half-eaten moldy bread. It’s getting late. I just want to go home.”
The peddler stared at the group, hoping that at least one of them would be understanding.
Not the tall one, obviously, but one of the other three perhaps. Surely,
someone had to understand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The shy one who was always blushing
looked up as though he were about to speak. His gaze met the peddler’s and he
returned to his previous task of staring intently at his own feet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You’re going to love what we’ve
got for you today”, started the vain one. The peddler’s pleas didn’t even begin
to penetrate past his constant grin. “Believe me. With this in your possession,
the entire world will be at your fingertips.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No, listen. I don’t –“ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“It is exceedingly rare. Quite
literally one of kind. You will become the sole owner –“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Please. Stop. I just –“ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oi. Shut it,” piped the one
wearing an angry frown. “Let cheek bones over there do his spiel.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Like I said,” cheek bones
continued with a smile, “You will become the sole owner of the very last
dragon!” He thrust one arm up in the air, striking something of a victory pose.
He looked and his peers, waiting for them to applaud him. When they did not, he
cheered himself and held the pose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The peddler was slightly confused,
but mostly just exhausted. “You all are having a laugh, aren’t you? Very funny.
Mess with the guy who hasn’t sold anything all day and just wants to go home.
Dragons aren’t real; not these days at least. They’ve been extinct for almost
three centuries. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Wait! I can prove it, right now.”
The good looking one reached into his coat pocket. The peddler snorted. A
dragon in a coat pocket? That was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he’d
ever heard. Oh well. At least he had gotten a decent laugh out of today, if
nothing else. He turned and started heading in the general direction of his
home. He took four steps before hearing a loud bang behind him. He turned to
see whatever joke the dwarves were clearly trying to play on him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
On the table was a white egg,
roughly the size of an ostrich egg. There was also a silver coin and the nose
of the short, silly dwarf who was staring intently at said coin, but that’s not
terribly important. The egg didn’t look special, outside of being slightly
larger than an egg one might expect to find in a dwarf’s coat pocket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s an egg,” the peddler said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Of course it’s an egg, you idiot.
What, you thought he had an adult dragon in his pocket?” the short-tempered one
spouted. “You might be dumber than he is,” he pointed towards the dwarf you
would expect him to be pointing at.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Errm. Why exactly, is there an egg
on my table?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“It’s a dragon egg!” exclaimed the
one who couldn’t help but smile constantly. “The last dragon egg in the world!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Now, all the peddler wanted to do
was to go home. His day had been ruined a number of times, and he certainly
wasn’t in the mood for any more nonsense. The dwarves clearly weren’t going to
let him be until they had gotten rid of the “dragon” egg. This left him with
only feasible option.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“How much for the ‘dragon’ egg?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Aha! I knew you were interested,”
responded the one with perfect skin – for a dwarf that is. “It’ll only cost you
–“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Silver coin.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The words were followed by the
turning of two dwarf heads towards the table. They stopped once they got to the
simple one, who was now pointing at the silver coin. The nervous one continued
to stare at the ground in order to avoid catching any rogue glances that might
end up in his direction. Once was already too much for today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“WHAT?” shouted the one who always
woke up on the wrong side of the bed, “WHADD’YA THINK YER DOING?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hey, relax buddy. You know you start to slur when you get angry. Everything is going to be fine,” the
chipper one said, trying to keep everyone as cheery as possible. He turned to the one who had attempted to sell a priceless item for next to nothing. “Listen. We
can get more than one silver coin. We can get more silver coins than you’d ever
be able to use all on your own. You could have a whole room of silver coins!”
He threw his fist back into the air to emphasize the obvious awesomeness that
he had just explained.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
This excited the short, daft one.
With a room full of silver coins, he expected them all to move and play with
each other. Maybe the silver coin here wasn’t moving anymore because it was
shy. If the coin had some friends to play with, it would be willing to move
again. It was a brilliant plan, he thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The three of them turned back to
the peddler to renegotiate the terms of the transaction. What they saw, however,
was a missing egg and the lack of a peddler. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The peddler slept well that night. The
dwarves were no longer in sight, and the thought of having an egg that large
for breakfast the following morning put him right to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-54518023615442499982014-09-30T21:06:00.000-07:002014-09-30T21:06:03.671-07:00With Regards to Love at First Touch<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To My Love,
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, next friday marks our 15<sup>th</sup>
anniversary. It's a bit surreal when you think about it. I honestly
can't believe that we've lasted this long, given how much things have
changed over the years.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I often think back to the first time we
met. It's one of the most vivid memories of my youth. And to think, I met
you on the bus home from school of all places. It does seem a bit silly, doesn't
it? The bus was packed with fed up, restless students whose stenches
embodied the essence of the start of summer break. They were shouting
at each other, reaching over the seats to chat with and grab their
friends, unable to contain their excitement. They were prepared for
hot sun that would beat down on the necks of all of us, our hair and
faces dripping with sweat as we savored every moment outside of the
stress of class and the discomfort of being strapped to a desk. I was
ready to join in with their excitement up until the moment my eyes
fell upon you sitting in the aisle, staring back at me. You beckoned
to me, standing up to offer me your seat. I hesitated a moment before
taking it. I didn't want you to think that I expected you do it, but
I also didn't want to come off rude. I got settled in for the ride,
when you brushed up against my shoulder. In that moment, everything
changed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time stopped, kind of. The kids around
us kept moving; kept shouting; kept bouncing up and down, waiting for
the bus to take them home. But us... we stopped. The shouting
couldn't reach my ears. If I was being grabbed, my body didn't
respond. The stench of youth couldn't penetrate that moment. For that
length of time, however long it may have actually been, it was just
me and you. And from then on, things were different. I didn't want to
be like the rest of them. I didn't want to go outside and hang out
with classmates, or friends. I wanted you. I wanted you to engulf me
in your presence. You were the only one I needed; the only one I
wanted. When I had you, the rest of the world didn't feel as
important. I didn't need to be the best student, or the best athlete,
or the best anything, because no matter how things got, I could
always depend on you. That moment was a kind of 'love at first touch'
situation, if you'll pardon the cliché. And you've been with me ever
since.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You were there on the first day of
middle school, when I was going to a place where I didn't know a
single person from before. You stood by me when I couldn't make
friends. You looked out for me when people tried to use me for their
own gain. You didn't want to see me get hurt by the outside world.
You held me in a tight embrace when I needed to cry. You stayed with
me throughout high school, pulling my hand to keep me moving through.
You taught me how to make my mask. I've kept it, you know. My mask.
I've updated it now and again to change to the situation I need it
for, but it's the same one you helped with years ago. You showed me
the intricacies of deception; of making it through the day without
people glancing at me constantly, wondering what was wrong with me.
You taught me never to take off the mask, save for when I'm with you
of course. You even came with me to college, making sure that I never
wavered in the face of a new world. You kept my mask from breaking
when times got rough. You wouldn't let me sacrifice who I am for the
sake of making a bunch of random people like me better.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Even now, you're still with me, although I have
slipped away to come and write you this letter. And in your absence I
can't help but read over these words and gain a foul taste in my
mouth. This is not the truth. This is not my truth. This is you. This
is your work. You have used me as your source of life since that day
on the bus.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was no 'love at first touch'. It
was fear. Time stopped because the moment you brushed my shoulder, I
was engulfed in terror. I couldn't move. My body froze. My eyes
fixated upon your dark gaze as you came closer to me, peering deep
into the core of my being, grabbing hold of whatever independence and
potential I had, making it your own. My excitement left me because
you sucked it straight from its source, replacing it instead with an
inability to cope. It's not that I didn't want to play with my
classmates. I physically couldn't. Every time I tried to leave you
pulled me closer, whispering lies and sweet nothings into my ear to
keep me from getting away.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You never cared for me; never wanted to
keep me safe. You knew that you could drag me down further away from
others, widening the gap between me and the outside world. You kept
me from befriending others. You created a sense of paranoia in the
deepest parts of me. I gained a fear that they were all out to get
me. Within me you planted your seeds of doubt, and the have continued
to blossom ever since. The mask. The deception. The lies. The fear.
The terror. The trembling. The shaking. The panic. The nervousness.
These are the tools of your trade. With these tools you have created
me. You have been the role model that has guided my lack of growth
and inability to gain independence. You are the one who has held me
captive for so long that I truly believe that I have fallen in love
with you. You have made love and terror inseparable in my essence,
and I know that when you find me, you will have your way with me. And
I won't be able to help but enjoy it. Ah, that sounds like you at the door, I suppose you'll read this. I wonder what you'll think. Alas, with these parting words, I bid you adieu:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anxiety, thou art a cruel mistress. One
that I cannot escape.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yours Truly,</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Segoe Script, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yours,
Truly</span></span></div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-1559242334024250672014-08-12T21:33:00.000-07:002014-08-12T21:33:01.254-07:00With Regards to Belts<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stared intently at the clock,
watching as the hands crawled around and around, as though they
hoped reaching the new hour would allow them to rest. The clock
struck four. The hands kept crawling.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My arm extends out to the right, still
reaching for someone that it refuses to accept no longer sleeps next
to me. It can't feel the curve of her body in the mattress. The
pillow is still fluffed, having not experienced the weight of a heavy
mind and deep thoughts in weeks. I haven't washed the sheets since
she left. They still hold her scent. It's the only thing I have left
that belonged to her. It was the only thing that she couldn't throw
into a box and throw into the back of her car. If I wash them, I will
lose the only thing I have left. I'm just not ready for that. I will
be soon, I swear, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I sat up and dragged myself to the
edge of the bed, I caught of glimpse of my reflection in the window.
My eyes were bloodshot to all hell; the skin beneath them blacker
than death and hanging on by a thread. I looked like a meth addict
feels after coming off a bad high. I'm still wearing what I wore to
work today. I must have forgotten to change when I got home. I
honestly don't remember. The whole day has been a blur. Most days
have been a blur. I think its... Tuesday? Thursday maybe? It doesn't
really matter. Everything has been on repeat since she left.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first step was the worst. Being
struck by the hammer of a vengeful god couldn't have made my head
feel any worse. My legs gave out from under me, as they recognized
that my belt had cut have the circulation to my lower half when I was
lying around. I fell backwards, first bracing myself against the bed
with my arms, but ultimately letting myself fall back into the
bittersweet embrace of the bed. The white bareness of the ceiling
bore into my eyes, as the constant ticking of the clock impregnated
my ears with a rhythmic .
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought about my belt cutting off the
circulation to my legs. It choked my waist from day-to-day, all in
the name of keeping my pants where they were supposed to be. Even the
cutting off of the circulation was a testament to the talent of the
belt. It was performing its intended duty. Anything less would have
shown the belt to be flawed. That was its design.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was meant for choking.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stood back up and undid my belt,
holding it up at arm's length, staring at it as though it would speak
to me...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
should have been scared. I should have been terrified. I wasn't. The
voice soothed me. It was the voice of someone convincing; the voice
of someone who knew that my problem could be solved. I trusted the
voice. I walked over to the door and sat down in front of it. The
door handle was still a decent distance away, which would make things
easier. I attached one of the belt to the handle and began to wrap
the other end around my neck. I heard a light tap on the door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
froze in place. Her tiny voice could barely be heard through the
door. She sounded lost. She probably had another nightmare. I didn't
respond. The door handle started to turn as she tried to push in. I
held the door shut.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy?
Daddy, what's happening? I can't open the door,” she squeaked, the
panic emerging in her voice as she felt that something was wrong.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hey
sweetie. Everything's okay. Daddy's just a little busy right now,
okay?” I tried to sound okay. I quickly learned that it's hard to
sound okay with a belt wrapped around your neck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy!
Daddy! Let me in please! I'm scared! I need you Daddy.” I could
hear the lump in her throat forming. The first tear drop hit the
ground and with it my stomach dropped.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sweetie.
Sweetie. Listen to me sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay,
okay? Did you have another nightmare?” She nodded her head with a
ferocity that I could hear her hair whipping through the air. It made
me smile, just a little.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sweetheart.
We've talked about this. The monsters are only in your head. I
promise. I've been alive since the dinosaurs were around, and I've
never seen a monster!” The joke fell flat. The silence made me
cringe.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I
didn't dream about monsters, Daddy. I – I h-had a dream about
M-Mommy,” she sobbed, barely able to form the words through the
snot and tears. In that moment, I wish that I'd been hit by a ton of
bricks. It would have hurt less. I didn't have any breath left to say
anything.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“D-Daddy?
DADDY! W-where are y-you? T-Talk t-to m-me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ah...
I'm... I'm here sweetheart. What... What did you dream about?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“W-well
f-first all three of us were together,” she seemed to be getting a
hold on the sobbing, “and we were so happy... You and Mommy took me
to the park, and took turns pushing me on the swing. And then, Mommy
was pushing me and you were standing in front of me and watching me
swing. But – but then...” The tears started to flow again, “then
Mommy wasn't pushing me anymore. And you were crying Daddy. You were
crying so much. I – I got off the swing and turned around to see
where M-Mommy went. Sh-She was running away from us. A-and then I-I
s-started chasing her, and I s-started s-screaming for her. B-but she
wouldn't s-stop, Daddy. She kept running.” The sobbing wouldn't
stop. She started to hyperventilate, gasping for breath in between
each cry for her mother.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“D-Daddy.
W-Why did Mommy r-run aw-away? W-What d-did I do wrong?” Her
innocent little voice broke my heart.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sweetheart...
Sweetie no... You didn't do anything wrong. Mommy loved you very
much. She just needed to go for a while. I'm sure she'll come and see
you soon. You are the best little girl a Mommy and Daddy could ever
ask for. This isn't your fault.” I couldn't keep back the tears any
longer. My voice broke and the tears rolled down my face.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it.</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It
spoke again, attempting to take away the pain; attempting to take
away the thoughts of the little girl with the broken heart on the
other side of door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; page-break-before: always;">
And I wanted to do it so bad. It felt as though the belt was
tightening itself around my neck, slowly taking the life away from my
body. I didn't realize that I was sinking down to the floor. I felt
light-headed. I liked it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy? Are you
going to run away like Mommy?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy?” She
pushed against the door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“DADDY?!?!” She
screamed, putting her entire being into opening that door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.
Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My little
sweetheart opened the door, and there I stood, my shirt and cheeks
stained with tears. I gave her the largest smile I could muster.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hello there,
pretty lady. Don't worry, I'm not going to run away. I couldn't leave
my little sweetheart all on her own, now could I?” She giggled
through the tears and ran towards me, jumping up into my chest. I
caught her and fell backwards onto the bed, holding her close to my
chest.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes sweetheart?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm glad that
you're my Daddy. I love you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm glad that
you're my sweetheart. I love you too.”</div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-91083680555499874052014-03-24T15:42:00.003-07:002014-03-24T16:48:57.476-07:00With Regards to Mirrors<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going to kill myself tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let it slip out in a whisper, not that it mattered. No one
else was around to hear me, or at least I didn't think so. I looked up at the
bathroom mirror, meeting the gaze of a beautiful young girl. She waved
excitedly at me, her face taken up mostly by a huge smile. Her face was one I
didn't recognize. There were similarities between us, but I couldn't pull any
memories of the little girl to mind. The girl’s dirty-blonde, unkempt hair made
me reach for my own because of the similarity. The likeness was striking, but that
was explicable, right? I was certain there were plenty of women that shared in our
particular hair combination. Besides, we didn't share that many other traits.
Sure, the little girl had golden-brown eyes and thin lips that roughly
resembled my own, but they couldn't be the same. The notion itself was
ludicrous. Those eyes danced around as they looked at me. When she smiled at
me, she squinted ever so slightly, lifting the corners of eyes into miniature
smiles of their own. Her mouth opened wide with her smile, as though she wouldn't be able to contain the joy if she didn't. Even after her smile faded, the
corners of her lips were always upturned, ready to open back up at the
slightest hint of happiness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were no signs of pain in her face. Her eyes hadn't
witnessed years of being alone, unable to connect with anyone on any sort of
social level. They weren't struggling to stay open against the strength of an
exhaustion due to the lack of sleep caused by the night terrors. There was no
fear. There was no anxiety. They hadn't seen the things their owner would to herself
in the years to come. There was no anxious looks darting back and forth,
flinching at even the slightest sudden moment. Those eyes only knew an
impossible hope and infinite potential.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her lips hadn't been victim to hours of constant lip-biting,
leaving permanent little indents along the bottom lip. They weren't chapped to
all hell, making them almost unbearable to the touch. They hadn't known the
loneliness of not being kissed in twenty-two years. They didn't know any of the
ugly words that would be spoken of their owner. Those lips only knew kind
smiles and sweet reassurances.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those eyes. Those lips. The face of that little girl. None
of those things were me. Not anymore. I hadn't seen this little girl in the
mirror in sixteen years. I hadn't seen those eyes or those lips in so long. I
touched my cheek, letting the tears hit my fingers. An overwhelming sense of
shame filled my soul. What had I become in such a short amount of time? My
entire body began to shake and give out. I braced myself against the counter,
leaning my head against the mirror. Tears splashed in the sink as I began to
sob. That little girl. That little girl just heard me tell her that I was going
to kill myself. How could I do that? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m s-s-sorry. I-I-I’m so s-sorry.” I could barely get the
words out through the sobs and gasping for air. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt what I could have sworn were the fingers of the little girl running through my hair. I looked up, my eyes red and puffed
out, to see her again. She was holding her hand up against the inside of the
mirror, where my head had been. Her lips curled upward into a sympathetic smile, her eyes following
suit. She wasn't here to judge me. She didn't want this for me. She just wanted
me to be okay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I placed my hand against the mirror against hers, and tried
my best to smile through the tears. I’m sure I looked like an absolute
disaster, but I tried to gather myself as best I could. I wanted so badly to
hug her. I wanted to apologize for who I was and tell her that she would grow
up to be better than me. She would keep her beauty. She would keep that joy. She wouldn't be
afraid of the world. She would be safe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She took her hand from the glass and made the shape of a heart with her hands
in front of her chest. Her lips moved as she tried to tell me something
inaudibly through the mirror. I could just make out the three words forming on
her innocent lips. Three little words that I hadn't heard in forever. Three
words that my entire body ached for. Seeing this little girl mouth those words
to me sent sparks throughout my entire being. I felt a warmth spreading from my
chest out to my fingertips. The corner of my eyes turned up for a moment as my
lips twitched with excitement. I shaped my hands into a heart and placed them
against my own chest, and told her something I hadn't told anyone since I was a
little girl:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I love you, too”<o:p></o:p></div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6794415582977941240.post-11628241283542569142014-03-05T16:59:00.000-08:002014-03-05T16:59:55.370-08:00With Regards to Introductions.So, here's the thing. I don't like introductions. I don't like the idea of trying to use my words to make you see me in a certain light. While I understand that if you are reading these words it's because you chose and want to, I can't help but feel a bit arrogant in assuming that it really matters how I paint myself to you guys. This blog wasn't designed for such a purpose, and hopefully this will be the only post in which I talk about myself. Nonetheless, I know that it may be helpful to know a little bit about me, so that you might gain a certain amount of context for the rest of my posts. On that note, let's take an awkward moment to talk about me.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://familytrees.genopro.com/mell/pictures/Fawkes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://familytrees.genopro.com/mell/pictures/Fawkes.jpg" height="200" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not Me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I'm Phoenix. Yes, that's my real name. No, I wasn't born in Arizona. Yes, I have been there. No, I am not a mythical bird of fire. No, I will not come back to life upon death (Well, at least I don't think so. I haven't actually tested this out, so I guess there's the possibility I could come back to life. I doubt it. And I most certainly am not up for testing it). No, I'm not Dumbledore's pet, Fawkes. No, I cannot cry on your wounds and magically heal them. Sorry to not live up to your expectations! Hopefully I've covered the majority of all city/state and Harry Potter jokes. Probably not. At the time of writing this, I am a 19 year old student who attends the University of California - Los Angeles (UCLA). I'm majoring in philosophy. No, I am not a stoner. No, I do not drink. Although, that doesn't mean that the stereotype doesn't hold true for a significant number of my fellow philosophy majors, or the rest of college students for that matter. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My interests reside mostly in video games, reading, and writing. While I could get into a long discussion about video games and the misrepresentation and misunderstanding of them by a large portion of adult America, that's not the focus of this blog. However, reading and writing are both essential to both me and what this blog will be. Given that this is a blog that I have to personally create, the writing is more important, but reading shaped me into an individual with a love for writing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Books are masterpieces. The words that make up the books we love are uncontested in their brilliance. Writing is an art form that to me will always be more beautiful and impressive than any other. A painting may be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words can create an infinite number of worlds. Within the same one thousand words, you can experience the entirety of the emotional spectrum: from an deep-seeded sorrow and empathy to a child-like joy to a heart-gripping terror. With a thousand words, you can create a world filled with elves and magic; you can create a story that shows the descent of a man into his greatest depression; you can create a character that embodies everything that you hate and despise in yourself. Words are truly brilliant. Words make me aspire to write. It is because of them that I want to sit here at a computer, introducing myself to a handful of you that might read this. The importance lies not in who reads my words, but in knowing that I have let my words out into the world. As long as I do that, I can strive to attain satisfaction.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, that is what this blog will be. My words. These will not be words used to make me look a certain way, or make you believe a certain thing. These will be words that <i>hopefully </i>will make you want to read; will make you want to write. The will be words that I hope will make you see how beautiful words are. Most often, these words will be in the form of short stories. And I mean super short stories. Like 1000-word flash fiction. However, on occasion i will use my words to vomit my thoughts in a decipherable manner. If there's something I wish to speak of directly, I will. This may be related to philosophy. This may be related to opinions on certain things. This will not be me talking about me, because I know me. I know that reading about me would be boring as all hell, and why would I subject you to that? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And with that, I think this cringe-worthy introduction shall come to a close. Thank you for reading if you're still here. I greatly appreciate it. I'm also up for any sort of discussion, so you can leave a comment if there's anything you wish to say! Also, a quick shout out to my friend Tyler, who kind of inadvertently got me interested in starting this blog when he started his own over at <a href="http://tylzy.blogspot.com/">http://tylzy.blogspot.com/</a> He's a cool guy, and if you're into anime and gaming and things of that nature, you should check him out.</div>
<div>
Until next time friends!</div>
Phoenomenomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11136975302283075982noreply@blogger.com0