No One's Home

The curtains part again
Morning has dawned
The hunger hits again
But no one's home
A lonely walk down the stairs
Into the icy depths below
She holds hope close again
But no one's home

Sometimes she starts to wonder
About a land far, far away
She could leave this life behind
And the words she wants to say

The bus has come again
It honks its horn
She locks the door again
Because no one's home
The aisle is long and wide
Their eyes stare deep inside
There's no point in crying
No one's home

Sometimes she starts to shiver
From the judging, staring, hating
She's holding hope inside her
But she's suffocating

Sometimes she starts to shake
So abandoned by fate
Hope is clinging fast
But it's too late

Confabulation

Time does not exist here. Silently I gaze into the distant horizon. A shabby wooden house bobs amongst the greenery, up and down like a ship in the sea as it sails further and further away. Like in the harsh seas, the sun beats down heavily on my face; beads of sweat glide down my arms and to my hands which grasp tightly a cool can of Budweiser. From somewhere in the distance, the sweeping rhythms of the merengue and the chattering of young women come floating to my ears, yet they flicker away in an instant. On my island in the sea, there is only me, the cold can of beer, and the sound of my own breathing. I grumble audibly as I shift my position against the shed.

The shed. An old, decrepit wooden shed -- I built it with my own hands, as I did the house which grows further and blurrier on the horizon. Today, we continue to build from nothing, slaving away in this sun like slaves for an unforgiving master. Yet, where does it get me? The women and children consume, and we continue to slave, bringing home less each day. The mosquitoes find their way through the broken screens to consume us. The floods destroy. The sun still beats down, as unmerciful as always. Yet here I am, still impoverished. Angry and already inebriated, I chug my beer and watch as the illusion grows.

Suddenly, footsteps disrupt my solitude. A strong hand shakes mine, yet I am too numb to feel. Before me, a man joined by a young girl stand as silhouettes in way of the sun. As the man greets me, the girl becomes occupied with observing what lay within the shed -- a recently born litter of puppies. I am not aware of what the man is saying, nor myself -- the slurred speech spews from my mouth of its own free will. Soon, we are engaged in a conversation with the girl, who has decided she wants to have a puppy. Her father explains why she cannot have one, as they are still newborns, and that maybe they will come back for one later. No, she insists with a pout. The arguement continues. As reality begins to pierce through, into my lonely little island, I start to feel agitated. The distant music and chattering reach me painfully like daggers. I grasp drunkenly at another beer and gulp some down in desperation.

Soon, peace returns. The noises cease. The man is no where to be found. How long has it been? It's difficult to tell. I relax against the shed once more and prepare to stare again into the distance, when I realize I am not alone. She's still there, sulking in front of the shed door.

Women, girls. What use are they? Inferior insects. They want all that they can't have; they suck us dry. We give and continue to give and it's never enough. The distant chattering returns and stabs at my head. Why else would we beat them? This girl is beaten -- the bruises are all too obvious. I'm sure her father beats her mother. I beat the woman in my house. So did our fathers.

Soon I hear an old, raspy and slurred voice and I realize I have spoken to her. She only briefly glances at me, her eyes unmoving from the inside of the shed.

"Yes," she says, "I would really like one. I've always wanted one."

"Don't you know they can't live without their mothers?"

"But..."

"It'll die," I pause. All is still with the exception of a single bead of moisture, as it slowly glides down the side of my beer can and onto my fingers. "You really want one."

"Of course."

"I can't just give one to you. I'll get in trouble too."

She stares silently into the shed.

"But I wonder. Maybe. There might be some way, but it has to be a secret. Can you keep a secret?"

At first hesitating, she soon nods eagerly.

"Come here, nena."

Hours pass in an instant. The sun sets. The dark shade of the shed settles upon us and the faraway hour and its present occupants become a memory long past. Lights flicker in the distance like a hologram. I sew this illusion through her mind like a thread -- inebriating her, my daggers piercing her own reality.

Dialoque - After the Fall

I've waited all my life for this.

Traveling closer and closer to the edge, it was hard to concentrate. The scenery flew past and at the same time, nothing seemed to change. It was a strange limbo where I was suspended in air while the world around me grew and changed. It was all a blur as I remained dead set on that one, clear goal. If I could reach that shining star, this limbo would end. So, I kept running.

Have you ever escaped limbo? The chains binding you to a particular moment or place? It's like diving head first into a deep chasm. The air as it blows back your hair and carresses your skin is simply amazing; yet as you fall, you see nothing but deep deep darkness. Black surrounds you as you continue to fall. How long? Who knows. The fall could end five minutes from now, or in 3 weeks, or 50 years.

But when it finally ends, what will greet you at the bottom? Freedom, a warm embrace -- or would your face make a violent and fatal crushing contact to a hard, rocky floor?

As I drew nearer to that edge and prepared to make my dive, my heart filled with fear. After all, I had waited all my life for this.

But what comes after the fall?

Rape of a Withering Flower: 2 of 3

[Part 1]

Bright eyes
Memories of paradise
How have you fallen so far?
The dirt on your shoes
Matches my own

Tread the same path
Day after day
But you don't see
Hidden in your space
Alive but so spineless

Reaching for you
Crying face of a dying willow
Your fingers grace those cheeks
Yet you can't see
Memories I've hidden away

Rape of a withering flower
Remains of a withering sun
Remnants of the final hour
Run for the damage is done

Madness in the midst of nothing
Fingers grope for those fabled arteries
The noose is tied
The pillow fluffed
A river of blood in the moonlight


[Part 2]

Bright eyes
Always ahead of yourself
How have you fallen so hard?
The flood sweeps past your knees
It takes you away

Wading in that hollowed path
The days won't end
You refuse to see
Hidden in that phantom embrace
Happy but so alone

Reaching for you
Crying eyes in the still of the night
Fingers grace your cheeks
Yet you can't fight
Memories I've come to face

Rape of a withering flower
Remains of a withering sun
Remnants of the final hour
Run for the damage is done

Desperation in the guise of love
Fingers reach for the arms of a ghost
A hole so deep
Your soul is tired
Buried alive under mounds of dirt

There

Gentle rays of light
Penetrate
Push aside green curtains
Purple walls
A faint mist
A dreamy fog
Exaggerated by ivory sheets
Pillows like clouds
A deep breath
Smells just like home

And there you are

Palms run across
Cold walls
The bumps of the wallpaper
Tingling of fingertips
The ceiling
Great expanse of shapes
Blankets embrace
Warm and tight
Head sinks into those clouds
Forever falling
Forever home

And there you are

Hidden away
Deep treasure in the clouds
The smoothness of your skin
Wrinkling of your brow
You dream
Burrow in your embrace
Breath the scent
Purely yours
A great sigh
Two hearts meld
The melody of home

And there we are

Mythology - Alastor and Hope

On the surface of the beautiful, virgin Gaia, there once lived a people of peace and innocence. This age was none other than the Golden Age of Man. According to both Homer and Hesiod, this was an age of vast prosperity and harmony; Gaia flourished with food and life and the people frolicked and thrived within these gracious, fulfilling gifts. Pain, anger, and despair were emotions unknown to these pure people – that is, until the theft of Prometheus. He stole the fire from Mt. Olympus – from the very same gods which allowed them such harmony and prosperity – and immediately incurred the wrath of Zeus. Nevertheless, his initial punishment alone would not suffice. In order to further cause this man misery, Zeus and his fellow gods concocted the most voluptuous human being – the first woman – that their powers would allow. They presented this gift to Prometheus; however, he was no fool. Turning the gift down, the gods then turned to his brother – the unknowing Epimetheus. In his brother's stead, he graciously accepted the grand gift. This marks the beginning of that fateful moment which would impact that mythical world for ages to come: the opening of Pandora's Box.

Pandora was innocent, yet she had one attribute which the men of the world did not possess – intense curiousity. She opened the box, delivered by Hermes, and thus administered upon the unsuspecting world a plague of despair, disease, crime, and all the bad things which haunt the world of today. She dropped the lid in shock, pain, and misery. For the first time, Epimetheus berated and reprimanded his partner. They argued intensely until a voice from the box caught their attentions. Begging to be freed, the miserable but ever curious Pandora lifted the lid – and from the terrible box rose a grand creature. This creature flew swiftly with the grace of an angel, glowing divinely like the purest dove. Taking the form of a butterfly, Hope escaped the clutches of the box and daintily graced Pandora and Epimetheus' weary cheeks. This butterfly filled them with relief and cheer, and as soon as she had come, Hope fluttered out of their home and into the world – prepared to slowly heal the world of its ills.

Shortly after the opening of the box, the world began its slow crumble into despair. The Ages of Man passed swiftly – from the Golden to the Silver, past the Bronze – and finally resting at the dark and rough Iron Age. From one of prosperity, the world collapsed into one in which war, crime, and evil thrived. Despite this rapid decline, however, Hope continued her journey. She touched the lives of those she came across, softly grazing their tired eyelids and propelling the currents of confidence and renewed wellness throughout their bodies. Her journey took her through the vast reaches of Gaia and she saw, although cloaked in a gray veil of misery, all of the wonders of the world. It was not long before Hope reached the dark kingdom of Panos. Despite her long quest, she had never come across a city such as Panos. Its royal body was corrupt to the core, and under the rule of the unforgiving King Mikas, the people suffered immensely. Each of its citizens lived on a dwindling thread – which lurked dangerously near the razor sharp scissors of the Fates – and knew nothing of hope or happiness. They were a miserable people, ruled under a doubly miserable and vicious king.

As she fluttered above their weary heads, Hope was aghast with the amount of suffering she beheld; never before had she ever witnessed such a depressing spectacle. She was also quite tired; flight across the world was not an easy task and she did not know how she would be able to inspire hope into such neglected beings. Suddenly, however, she was taken aback in surprise. Among these sad people stood tall one man – the fiery haired and green eyed boulder of a human being which was Alastor, tending to his withering crops. Despite the despair around him, a part of this man remained strong; she knew immediately it was him that she should inspire. Weakly, she landed upon the tip of his nose. At first bewildered, Alastor jumped in surprise; however, he observed the small butterfly and soon found himself with a swelling, growing sense of hope flourishing in his chest.

“Little creature,” he whispered in shock. “What are you? And what is this emotion you stir deep within me that inspires such strength?”

“I am Hope,” the creature responded with great clarity, glowing faintly as she perched atop his nose. “And it is hope that your drained, mortal body feels at this very moment. You are strong – youthful and determined. However, as I sit perched upon your countenance, I see that there is more to this youthful face than I first realized. You are the one, Alastor, which shall save your people from the ravages of your tyrannical king. With hope blowing into the sails at your back, I shall thrust you forward and towards victory.”

With those words, Alastor felt the power with which this little creature spoke and was assured immediately of his fate. Thrusting down the plow with which he nurtured his dying field, he withdrew immediately into the center of the vast city of Panos. With the swiftness of his renewed inner strength, he promptly rose among his exhausted people and arose within them a new sense of confidence. This resistance grew in number; however, not all were so swayed by the words which flowed from the young man's silver tongue. In fact, many remained corrupted by greed and evil and it was not long that word of the resistance found its way to the all-knowing ears of their malignant king, Mikas. Upon hearing of the people's quest to overthrow him, he seethed with anger and fury.

“A resistance, you say? So they plan to break every law upon which I placed on the land, and usurp their one sole true leader?” Mikas uttered angrily, and with a growl, he thrust his fist into the arm of his throne so harshly that the resulting boom echoed through his royal hall. “I will not turn my cheek to such impudence! Who dares defy their King Mikas?”

“The lowly plowman, Alastor, is the culprit, your greatness,” one of his attendants mumbled nervously. “However, we believe he may not be acting on his own; some of our contacts have witnessed a strange being accompanying him – a single glowing butterfly.”

“A tool of the gods, I imagine,” the king grumbled. “Nevertheless, I will take impudence from no being, mortal and immortal alike! I want them captured, immediately, and locked within the confines of my dungeon. We shall see how far their brazen actions shall get them when they are the prisoners to my undying wrath. Then this land shall see that true power lies with Mikas, their one and only ruler.”

With those words, the foundations to his revenge were laid. In the darkest hours of the night, their captors came as swiftly as the silent and gentle winds of Zephyrus. Even Alastor, the most hopeful of men, required his slumber and this is when Mikas' servants struck. In his one moment of weakness, they captured the poor man and swept him away; the unknowing entity of Hope, too, was victim to their crime as they swept her up in a sack and tied it shut tightly. They dragged their victims away, taking them to the darkest recesses of the king's dungeons. It was there that they were shut in tightly, with no hope of escape. Alastor, in anger, thrust his fist into the hard stone walls which now imprisoned him.

“Damnation! Surely, there is no chance for this god-forsaken kingdom. What power do we have, locked in this most hellish of prisons?” He cried in despair as even the strength which had powered him now began to dwindle under the reality of King Mikas' malice.

“Please,” the exhausted Hope wept from her cell, where she remained trapped within the sack. “You have not come this far to merely give in to the powers of evil. There must be more that can be done – to save this desperate city.”

“But..” He stammered.

Suddenly, something occurred to Alastor's weary mind – perhaps the gods, the ones who began this drought of joy, would find it in their immortal hearts to help their desperate creations. He pleaded to Mt. Olympus, home of the gods, for assistance. His plea was most passionate. First heard by Zeus, the mighty leader of the gods turned his immortal cheek; he refused to be swayed. After all, this was his punishment upon the mortals for the thievery of Prometheus. However, messenger Hermes also heard the pleas of Alastor. From the moment Pandora had opened the box, which he delivered upon them himself, Hermes had felt a soft, nagging regret at his actions as he watched the world suffer. Therefore, he knew helping Alastor would help him find relief from this regret.

On the swift flight of his winged sandals, Hermes appeared before Alastor, posthaste. Awed by his godly resonance, which only a mortal as strong as he could bear, the man fell immediately to his knees. Hermes did not mince words – after all, he was going against the wishes of Zeus himself. He looked upon the human with utmost seriousness and before him, presented an Easter Lily.

“The butterfly, Hope, is but one of the tools which may fill mankind with renewed strength. This lily, as well, holds within it the pure power of hope itself. Upon it, I have bestowed the powers of flight and invincibility. Though temporary as they are, these gifts shall aid you. It is your fate, Alastor; do not fail now,” Hermes spoke with a swift tongue.

Alastor graciously accepted this lily, and immediately, the deity, Hermes, vanished. Mere moments afterward, the cell door swung open. He took this cue and on the swift feet allowed to him by the Easter Lily, he took flight towards the king's throne room. Despite the resistance put up by those who guarded King Mikas, his gift of invincibility protected him well. Their swords and daggers bounced from his flesh like metal upon hard, indestructible steel; he snatched one of those very swords from an unsuspecting hand and sailed gracefully into the king's chamber. With a start, the king rose from bed, the look of shock and anger drawn upon his face. Mercilessly, the young man zoomed before him, and without hesitation, took his mortal body down with one fell swoop of his sword.

The tyrant was dead. With his strength, Alastor destroyed all of the corrupt men who remained faithful to their felled king. By morning, the castle was free of these evil forces. His work was done and immediately, he withdrew into the depths of the dungeon. Just as the powerful gift of the lily ran dry, he arrived in front of the cell of Hope. Breaking the door open, he snatched up the sack in order to release the butterfly. Yet, nothing flowed from the limp, brown bag. He gently laid the parcel down, and looked within. The fragile remains of the butterfly remained, and for a short moment, its body glittered.

“Thank you, Alastor – you have done for me the work my weary and tired body would not allow me to. With your actions, over the course of one mere night, you will inspire not only the people of this land – but of every land after it – to hold hope dear in their hearts, against the malignant forces of evil and disease which plague them so. I am no longer a needed entity – for from this day forth, I will be planted deep within each newborn human soul.”

With these quick words, the butterfly disappeared in a glittering mist of light. Yet, Hope's departure did not inspire fear or sadness in his mortal heart. He knew her words were true, and with determined steps, he ventured out from the dungeon. His appearance before the people inspired cries of joy and he ventured forth and into the purified city of Panos: the realm which he himself had freed.

Creative Writing - Autobiography

Deluge

Day after day, which soon turned to weeks, Tenko continued her lonely journey from the village to the midst of the forest. She ignored her own needs; she ignored the tatters that were her clothes and the hideous knotted and matted hair on her head. On bare feet, she traversed the rough, rocky dirt of the forest floor, as she dodged branches and vines and swatted the flies from her face. Her mind was hollow as she thought of only one thing: the beautiful voice which had visited her so long ago. Even as the rains began, Tenko could not forget its smooth and velvety tone. She could never forget the way it soothed her every muscle and bone. She would never forget the way it made her feel – the way she forgot every bad thing she had endured throughout her past. What did the villagers call this emotion? That foreign word – was it love? The girl could not tell; yet she knew, in this ideal world she had fabricated within the forest, there was only the voice and her. Now that it was gone, the poor girl was terribly and completely alone.

The village watched on with solemn eyes the child who continued day after day to destroy herself. She was relentless in her journey to find that mysterious voice once more, and most knew better than to stand in the way; even the most bitter of cold winds which bit and nipped at her pale cheeks and toes could not stall her daily torment. As the rains grew worse, like pins and needles falling from the sky onto her frozen figure, the girl found herself growing weaker and weaker. She would make her voyage, only to collapse to the forest floor. As she felt the cold mud and rocks between her fingers, her eyes would swell; bitter concoctions of rain and tears swept down her cheeks and lips, the taste so sharp and salty as to make her gag.

Obsession fueled her arms and legs; yet her heart was feeble, so filled with fear and desperation as it was. Soon, despite how determined she may have felt to continue, she could not. The deluge of rain which poured heavier and harder upon the unsuspecting village began to flood the forests, and slowly creeped upon their little huts. Soon, the villagers could not step too far out of their own homes, as their flooded surroundings threatened to sweep them away. In Tenko's state, she would most certainly have no chance against such forces of nature. Therefore, she remained in her hut, unmoving as she lied in her straw cot. Her eyes bore into the ceiling. Her mind now raced with so many thoughts of regret and worry and each beat of her heart propelled these emotions through her blood and even deeper into the core of her being. Delirium consumed her fragile frame; for the most part, she gave not even the slightest twitch of a finger to indicate she was alive.

Frozen in time, her eyes searched the ceiling for some kind of answer. A pointed hut of yellowish-brown thatched straw and mud and other strange combinations – how long ago had it been that she was guided to this little village? As quaint and beautiful as it was back then, it seemed so ugly and empty now. Her chapped lips parted, searching for her words. When was the last time she had spoken to another human? Everything felt so foreign and cold. A part of her heart ached; it was such a strange sensation that she had never felt before. Tenko swallowed down hard, painfully. Finally, the weary girl's eyes shut slowly, dark and pitch black consuming. She watched the colourful spheres and lines dance underneath her tired eyelids and she breathed deeply, one final ounce of energy flowing to her lips before she found sleep.

“You're never coming back. . .”

Penelope

A light shines through
So many wasted years
Without you
A cry unanswered
The reflection of your footsteps
Like an arrow through an axe
How could I have known?
So many wasted years

The room is spiraling
I wish I knew where to begin
The purple shadows on the wall
They help me feel safe

I wish I knew where to begin

As a tall olive tree stands
I fight those demons away
Forever unmoving
But my cry is answered
The curling of your lips
Like slicing sword through flesh
Guess I should have known
I fight those demons away

The room is spiraling
I wish I knew where to begin
The purple shadows on the wall
They help me feel safe

Where shall we begin?

As night falls
Reclaim your throne
My fragile figure
Masks the decay
Around us
Curling lips
Surrounding precious hips
The kingdom is dead
But the world is ours

Now tell me how it ends

The room is spiraling
I wish I knew where to begin
The purple shadows on the wall
They help me feel safe

Spiraling
Where to begin?
Purple shadows
Oh, so safe

Sweet Escape (If Only the World Were Flat)

Glazed eyes
Staring but not seeing
Hiding what lays within
These walls
Confines of my body
They become so overwhelming

Can't stand this place
I need an escape
Can't stand this place
Help me escape

Folds of my blankets
Flow towards the horizon
Hands reaching out
Searching for an end
The world is spinning
Yet we never fall off

Can't stand this place
Don't suppose you'd want to escape?
I can't stand this fucking place
Yearning for my escape

Forgive me please
Black holes consume me
How different things would be
If only the world were flat

But I can't stand this place
I can't stand this place
I can't stand this place

The scars of your face
Such sweet escape

Larynx

Like the slimy, putrid slugs
That crawled from Pandora's Box
You slithered through full parted lips
Your trail of slime forming a path
To the treasure deep inside
Glowing wonder
The provider of so many things
Lay within
Hidden behind caves of soft flesh
You broke into its chamber
Taking hold of it
And squeezing
You strangled the life out of its
Desperate form
Hacking and gagging
It spewed its final breath
And you withdrew the victor

Creative Writing - A Story About Anything

Pursuit

The small child's footsteps reverberated throughout the narrow hallways as she wove her way sharply around corners, heading deeper into the darkness. Once a playground for her during the daytime, this vast labyrinth-like ruin which she now maneuvered in a frightened stupor was her only escape. There was no telling where it would lead; she had never ventured so far beyond the entrance, warned numerous times over the danger and instability of its structure. Fully aware of this, she ran anyway, ignoring the sharp pain of the jagged rock floor cutting against her bare feet. She gasped and breathed heavily as she made her way; however, she knew she could not stop for even a moment. They were closing in on her, their own footsteps loudening and getting closer and closer.

The further she ran though the ruins, however, the thicker and darker its hallways became. Feeling for the wall, she sped around another corner only to catch her foot in a crack in the floor. In an instant, and with a loud thud, she made painful contact with the floor, cutting her knees as they skidded across the rough ground. A soft cry escaped her lips and she lied still for a short moment, frozen from both the sudden pain as well as the fear that welled up in her stomach and throat. Meanwhile, her pursuer's footsteps grew closer. Clenching her teeth, she gathered the energy to climb onto her hands and knees and blindly, she felt the wall once more. As she slid her hand down the jagged rock, she found a hidden gap – a very minuscule alcove in the wall. She felt blindly on the floor for her rabbit, finding it only inches from where she had fallen, before crawling weakly into the alcove and curling up as best she could. She hugged her knees tightly against her chest, burying her face in her now dirty white nightgown.

As the young girl listened once more for her pursuers, she could feel her heart beating, hard and fast, within her chest, her entire being shaking with every pulse. She gulped as she fought to catch her breath, her throat dry and sore from the case. For a brief second, relief began to wash over her – she could no longer hear their footsteps. Yet, this brief moment of respite was fleeting as the running footsteps returned, clearer and louder than ever. As they approached, she could hear the loud, hurried murmuring of the strangers speaking to one another. She jumped slightly as a light bounced across the wall on the other side of the hall from where she sat; she was instantly filled with dread – they had been smart enough to bring illumination. She shut her eyes tightly, hugging her knees and stuffed rabbit against her tighter than ever.

Her heart skipped a beat. In what seemed like a flash, they had made it to the hall in which she now hid. She held her breath as they now, slowly, walked past her alcove, flashlights waving wildly across the hall.

“A little girl!” One of them growled, “You incompetent morons. How could you screw up something as simple as capturing a child?”

Another snapped back, “Watch yourself! You're just as much to blame for all this as we are.”

“Stop your petty arguing. She couldn't have gone far,” the third man muttered, walking closest against the alcove in which she hid.

Her eyes, now open, watched the movements of their feet – the most she could see with the help of their flashlights. She was now breathing heavily and as quietly as she could, her fingers digging deeply into her stuffed animal as she grasped it against her tightly. It seemed like they remained there for an eternity before they began to retreat further into the maze-like halls. An inexplicable combination of emotions washed over her. For a moment, she lost herself and the slightest whimper slipped between her lips; her eyes shot open even wider.

“What was that‽” came a surprised cry from one of the pursuers.

In an instant, all three flashlights were pointed her way. She cried, shielding her eyes from the blinding light. Gulping, her heart fell deeply into the pit of her stomach.

For Creative Writing - Find a Story in a "Cafe"

Black Out

The bustle of nearby tables filled Carol's ears as she sat with her cup of coffee, stirring it idly as she feigned interest in the diner's menu. Squinting at the small text, she tried to concentrate and decide on her meal, yet the woman across from her distracted her thoughts. Nervously, her eyes bounced from the laminated menu to this strange spectacle. She was an older woman, wrinkled with thinly rimmed glasses set daintily on the bridge of her nose. Her khaki pants and multicoloured striped sweater was a strange combination coupled with her hair, golden brown and tied up in a mussed up ponytail, which had seen many days since its last brushing.

Before she could realize how long she had been staring at her, the woman glanced at Carol with a smile. Their eyes met and with a start, Carol glanced back down at her menu.

“That smile. . . It's so strange.”

Turning the page, she continued with her feigned interest as she reflected over the night's events. She had been driving back from visiting her daughter that night when she found the woman alone at the side of the road. Normally, she would have just kept going – but something possessed her that day and made her stop. Before she knew it, the old woman was settled in her passenger's seat – her solemn, smiling face staring out the window. The ride was completely silent. Carol hated silence; it made her tense and nervous. She attempted to brake the ice and asked if the woman wanted to eat. There was no verbal response; she merely glanced at her, nodding with that same, eerie smile.

Carol stopped stirring her drink and softly placed the spoon on a napkin, before taking the cup up slowly in her hands and swallowing the coffee down slowly. As its warmth touched her bones and the aroma filled her nostrils, she realized the old woman was staring straight at her. She placed her cup back down on the table and cleared her throat, taking up her menu once more.

“Are you ready to order?” Carol asked in the nicest tone she could muster.

There was no answer.

She waited for a few moments before continuing, “Well, I think I might have something simple; maybe a salad. It's not good to eat very much this time of night anyway. . . Hey, you know, I never got your name earlier.”

The other woman smiled, and sipped her coffee.

“Oh. . . Well, I'm Carol and. . .” she was interrupted as their waiter stepped over.

“Hello! Is everything alright? You have enough coffee? What can I get you tonight?” He chimed in, cheerfully as he removed his mini-notebook and pen from his front apron pocket.

“Oh! Well, I. . .” Carol glanced at her menu, then across at the woman, and back at the young man, “I suppose I'll have the Chicken Caesar salad, please.”

“Chicken Caesar salad,” he repeated slowly, as he scribbled in his book.

“And, um. . .” She glanced at the woman again, who seemed preoccupied, “I don't think my friend here is ready to order yet.”

He glanced over at the old woman, then back at Carol with a slightly perplexed expression. Yet he simply nodded, “No problem, ma'am. I'll have your salad to you in just a little--”

Before he could complete his sentence, however, the diner was filled in darkness. A startled hush swept over each of the tables.

“Oh man, not this again. . .” Carol heard her waiter mutter, as he made his way blindly to the kitchen.

“The Apocalypse is coming!” A woman yelled from one of the tables, which was followed in fits of laughter and general tomfoolery. People took out their cellphones in an attempt to shed some light on their meals, and lights, both from inside and outside, danced across the walls and ceiling.

Carol gulped, hands folded nervously on her lap. This day was just getting stranger every minute. She glanced across the table, but the darkness was too thick in their corner of the restaurant. She squinted, but she could hardly make out the figure of her strange companion.

“Are you okay?” She asked, both with genuine concern and a slight fear; she waited for a moment, but of course, there was only silence. “These power outages come at the most inopportune times, don't they? This is the first time it's happened to me in a diner, though!”

The darkness continued for a long while. She sat back in her cushioned booth seat and tried to relax, holding her warm cup of coffee in her hands. The rest of the diners had seemed to return to their meals – the clanking of forks against glass plates echoing throughout the room. Yet she was spooked and couldn't seem to think straight, never mind eat. Her waiter had never come back, anyway. She sighed and brought the coffee cup to her lips. She just couldn't wait for this night to be over.

Suddenly, the lights came back. With a gasp, she nearly dropped her cup as the lights blinded her eyes, now so used to the darkness. She placed the cup down and covered and rubbed her eyes for a moment, slowly allowing them to adjust to the bright restaurant lighting. As she slowly took her hands away from her face, her waiter ran over holding her massive bowl of salad.

“I'm so sorry it took so long, ma'am! We were all trying to figure out what was wrong.”

She shook her head and she cleared the space in front of her on the table, allowing him to put the bowl down, “No it's okay. I'm just glad it's. . .”

She stopped. The woman was gone.

“Ma'am?”

“. . .I'm sorry, but have you seen my friend? She was just here a moment ago.”

He glanced at the empty seat and, just like before, his glance returned to Carol with a perplexed expression, “I'm sorry, ma'am. . . But are you sure there was anyone there in the first place? You didn't come in with anyone, and there was no one there earlier. Maybe --”

He continued to speak, but she tuned him out. What did he mean, no one there? She stared deeply into the wall across from her, a mirror which returned her reflection and nothing more. No one there? The thought reverberated in her mind, bewildering and shaking her down to the bones.

For Creative Writing - A Love Story

Puppetmaster

“You ready?” Loki asked her shortly, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned his back against the rough bark of an old willow tree. His face was shrouded under the shadows of the draping willow branches surrounding them; the few rays of sunlight that made their way into the shade shone upon and revealed his eyes – narrow, empty, and cold.

Sitting before him on the grass, Delilah hugged her knees to her chest tightly and fingered the blades of grass underneath her. She sighed and allowed her eyes to travel to the bow and shabby set of arrows laying in front of her. Settling upon the sharp, poison-tipped point of her arrows, she stared at them intently for a short moment before glancing painfully away. Cocking his eyebrows in irritation, Loki shook his head.

“I should have known you'd be too weak to do this. Too afraid.”

“It's not. . . It's not that,” Delilah sighed, plucking a blade of grass from the ground and twirling it idly between her thumb and index finger. “I just don't know if this is the right way to do things.”

He scoffed in disgust, “You're just wasting my time now, woman. Up until this morning, you were thrilled about killing him.”

“I don't want him to die.”

“But you know it's the only way,” he paused briefly. “He betrayed you, betrayed your trust. He threw away everything you had. How long did it take him to replace you – to find Layla?”

Delilah flinched; her eyes grew dim for a brief moment. Her. She felt a foul tasting lump crawl down into throat and swallowed it down, hard and arduously.

Watching the changes in her face, the corners of his lips curled in a grin, “That's right. Remember that feeling? That's what brought us here in the first place.”

She hid her face in the palms of her hands, “Is this really how it's meant to be?”

Unfolding his arms, Loki pushed himself up from his leaning position against the tree. Stepping forward, he looked directly down upon her and held out his hand, “Come. There's no telling when he or his harlot will decide to head back. Now – now is your chance.”

It was not long before the pair had found the perfect place. Shrouded in shrubs and tall trees, the cliff overlooked the entire pasture. Down below, a flock of sheep wandered aimlessly nibbling at the grass. Delilah wandered slowly to the cliff, as near as she could without being seen from below. From her hiding spot, she saw her target: a lively, golden haired young man – and sitting near him, the ebony haired Layla. From her high perch, she squinted, observing their movements for a few brief moments. Her stomach churned and she felt the blood rush to her face as she watched their interactions. Their affections sent shivers down her spine. Her knees trembled underneath her weight. It was at this moment that Loki stepped behind her, almost appearing from nowhere. In his outstretched hands, he held her weapon.

“Go on. You're only prolonging the inevitable.”

Forcing herself to look away, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Taking the bow and arrow from his hands, Delilah quietly made her way to the bush nearest the edge of the cliff. Parting away the leaves and branches, she dropped to her knees and stomach and lay hidden in its foliage; only her weapon peaked out from behind the green shelter. Deeply sighing, she placed an arrow on the bowstring; slowly, she pulled back, feeling the brush of the fletch against her cheek. She concentrated now; like a trained hunter, her eyes narrowed upon the couple. Shakily taking aim, she set her sights on the young man. Where to aim: his arm? His side? His heart? She knew it didn't matter; the poison would tie up any loose ends. She sighed again and relaxed her body. A short flash in time – it would all be over soon.

Behind her, Loki stood tall, with his arms crossed across his broad chest in his usual nonchalant fashion. His eyes bore down on her, still narrow and empty, driving her to act. A sudden swoosh of her arrow – a flash of white from behind the bush – caused him to grin once again, those sinister lips curling with sadistic pleasure. A cry rose from the meadow. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

For Creative Writing - The Person Who Changed Everything

From the Glittering Thames to the Murky Hudson

A chaotic stream of strangers – dragging bags and children behind them with no regard to those around them – pushed, ran, and pulled as they made their way out into the arrival's lounge, like a school of salmon making that last energetic effort to leap over the rapids and return to their birthplace. He was not too far behind them. A tall young man dressed in a loose fitting black hoodie, which hid the muscular build of his upper body, and snug blue jeans came walking from behind the security barriers – an older man, his father, in tow right behind him. He strode forth with wide, heavy, and confident steps in his black and white Converse sneakers, lugging a large back pack behind him on one shoulder. Down the corridor, he could see his goal – the very family he had come to see. Yet someone was missing.

As he completed his journey down the corridor, he greeted the middle aged woman and her boyfriend. After hugging her tightly and allowing his father to greet them too, he waited and looked about. Where could she be? Sensing his impatience, the woman stepped aside and revealed to him the young woman standing behind her. Shyly, she shuffled her feet and glanced up at him with timid eyes. His own hazel eyes lay sheepishly on the figure before him. What seemed like an eternity passed before, finally, he dropped his back pack to the floor and stepped forward, embracing her in his arms. His shoulder-length brown hair found its way in her eyes and mouth and she could feel the brush of his bristly mustache and beard as well as his soft skin against her cheek and neck. The scents of their cologne and perfume danced and meshed into one. Together, their embrace was warm and tight and occasionally he would squeeze her closer against him, fingers laced together to strengthen his hold. Neither of them spoke and for a full minute, they stood lost in this trance, his arms growing ever tighter around her.

Finally, she cleared her throat and whispered very quietly, “I can't believe you're here.”

“I can't either,” he finally uttered, the touches of his British accent causing his every word to dance into her ears like a soothing melody.

Although reluctantly, they at last let each other go and soon the group started their trek to the parking lot. Walking besides her, he would glance over often and yet not another word was shared. The tension between the two was thick – this much he could tell. Finding themselves in the backseat of her mother's boyfriend's car, he tried to strike conversation.

“Did you hear what happened with Ozzy Osbourne?” came his shy attempt at breaking the ice as they began their drive.

She nodded and so he recited the story of what occurred from start to finish, laughing at its absurdity. Yet, she merely giggled shyly before heavy silence fell upon them again like a blanket. This silence persevered throughout the night. As they sat through dinner, she never spoke and though she sat right besides him, her gaze was fixed intently on her plate and the table. He spoke with his father, her mother, her mother's partner – and yet his thoughts remained on the shy girl. Thoughts, rushing through his mind and saddening him, distracted him from his food.

“What if she's disappointed in me?” he thought. “What if she hates me?”

The first day seemed to be over in a flash as they drove through much of northern New Jersey. Their silence was rarely broken and even her mother commented jokingly on how quiet they seemed to be. He knew this was true; yet as the moon skimmed across the starry night sky, he knew that there was nothing more he could do that day. After they arrived at the hotel, he hugged and shook hands with his gracious hosts. He embraced the young woman one last time for the day, even tighter than he had at the airport. Looking back one last time as his extended family drove away from the parking lot, he promised himself, and secretly to her, that the next day would be different. Tomorrow, the barriers would be broken.

Like a Red Balloon

Innocence
like a red balloon
floating
into the abyss of the forgotten

You took her away
before I knew who she was

Away
Tiny hands released
She slipped through my grasp
I fell into yours
To my horror she was gone

You took her away
I barely knew who she was

Floating
Rising tides of my fear
You pulled me apart
Every secret exposed
She was no longer near

You took her away
I wish I could have known her

Away
I never even got to say

Away
Cries absorbed by the abyss

Away
like a red balloon


- Bel

Hello new toy.

I'm gonna try this blogging thing out. I mean, I have two online journals already where I spew my shit, but what's one more? That's what I thought.

- Bel