Knives

It feels like a million knives are stabbing every part of my body, and I never wanted it to be this way. To feel like this. I thought the bridge to death would be this warm, empty chasm of nothingness, but it's not. It's worse than life, and I know why. I took it. I didn't let the bridge come to me, I walked to it, and now I want to walk away from the dark shadowy figure pulling me in. Is this what's it like for everyone? Will this be the last thing I see? Or is it just my imagination, is it just me, my mind, playing tricks on me, again. That's why I pulled the plug, right? To get away. I pulled the knife out of my parent's kitchen drawer, and I closed my eyes, pushing with as much force as possible, but it just didn't seem like it was enough, so I kept going, and I saw the wooden kitchen floor, stained with my own blood. I didn't want to do this to them, but there was no other way, right? The figure is get closer, but I know, I can see it, now, it's all clear, life is better than the nothingness that awaits me. I will be nothing. I will be gone. Will they come home soon enough to find me? Did they already? Am I under the florescent lights of white life-givers. Are they trying to save me? I want to fight. I want to be free. I want to bridge to slowly sink away from me. It's looming over me now, the darkness, it shouldn't be doing that, should it? I'm not going to make it out, am I? I succeeded. I did always say I could do anything that anyone said I couldn't. They said I wouldn't, but I did. I made it. I'm getting warmer. What was wrong before? Why did I want to leave? It's better than I thought it would be. I don't want to fight.

I'm free.

Truth in Lies post #1

I just wanted to give you your daily dose of encouragement by giving you a little story about me. Me, myself, and I. I am a very weird, strange person and I don’t deny that, but I am also very insecure, and I can’t deny that. For me, the hardest thing in the world is accepting myself and my flaws. I want everything to be perfect, so I guess that makes me a perfectionist. I have many things I do not like about myself, and that makes me feel inferior and uncomfortable and extremely jealous of those who have (or seem to have) absolutely no problems with themselves, and I find it utterly incredible that while I’m sitting here dwelling on everything I want to be and sitting on that latest idea that pops into my head and not wanting to share it because I’m afraid, and I feel, for some reason, writing makes me less afraid of what I am and what I will become if I fail. I know that if I fail on this particular blog there will be no particular embarrassment, or really any consequence at all, but in real life I am afraid to even shout out something that I know is right. Why is that? I have absolutely no idea other than the several ideas that I have that I am too afraid to share. Now, I wish that things were different and I wish I could say that I didn’t want to put everyone else’s feelings in front of mine, but that is not true. I want everyone to be happy, but somewhere in there I lost the happiness that was intended for myself and maybe it was the way I was raised, but that is me, and when I’m not putting my happiness last and everyone else’s first, I happen to be making them miserable by hitting them where it hurts, and I do it on purpose when I’m hurt and I hate that about me, but I’m not saying I’m all negative, and I know, right know this doesn’t sound very encouraging, but trust me it is because I know one day I will break that shell and (hopefully) I will get a step closer by writing this and basically exposing myself as I have before on this blog whether or not you realize it, but this writing is me, and when I say the crimson stains are leaking from her heart to the ground, I’m secretly talking about me, and I’m slowly telling my story, and breaking open that fear to SPEAK. Now, that may all be swell and dandy, but what does it mean for you. Well, I by all accounts am completely crazy, BUT I say to all of you, right now that is better to be completely crazy and comfortable than shy and hidden away, especially in your writing. That purple-red dawn that creeps into the sky I’ve seen and I want you to see it and feel it as your reading my story, and as I SPEAK because it is beautiful if you give it a little bit of time, and I will finally be heard.

I am not a killer.

I am a person.

I am not a sociopath.

I am like you.

Please don’t judge me based on my story.

This is me.

Mama's Fault

Melanie's blonde hair swung over her shoulders. Long sleeves on a warm summer day. She can leave anytime she wants. That's what they all say. She's a strong, independent woman. At least, she was before all this came her way. Two kids. Two boys. Two beautiful children from the man she hated. They're old enough to understand what's happening now. She pushed her hair all the way over her shoulders, hiding her purple bruises. She hated to admit it, but it wasn't just the swig of the bottle that set it off anymore. And to top it all of their weren't even any flowers anymore. He couldn't deny it. He knew what he was doing. Her hands had started trembling last week. She stared at her hands in disbelief, this couldn't be happening to her. Better yet, it couldn't have happened to her, again.

This is my fault.

We have to stay together don't we? How would it look if I left? He would lie, wouldn't he? Just like he's been all these years. He'll make it look like it was my fault. He'll take the kids.

This is my fault.

I'd have to send the boys away first, and then maybe I would get out, after them. I wouldn't tell him we were going. I would just leave.

She's said this before.

"Melanie?" He whispered, pushing back her hair. She snapped her focus back to the table in front of her.

"I'm just so excited you two are finally getting married." His mother said a smile across her face, ignorant to the monster she had helped to create.

The boys were staring down at their plates, waiting for their mama to finally stand up and say goodbye, not agree to marry that miserable man that they had to call their father.

This is my fault.

I should've protected her last night. She's my mother, and I didn't get up and tell him to stop even though we both could hear her screams pierce the night.

This is my fault

I'm older. I'm just about as tall as the man we're forced to look up to. He should pick on someone his own size.

I'm scared.

Don't let him touch them.

Let me save her.

I love you mama.

I love you too.

Someday, it'll happen. I won't be here by your side, and promise me, when that day happens you'll run and hide. Please don't try to be brave, just be safe. Just know your mama loves you. Ok?

I won't let that happen.

It's out of your control

"Melanie? Honey? You seem distracted. Are you nervous?" His mother asked.

Melanie stared at the boys, and turned to glance at the man sitting next to her. She held it for a moment, her courage deflating, a smile crept ,once again, upon his face as her gaze crept down to her plate. She finally looked up at his mother, not able to meet her eyes, but yet she still found the power to force a small smile on her face, slowly raising and lowering her head as she whispered, "Yes, I'm fine."

Her oldest son shoved at the table in disbelief. Melanie could hear his snarl. That ugly man stood up, full height, ready to pick yet another fight. His mother reached across the table for his hand, but he had already pulled away. He stormed from the table following his son, she could already hear the threats forming on his tongue. "Be strong, my baby." She whispered in fear. Mama, his mother, glanced up at her, ignoring strong, independent Melanie's whisper.

Only a mother's love can be so blind. I stared after my son, my beautiful son. I need to protect him. I felt like slapping the ignorance off of his mother's face. He's been doing this for years. I turned to her, she was staring at the magazine that blank stare I had seen all too many times on myself.

She knows.

I felt like slapping my hands on the table, screaming and swearing. How long has she known? Could she have saved me? Could she have saved them. I couldn't help glancing at my younger son, he was staring down at his hands, unwilling, incapable of looking up at us. He knew what we should hear next, but I don't think my boy will scream.

She was leaning on the table with her left hand she picked it up, ready to charge like any respectable Mama bear, but his mother grabbed her arm with the grip he had held her with too many times before. Melanie's hair fell over her shoulders as she stared into his mother's eyes for the first time all night, if not all year.

"You don't have to marry him." She whispered, "Don't make the same mistake I did." She let go of Melanie's arm, but Melanie held it out as if she was still holding it, keeping her close, saving her from him. Melanie tilted her head, a silent question that they both knew the answer to, "He got it from his father."

"I got what?" He came back a smile on his face, his gaze directly on Melanie, and her son nowhere in sight. She had hoped it would be the other way around.

You son of a bitch. You killed him didn't you?

Her eyes were full of suspicion, going up and down his body, looking for her son's blood on her fiancé's clothes.

"He went for a walk, Melanie." His voice flat. Her eyes darted to the window, her shoulders tense, the purple scars on her neck perfectly visible, he noticed too. He brushed her blonde hair back over her neck, her body stiffened more than even she thought was possible.

They sat down at the same time, a knock came on the door, and Melanie practically teleported to the door, and her heart dropped as she opened it, the police.

"Hi Ma'am, we received a complaint about noises coming from your residence."

"Umm..."

He was behind her, hand around her waist, "We're fine here, thank you."

"That wasn't what I said." The officer put his hand on his holster, "Are you okay Ma'am?" He asked. Melanie's face was pallid and blank, before she could open her mouth, another officer magically appeared from behind him, then sirens were roaring onto her lawn. He grabbed her by the waist, "You called the police, bitch?" That had really grabbed the officer's attention, his gun was aimed at his head, "I'll use her as a shield." He said, "I have no problems getting rid  of this piece of..." His voice, it stopped abruptly. It all happened so fast.

Glass shattering, his grip weakening, all in a matter of moments, and the worst part of it all was the feeling, something wet on the backside of my clothes, my hair, it was everywhere. He was everywhere. Suddenly, the officer had my arm. He was holding me up whispering something that resembled: "It's all okay, now."

"What the hell is happening?" I shouted across the room, into the empty air. His mother was being helped from under the table, my son was being escorted out, but I couldn't stop thinking that my son was gone. He should've come back by now, even if there was no blood on his clothes, and the next question was how had he changed his clothes so fast, unless he used a... no, he couldn't have used a... I would've heard it if he had used a... gun.

"Wait!" I shouted,  although the officer was right beside me. I was disoriented, and simply, I thought I was living in a dream, "Have you seen my son?" I practically screeched 

I could feel the confusion misting off of the officer, as he opened his mouth and pointed to the wrong son, and said, "He's right here. We saved him."

"No. Not him. The other one." Their faces were blank, "The noise!" I shouted, "What was it? Why did you all come out here? How didn't you know? You had a sniper and S.W.A.T and everything!" I stopped, turning around, searching my officer's face,  "He's dead, isn't he! No!No! He can't be!" I screamed with a force from my lungs I had no idea was possible until I saw them rolling out the lumpy black bag from the back, as if they tried to do it where I wouldn't notice. inconspicuous! But it wasn't. He's my son. I'll always find him. He just wanted to save me.
I love him.

My legs buckled from under me.

He deserved to die.

My stupid lover had planted that little voice in my head that whispered those wretched things, and I could do nothing but glance up at my youngest son. My only son, waiting for something anything for this to be a giant joke. Haha joke's on mama! But it wasn't. My son, my baby, he stared through me, past me.

There is no more family. We are nothing. He won.

This is my fault.

Poem #1: Greek Mythology Anyone?

So, I wrote a poem, but I must say that this story is not mine. The actual story is "copyrighted" by ancient Greeks. Anyhow, my poem is based on the story of Clytmenstra who killed her husband with no remorse. While I know she did have some reasonable reasons for killing her husband, she still should've felt a little twinge of emotion for the man she once loved. So, this is my take on the story:

Clytmenstra
Wicked Queen,
Wicked Queen you are.
Soaked in Scarlett,
Bathed in Crimson,
A smile upon your face.
He did me wrong you claim.
A life for a life you say.

You closed those castle doors of yours,
Mind set to do the deed.
We never thought,
We never thought,
You'd come into the open air.

Soaked in Scarlett,
Bathed in Crimson,
With a smile upon your face.
Your head held high,
Lover in hand,
As the last lay forever silent and hidden away.

Your son must now do the wretched deed,
Freshly ripped away from your bosom.
He must now give heed,
Spearing the breasts his head once rest upon with his own weapon.
Blood thirst!
Oh blood thirst!
The cause of all terror.
Wicked Queen,
Yes, a Wicked Queen you were.

Daddy

Daddy, daddy, why do you have to be so mean?
 
The road was cold, sprinkled with evergreen trees, and the cars were scarce. The evening sky was a winter purple, a perfect night for snow. Two hours ago, my biggest concern had been whether or not I would be able to sleep in tomorrow morning. Now, it's whether or not I’ll see their trademark red and blue shimmering behind us.
 
I can hear the banging in the trunk.
 
Daddy, I don’t want them to take you away.
 
I hold my breath like the person in the trunk, motionless, breathless. I wait until my vision gets blurry, then my mouth flies open, and I’m sucking in as much air as I can.
 
He's staring ahead. I know he won't dare look me in the eye. It doesn’t matter anyways, even if he tried, I wouldn’t be able to look into his. The windows are clean and clear, the way she always leaves them.
 
His eyes are an icy blue, the same as mine. I feel pressure on my chest.
 
He’s cold and distant because he has to be.
 
He told me to get into the car. I heard the screaming, I knew what had happened, this time it had gone too far. I pointed my own blue eyes at the wooden floor that I already knew I’d never see again. I can’t lie and say that I never knew that one day, this day would come.
 
Daddy, daddy, you make it so hard.
I want to love you. I really do, but please, please don't just give me those same excuses.
 
I glance out the rearview mirror, not a car behind us. We’re home free.
 
I look at the back of his head, his bushy black and grey hair, and I close my eyes.
 
Dear Daddy,
I never wanted to wish this on you, understand that, even the times I did, I never wanted this. I can't help but watch those evergreen trees. I am one of them, standing tall until I am taken down. You have made me strong, but I fear I am breaking.
 
I sit on the cold leather, hands tucked between my jeans and the seat. I take a quick look at him pulling my trembling hands into my lap. My face feels hot, although the car is cold. I slide my fingers over the smooth surface hidden in my palms. The gift you gave me not long ago. Can I take charge?
 
I tap the receiver 3 times.
 
I love you.
 
I turn my head towards the window, glancing at the rearview mirror, tears sliding down my cheeks. I know you can hear my breath getting sharper, shorter.
 
Daddy, I’m sorry.
 
This is the first time that I’ve got to sit in the passenger seat. Years of begging, and it’s now. I look down at my feet, my toes are just skimming the black plastic mat on the ground.
 
Someday I’ll be as tall as him. Feet planted on the ground, having to push my chair back because I’m so tall.
 
Daddy, I don’t want to be like you.
 
Or maybe I’ll be this petite little girl forever.
 
Red and blue flashing down the street.
 
Maybe I’ll be just like mommy.
 
Daddy, why?
 
“Daddy?” I whisper, “You know you have to pull over.” I can hear the tears in my voice. I can feel his eyes on me, taking me in one last time. His breaths are heavy as he pulls to the side of the road. Two officers come, one to his side, and one to mine. They wait until he’s out of the car to get me out.
 
“You’re a brave girl, you know that?” The officer says offering me his hand. My legs are numb. I bury my wet face into him, he hoists me up, although I’m much too big to carry. I know my Daddy will watch me with his icy blue eyes, but I won’t look. This will have to be our last goodbye.
 
Dear Daddy,
You shouldn't have done that, not to mommy.
 
Goodbye Daddy.

Storytime #3

It was dark, clammy, and cold in the all too clean room where her daughter lay on the cold slab of a table, her final resting place. Her mother stifled a cry, covering her mouth with her hand. This couldn't be happening to her baby girl. It couldn't be. Her baby girl's skin was pale, too pale, her lips were almost blue. The woman standing over her gave her a sad nod of recognition. She covered her baby girl with a blue sheet signifying death. She couldn't just stand there and sob. She rushed at her baby girl, just wanting to hold her one last time.

"You know we can't let you do that, ma'am. It's protocol. It's what she signed up for." A man said emerging from a corner.

The mother stood there screaming, bawling in agony, knowing every word he spoke is true.

"I'm told she even went out with that flame in her eye." The man said to the mother, "The same one you have in yours, no pun intended."

The mother reached out her arms, ready to claw out the man's eyes like a primitive beast. He wagged his finger in her face, mocking her with every move he made, "Mummy, you're the one who signed your precious little baby girl up for this. You can't blame me now."

"I can blame you for whatever the hell I want!" the mother screamed.

Her eyes grew wide as the man reached for his side. She knew what was coming next. She closed her eyes. It had finally caught up with her.

She didn't even let out a scream as she went down. Her final gaze at her daughter's stone cold figure above her.

"I love you." She said with her final weak breaths.