Dancing with Death
The last time I danced with death, I stepped on his toes. Not many people can say that they’ve met death and lived to tell the tale, but I’ve done more than met him. I’ve talked with him, walked with him, even waltzed with him. You may think that death is more of a tango kind of guy, but trust, me he much prefers the waltz. Or that’s what he told me, anyway. Now that I think about it, maybe he was just saying that to get me to let my guard down. My story should be a warning to all: when you’re in the same room as death, you should never turn your back on him. No matter how charming he is, you must never let your guard down. Because that is all just a guise to get what he really wants: your heart. Not in a romantic sense, however it comes across, but in a literal sense. In order to remain the same age physically, death must consume someone’s heart once every thousand years. This can’t be just any random stranger’s heart, though, it must be given to him willingly. Trusting death was the whole reason I got into this mess, and it’s fitting that the last thing I do on this earth, as I bleed out into the very paper I’m writing this message on, that I am trusting you, reader, to heed my warning and stay far, far away from death. There is no sure way to spot him in a crowd, because he is always changing his appearance. However, there is a way to defeat him once you are certain that it is really death you have come into contact with. He has one weakness, one way to bring him crumbling down faster than a burning building. That weakness is—
watching gondolas outside my window
the flowerpot lay shattered on the marble floor. she would be home any minute from the lower east side, and his eyes frantically darted from the mess spread upon the kitchen tiling to the dustpan. before he could even make up his mind, the doorknob began to turn and a pair of red converse darted into the apartment. she was back. he held his breath as she examined the scene; she moved calmy around the flowerpot and specks of dirt, before caressing his jawline in embrace. "it's okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his, her affection proving to him that she wasn't at all upset with what happened. "i thought that was your favorite flower," he said, putting his hand on hers. "it was," she answered, staring into his pale blue eyes as she smiled. "but you're my favorite person."
I Am Me
I guess I don’t know where this is going
I guess I don’t have a purpose
I guess I don’t have as many friends as I would like,
But I know how to be happy
I know how to forget it all, if only for a little while
And when I do this, when I achieve happiness,
Nothing else in the world matters
I don’t care if anyone’s watching
I don’t care what I say
There are no consequences, no repercussions
I am free and wild, young and careless
And then I go home at the end of the night
I look at myself in the mirror
And all my responsibilities and insecurities
Come rushing back all at once
I don’t have a second to prepare
I go immediately from being happy
To being me
But it’s ok
Because I got to be someone else,
Even if it was only for a night
I got to be the person I wish I could let out more often,
The person more people would like
I can’t be her always
But it doesn't matter
I’m fine with who I am
I’m fine with being shy and easily stressed
I’m fine with keeping everything bottled up inside
I like me
I don’t need everyone else to
I am content
You wake up three mornings in a row alone. You try to remember everything about him. His eyes, his hair, his lips, his laugh. How he would grab you by the waist from behind and make you breakfast while you were still asleep on Sunday mornings. How he made you feel so damn special and in love, even when doing the simplest and stupidest things.
But your bed is unusually spacious, and your heart a little too empty. So you cuddle onto your pillow, dreaming of feeling the warmth of his body clutching your delicate skin in his arms, whispering into your ear all the cute little words you love and with the brightest of intentions.
Tonight will be another meaningless atom of time.
From the Forgotten Files
could tell you how a bluebird flies,
or the sound of a whippoorwhill;
if I could tell you the sound of a sunrise,
or the quiet rush of the wind along a grassy knoll;
if I could tell you how the ever-changing moon stays bright,
or how quiet, can be the very best of sounds;
if I could tell you what alone feels like,
or how a single thought of you keeps things intact;
if I really knew all it would take is a simple, Hello”,
or how a simple “I love you” makes life right.
if I could,
how simple life could be.
11:00 a.m. - 11:06 a.m.
(Other pieces from the forgotten file will drift in now and then)
Half of a Whole
Is more painful
You never cared.
You could never
Look at me
You look at her.
And always will be
My other half.
I don’t have
To make myself whole
How is it
That I never learned
How to play
The game of life?
You trick me
Again and again.
I never learn
You don’t care.
You just use me
To feel better
Until you find someone
To make you happy.
I’m not enough.
I’ll find someone
To make me whole
Not just when it
The Death of a Young One
If a person is to die at a young age my heart aches at the thought. Not that it does not for a grown man or woman. But if a child or younger person dies it makes me sick.
For how is a child supposed to die, or even sacrifice, for others that are all older and have lived their lives? It is asking that child to never live their life so that others that already have full lives may survive that much longer.
I am saddened by the thought of a dead adult. But I am depressed by the thought of a dead child. So much potential and so much life to be lived that will never happen. So many chances, choices, and changes that will never be seen through.
If I were to choose between one child or two adults I must say it might kill me to choose the child but it would if I chose the adults.
Me and Myself
There's a knock on the door. It takes me completely by surprise because nobody ever comes over. At least not anybody that I actually know. We used to have salespeople knock on our door but that was pre-internet. Now the only people that knock on our door are Jehovah Witnesses but I haven't seen one of them for a long time. The last time one came over I asked them if nobdoy is going to go to hell, what do I need to join your church for because I heard once that Jehovah Witnesses don't believe that hell is an actual place. It kind of takes the fear of eternal damnation out of the equation. Since then they don't come over anymore.
I open the door. It's like looking into a mirror except this version of me has style. His hair is styled and it looks like he bothered to shave this morning, unlike me. He was wearing a silk shirt and had what must have been a two thousand dollar watch on his wrist. When I saw the watch I knew this couldn't possibly be me because I can't stand watches. "You look vaguely familiar." I comment after giving this guy a once over.
"You look patethic" Was his reply. He made no effort to hide the disgust in his voice. I have heard of self loathing but this took that to a whole different level. He stepped past me and entered my humble abode. If he was disgusted with my physical appearance, the appearance of my dumpy apartment did nothing to elevate his opinion of me. "What is wrong with you?" He asked as he was forced to concede that a lower class version of himself was not only possible but that he was staring at it.
"Do you have a few minutes?" I asked in response, "It's a pretty long list."
"How is it possible that we are the same person?" He asked. He was started to look depressed. Maybe that's why nobody wants to hang around me, just the sight of me causes people to want to commit suicide.
"Hey, are you saying that you and I are related?" I interjected, "because I'm not seeing it."
I thought the guys eye's wre going to pop out of his head. He was clearly having a hard time with my apparant lack of social status.
"I will try and explain it using small words that even young children can understand, You and I are the same person, from different realities. I have developed a machine that allows me to travel to different realities and that is how I got here." He talked slow. I was starting to get the impression he thought I was an idiot.
"Can we go back to your reality, It looks like I'm doing a lot better in your reality than I am doing in mine?" I was sure this guy lived in a mansion or something. If I can't have the warmth of human company without paying for it, it would sure be nice to have some top of the line stuff to help take some of the sting off.
"No" was his single word reply.
"Man, can't you cut me some slack" I begged," Can't you see I'm down on my luck"
"I don't think luck had anything to do with your condition," was his response, "But I will take you back with me IF you can beat me in a game of chess."
"Okay, so all I have to do is beat myself in a game of chess. Okay, I accept your challenge." I respond.
"Do you even know how to play chess?" He asked.
"Of course I know how to play chess." I respond as if the question was offensive.
"Fine." He takes out a chess set that he had been carrying (but I didn't notice it until this moment) and starts setting up the pieces. He takes two pawns, one white and one black in each hand and places his hands behind his back. After a few minutes he places his hands straight out and I pick one. I picked the white piece and I think perhaps my luck in changing after all.
I start the game off by flipping him the bird. I mean I started with Birds opening and when he tries to sacrifice his Kings pawn I transition into a King's gambit. The game was pretty textbook until we got well into the middle game. It was then that I made my mistake. My doppleganger took immediate advantage and I found myself on the losing side again. I guess I just wasn't meant to be anything.
"For a moment you showed promise." He said, "and then the moment was gone." The condisenion in his voice was gone and all that remained was the sadness over lost potential. He said he could not bare my presence any longer and said goodbye. Before he left he gave me a roll of twenty dollar bills and told me not to get myself into trouble with them. A couple months later a government agent appeared on my doorstep saying something about conterfiet money. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about but I got 20 years to life anyway. Thanks for nothing duplicate me.