"Momma!" "Momma!"

Four year old Adam cried out with such agitated alarm that his mother reflexively beamed herself out of her bed and into his room with the g-force of a lightning bolt. The clock read 12:01 am when she came to his aid questioningly,

"What's wrong baby. What's wrong?"

Words she almost expected but hoped she wouldn't hear sprang from his mouth like vomit,

"The monster! He's back!"

She calmly practiced parental restraint. Before she fell asleep she had been reading the book, Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids. She was determined to do everything within her power to be the mother to Adam she did not have and surmised what was bothering him, but would not spoon feed the words, would not go negative, and instead was intent on descalting his fear. Knowing the panic in her son's eyes she searched the galaxy wallpaper covering the wall nobly for a proper way to respond to him, as if a coded explanation should be written there; discernible hieroglyphics scattered amongst the planets offering sound parental advice,

"Oh dear Adam. There is no monster. It was just a bad dream. A nightmare." She sat down beside him, took a deep long breath, in and out, and stroked his blond locks lovingly, longing for his infancy, and the predawn ritual of nursing him by moonlight.

"Mommy gets them sometimes too. Come her my big boy," and she pulled him into her breast and he nuzzled her, with the same reminiscence. It was all she could do to hold back her tears. How had things gone so desperately wrong? Doubts flooded the room, seeping in through the cracked window, adding to the insecurity already permeating her pores.

"Can I alone be a good parent? Can I raise a good son? Can I protect him from evil?"

The brave little boy wiped his tears, as his father and grandfather always demanded of him. "Straighten up. Be strong." He wasn't sure how to properly respond to their commands, but he did his best to mimic, the first and most effective method of childhood education.

"I know you get the nightmares too." Adam said boldly as if he now owned the room. There was no observable evidence in his virginal face that he was still afraid, whatsoever and his mother was somewhat relieved. But then he said, "I heard you talking to Aunt Dawn about the monster."

And his mother tried hard to stay composed, searching her own database for a truthful answer, one he could comprehend. "Breath in breath out"..... she reminded herself, technically talking herself off the emotional cliff, causing her hand to drop from his forehead and it hit the bed with a thud. Adam abruptly pressed against his headboard, his body gesturing his desire to disconnect.

"What exactly did you hear me saying to Aunt Dawn?" Her tone was hesitant, feeble.

Adam stared her down resolutely, dismissively. "Oh nothing. Nevermind. Mommy. You can go back to bed now. The monster is gone."

But she couldn't move, paralyzed with fear, not from her son's sudden change of heart, from her own ears taking in the sound that signaled the monster had just approached within close proximity. The look in her son's eyes told her he heard what she heard too, but his reaction did not match hers. The mustang engine pulling in their driveway was distinct. Powerful. Strong; the walls and foundation of the house weak. Each day they crumbled a bit more. Sunk. Lower.

"Daddy's home," Adam said, and although he had released her, she inched back closer to her son, reaching for him, instinctively, every fiber of her being wanting to protect him; to protect herself from the monster. She pulled him back into her breast forcefully wanting nothing more than to shield him, and before the monster could turn the handle of the front door, Adam bore down hard with his teeth sawing into her right breast, drawing blood, looking up at her with utter contempt. An insane familiar smirk washed over him as his innocence floated away. Yes he had been taught well by the monster as his little eyes watched and trained to become just another victim within the family line of chips off the old block; their path written inside a family manual of instructions titled, Like father. Like son.

The fall stole crowns

and brought the cold

Winds stripped each gray

like river stones

To leave a single

patch of gold

On fragile frames

with knotty bones

As one, within

a grove, they stood

With limbs outstretched

to Heaven’s walls

Soil-speckle-cloaked

like charcoaled wood

They waited for

his axe to fall

A wicked winter:

cold heart’s freeze

Hate’s infernal

plot began

Extinguishing

the stand of trees

Elder’, children,

women, men

Still, Spring would wake

to miracles

Arising from

the ash to stand

Like Aspen leaves;

sun-glistened jewels

Replenished seeds

in promised land

In Honor of

International

Holocaust Remembrance Day

January 27th

Photo Credit: Ken Wyatt

A monster is a result of the hurt that people have done to it.

Tears stream down my face as I burn them with my words.

Monster! They cry.

The flames engulf me and smolder all that I love.

But it doesn't matter.

They burn too.

When the smoke fades away, I am sitting on a pile of ashes.

The ashes of what I used to have.

The ashes of what they took from me.

What am I now?

A small and weak baby phoenix, reborn from the flames.

One day, I will fight back.

And call them monster too.

I tried to stop him. I tried to escape. I tried, but no one thinks I did.

His hands were on me, drifting, sliding, groping, dragging claws against my tender white skin. I was begging him to stop. He growled with delight as his eyes devoured my skirming shaking body held down by his hands.

I screamed as he pressed his body onto mine, I screamed for help; but no one came. He put his hand over my mouth and nose and told me to shut up; and I did, I passed out from the lack of oxygen.

All I remember was the pain.

He teared me to shreds, leaving me a bloody naked mess, destroyed and alone.

And they asked me why I didn't stop him if I didn't want him? They assumed me a whore.

Maybe I was a whore; but they never understood what he was—he was a monster.

a knocking.

a knock against the brain.

the ticky-tacky feeling of organ on bone, <i>squish</i>.

I'm sorry—did you hear that? I've never before been much of a drinker, the bitter taste the nausea the way it makes me hate my face the unavoidable social element, balance beams.

But what I do know is stress can kill off brain cells brain cells brain cells, effectively shrinking the organ|do you think it could disappear altogether. I worry.

are you listening—?

and you are always present, always <i>there</i>. But that's not to say you've ever, once in your whole existence given a moments care for my wellbeing oh no no no, no.

is what I want to tell you but I just can't. You wrap your strong arms around my insides and I think I might just melt onto the sidewalk or fall asleep for a long long time, with not a kiss to take. Not a word to spare.

I haven't believed in monsters since I was young small in a ball on the kitchen floor trying to explain bad things were creeping up to get me late at night. And if that is what monsters are then you my undesirable life companion are close to that.

You have no arms or legs or eyes or teeth. No lips, but you still manage to tell me every day what my life is worth. Arguably

no more

than nearly $120,000.

I want to scream but you remind me that no one is listening and even if they were even if they were, even if they were

it's late, its dark.

and the front door is made of bone and I could wouldn't cannot shouldn't leave. So I'm here I'm here in here, see.

I'm home to hear the knocking.

Monsters are zombies, vampires, werwolves and demons. They are creatures of the night whose sole purpose is to inflict pain and terror. There are people in this world who are labeled monsters because of the monstrous acts they've committed. To call someone a monster is too simple. This label simultaneously provides an excuse or a justification for their behavior and implies that there is nothing they can do to change. It makes us feel better because it gives a simple explanation for senseless acts. It frees us from the idea of forgiveness and redemption. These are rather complex ideas and I do not mean to say that it is anyones obligation to forgive or to see the humanity in those who have committed atrocities against them. I am simply saying that it is society's obligation to leave room for people to seek change, even if that change occurs behind the bars of a prison cell.

I am a survivor of rape by the hands of a stranger about my father's age. He will be in jail for several years and will always be a registered sex offender. To me, he will always be a villain. To others, he is a son, a husband, a father and a friend. From the background investigation, I can tell I was not his first victim, but I hope that I am his last. Something happened that caused this man immense pain, likely at an early age. He chose to turn that pain toward others. He is responsible for his actions, no doubt, but he also needs help. At this point, I don't care if he is in pain or not, I care about whether or not he chooses to take it out on others. I will never forgive him, but I hope that eventually he will become an asset to society instead of a liability.

People are not monsters, they are just in pain and cope by hurting others. They are sick and need to be given the chance to change. No one is a lost cause, but no one can be helped unless they want to be. This label of monster has surely prevented many from seeking that help.

When you ask someone what a monster is?

They say ” An imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening”.

But is that really true?

Is a monster a hideous,

awful, mean creature.

Or is it a creature,

who has been misunderstood its whole life,

Or is it a creature,

who has evolved because of the hate it gets.

Or is it a creature,

who is beautiful from the inside,

Or is it a creature,

who has been killed a hundred times when someone thinks a monster is

″ An imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening ”.

- Reet sapra

"Why do women cry?" he questioned with false brovado in his voice.

"Why does anyone cry? Everyone has their reasons, but I don't know her or what you guys were talking about so I cannot offer my opinion." I suggested.

"Women cry when they are cheating or hiding something," he was very sure of himself with this statement.

I scoffed, not at all surprised by his response, because, he always thought that I was the same way whenever I cried. I was always, "guilty" or "hiding something" or both. When I had a miscarriage, I killed the baby; when I was raped, I was asking for it. When he chased me through his apartment and slammed the door with the thunder of his fist near my face, I provoked him.

It was in this moment, this phone call when he was talking about another woman, that I truly realized what he is: a monster.

I do not know how or why he ended up this way, but I know what a monster looks like. He's handsome, charming and makes you feel like the only one in the room, but that's just the beginning. Slowly but surely his insecurites come through; in the way he asks who you are talking to or where you are at all hours of the day. In the way he calls in the middle of the night, to make sure that you are home and not out "doing something stupid." In the way he makes you feel so small and insignificant and the way he plays the victim.

That is the worst part. How is everything my fault? How do I need to change this much? why can't I talk to my family, my friends? And why does no one love me but him?

Everyone has their flaws, and everyone makes mistakes, and I have certainly had my share. I am not perfect and I have been a monster myself. I have lied, cheated, and had outbursts because I was unaware of all that was happening. And then I met him, and I changed all of that. I was a new woman. I found my power within; like a surge of adrenaline, fighting against my inner monsters and this outer one.

When you finally find your strength and your worth, you will no longer be pushed around. And guess what? It does not matter that he thinks that you are the monster, because, the true monsters, skulk in the daylight, preying on the weak. But you, are not weak. He is. He is weak. And you, you are strong.

Real monsters, do not realize they're monsters, and they certainly don't realize who they are messing with.

What is a monster?

It's movies where claws strike from under the bed. When children fear the night. When the doors close, and it's empty and dark and alone.

Does that mean the monster is the night?

No. For the night bears the moon, and the stars, and the silence. Which can be deafening but is also beautiful. The night is what marks the end of the day, it is a rest. A time to recharge.

So, what is a monster? If it is not the night, is it the day? When people walk with narcissicm, and cruelty. The world spins even as children are slain, and rapists walk free.

A monster is emotion. Envy, wrath; it is in every step.

Try not in vain to be the monster, to become the hero who slays the monster.

And yet, in each of us is both.

But the problem is, that makes them human, and that is the monster that is all too real.