Terror Begins
Terror Begins.....You see, I'm in love with a woman that has someone else's heart.
She is in a relationship with her,
But she's narcissistic how do I start? ....
This woman buys her things to make up for how she is treated.
She holds her heart very close
Because the woman has never cheated.
She chooses her things and where to go as her way to control.
She even decorated her apartment, total dominance is her goal.
She looks down her nose on all that the woman does for herself.
She flashes her money around to show the woman her wealth.
She makes decisions on the woman life without her say.
She makes her drive her around
Because it's her way.
Well, im in love with the woman that the other woman dominates.
Question...do I stay in love and help her fight or do I amputate?
The Terror Begins.
Binary Human Nature.
The sun is overwhelming today, heat like a stove top left on by accident, the glare makes my eyes burn.
I see a set of eyes through the windows, a young boy looks at me with joy and excitement as I open the gate.
I hate it.
His happiness is my future sorrow.
He doesn't understand.
It's not his fault.
Still, I wished he was dead, if for just a moment.
I hate people I do not know and I don't know why. One day this boy will stand in my shoes, perhaps he will feel the same.
I hope he doesn't.
I do not have good days.
I have days that aren't as bad as they could have been and I have days that are worse.
I hear the ticking of a clock in the back of my skull, a low frequency hum that only I can detect.
A voice in my ear tells me to see what the future holds.
It tells me to experience life after death.
The clock sounds like the trigger of gun, the barrel empty.
The barrel spins, I hear the whirring.
For a moment I wonder what kind of gun it is.
I might have one like it at home.
I shake my head like the horse in my memories. These thoughts will not help me today.
I smile at the boy.
He smiles back.
The ticking in my head gets louder.
"What are we doing?"
Surviving.
"We want to live."
We have to survive to live.
"Then what is the point?"
To live.
"We only ever survive."
Yes.
"We should give up."
No.
"Why?"
I dont know.
"Fear?"
No.
"Revenge?"
No.
"Happiness?"
No.
"Why?"
I dont know.
"Give up?"
I stare straight ahead, the thoughts spill out of my nose and eyes like ichor. Bile rises in my throat, I force it back down. I drink my bitter lukewarm coffee.
I drone on.
My ears are cold, they ring with the pain, my temples tremble constantly, my eyes twitch.
I am unfocused, yet the tasks are done perfectly, years of training and indoctrination pay off.
I am a number.
228.
A cog in a machine, a frayed wire thats live.
I am a danger to myself and others.
Yet I must push on, what else am I to do?
I talk too much, yet I can never explain enough.
I can only understand myself.
Thin blue lines under my skin, wiring of an organic nature. A super computer sits in gelatinous fluid inside my skull. High quality streaming devices sit above a speaker between the microphones we call ears.
I have autonomy, free will.
But what if that is not the truth? How do i know that my life hasn't been predetermined?
Do i believe in destiny? Fate?
Does my programming tell me to?
I do not think that I make decisions anymore.
My ideas are not real, they are not my own.
The little boy tells me goodbye.
I smile at him as he leaves.
I apologize to him in my thoughts.
My smile fades.
It's quiet.
Afternoon Air Smells Freer
Afternoon Air Smells Freer
July 08, 2025
He had lied to me again.
After I secured him to the chair with a variety of ropes and duct tape, he woke from his somewhat less than peaceful slumber. The blood dripping down his forehead had since dried, the wound since clotted. His face, on any other day, would heal, even if left unattended.
Such is the nature of human physiology.
But this wasn’t any other day.
I opted for a roll of Saran Wrap, both for the convenience of deployment and the clinginess of the plastic to itself. I might have informed him of my intentions. However, I remember watching old Batman TV shows where the Joker/Penguin/Riddler make that same mistake permitting the Caped Crusader to escape and foil their nefarious plans.
My captive would receive no opportunity for a respite, let alone a departure.
When he realized my intentions, he began negotiating. The plastic wrap made its first circumference of his head.
I permitted him his last full breath prior to continuing. He might have used it for begging. He might have thought to insult me. Instead, he began apologizing.
Ironically, his gunshot wound to my knee crippled my gait, but not my hearing. My surgeon confirmed this to be true.
Too bad I did not believe what he had to say either.
When I finished the second circumference, he began thrashing. I expected a struggle, so I watched all he could give. If viewed face to face, all one could see was spittle rapidly evaporating. All one could hear was crying.
By the fourth circumnavigation of his head, even the crying disappeared. The thrashing soon followed. An eerie silence filled the room. It was, for me at least, cathartic. No more unlawful orders. No more ignorance of civil rights. No more lame excuses of his safety trumping my rights. Silence. It answered all of my unanswered questions. It opened a penultimate door of opportunity. I dreamed of this day and it finally arrived, albeit 12 years too late, but arrive it did.
Even though I could leave, I chose to remain for a while longer. Part of me envisioned him with a deception in which he had not passed from the Earth. He was like this. Slippery, elusive, the modus operandi for his profession of fallen expectations.
Within thirty minutes, even I accepted the reality of my new life.
I gathered my belongings, what few he left me with, and opened the front door, never to return.
Remains
Above Lucy, a white-hot smudge of sun threatened to break through the haze. Below, the heat appeared to ripple off the asphalt and make the dead world dance. A flash of light in the cracked road caught her eye. She bent down to inspect her treasure: a lone paperclip, rusty but intact, having waited patiently for decades to be found. She pulled a chain of paperclips from her pocket and threaded her new discovery to the end. She closed the chain around her neck, pretending it was covered in colorful jewels instead of debris from years of exposure. Around her, the air shimmered as heat warped the landscape.
The UV sensor clipped to Lucy’s shirt beeped and flashed purple. She needed to find shelter soon until the haze swallowed the sun again. She looked around her, but all she saw was barren ridges stretching in every direction. She had wandered farther from camp than usual this time. The only shelter in sight was a heap of metal and glass in the distance. The UV sensor beeped faster now, blinking red. She had no choice. She ran toward the wrecked structure.
Most of the ceiling there had collapsed, but some of the glass walls still stood. Inside, she found rows of dusty clay pots propped up on tables, some small and plain, others large and painted with faded swirls of color. Lucy reached into a pot and scooped up a handful of cold dirt, letting it fall through her fingers. It smelled like rain. She wasn’t expecting to find anything. She wouldn’t have known what to look for anyway.
Lucy stopped in her tracks at the last pot. There was something purple in the dirt. She arched an eyebrow, turning the discovery over in her mind to figure out what it could be. Finally, she plucked it from the dirt and lifted it up to her nose. The scent rising from it was earthy with a hint of something sweet. She nibbled a petal and spit it out, deciding to stuff the purple thing into her pocket to show her mother.
She looked up and saw the sun had retreated into the haze above the glass structure. Lucy took the opportunity to run back to camp. She burst into the tent panting. “Ma, look at this!”
Lucy’s mother was crouched over a bowl mixing fortified grain. She looked up and smiled at the multicolored chain around her daughter’s neck. “Jewels fit for a princess!”
Lucy looked down and blushed. She had forgotten about her creation made from old things forgotten and found. “I mean this,” she said, pulling the crushed purple thing from her pocket. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Her mother gasped and froze. “Is that—no, it can’t be… just like the ones my mother used to grow in the Old Era. Lucy, where did you find this?”
“In a weird glass building,” Lucy said. “What is it?”
Her mother reached out and gently took the petals into her hands. “It’s called a violet,” she said. “We had them where I grew up.” She saw the confusion painted on her daughter’s face and laughed. “It’s a type of flower. It’s alive. Back then, clean water flowed in pipes underground. We used to spray it all over the flowers just to keep them beautiful. Just to have something nice to look at. That was before the droughts and famines, of course.”
Lucy looked at the dry stalks of grain in the basket beside her mother, who had gathered them that morning. “So this is alive? Can’t we plant it again?” Her eyes glistened with hope.
Her mother shook her head. “I’m afraid all we can do is put it in a cup to appreciate it while we have it. We can’t dip into our water supply, though. Without its roots, it won’t have long.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to… did I kill it?” Lucy’s eyes welled up with tears.
Her mother embraced her. “In this world… you gave it mercy.”
Drawing the curtains in to brighten the dawn.
Casting a shadow on a blank page.
Written under the stars,my words encaged.
A flashback of your voice echoes in the still night.
My hand creates the sullen aura that floats beyond your sight.
Under the horizon, your eyes tear up, seeping like gentle rain.
My brokenness strengthens your memories of undoing pain.
Lacking an Anchor
Adrift in a sea of longing,
rudderless and without direction.
Trying to stay afloat
amidst the relentless winds and currents
whipping the crests into a frenzy.
At the mercy of the nautical tempest,
in a fruitless battle to maintain control,
I’m losing sight of the sheltered harbor
that was my refuge from this upheaval
brought on by the forced solitude
when you left me.