She is a mere reflection of myself

From palm trees and vanilla ice cream

She is from the crystalline ocean

Breathing, feeling, observing

She is from sweet fresh coconut trees

Hanging by a thread

She is from a warm place and freedom

Call her condemned

Her soul will live and remain in this place she longs to be in

In spite of the fact that no longer is she mentally confined by it

Her eyes blind themselves from believing

Am I a coward for wanting out? I’m living a life that was never meant to be lived. It couldn’t have been. It must have been a rough draft that was supposed to be deleted, but was given to me by mistake. Everyday is a battle. Some days I loose, while other days, I am all but obliterated. It’s never easy getting up in the morning, knowing that in the end, I will regret everything. I am fighting with my mind each day, reminding myself that life will get better, but never believing it. Everyday is a test of courage, and those days, those dark and terrible days, when nothing goes right and death seems like the way to go, am I a coward?

I don’t see suicide as courageous. It is not brave to end your life. It is incredibly hard to actually attempt/succeede at suicide, slicing open your body takes some guts and seeing your own blood pool around your feet...is not for the weak minded. But suicide is not courageous. Neither is it cowardly.

@Adin

Why can't you just understand & listen to the cries that belt out in their tiny but pain filled voices? Why can't you just realize it's not for fun; it's not some fairytale; it's not make believe or made up on the spot. I just wish someone somehow somewhere could help me step out of the shadows and join them in the light and glory of the days. Because the days do get hard but with help, you can get through. Just why?...............

Suicide is not an act of courage or cowardice, most of the time. I’m sure it’s different for everyone who commits it, attempts it or contemplates it. But, I think it’s often an act of desperation. Numbness. Feeling trapped without any other way out. A desperate grasp at some kind of control over your own destiny.

If a cornered animal lashes out, would you call it brave? Would you call it a coward? I wouldn’t call it either of these things. It’s just acting on the only option it can see.

Desperate.

To me, the value judgements of courage and cowardice have little to do with suicide.

#

Side note: I do not mean that suicidal people are like animals. I’m just trying to illustrate the feeling of being trapped and cornered. Apologies if I offend with this post.

I miss you already

though you’re not gone.

but are you?

what kind of life are you living

where all you need to do to end it

is pull a plug?

I guess I will see you again

someday

but this world will be missing a peice

forever more.

you

my friend

have made an impact.

who else could leave one smiling through tears

because their toothy grin is contagious

even when they’re gone?

you did

and I thank you for that.

Oh, my dear friend,

I miss you already.

“Honey, I’m not going to let any man put his hands on me,” the first woman declared.

“I don’t know why a woman won’t just leave a man like that,” the second woman said.

“I guess some women like getting hit upside their head,” the first woman said, shaking her head from side to side.

The second woman agreed. “Evidently, they do,” she said, nodding her head up and down.

A third woman sat in silence, listening to the other two women. She declined to join the conversation because she knew the other two could not comprehend what it was like to be a victim of domestic violence because they had never experienced it. They would only understand when they were faced with an unrelenting force of evil that was determined to make their lives a living hell, and determined to not let them get away. She knew first-hand that it is never as easy as just leaving.

©2019 RosalinM

Nora spent her nights trying to not get kicked out the library. There had been a few nights she’d managed to just crash in the massive pillows in the kids section. Then the security got wise of her hiding under them and she had to get more creative. There were the high windows were she could hide if the ladders were close. But it was dangerous considering she had to push the ladder away or someone would think to look in the one she was hiding in.

But once everyone had left the building was hers. As were all the books. That was the best part, they were better to cuddle up with than her grandmother’s bity dogs. Nora adored her grandmother, but she still needed a break from the constant care she had to give. The house nurse came by three times a week, so Nora took those chances to sneak into staying over at the library.

She’d told grandma that she had friends living nearby that she was staying with. It wasn’t entirely untrue, she considered these old spines and the sweet smell of paper were her dearest and sweetest friends. Nora had spent a good amount of this evening in one of the study rooms, a history book keeping her company.

The whispers started then. The first time it had happened she’d thoughts someone else was hiding in the library. She’d spent the night searching for someone, anyone, Nora didn’t want to share this place with anyone else at night.

After the third time it had happened she realized, it was the books. The ones on the shelves. They were telling their stories, not just the ones on the pages, she’d gone to the childrens section and listened to them once, it had been hard at first hear one when they were all whispering, but she could hear it, they were telling the stories that weren’t written, the stories that continued beyond the pages.

Smiling Nora closed the history book and put it on the shelf next to its fellows, where it began to argue with the book next to it about the subtle difference between its own record of history and the one the next book contained. Nora preferred the literature sections to the history, non-fiction, and philosophy sections, all they ever did was ague. The literature, fiction, sci-fi, even the romance sections, they told stories.

Nora sat with her back against the shelf listening to the tales, she still couldn’t always pick out exactly which story she was listening to but that didn’t really matter to her. She liked the voices of the stories.

“So, you can hear it.”

Her eyes shot open, and she looked around in panic. The voice had sounded from right infront of her. No one.

“Honestly, when they even suggested I keep an eye on you I thought it would be a waste of time.”

“Where?”

“Up, you plebian, up.”

He was floating, wisps of dark smoke, the color of his suit were slowly drifting away from his form, and Nora could see the stained glass window behind him through him.

Her first instinct kicked in, she screamed and ran.

The figure sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose while floating after her, slowly sinking to the ground.

“What are you going to do? Call the athorities? Your trespassing on private property yourself, child. I have more right to be here than you do.”

Nora paused with the library public phone in her hand. She was sure she was loosing her mind, but what he said made sense. Maybe it was just a figment of her imagination, after all she’d been staying at a library to avoid responsibility... Slowly she put the phone down and turned. He was standing in the doorway, seeming more solid by the moment, he brushed something off his shoulder.

“Well at least she has some intellegence.”

“Who, or, what are you?” She managed.

“I’m not important,” he said. Nora raised an eyebrow to which he sighed, “If you must have a name or a title or something you can call me Wisp. I am here to ensure you get off on the right foot.”

“The right...?”

Wisp sighed, “I had to be assigned to the one world where the dominant inhabitants think it is all just a story.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “I suppose the quickest way just for me to show you.”

Without another word he took her wrist, his grip much stronger than Nora would have thought for his size, and dragged her down the hall, up the stairs to the second floor.

“What are you-”

“Just wait and you’ll see.” Wisp said, he pulled her to stand before the stained glass windows. “Just take a step through here and-”

“And what, die? That window is over the parking lot.”

“For one who hears the books, you don’t have much of an imagination.” Wisp pushed her to stumble forward into the window.

There was a shattering of glass, but she didn’t feel the sensation of freefalling. She stumbled forward into a long, dark hallway. A quick glance backwards left her staring at a whole glass window, but it wasn’t the same she’d always seen. This one was of the library she’d just left.

She stammered and stumbled over her words, staring at the window.

“Wisp? Wisp where are-”

“Go forward and take the test,” his voice came from everywhere. “I hope you’re more successful than you actually look. Who knows you could become the next hero. I pray to the Last Hero that you’re not a villan. That would make three in a row from Earth, we may never get to participate again.”

“Wha-”

“Just follow the hallway, I’ll see you again, hopefully.”

The hall didn't stay dark for long. Windows twice the height of the library's flooded in bright morning light. Nora timidly went to one of the windows. She stumbled away after only a moment's glance.

Either the windows were all just screens with an ocean background, or this hallways was floating above a massive sea. Nora swallowed and turned her attention to the other change in the hallway. The statues.

Each one stood as tall as the room, they were people in heroic poses, weapons drawn, trimph written on their faces. They each looked to be the work of a master. She glanced at the plaque at one of their feet.

Elisabeth "Red Riding Hood" Whipstaf & Leon "Huntsmen" Whipstaf

Victors over Erin "Big Bad Wolf" Remlulous

Third Semi-Annual Tales Event

I write to aid my body in coping with the situations life thows at me. I write because it puts my mind at rest, after a hectic day. I write because I can close the pain away onto a little notebook or laptop, and shut it away whenever I choose.

My last post was written at a time when I felt alone, needless to say whether I still feel the same way or not. However, my last post inspired me to re-evaluate myself and the groups I am surrounded with. I realized that you do not have to be alone to feel alone. In fact, sometimes the biggest sense of lonliness comes when around the most people. My inspiration was to try and break free, and even get out a little from the burden that seemed like I placed it upon myself. Writing my thoughts down inspired me to attack the problem and uncover my true emotions on whether or not I was alone to feel lonely.

Maybe not everyday I write about something inspirational or with a purpose, or even something at all. However, my last post inspired me to be a little bigger.