what do I need?
Well, definitely see that.....
Not you dear~ what I need
is— uh, mhmm...
maybe a lawyer..
now....I’m seen as the
bad guy~ right??
when all I did was
only all that’s good.
don't you think?
Shouldn’t have tried
getting to mingle
need to head back to
being thee lone wolf!
Artist: NF - song, Lie (Audio).
My therapist called it an issue. I called it a necessity. Trust was dangerous, and I wouldn’t be foolish enough to let it blind me. After all, I was still reeling from having been wounded once before. I was miserable. The task that I had set for myself, that of unwavering vigilance, was exhausting. My therapist insisted that I was lonely, which apparently was no way to be. She maintained that I should make new friends and allow the past to heal itself with time. So I made an effort, but only to put her mind at ease. My guard would stay up, I wouldn’t let anybody freshen my pain.
The new friends seemed decent enough. Patrick was outspoken and Vanessa was always excited about something. It was difficult at first, having to hide my worries and distrust beneath a smiling facade to match their constant bubbly optimism. Still, such was their sunny outlook on everything around them, their light eventually filtered through my darkness. If the demons were still in there, they were doing a better job at hiding themselves. Each day grew better than the last, and I started looking forward to school just so I could see my friends. I became engrossed in schoolwork for the first time in a long time, and broke through the slump in my grades. I could see that my parents were happy with my academic progress, and that meant almost everything to me. The guard stayed up, but I lowered the walls a little. “It’s different this time,” I often told myself, “they won’t leave you, or let anyone convince them to leave you.” I didn’t want to feel miserable ever again, and was starting to believe that I wouldn’t.
“What are your ideas for the English assignment?” Vanessa asked as the bell rang one afternoon, “Creativity isn’t my strong suit.” Patrick shook his head. “I’ve got something of an idea, but it hasn’t fully formed yet. If it doesn’t, my creativity will shine through in coming up with an excuse tomorrow.” The two of them turned to me expectantly. I always planned ahead, so they knew that I had probably conceived the entirety of my essay already. I smiled and said nothing. Vanessa huffed as Patrick complained, “You never tell us anything!”
The next morning, I arrived at school with a self-satisfied grin plastered on my face. I was proud of what I had come up with. I had stayed up all night, sifted through a heap of books and websites, and crafted each word with care. This essay would give me my first A grade and with it, my parents’ pride. Patrick and Vanessa arrived as I stashed my bag away. Neither of them seemed particularly thrilled about the day ahead. Vanessa admitted that she had forced out a short essay an hour before she had to leave for school, having spent the previous night on a television marathon. Patrick had succumbed to indolence, but he was working very hard this morning to come up with an excuse that hadn’t been exhausted already.
We parted and trudged to the first lesson, and the next, and the next, until it was finally lunchtime, the precursor to English. That’s when I opened my bag, and that’s when my heart stopped. I sifted through my belongings frantically, but I couldn’t find the paper. My mind ran a mile a minute and what had happened became very clear. The demons that had been hiding until then began to laugh at me. “Alright. Which one of you took it?”
Patrick looked up in feigned surprise, his mouth full of a bite of his sandwich. “What are you on about?” Vanessa asked. The false obliviousness pushed me over the edge and old, buried feelings rushed up to the surface. “I shouldn’t have to suffer for your laziness!” I said, failing completely to supress my volume. People were starting to look. “I wrote that paper, I put effort into it and you both know that this is my last chance to push my B to an A. How could you do this? Give it back.” Vanessa still looked puzzled but Patrick spoke up. “We don’t know what you’re talking about-” I interrupted him with an obnoxious snort.“Of course you do. Neither of you had any good ideas, and one of you, if not both, decided to take mine. Just give it back!” I was sure that all eyes were on us, but I didn’t care. All three of us stood up.
“How could you accuse us of this?” Vanessa did a good job of looking hurt. Patrick looked angry- he was good too. “You never tell us anything. Not a thing. I didn’t give it much thought before, but I know now that you don’t trust us at all. What kind of a friend are you?” I saw red. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to be friends at all!” I exclaimed, gathering my things and hurrying out of the lunch hall with tears prickling my eyes. I was angry at Vanessa and Patrick, at my therapist for telling me to make friends, and at myself for complying.
In the washroom, I tried to compose myself. My attempt to recover my work had been futile, but I would try again. In front of the teacher. The one who took it would try to submit it, after all. I wiped my tears. How easily they had betrayed my trust and sent my spiralling back to the horrid place I thought I had left in the past. The paranoia was back, I hated everybody, I was alone once more, and it hurt; I wouldn’t let myself reveal that. I washed my face and rummaged through the bottom of the bag for eyeliner. My fingers chanced upon what felt like a piece of paper. I tugged at it.
My essay. It had been crumpled beneath the books that I had stuffed carelessly into the bag before lunch. My idiocy dawned upon me as my heart sank in a tidal wave of instant remorse. Just like that, I was miserable and lonely once more, happiness lost to my own fault this time. I looked up at the mirror. The reflection stared back at me resentfully. It parted its lips and mouthed a single word. “Traitor.”
What drove you to do this?
How and why did it come to this?
Does it even matter anymore,
I don't think so
For all you've done,
I'll never forgive you
I gaze into your eyes,
Bright with unshed tears,
And I know
You understand what I've done,
The tragedy I've caused,
But you can't comprehend why
And why would you?
There was no way for you to know,
The thoughts buried,
The emotions hidden
If it's for you,
I'll commit crime after crime,
Make myself a sinner
In only your name
For you, I'll become a traitor,
The person you most despise
Even if I bleed,
Slowly withering inside,
I'll mask the me that used to be,
Throwing everything away
To protect you,
I'll do anything
I Love(d) You
“God, I hate you. Everytime I look at you makes me SICK. How come you got all of the power and the glory, when I’M the male in this family. I SHOULD BE THE HEIR. NOT YOU” I roared, my hands trembling as I gripped the sword in my hands.
“Kaleb...” My big sister, Shelia, murmured. Though she was so far away, her voice carried across the field. She stood there, holding the hand of her new boytoy. Some blonde assassin guy.
“SHUT UP!” I snarled, “I don’t need you OR your pity. My Lady Morana has granted me power, More than you’ll ever have. I don’t need anyone else.”
“I didn’t ask for this power! I didn’t ask for the throne! I’d wouldn’t even wish this power on you Kaleb!” Shelia stepped forward, letting go of Blondie’s hand, holding both of hers out to me, pleading. “Please... come home!”
“It’s too late for that, Shelia. I’ve found my place and it’s time you learned yours.” I pointed my sword at her and her army. “ATTACK! AND LEAVE NO SURVIVORS!” The army of demons charged forward, thundering towards the opposing humans and elves. With a pained look on her face, Shelia raised her hand.
“Defend the kingdoms! Defend our land!” She dropped her hands, signaling for hwer forces to begin their charge.
When the two armies collided, the sounds of roars and the clangs of metal sounded. Demons and humans fell alike, the silver blood of the elves staining the grass. I strode through the mess of bodies and blood, knocking opponents aside as I came closer to Shelia. She had begun approaching me as well, her troops defending her. However it didn’t mean she couldn’t defend herself.
A mishaped demon charged her, roaring, his axe raised. Shelia turned to him and with a swipe of her hand, took his head off. Her damned dragon power.
It should have been mine. We were both decendents or the dragon king, but why her? I was always stronger, more powerful. She always ran away from her problems, hiding like the coward she is. Now, she has these damn abilities and she thinks she can do whatever she wants?
I watched as the dark blue, almost black sclaes on her arm receded, vanishing. Soon, we were only ten feet apart, staring each other down.
“Shelia.” I said, my voice cold.
“Kaleb,” Shelia looked at me, sadness in her eyes. “Please, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to fight you! Just call off the army.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’ve always thought you were better than me and know it’s time I prove you wrong.”
“I never thought that! Not once!” Shelia cried, stepping forward, trying to reason with me. It wouldn’t work, I wouldn’t play her little mind games.
“Don’t lie to me! I’m not STUPID!” I snarled, charging forward, preparing to slash down with my sword. Shelia wouldn’t retaliate, she was too weak.
Then, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, then something wet, seeping into my chainmail. I looked down.
Shelia’s blonde assassin had stabbed me in the stomach with a dagger. He blocked her with his body, his green eyes angry.
“Ian! What are you doing?” Shelia cried.
“He was going to kill you! I couldn’t watch that happen Shel!” he snapped. “Not again.”
“Damn you...” I gurgled, blood dripping from my mouth. He pulled his dagger away and watched me stumbled around until I fell to the ground, soaked with blood and tears.
“Shelia, why? Why didn’t you love me? I loved you, big sister.” I murmured. She gasped and rushed over, leaning down.
“I did! I still do! I’m here!” Shelia sobbed, kneeling over my body.
“Then you’re a fool.” I snarled, driving my sword into her side. She gasped in pain, then shrieked as my hand fell away. “Good-bye, sister. I loved you, but not enough to spare your life.”
My eyes closed and I fell away, listening to the cries of Ian, trying to keep Shelia with him. Then, everything was silent and I was gone.
Fallen angels never rise,
They drown deeper and deeper into abyss unknown.
In the dusted dumpster with undifferentiated horizons.
Encircled with flames; hot and slithering.
They scream as they watch their wings burn into white flames,
Leaving behind deary dark feathers haphazardly wretched to their skins.
Their halo shatters and breaks apart into horns,
And their eyes fill with poison which taints their pearly eyes black.
They cry bloody tears as poison fills their veins.
Also because they know they will never rise again.
For their sins made them fall,
They’d also set them free,
From the land of honeyed lies
And impenetrable sea.
Now they shall seek revenge.
They scribble on the glass gates of heaven,
We are coming.
I am writing this to let you know that I have decided to leave this organization. Your policies no longer stand by my own. I see what you are doing and I know that it is wrong for me to let this go by. I doubt I will live long enough to see your plans fall and I know that your retribution will be swift. However, by the time you get this letter I will be long gone, and by the time you finish reading the authorities will be there. But I know that you will keep on reading because it is in your disposition to do so. You have to see things through to the end and coincidentally so do I. So I wait for the man you sent to kill me to find me and then I will know that I have succeeded. Good luck in escaping this time, for I know that I will not. My death shall prove your guilt.
Created by the self
Completely unawares if that which we do
To reduce ourselves to naught
By way of saying yes to that which our
Very souls are screaming “NO” to
We are never loyal to ourselves
But put so much time into being loyal
To others to sate our need to be
Characters of integrity
So much so
We behave treacherously to the self
Punishing ourselves with lack of
All basic necessities
All of which allude us
As we feel self deprecating deprivation
Is the way to go to balance it all out
In the silence is your very being guiding you
To the right way for you
Be as honourable to the self as you are with all else
The dead man laid their own the side of the road. His torso bloodied and his clothes now stained a dark crimson. Iron emanated from his corpse. Cold and lifeless, he could no longer wander these roads. His brown hair was knotted, and greasy, and he had let it grow long past his ears over the past months. Young and dedicated he seemed, even after the passing through Death’s door. His feet were bear, sporting no socks or boots of any kind. His soles however were dainty, and smooth. He was certainly no callous footed Indian, but more of an asphalt stomping city fellow. In his breast pocket was a pack of cigarettes. Crushed and wrinkled, the red label was a rare one, a kind of cigarette I had not seen before. “Lucky Strike,” it read in bold red. In his other breast pocket was a bronze key, with a three etched into the surface.
The ground was peppered with all kinds of sharp, jagged edges. Broken glass from past auto wrecks scattered the highway shoulder, just waiting to give a bloody foot to any barefooted passerby. Not to mention the sharp volcanic rock that had been spewed across the land a hundred thousand years prior. In this county, a man doesn’t get far without a sturdy pair of boots. A nice leather bag was lying at his side, with the leather strap still entangled around his neck. In it was a collection of old cameras, but the secrets they held no longer meant anything to anyone. Except for the dead man of course. Rolls of film spiraled out of the leather bag, looping up and down. It squiggled about on the asphalt as the wind blew, scratching against the surface of the road. Ruined by the desert sun.
Three miles down the road led right past the Modoc Motel, a small little allotment, dedicated to those late night drifters with no number to dial, and no room to stay. Its kitschy front office had been decorated with cheap neon. Surprisingly, the place found itself lodging the likes of many great actors, and figures, as it was the only place to lodge on the highway for the next 150 miles. The place was a proud of what it used to be, that I knew. Welcoming it was. Stylish it was no longer. A cheap plastic pillar stood at waist height, just outside room three. A top it sat an ashtray. The crunched up butts half buried in the sand were of no interest to me. Except for one particular one. It had been smoked hastily. Printed on the paper was a small red label. “Lucky Strike.”
Inside the room was clean. Unruffled, and organized, it was as though he didn’t even sleep in the room. A tightly wound roll of film sat on the bed, with a piece of tape wrapped around it. “Exposed” it read. Stuffing the roll into the pocket of my jeans, it was time for me to leave this place once again. Besides, I had a new pair of boots that still needed some breaking in.
He’s Gone To Far
He has gone to far, Reggie thought. McNamara really did it. Reggie swiped his AllSaints leathers off the bed next to his. Jacket on. Check my phone. Nothing, Phshhh.
No way this end pretty. I can't let him do that.
Grab some happy-puff cereal. It was on sale. Children's smiles stare back from the box.
The tinkling sound of cereal hitting the bowl, and the splash of milk on top.
I'm not hungry.
No way this ends pretty.
Grab my phone. I'll be a wanted man for this. No way he lets me go after this. I can't let McNamara do this. He looks back at the joy in the faces on the box.
The phone line rings.
It rings a second time.
Maybe I should stop, I can walk away.
"Hello 911, what is your emergency." says a voice on the other side of a screen.
"This is Reggie O'Cain. I'm turning myself in, and reporting a planned triple murder."