This year I sit

Thinking about the year.

What do I change,

Or fix, or finish.

What about me is wrong?

An hour later,

The list is frightening.

So, I start another list.

What about me is right,

Or good, or satisfying.

I find myself still thinking.

The ink from my pen

Soaking a bloody blue hole,

The tip still pausing,

Nothing to show by "1."

Finally I give up,

Tear both list apart.

My resolution is mad.

This year,

This is the year I will learn.

I am going to learn to love myself.

It will be slow,

It will be hard,

It may even hurt.

But, by this time,

A year from now,

The goal is clear.

The bloody blue hole,

It will be on the first list. 

With little steps, 

I will drown the list of bad,

And fill my heart 

With an endless list of love.

It is nearly pitch black, streetlights barely glinting through thick strands of moisture. The wind is blowing strong enough it makes the rain appear to come flying in from the side. Tonight is one of those nights that makes an umbrella pointless, nothing but the top of your head will be protected anyway. No one who has any choice in the matter is stirring, cars parked safely in garages and driveways. I travel along the road, watching fog begin to wisp up from the asphalt, creating eerie characters in the dark. Slowly, the world is transforming. The buildings and vehicles are smudging into a dark landscape that mixes with the trees and creates an evil forest from a fairy tale. The dim streetlights are growing halos in the fog, becoming will-o-wisps, come to summon you off your path and into evil hands. Through all of this haze runs the river. Where there was asphalt, there is now churning black water, shining like a beetle wing and running swiftly. Not even the will-o-wisps dare to cross the dark expanse and the forest, too, keeps its distance from the roiling waters. Slowly, I follow the river, careful that the darkness does not overtake me. Overhead lightning flashes and gets absorbed into the river, even as it outlines the forest to either side of me, but the water is too dark and deep to reflect the brightness. It feels like forever but finally, the river brings me home. In the morning, the forest will be gone, once again replaced with buildings and cars and other modern things, but for this moment I connect to the old world. The world of magic, and evil, and wonder still exists along side us, but only on nights like this can it cross over and be seen.

Cold and beautiful,

The ice surrounds the structure.

Heat pulses from it,

Nothing around it stirs,

Nothing breathes.

Isolated.

Heat whispers out,

Tender fingers seeking

But, the ice thickens and bites.

Fingers recoil in pain,

Nursing the sting of cold.

Beseiged.

Something stirs on the ice, 

Nearing to pulsing heat.

Sniffing,

Judging,

Moving on,

Abandoned.

Time creeps on,

Ice lapping seductively at the heat.

Hot fingers shrinking,

Wrapping themselves together,

Venturing out less often.

Withering.

Ice, so beautiful,

Mounded thickly over the heat.

Embers pulse sluggishly,

Losing the battle

Against the quiet cold.

Despairing.

Fingers wrap tightly,

Protecting the very core,

Waiting desperately for movement,

A sign of life on the ice.

For warm regard.

Hope

Another hour passes, each second leaving a larger hole in my mind. The lights are off and shadows play on the wall as the image on the tv screen flickers, the sound barely able to be heard. Across the room, my little birds trill to one another as they huddle closer, drowsing in a beautiful slumber. More seconds go by, each booming in my head. The pain grows greater as my thoughts continue to unravel, cheap yarn tangling and pooling. My heart beats louder in my ears, vision pulsing in tune while the tv grows more abstract. I long for the sweet release of sleep, but it continues to run. 

It hides in the flashes of the Animal Planet images, teasing me from behind the trills across the room. It smiles at me playfully from the golden eye my cat regards me with from the other side of my pillow. I chase it still, grasping at its presence, only for it to escape into the buzz of the street lamp in the yard. Desperately, I lay in wait, trying to tempt it into an ambush, not moving, barely breathing. It senses my plan, though,  skipping around me on the air currents from my fan, brushing through my hair  but never lingering. 

It continues to haunt me, never staying in one place too long. The headache grows, the images on the screen growing more and more abstract. Perhaps it finally grows to pity my poor state though, for as the first rays of dawn hit my eyes, it settles over my eyes. Slowly it seeps into my minds, and suddenly I am gone. 

To you friends I have yet to meet, I just want to leave a thank you. I know that you do not have an obligation to visit me here in my little corner of the internet, and I am very thankful that you have. I have just begun working toward a career in writing, and I know I have a long way to go. Over time, I hope to learn from each and every one of you in order to make myself better as a person and a writer both. I am still working on learning how to use this site, but as I do, I would really like to converse with you all more in depth. So, please, leave comments, questions, critiques, or anything else that you wish, and as I get more proficient I will happily do the same!  I look forward to meeting you, and I hope that we may converse in the future.

Much love and anticipation, 

Amerraine

It was just like every other Tuesday I had been through since I started school that year. I woke up late that morning, having snoozed my alarm one too many times. Hurriedly I threw my hair into a ponytail, got dressed and ran down the stairs. No time for breakfast. Jogging down the street, I pulled on my backpack and tried to remember if I had done all of my homework the night before. There had been a raid in EverQuest the night before, and that had taken most of my focus for the night. At the time, I was not the greatest of students when it came to homework.  

A flash of yellow.

Crap, my bus was pulling up. I sped up into a full out run, barely making it to the bus before the doors closed. My breath was coming hard, but I grinned as I made my way to an empty seat. I remember being elated that I had made it, even if I was stuck on the seat right above the wheel. After a time, we arrived at the school and I made my way to my locker. I dumped my bag into it carelessly and grabbed the two books I would need for the day before lunch. 

My first class, social studies, was up on the second floor. I remember grumbling as I went up the stairs, dodging other people who weren't paying attention as they walked. At the time, this was one of the biggest irritants in my life. I was not one to enjoy touching people that I was not acquainted with properly. 

I made it. I slipped into my seat and started to pull out my homework. It was wrinkled and crumpled from being shoved in my book, but I had gotten it done at least. The bell rang and the teacher moved to the front of the room.

" I pledge allegiance, to the flag..."  I mumble my way half-heartedly through the recitation. Up to this point, I had never really given any thought to the words we were saying. It was just a chore every morning before class started. Once the Pledge was finished, everyone sat down to begin class. The teacher was writing a review on the board from the day before. Honestly, I can't remember what the subject matter was anymore, but I do remember another teacher from down the hall bursting in and whispering to mine. 

The chalk dropped and my teacher turned on the television in the room, fiddling with it until the channel changed from the school announcements to a news channel. On the screen, there was the horrible image of  the Twin Tower, burning and breaking apart. It felt like my heart stopped beating. All breath in my class stopped for what seemed like forever. No one said a word, eyes riveted to the screen. After a few moments I heard some sobs behind me, but I did not have time to acknowledge them fully. 

Something inside me was broken. I felt a new fear that I had never felt before wiggle into my heart like a worm. Safety had always been a given for me. My parents were kind, my home and school secure. I had never run into any true dangers that I could remember in my life. In my child's heart, I had projected that safety to the country, the world around me. Surely nothing could really go wrong in the United States. We were strong, and even though we had our problems we were safe. 

My child's heart shattered that day. The new adult beating in my chest suspected unseen danger around every corner. Years later, I still live more cautiously than some, fully aware that danger could be lurking. Anything could happen without warning, so the only thing to do is be cautious, be vigilant, be safe. 

Meet Riley. 

When she was ten, she was given a tape recorder for her birthday. Since that day, she has practically lived her life through the lens of some sort of camera. There is not an event or special moment that she does not have captured. Her greatest hobby is going back over the films and reliving these moments, cutting them into anthology videos, or just basking in the feelings again. 

One night she is asked to a friend's party to record the evening. It is a charity party and there is to be footage used in the advertising and campaigning of the cause. She ends up filming something that she shouldn't. 

The next day, a camera shows up on her doorstep. Curious, she plugs this camera into her computer and watches the footage. All that is on it is a grainy image of her sleeping the night before. More than a little freaked out, she goes to her room, looking out the window that seems to be the vantage point of the movie, but there is no sign anyone is there. 

Another day passes, and she receives another camera. On this one, there is a recording of her at her computer splicing images from the party. The film is still grainy, and this time the video has sound. It does not match the picture but is the sound of a female crying and moaning in fear. 

Freaked out at this point, Riley calls the police. They seem concerned, but there is nothing overtly threatening at this point. An officer volunteers to drive by periodically while he is on his rounds. 

Two days pass with no new camera, but on the third day a new camera is on her front step. This one shows the officer coming by, then panning to the house. The person on the camera enters the home and shows the inside of her home. On the film, the dubbed sounds once again have the female crying, but this time there is a gagging sound, a shot, then nothing. 

Finally Riley goes through the footage of the days before the cameras began appearing. She discovers what was recorded that she was not supposed to see. Taking matters into her own hands, she researches the incident and goes on a mission of sorts to take down the people terrorizing her. 

A remote game of cat and mouse ensues (a battle of the cameras almost)

Finally, she gains the footage she needs, after some close calls regarding her safety. 

To protect herself, she makes the footage public on the internet and gives copies to the news stations. They post the information, but not many believe the information. 

The next day, she receives a new camera. On this one, the intruder is pouring something into a wineglass. The one that she drank the night before to try to get some sleep. 

“….happily ever after. The End.”

She held her breath for a moment, watching to see if there was any movement in the beds to either side of her before slowly closing the oversized story book. A slight smile teases at her lip as she stood slowly and paused again, once more looking over the twin black mops of hair peeking out from beneath their covers. After a few breaths had passed she turns, putting the book carefully in its place on the shelf and exiting the room quietly. Once in the hall she breaths a deep sigh and pads quietly to the kitchen. He waits for her there, a slice of cake and two forks on the table in the middle of the large room. Having already performed his round of story duties, he had retreated to the kitchen as well to prepare the bed time snack.

“They were excited today, nearly three stories before they finally went out. “Settling at the table she takes a piece of the cake with her fork, smiling softly as she enjoys the rich flavor of the confection. Chuckling, he too takes a bite of the cake and chews a moment before commenting “It is their first one, darling. I was excited as well for mine.” The light in her eyes dims very slightly, memories of times far in the past brushing against her thoughts. Almost instantly he catches himself, concern written on his face clearly as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I am sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stop, love. It is in the past and it barely pains me any more to recall it.” She pats his hand gently and turns her smile back to full. “Are all the preparations for tomorrow made?” Looking around as she takes another bit, she takes note of all the food that has been prepared and set aside for the following day. Cakes, candies, and all sorts of other delicacies decorated hastily built trays and racks like tiny gems twinkling from the rough cut wood. In the stove delicious scents waft out, teasing her nose with the stews that are brewing inside. Pulling away from his hand, she turns and stands up as she wipes her hands on a napkin, “Who is coming?”

“They are almost done and should be ready by tomorrow evening.” He stands as well, taking the empty plate and forks to the sink. “All of their friends said they would be here. And…” His words trail off as he turns to face her once more. “Your father, and his wife, are coming as well. They prepared gifts.”

“…You are joking, surely.” She narrows her eyes and backs up a bit, nostrils flaring a little. Memories cascade through her mind once more, hard and fast. This couldn’t be happening. He must be playing a poorly planned joke. “Never. We agreed never again. They are not welcome here. You KNOW what happened in the past.” She slams a fist on the table, a snarl barely held back clogging her throat.

“I know, darling. But, they want to make amends. There will be a lot of people here that can keep an eye on everything. They want to know their grandchildren.” He frowns a little, almost reproachfully at her. He had never approved of the distance between her and her family. She would never go into detail about what had happened, but he wanted to do what he could to help her. It had always been just a little bit awkward between them. There were four things that he never brought up unless he was prepared for a fight: her first husband, where she went every now and then when she seemed the saddest, her aversion to anything resembling her appearance, and her parents. Generally, he kept to these rules, but this was important to him and the twins. “The girls asked me to invite them.”

“They did?” This made her breath catch for a moment. Too dangerous. This was getting too dangerous. “I see. It is getting late dear. Why don’t you head up to bed? I will be up shortly and we can talk about this in the morning.” She slides an empty smile on her face, walking over and reaching up on the tips of her toes to kiss him softly on the cheek.

“You will come up soon, right?” He looks down at her speculatively, willing to let the conversation rest for the night if she was serious.

“Yes, soon.” She shoos him out of the room and waits a few moments, listening to be sure he was not coming back down. Turning, she walks to the door of the kitchen that leads out, grabs a wrap from a hook near it, then leaves quietly. The darkness outside is invasive, but she knows the path by heart at this point. After a few moments of walking she passes through the gate and turns toward the tree line. Another short walk and she is at the small home just inside the forest. Gently she knocks at the door then waits, bent over a bit, arms wrapped around herself, for an answer.

It only takes a few moments before the door is answered cautiously. Only a thick nose, gray hair, and a single eye are visible. Recognition lights the surface of the face and the door opens widely to the equally wide arms of one of her beloved friends. She hugs him tightly, resting her forehead on his thick shoulder, and begins to cry.

After a moment of patting her back and making gentle murmurs, he leads her further into the home, settling her onto a chair. “Well now, lass. What seems to be the problem, that you show up here so late in this state?” The man bustles to a side table and pours her a cup of tea. She takes it with a murmur of thanks and takes a sip, wincing at the strength of the raw herbs inside the liquid. Another nose appears around the corner, a split second before the rest of his body does. His eyes light up in surprise and pleasure as he sees her, dimming when he sees the tear tracks on her face. “Nolen, go get the sandwiches out of the fridge, would ya?” the first man asks.

“Sure thing, Prof.” The younger man turns and goes deeper into the house toward the kitchen.

“Prof, I am here to get them.” She sniffles and wipes at her face roughly. Her eyes are dark with a new weight to them that was not there before. Somehow she managed to look serious, even through her puffy eyes and slightly dripping nose. Prof raises his fuzzy grey eyebrows nearly comically high. He takes a step back, regarding her more shrewdly as he takes a seat. There is no movement for a few moments until Nolen returns to the room with the sandwiches, placing them on the low table and taking his own seat.

“You’re serious are you? You said you wanted them away, where no one could use them again. What’s changed your mind?” He leans forward on his knees, ignoring the gasp from Nolen to his side. His eyes never leave hers.

“My husband. I love him dearly, but he feels my…parents… need to be in the twins’ lives. I cannot let that happen. You know that.” She leans forward as well, brows knitting in concentration. Her delicate fingers tremble around the cup she holds, but that is the only sign of her fear. “I.. can’t let it..”

“I see lassy. It is about time you were ready to take the final steps. Better late than never.” His voice grows a bit deeper with pain, eyes barely flicking over to a wedding photo of her and her first husband. He stands slowly and knocks on a door to the far side of the room. After a couple of moments and a loud thud, it opens, revealing a shockingly red mop of matted hair and a face with sleep written all over it. “Oz, she’s needin them. “ The sleepy eyes widen a bit, but he nods. Disappearing back in the room for a moment he returns with a box. Prof handles it gingerly, turning and handing it to her before sending her on her way back home, through the dark.

Upon returning to the kitchen, she sets her box on the table and begins to gather ingredients for a pie for her parents. Delicately she opens the box and hesitantly pulls out two items. The first is a brilliant, red apple that is still shiny after years in the box. She cuts it up slowly, adding it to the filling. Taking the second item in one hand, she moves the pie to the oven with the other. Raising the second item, she faces the oven and lifts the beautiful mirror up until she can see her tear-streaked face. 

“Mirror, Mirror, in my hand….”

The doors of the private cathedral opened with a crash, and a golden-eyed man walked up the center Aisle. He held something delicately between his cupped palms as he made his way to the large statue of Jesus between the front pews. When the man reached the base of the statue, he let the small head of a bird poke between his fingers before he crushed it, dropping the mangled body at the feet of the statue. He waited for God to cry, but there was no result. Screaming he pulled his daggers out, but before he could do anything, a bright light engulfed him.

A little boy, about 5 years old sat in the front pew of the church. He was trying to behave because momma was in the front row of the choir and she would get angry if he fidgeted. There was a really bad itch on his ankle and he tried to keep from scratching, but when momma turned her head, he couldn't help but to itch it. Unfortunately, she looked at him just as he reached down. Blushing brightly he itched really fast then sat back up, looking down at his hands before he could see momma laugh quietly. The man writhed at the memory, his cold heart defrosting some, even as his soul tried to free itself from his body.

Let's be us again

 He could feel God talking to him, trying to make him right again, to make him not hate anymore. A ten-year-old boy came home from school, proudly showing his mom the diploma he had gotten for learning all of his scriptures in order. She smiled proudly at him and hung it in the front hall where everybody could see it. Both went to the kitchen and celebrated, baking cookies and eating them when they were still gooey from the oven. That night he slept, and he heard God promise that He would never leave the boy, that he would always be happy. Only if he was bad would anything ever go wrong. At the memories of his mother, the man continued to struggle, not wanting to let go of his hatred, the memories..

Let's be us again

 He shook his head violently, refusing to believe God's apologies, the promise he made to him in his dreams. A fifteen-year-old boy dances modestly with a girl he was mildly crushing on, the nuns watching every couple with the eyes of hawks. Tonight was the Easter school dance, and everybody was dancing. Tonight, his parental unit would be at home, no doubt watching the clock until he returned, ready to hug him and ask him how things went. The man struggled harder, twisting and turning in the light, trying to ignore His words.

Won't you open up your heart and let me come back in? Let's be us again

 He shook his head violently, refusing to be swayed. The final memory. An Eighteen your old boy is on the way home from his date with the girl of the month. Usually, his mother looks at him with disapproval, treating girls like they were nothing. He prepares himself for the scolding he will get. When he turns onto his road, he sees around 20 emergency vehicles and his house is demolished. Scrambling out of the car he shoves by the emergency units and goes inside, zeroing in on his mother's room. She lay serenely on her bed, and her silver cross plunged in her chest from the vibrations. Her hands were around where the cross entered her body and she had a sad smile on her face. The boy screamed, and his heart turned cold.' At this memory, the man screamed, the old pain resurfacing, God's soothing words trying to sway him to no effect.

That says we're us again

 Tears streamed down the man's face. He wanted to believe God, but he couldn't trust him. A Twenty-year-old man with golden eyes is contacted by assassins and asked to join an elite team. He accepts, having nothing left in his soul to protect. The first target is the seven-year-old daughter of a prominent political figure. The man got the killing shot. Moments later, a huge storm brewed and drenched the city for days on end. The man's defenses were falling. He knew now that God cried every time he had hurt an innocent creature, every time his heart grew colder. The man's struggles slowed and his heart started to thaw even more.

Let's be us again

 This time the words reached a little deeper into his heart and managed to stay with him, reminding him that he was loved. He still refused to sway,but not as adamantly as before. A 30-year-old man lay on his pallet, blood seeping from almost every square inch of his body. Rain leaked through the roof and dropped on him, salty droplets sliding into his eyes and mouth. Angrily he brushed them away and began to dress the wounds. He saw his mother watching him from heaven, tears streaming down her face every time he got hurt or he killed something. His mother had given him tears when he could not cry. A tight fist clenched at his chest.

Won't you open up your heart and let me come back in? Let's be us again.

 Yes, he would let God back inside him. He wanted to find his mother again.

All the pain he caused had exhausted him. The man's struggles ceased

entirely, and he whispered along with God: 

Oh let's be us again!

A red-haired German was in search of his teammate. They had a mission and the Irish man's techniques would be useful. For some reason, he could not sense the other's mind so he had to check each room personally. Finally, he was at the point where the last place left was the cathedral. Growling, the man lit a cigarette then made his way there and slammed open the doors. A startled bird fluttered from the feet of the large Jesus statue and startled the man into dropping the cigarette and brought his eyes up the height of the statue. In the arms of the statue lay the Irish man, his daggers through his heart, hos own hands holding them there. What truly disturbed the German though was the smile of absolute peace and happiness on the pale face of his teammate. Turning swiftly he ran out, a smoldering cigarette butt lay forgotten on the floor. Moments after the German had gone, a warm breeze carrying cherry blossoms swept into the cathedral and swirled around the statue, sweeping the butt out of the room and then it stopped. Soft pink petals covered the statue and the man in its arms. As the three members of the team raced to the cathedral, a gentle boom of thunder cracked outside and a warm spring drizzle began to fall. 

Finally, the Irishman had made God cry; in joy.

* I own neither the characters nor the song. The idea and story are my own. I do not write much in the way of fan-fiction, but I found this little piece while I was digging in my portfolio. I hope you enjoy. *