Every so often... it happens... they... the words... disappear. Not selective, not mute. Just gone, the words are gone, they don't plan to return. You can slow, you can search... but that doesn't mean they appear.

Go ahead, reach out, search for your sound. The color that escaped from your lungs, that were shaped through your lips and pressed with the tongue. Find them, if you can. Fail, because you can't.

Though English, Spanish, French, Hindi, the tongue continues to form shapes, the lips press words through their funnel, the lungs shoot air up the throat to begin the vibrations. Everything functions.

Except that it doesn't.

Silence roars out, defining in their lack of presence. Distracting, drawing attention, but not the type you're looking for. There is pity. Your lips are imposters. They move in a mimic of words that have given up, that no longer wish to leave the depths of your chest and vibrate through the free air.

Pen and paper, your last resort. But there is a lack of patience, no one wants to wait for the words to escape onto the page and travel through the light into their eyes.

The words are still lost in your throat, in your lungs, in the blood flowing through your veins and into the neurons of your brain.

The electricity doesn't make its way into your mouth, instead it stays in your brain, sending flashes of heat through your spine and into your body as irritation spikes and frustration grows.

Still no sound manages a whisper across your lips.

We glance(d) at each other from across the room.

I look(ed) down at the floor.

You snicker(ed) at my shyness.

We head(ed) towards the door.

I accept(ed) your flirtatious offer.

We snuggle(d), grab(bed) a few drinks.

A few years went by like nothing.

A marriage on the brink.

We elope(d) out of nowhere.

Scary, yet exhilarating fun.

I figure(d) this euphoria could last forever.

You seem(ed) to be the one.

...

But she also seemed to be the one.

The one who won over me.

The days that once felt so alive

Are now ancient history.

And now I’m alone in this empty room.

When we met, what we felt was true.

But I guess someone else caught your eye.

But I still really, really, love(d) you.

White glistens like the surface of the moon as far as I can see in all directions. No hills or valleys delineate space; flatness stretches to infinity. I could walk forever and still never leave.

For a time, I do walk. Am I getting anywhere? Everything’s still the same. Where is this place? Why am I here? And how?

What did I do last? Sleep. After a long, busy day, I put on my comfy-but-ugly pajamas and slipped between my sheets. I assume my head hit the pillow. I was out before it did.

Is this a dream?

It doesn’t feel like a dream. What is a dream supposed to feel like?

I don’t know, but not this. As if I am at the end of a pendulum, both light and heavy, falling and flying. It’s hard to breathe, but the gurgling burn in my lungs seems distant.

How long have I walked? If my asthma’s kicking up, perhaps I should sit. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a chair?

An armchair appears, dense, dark planks set in rigid angles rising from the white as if launched through powdered snow.

Can this place hear my thoughts? Does it exist to fulfill my wishes? How convenient.

I think of a different seat, and the single piece of furniture transforms, growing plush blue cushions and a handle to toggle it to recline.

How suspicious. I’ve read enough dystopia to know that too-perfect things only mask equal amounts of too-harsh oppression. Now that I’ve discovered the good, how long will it take me to find the evil here?

“Hours.” A man appears as if stepping out of mist. He wears green scrubs and a white coat. It’s not the same white as everything else, duller, less sparkly.

I don’t like the idea of him being able to read my mind, too. “It’ll only take me hours to find what’s wrong with this place?”

“You only have hours left. To do anything.”

“You mean”—I meet his gaze. It is like the sky on a day where the sun decided not to be ignored—“I have only hours to live. I’m about to die. How can you know that?”

“Your body knows it. Think of me as your subconscious.”

My subconscious is a doctor. Nothing weird about that. Though I probably would have gotten farther in life being a main-conscious doctor with a subconscious artist.

“Might my body be wrong? Might it be lying?”

“You can’t breathe. Can you hear your heart?”

Yes. Like war drums.

“No matter how hard it pumps, blood without oxygen is worthless. Your organs are shutting down. This space inside your mind will be the last to go, but as I said, you have only hours. This is my last gift to you, all I can give.” His eyes flash in challenge. “So what will you do?”

All my unfinished projects cascade before my eyes, creations that will never see completion now. Not unless—

“Nothing you do here will affect the outside world.”

“That’s not fair!” Hot, sticky tears dribble down my cheeks. How cliché to cry when death is imminent. I don’t want to be cliché.

My tears heed the wish and rise instead of fall. Like a halo of stars, they sparkle around my head.

“Not fair? You can do anything, no consequences. Every dream can come true, everything playing out just as you want it. Is that not a blessing?”

“But if it’s not real, what good’ll it do? It’ll just end!”

“So you’ll waste it just because it won’t last as long as you’d like?”

I glare at him. I have hours. Precious hours. Rather than count them, I should make them count. How, though? What should I do?

What would you do?

If you’re here experiencing this with me, are you any more real than the chair I conjured? Will you die with me when our hours are up?

Then I guess what I should ask is: What will you do?

“send a candy cane to a friend

for two glossy quarters!”

see them smile in the classroom

as they are passed out in order

the boy walked in, bucket in hand

the students’ blank eyes turn bright

for they don’t want to be the only one

without a candy cane in sight

without a cheesy message

from a kind, thoughtful friend

without the sensation of sweetness

combatted with minty-ness in the end

but as the bucket had almost emptied

no candy cane in her hands

she began to feel somewhat somber

embarrassed, trying to understand

did she have any friends who cared enough

to recognize her with a present?

no, i think her friends just valued her company

more than something fifty cents.

i looked over at the girl,

the only one without a cane,

and was surprised to see her smiling

without an ounce of pain.

funny how humans can’t conceptualize infinity.

we know it goes on forever and ever.

infinity is everything.

yet we cannot grasp it because it’s not in our reach.

you said you would love me for infinity.

but

no human can understand what that even means.

if there even is an infinity?

you stopped loving me though.

i guess it’s true we can’t wrap our heads around it.

the concept of forever.

stupid humans.

advice for young boys

feeling caged of emotion

dreaming of manliness

guarding every motion

speaking confidently

without a doubt

giving into peer pressure

not letting your “soft side” out

holding back tears

when you want to cry

because being called “a girl”-

you’d rather die

to the boys who like boys

but still want to be one of the boys

to have the same friends

to have the same joys

to the ones crushing on girls

the “normal” boys

you treat them nicely until

society tells you to treat them like toys

my advice: simple

stay true to yourself

pay attention to kindness

and your emotional, mental health

and realize that no matter who you like

what, how, or why

we are all the same, treat people sweetly,

and reach for the sky.

her scarf covered her mouth

no words came out

oh how

she wished her silence could shout

a feeling of comfort

a comforting warmth

but her scarf of silence

made emotions swarm

a voice concealed

no facing fears

the comfort of having

no conflict for years

yet with her opinions

tucked behind her scarf

her comfort depleted

and had greater harm

but the scarf was so warm

she could stay silent forever

so the girl told herself she would

never speak. never.

Looks like it's almost the 15th of December already. Soon I'll wipe the dust off Haze and attempt to polish it up. In the meantime, I've completed a cover for it. If you want to see, here's the link:

https://www.deviantart.com/takizyn/art/Haze-776615423?ga_submit_new=10%3A1544759219

I am very hesitant to share this with anyone for fear they won’t believe me, or that they might sell me out to scientists who will lock me up. They’ll disect me piece by piece after forcing me to use my powers for evil. But I can’t hide in the dark anymore. So here it goes...

I can eat salads without veggies getting stuck in my teeth. That’s not luck, my friends.

I went on a date with a blind man and when I got out of my car to greet him, he ran away screaming. I must have restored his sight.

Then there was the time I was walking my dog, and I just got this feeling that he was going to stop and use the bathroom. And lo and behold, he did!

You probably don’t believe any of this, or think I’m insane. I would expect no less, really.

That’s okay. I am not afraid to be the unsung hero.