Glimmering, glittering, stars in the sky,

A buzzing quiet, ’twas quite a night.

A sense of calm comes gushing by,

Washing over the moonlit sky.

The skylight shies from a city so bright,

A silent Atlantis roaring in pride

The moon puts on its veil in vain,

Trying to burn away its pain

As the wind blows away the moon’s cover,

Unveiled is a darkness unlike any other.

A shrouded light surrounds the scene,

What once was bright now turns obscene.

The boy who claims to have no cares

Looks back toward the girl that stares.

A tear escapes her lonely eye,

‘Let’s not fall in love,’ said the guy.

For he had a fear so dark and deep,

A wound that doth forever bleed.

But little did he know, she felt it too,

Her scars in hiding, bleeding blue.

They burnt the night away in vain,

Silently praying to the other’s name.

And then hit the wind, a mighty strong boon,

As a fading smile greeted the black moon.

She wondered now, if his mind too,

Drifted toward her, or had he bid her adieu?

"I miss you."

Staring into the mirror at the bayou,

I remember a time it was true.

What looked back at me looked like me

but had no joy in its eyes nor any life in its being.

It was missing my spirit,

or was mine stolen?

I don't see any confidence,

is mine broken?

Bent was its spine,

Circles under its eyes,

A faint, breaking smile,

It stared at me with its hollow gaze.

My eyes closed with its,

and together we dreamt,

of a world where time was slow when spent.

This time told tales of a different girl,

one with a smile that could light the world.

She was innocent and forgiving,

Inpired and becoming,

She lived to live, and smiled through life.

A sigh escaped my relfection and I,

we spoke to the vision,

"I miss you," said I.

Deep in our minds,

the vision smiled and looked at my ghost and I,

her whisper lingered as she faded, leaving her words with me,

"I miss you too," said she.

Me: “I’m not so good with shrinks and therapy”

Dr. B: “Oh, we’re not shrinking here, we’re expanding.”

Fifteen years ago, I was a hostile, recently orphaned teenager in therapy who had cynical responses to everything. They changed therapists and family homes for me like people would change clothes, consistently. Yet, when I faced a certain therapist just as sharp mouthed as fourteen year old me, I couldn’t say anything to get out of it. Everything I came up with, he countered with his humorous sarcasm. Nine years later, I became a shrink that helps people exapand after trauma.

Talking to my newest 16-year old patient, Cara, reminds me of my own first session with Dr. B. What would he have said? How do I help this kid overcome witnessing the murders of her parents and little brother? What can I even say that would make her trust me, her new police-assigned therapist? They asked me to get her to share the gruesome details of her survival and what she knows of the uncaught killer. But how does one just ask a child about something so personal and traumatic? How can one make her relive her experience time and again?

10 minutes ago, I introduced myself to her and we sat down. She looked reluctant, so I said that I would be as patient as she needs, and am here to simply support her, that I wouldn’t force her to talk to me. I won’t. I can’t. She nodded her understanding and sighed and asked if we could sit in silence for a little while. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It’s been 12 minutes of complete silence now. I waited. She seemed to be debating something with herself. Maybe whether she should talk to me, or how she should get out of it. Then she cleared her throat and said in a rash voice, trying to hold back tears, “so they told you what happened, right? Just ask me and let’s get this over with.”

I looked up at her and put my hands on the table and leaned forward. She needed to connect with me if she was to trust me. “Sixteen years ago, a thirteen year old girl was orphaned in a car crash. The crash wasn’t an accident. She knew it, she’d been in it, she’d seen the people responsible. But the police stopped believing her after a month of failed investigation. There was no proof. She was put in the system as an orphan and moved around houses and therapists for almost a full year before she started to find some stability in things. She was impatient and angry. She wouldn’t talk to people. Being rude and inconsiderate was her cover. People wouldn’t approach her if she didn’t seem approachable, she figured. That little girl was me. So when I tell you that I understand and that I will be patient, I mean it. I know that this is hard. And healing takes time. So I’m not giving up no matter what you say to me to make me. We can make it hard if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Silence. She blinked at me. Opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and went back to being silent. Processing. Is she lying to me just so I will talk to her? She doesn’t really care, does she? We don’t have the same stories. She can’t help me. Can she? Can anyone? She took a deep breath, looked up at me, and sighed. “Well, if you’re not going to give up I guess there’s no point in trying. How does this work? Do I just sit and stare at you until something clicks and I talk?” I laughed. There was a glint of humor in her eyes, hidden under thick layers of sorrow and horror. When I first started counselling severe trauma patients for the police, my premier lesson was that there are always layers. Every patient has different depths of trauma that they are willing to uncover. But there is always more. It’s true what they say, it’s in the eyes that the story lies. This little girl certainly had an oceanful in hers. But she is strong. There is hope. She’ll never be the same, and it’ll take time, but she’ll move forward. The perception people have of therapists saying everything with hidden meaning and helping the patient can be so misleading sometimes. We are human after all. We don’t truly counsel more than we listen. We try to help, but only fullfilling the human need of being heard; Of being able to speak without judgment and with reassurance of confidentiality.

“We can do that if you’d like to. Or we could start with simply getting to know each other and make it less awkward. We have scheduled appointments every week, but we could change that around to more or less with time per your preference. For now, we can start with simple introductions. I would also like to share some breathing exercises with you. It is entirely up to you to try them or not, and you don’t have to share the results with me either. I will simply go through a handout with you, give it to you, and we can leave it at that for as long as you are uncomfortable talking about it.” She looked unsure, hesitant. I sighed. “It will help bring you back from the nightmares,” I said softly. Understanding shone in her eyes and she nodded. We’re making progress. She looked away and avoided eye contact. Slow progress. It will do for now. The remaining 20 minutes of our session went smoothly but quietly. I went over the handout, as promised, and she silently listened, took it, and left with the officer that came to get her. She looked back at me with something I couldn’t quite decipher in her eyes, just before the door closed behind her. Fear? Anticipation? Regret? It was a knowing look, and not one that should find its way to a child’s face. Alone in the blank room with grey walls, I stared at the chair sitting empty in front of me as her final glance at me floated around in my vision. What was she trying to say? Will she be safe before I see her next in four days?

A tall, bleek man walked into the room. He had an air of authority around him. I blinked. Officer Strautbaum. He looked at me with intensity in his eyes, clearly haunted by many a ghost. “Dr. Harper,” he said with exasperation, “You have already cost us important time by insisting that you speak to Ms. DeVillier alone and without surveillance. There is a killer out there and it is my job to find them. I do not appreciate being told how to do it. You had your chance, but I cannot waste anymore time.” I felt rage. Breathe, Emilia, breathe. I stood up with my own sense of authority, “Mr. Strautbaum. My patient is a sixteen-year old minor who just suffered a tremendous trauma. I understand that this is an important situation, but as the counselor on the case, my expert opinion is to give my client a little space. I have to establish trust with her, for her to speak to me at all.” He looked desperate. “One more session, and if we don’t start getting some answers, I’m afraid we’ll have to find an alternative direction.” With this, he walked away briskly, leaving me in the room, which suddenly seemed darker. With a sigh, I walked out with my little notepad in hand. Until next time then.

Come with me,

Close your eyes and follow my voice

To the start of time

and the end of me.

Come with me,

and watch my life once more.

Watch the joy and hurt,

live in my delusional world.

Come with me,

Take a leap of faith,

one final time,

for one final disappointment.

Come with me,

for I will not ask again;

I may just disappear,

but know that I love you,

Till the very end.

For six years now, we had waited and searched for her. She just disappeared, there one moment, gone the next. People were starting to loose hope that she would come back. The constant stares were starting to fade. But I couldn't loose hope. For me and my parents, I had to keep hoping that she was fine. She would come home. My baby sister would come home. Alyssa would come home. Although I couldn't shake the terrible feeling that something bad had happened. Was happening. She was the responsible one. She didn't just run off like everyone seemed to think. Something happened.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I ran like the wind. I screamed, I yelled. I couldn't stop the tears that kept falling out of my eyes and blocking my vision. Had Alyssa gone through the same thing? Oh god, it was like no one could hear me. Should I stop? Should I confront the crazy man chasing me with a gun? I have to be crazy to do that right?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Never have I felt so helpless in my life. Ever. Then again, I have never been this brave either. Always the quiet, observant person. I stoppped running. I stopped, and I turned to face him. If he had Alyssa, God help him. I didn't know what I would do, but I wouldn't be a victim. Not when my sister needed help. I turned to face him. He stopped running, almost disoriented and confused by my sudden courage. He looked disappointed, like he'd have enjoyed a good chase. He had a deranged look on his face, eyes frantically darting about. His smile made my skin crawl. I could see, as he slowly approached me, how his pupils looked dilated and he had a dark look on his young face. Then he did something I didn't expect. I cut himself on his arm, looked down at the gushing blood, and then stared straight into my eyes and smiled. I backed away a step, my heart rustling. That was all the reaction he needed. He grinned, an evil grin.Who was he? What did he want? Did he have my baby sister? Why did he start chasing me after calling me "the troublesome one?" He had to know Alyssa. Right?

Then he raised the gun, and the world stopped moving. My heart sank. I was going to die. This was it. I was stupid. I had to ask him before he pulled the trigger. I looked up at his face again, at the same unfamiliar, horrifying smile. Something in me paused. I knew this man. I didn't know how, but somwhere, somehow, I knew him. He held the gun up in front of him and I heard the trigger snap into place. My feet trembled against my wishes, my voice stuck in my throat. I started to speak, but then he stepped forward into the streetlight. The world stopped moving. He wasn't a he. It was a she. It was Alyssa. No, no, NO! It couldn't be. It didn't make any sense. The nightlight had to be playing with my eyes. I wasn't thinking straight on gunpoint. But then she spoke. A rash, confused grumble came out at first, like her voice was stuck in her throat and she had forgotten to hydrate all day. The crazy look in her eyes faded for just a second, when she seemed to recognize me. She looked scared. "It's okay, you don't have to love me," she whispered in a rough voice, through tears. Before I could respond, she suddenly looked up and was confused again. The distant, deranged look was back in her shining eyes.

She was lost again. She stared into my eyes, and pulled the trigger. I moved, but too slow, in shock. There was a blunt force on my shoulder, and then a numbing pain. I felt the warm blooze ooze out of me and fall everywhere. My vision blurred and I heard myself faintly scream. I fell to my knees and looked up into her eyes. The eyes of the person who was not my sister. Alyssa was there, but only physically. Then she raised the gun to her own forehead. I screamed, and she shot, still smiling. For a moment, everything stopped again. Nothing moved, and Alyssa and I stared at each other in silence, tears in both our eyes. She didn't know me anymore. Then she fell to the ground, and the pain from my own gunshot kicked in. I couldn't process anything. The next thing I remember is waking up in a bright white room, scared, being calmed by the doctor keeping the Police at bay, my distraught-looking, tear-stricken parents running towards me from just outside the glass door.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Split personality disorder, they said.

She stood in the shadows, not too far from the children’s home.

She waited, trying not to breathe too hard. Her bare feet were blistered. There was no sign of her assailant.

She sighed, thinking she’d outrun him. Just then, a strong gloved hand gripped her bare right shoulder. She tried to scream but the black glove on the other hand was stuffed into her mouth. He picked her up.

The first time he had caught her, her yellow dress had been marred by her own blood, and she had awoken to abdominal pains she could not explain. He had forced himself onto her, and it had stripped her of her childlike innocence. She had felt empty after that. Bare. Her warden had simply snarled at her, taken a bundle of money from the man, and sent her running to clean herself up. This time, she had run at the sight of him. But she was too little. Too feeble.

He walked into the dark alley, turned a corner, and brought her into a shabby old hut. He told her that he would take the glove out of her mouth, but if she screamed, he would make her watch as he took her this time. And no one would come. No one lived here. She nodded, and he took the glove out, injecting her arm with transparent liquid.

She started crying. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, all she saw was fire. Fire, englufing the hut around her. No sign of the man. He had set the hut on fire. With her inside. She was going to die. Something in her head snapped.

The next thing she remembered was standing above the man, his eyes wide, his face white. His neck was split open. Her arm was bruised and bled. In it, was the knife she had seen in the man’s pocket. Her shoulder had a large burn on it, part of her dress gone. Her face felt like it had melted away. They were in the warden’s office, not too far from the dark alley she’d been in. She looked around frantically. There, under the table, was a surprised looking warden, white as marble. There was a pen in her chest, and the same slit throat the man beheld.

Had she killed them?

Hours later, she awoke in a white room full of people in blue uniforms and others in white coats, still in her bloodied and burnt dress. “Subject 4067 has a split personality disorder,” she heard someone say while pointing at her. “The experiment was a success. She killed them earlier than anticipated.”

"Today, we are burying me." I've always wondered what that would be like to say. Always wondered if, in some form or the other, I'd get to see my own funeral. To see who truly loved me in the god forsaken world of pretense. Today, I might have found out. Today I thought of suicide.

After nineteen years of insufferable arguments, violence, abuse, today, I thought about suicide. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sob story with wonderful talents and a life full of grievances. I'm just a nobody who used to believe that everything, everyone has purpose. Right now, I don't know mine. After a few arguments, a kick from my teenaged brother, mother scolding me for his violence, and my father near strangling me, today, I know I'm a nobody. I feel no purpose.

I had a scholarhip. I'm on the brink of loosing it, because I'm a failure who was once believed to be an academic. If I have to come back home, maybe I'll find out whether I can watch my funeral or not. Maybe I don't deserve university. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten the scholarship at all. Everyone makes mistakes.

I feel like screaming, but I have no voice. I feel like weeping, but the tears won't fall. I feel like melting into nothing, but I don't know how. So I sit here, with red-rimmed eyes, in my room, trying to make sense of whether I have a purpose at all.

Am I truly meaningless?

Today, I thought about suicide. About how it would feel, to stand on the high balcony railing in the living room, in the dark of the night. About if it'd break from my weight or carry me. About whether I would slip and fall from the black metal structure or have a moment. Just a moment, where I could stand tall and look out to the world like I was above it. Beyond it. About whether I could bring myself to truly jump. Would I try to stop and be too late? Would I scream when I'm falling, or hit my head on the ground with a silent thud? Would I truly die, or just hurt myself and be an embarrassment to death? Would I look terrified once it's over, or serene at last? What would everyone say? How would the landlord react to having to repair the balcony railing?

And then I thought about my parents. My brother. It's unconventional love, family. An odd thing. No matter how much it haunts and hurts, you go right back to it, to hurt yourself more. I wondered how long they would mourn me. It would certainly scar them. I am the first child, regardless of how talented the second is. Regardless of the everyday temper everyone collectively seems to have against me.

I'm a disappointment. A misery. Would it be wiser to just end it? So many questions, but no way to seek answers. Not without truly approaching someone. Not without the fear of shaming myself further. Of becoming a laughing stock. Of disappointing myself too. More than I already have.

The fear of disappointment hit me again. If I jumped, it would cause my family more disappointment than if I were alive. The final blow.

No. I'm not ready. Not just yet. I can take it a little longer. Little by little, until fate and death decide to do me a mercy. I don't expect to be in a happy place. Not now, not ever. Not before I die, not after. I've done nothing to attain it. I just wish I could make people happy, regardless.

One day, we will bury me. Maybe I'll watch. And maybe I'll muster up the courage to smile. Maybe. Just, maybe.

Daddy's lucky charm, the pink little sack was taken abroad.

Fairytale life, her parents gave her all.

Wouldn't stop talking, chased around the house.

Silly little child, didn't want playschool.

Was told she might soon have a new little sister.

Turns out, it was a brother.

Mother faces hair loss and thyroid.

Learns to face mom's temper and shield the baby.

Starts to feel self-conscious, "odd," they called her at school.

Finds solace in books, where the world was different.

Comes home to a weeping mother. Grandma's cancer took her.

Locked out for the first time. Punishment for a 90 percent.

Fears scrutiny and tries to please mother; cousin attempts suicide.

Realizes nothing will ever be enough; finds light in brother.

That she will always be odd and weird and incapable.

Parents fight. Dad drinks, mom threatens to leave, he cries.

Vents with words on paper. Gifted, she was called.

Dares to feel proud when she's awarded a full scholarship.

Almost looses her award, depression hits hard.

Home after a year, things are the same, but it'll do.

Born in blood,

under a blood orange sun,

She rides the purple cow,

mocking nature, for fun.

Carrying her blade, made from carfully starved rock,

"She's the reason," says the nun,

that the angel falls.

I wrote a random blurb today, but came up with two relatively different endings.. Don't know which one is better, or if any of it is any good at all. I hope it is enjoyable!

She didn’t know what she was doing, or what this was suddenly about. She had never been one to seek out sexual pleasures. She was a virgin, but this couldn’t possibly be about that. Did everyone have days and thoughts like these?

She let herself get distracted, and suddenly, there she was, watching things she couldn’t quite fathom the pleasure of. Her stress about work was making her avoid it even more.

She closed her eyes, and there he was. The man she didn’t know the face of anymore. He used to be the man she had fallen for. The man she had imagined would stick around. She was glad it ended before they got anywhere near there. She had her sights on a new man. A better man. A faceless man.

He was sitting there, watching her, smiling, scrutinizing her every move with his gaze. She got up, left tent into the bathroom stall and was closing the door when he showed up, pushed it open and let himself in, closing the door behind him. She didn’t need to say words for him to understand her worry of being discovered. He shushed her. He pulled her waist into him. The lust was apparent in both their eyes. She looked up at him, and his strong, muscular arms tightened their grip around her body, pulling her in as though she were a part of him. It was suddenly hot in the stall. He kissed her. Gently at first, as though afraid of what she might do. She responded. The kiss then turned them into hungry animals, wanting more. Their lips locked, and his tongue caressed hers, not wanting to let go. Her hands were at his waist. She subconsciously slid them up to his chest, under his shirt. She wanted him, and he wanted her. In that moment, it was all they knew.

They pulled away wearing looks of desperation. They couldn’t stand the seconds it was taking to get their clothes out of the way. He pulled his shirt off, turning her on even more. She reached and unbuckled his belt while they kissed passionately. He stroked her breasts, pushing against them, straddling them. He wanted more. He looked down at her dress. Reading his mind, she turned around, breathing heavily as he unzipped her. He didn’t know if it was her bare backbone or the snap of her bra when he unbuckled it impatiently, but he had never wanted her more. He gently caressed the small of her back, sliding up. She gasped when his right hand encircled her waist and caressed her stomach underneath the dress. His other hand reached up to her shoulders and hurriedly slid the clothes off her upper body. Her dress and bra fell to the ground, leaving her with him in her thin white underwear. The hand at her waist pulled her back into him. He started kissing and gently nibbling at her neck from behind her, and his hands explored her bare skin. He straddled her right breast with one and caressed her panty line with the other. She moaned as his bites left marks on her, and the increasing intensity made him hard. She felt him stiffen against her butt, and rubbed against him gently, repeatedly. He let out a sigh of contentment. His hand quickly slipped under her panties, eager to know her. All of her. He stroked her sweet spot, gently and slowly, letting her feel every touch while he nibbled at her neck as though a hungry animal. One hand of hers held onto his, caressing her breasts. The other found its way to his waist. She rubbed against his pants, just under his belt. She felt him inhale sharply and continued with her motion. His fingers slipped inside her, rubbing the wetness she felt, making her feet feel weak.

He stroked her insides and held her by the bosom, making her moan. In turn, she rubbed his evident phallus, in swift motions she didn’t know she could make. They moved in harmony and stood like that until her feet threatened to give out and she pushed back against him for support, her hand stopping, her gasps louder. He slowed down and slipped his fingers out of her, wet. She took a heavy breath, turned around, and pulled his pants down, surprising him and revealing the erect structure their erotica had formed. He looked at her with lust and stood tall, to let her see him. She was nervous. He could tell. But she wanted it just as much as him. She wrapped her hand around him, and he looked at her in question, in attempt to comfort her and tell her she didn’t have to, although his eyes told a different story. She looked up at him, and the lust in her eyes reciprocated his. All was understood without the need for words. She stood, placing her hand onto his upright phallus.

Her hand moved gently, encircling his erection, moving in a swift vertical motion. Her lips locked with his, and his hands strayed back to her breasts. She could feel him hardening in her hand. She suddenly bent over and licked his phallus. He was caught off guard and let out a deep sigh. She took him in, all seven inches, played with him with her tongue. One hand of his held onto her hair, the other grabbing the metal handle beside him. She moved faster. He gripped the bar harder. She slowed down, and kissed his abdomen, making her way back up to his lips, leaving a trail of carefully places marks. He moaned softly when she kissed him again, pushing her tongue against his and playing with his phallus with her hand. He pulled her into his bare self and they felt the rush of their bodies touching. She was bare, naked, pulled into him. Her sweet spot was in contact with his phallus and it sent shivers through both their bodies. They kissed, and he bent over, picking her up by the thighs and pushing her against the back wall. Their genitals were still touching, and oh, the spark between them.

He carried her and sat her down on the toilet seat. They were in the handicapped bathroom, bigger than most stalls. He leaned her down and pulled her thighs towards him. Her legs were open, and he was in between. He kissed her thigh, making his way up. His tongue caressed the lips of her vagina. Then, it gently slid in between them, making her gasp for air. Her head fell back, and she moaned as he repeatedly kissed her, sliding his tongue into her, slowly at first. He ate into her, faster as her moans got louder. He was holding her legs up and could feel them stiffen. She gasped for air in between her moans and held the handle he had held onto earlier. She could feel her world blurring, her insides tingling. Her pelvis jumped up and down as he kissed her there. He slowed down. His grip on her legs loosened. His tongue slid out. There was a brief pause, followed by a loud moan from her, when he slid his tongue back into her. She shuddered, inside and out, as he kissed her there several times, slowly. He picked her up now, holding her thighs against his own, carrying her. He kissed her on the lips, with a certain fierceness. She was backed against the wall again, as he pushed himself onto her. She looked at him, held his phallus in her hand. He stared back, realizing she was giving him a look of approval, and then whispered to her, “We can’t. Not here. It’s your first time! It has to be special. We waited this long, what’s four more days!” At that, she smiled and told him that it didn’t matter, as long as he was who it was with.

Ending #1

Just then, his face turned dark again. His light brown eyes became hollow and stared into her soul. She screamed, and he dropped her, falling to the ground. She woke up, wet, scared and drenched, and stared at the empty room she was in. she had fallen asleep on her desk. She’d dreamt of this countless times. It just won’t stop. She pulled out the ring he had given her some two days before their sudden erotica. A tear fell from her eyes when she registered that it had been almost one year. One year, since he was shot on his job in the police force. One year, since he was gone. She wondered, rather unreasonably, if things would have been different had she made any different choices. She knew it wouldn’t change anything, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Would he still be with her if she did something differently?

Ending #2

He felt the wetness in her as she pulled his erection into her. He caressed her gently, rubbed against her sweetspot a few times, and eased himself inside of her. She gasped as he thrust himself back and forth. Her back rubbing against the wall, her hands scratching on his back. She felt him harden by the second, and he felt her walls closing in on him. They moved in harmony, gasping as he went in and out. Her juices flowed around him, filling him with wet desire. She felt hot, and he felt himself climaxing. He kept going, and slowed down when her moans turned to screams and every movement made her breathless. She was shaking, tight and wet. He kissed her gently, eased and content, and she responded, still shuddering from him inside her. He moved in her a few more times and slid out slowly. She could finaly breathe again. He let her down and stepped back. She fell to the ground and pulled his waist towards her mouth. He came as her soft lips caressed the tip of his erection. She felt the juices, wet and hot. He sighed and moaned, and she gently licked his still hard phallus to completion. He fell too, to the ground, then, and touched her cheek. He whispered to her, the three words he never thought he was capable of feeling. “I love you, Jane,” he said. She smiled and kissed him, a quick peck. “I love you too, Michael.”

Just then, there was a loud bang on the toilet door. They realized where they were, and stood to dress. They looked at each other, giggling, as Jane addressed the sound. She had barely covered herself when the door flew open. There was a gunshot, and Michael disappeared, leaving blood in his stead. She screamed, but couldn’t move. She looked up to see who did this, but was blinded by a white flash of light.

She woke up, covered in sweat, breathless. For a month now, she had the same recurring dream.