grit my teeth to stop them from chattering

hug my arms to my body to stop them from shaking

the breeze isn’t what’s ripping away at me

I can’t put a clamp on on my anxiety but I can die trying

chugging too many water bottles

like I can drown it all away

my organs wrapping around my heart and squeezing

until i explode

suffocating on air

choking on the lump in my throat

fading into the background

no one can hear my cries

walk willingly into the darkness

with no one to meet me on the other side

suffer alone and quietly

greet the hollowness with open arms

hoping to find peace by losing myself

She leaves the knives in a clutter all over the kitchen counter, bloodstains and all, without a second glance.

She doesn't care who knows anymore.

She watches from behind the strips of yellow tape, rereading the words on them over and over again and barely processing them.

CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS

There's whispering nearby, hushed and terrified.

"Who would do this?"

She turns and walks away.

She doesn't realize she's done it again until she wrenches the knife out. She watches the body crumble to the floor, blood seeping from the wound in his chest. A look of betrayal is stamped cleanly across his face.

His last expression.

She kneels down and wipes some of the blood off the knife with the hem of her victim's shirt. Not all of the blood, though--how was she going to add the knife to her "collection" if there wasn't any blood on it?

She hears the whispered words in her head again. 

"Who would do this?"

She smirks and revels in those words. Then she turns and runs, leaving the body of the boy who was once her cousin behind.

When the police officers kick her door down and charge into her home, it takes only a few seconds to find the pile of bloody knives she's collected.

As they march her out of the house in cold handcuffs that itch at her skin, she realizes the whispers of the public have changed.

"Why would she do this?"

She smiles.

A mistake

Was what they called

The girl with hair

Like a raven's feathers,

And eyes that rivaled the

Never-ending black pits

Of her family's despair.

An angel

Was what they called

The boy with golden curls

Woven like silk and vivid dreams

Who had eyes that shone

Like perfectly cut diamonds

And glittering sapphires.

She was an outcast.

She was a stain.

He was a fairy tale.

He was a god.

She was inevitably lonely,

And abandoned by all.

But she held the grace

Of a thousand ballerinas,

And the intelligence

Of a hundred brain surgeons.

He was beautiful,

Like a shimmering star.

But he was pressured to no end,

Beaten and thrown

From his first and only home

For being weak.

And the day came when fate decided

They would meet.

And when he saw her

He tripped over himself

Because in her eyes of darkness

He saw himself.

He was back to square one.

"She is to blame,"

They said.

"For his plummeting perfection,

And his shattered success."

And by not fault of her own,

She was suddenly

The careless fingerprint

On his spotless record.

And she was

The smudge of poisoned ink

On his detailed autobiography.

He was at first worthless.

A corrupted weakling,

Who was never strong enough.

He was a tattered cloth,

Until he was stitched together

By chance and luck.

She was always worthless.

She was chipped and broken glass,

Her cracks tearing at her skin

Until there was nothing left

But a whispered sigh

Of disappointment.

"She's a nuisance.

She's inferior.

He was a framed masterpiece

Of total faultlessness,

Until he met her,"

They said.

"They are polar opposites,"

They said.

Wanted

But not to talk to

In the dead of night

When the wind howls

And sleep is far

From claiming me

Wanted

But not to spill secrets to

Over the phone

Because no one else

Is there to listen

To my problems

Wanted

But not to trust blindly,

Handing faithfulness

And a bittersweet life

To the hands

Of the impulsive criminal

Wanted

Dead or alive

...

Wanted

A calm

State of mind

Wanted

A clear

Conscience

Wanted

A redo

So the word

"Wanted"

Doesn't hurt

So badly

So the word sorry

Is not repeated desperately

In hopes of forgiveness

That doesn't come

So there is no knife

Stained with blood

Held in my hand

And so there is no

Injured, horrified girl

Who was once my friend

So I don't have to run

From the girl who once trusted me

And from the black bars of jail

So when she glances

At the shackles around my wrists

It isn't with disgust

And thinly disguised

Fear

He stood at the edge of the water, looking down into the dark abyss. The circular moon shone on the water's surface. He had run from home when he couldn't take it anymore, and he didn't plan on ever going back.

Suddenly, a drop of water fell into the lake. It wasn't rain. The liquid substance slid down the boy's cheeks, and quickly fell into the water.

The tears were not normal. The boy raised his hand to his face in confusion and fear. The liquid spread to the edges of his chin and up his forehead, covering his entire face. Then his mouth and nose were covered, and choking silently, he blacked out and fell straight forward into the water, never to be seen again.

And the moon laughed, a dark and chilling sound like the thumping of drums and the cackling of wild hyenas.

She crouched beneath the tall grass, her eyes wet with tears and her fists tight. Her son was dead. She didn't know how, but she could tell. He left home the day before, and two hours ago she woke up feeling like her senses were numb. He was gone, she was sure of it. She had the creepy instinctual feeling that he had drowned somehow.

She muttered to herself, "Be brave, be brave..." She had to find her son and bring his body back. She had to, for the sake her two twin daughters who didn't understand and would never understand death until they saw with their own eyes. And she had to do it for herself. Even if she could never erase the image of her son's limp body from her brain, she had to do it.

"Be brave, be brave, be brave, be brave..." she continued to chant, her voice accidentally rising in volume the more she thought about her two precious little girls and the imagined lifeless eyes of her only son. She realized that she should quiet down, lest someone heard her. She tried to stop--but she couldn't. Her voice kept going, and her mouth kept moving, but the movements were oddly foreign. She couldn't close her mouth no matter how much she tried. Her chanting raised higher in a shrilled screech.

Then when she thought she was about to burst, her voice changed from her own to that of... something different. It was deeper and darker, and boomed across the field. "The Moon will become the ultimate ruler! I will take from this world one human at a time if I have to! Night shall never end! The sun shall never rise! BOW!" the strange new voice rang out. And then she fell to the ground, the empty shell of her body never to speak again.

They kneeled at the entrance of the cave, waiting and watching the moon. They could both tell that it had been night for far too long. The sun should have risen hours ago. They watched the sunrise everyday--they would know.

The two twin girls lived in a cave. At night they were alone, but when the sun rose their mother came to them, bringing with her food and news of their never-before-seen brother.

They were not as stupid as they seemed. Sure, they were 10 years old but still looked 6. Sure, they understood English but couldn't speak a word of it. Sure, the only language they spoke wasn't a real language, and only they and their cat could understand it. But they were not idiots. In fact, sometimes they could be more intelligent than their worried mother.

"The stars are still up," one of the girls finally said in their odd language. The other girl, with slightly shorter hair as to tell them apart, nodded but stayed silent. The longer haired girl pointed to the moon. "Today isn't supposed to be a full moon." Once again, the other girl nodded.

"Mother's missing," the long haired girl finished a few minutes later. The quieter girl nodded and stood up, a small black cat curled up in her arms. Her sister looked up at her in surprise. "You're not going out, are you?" she asked. "We're not supposed to go out. We--we've never gone out before. We have plenty of rations in here--where are you GOING?" the longer haired girl asked in distress as her sister took a step towards the forest.

"I want to go... find them," the quieter girl finally said.

Her sister sighed. "Do you think they're...?"

Once again, the shorter haired girl nodded.

"So do I," the other one agreed reluctantly. Gathering themselves, they held their breath and took the long awaited step onto the grass.

Immediately, the moonlight shone on them--but not in a comfortable, artistic way. Their skin began to burn, and they screamed. Gritting her teeth, the quieter girl kneeled down and let her black cat out of her arms, whispering something to it. With one sad reluctant glance, the cat darted off into the woods. The two girls held each other as they died slowly and painfully. In the distance, just before they both died, they could almost hear the whisper of their mother. "Be brave..."

Verity

Child of the stars that fell when the world faded

Friend of no one but the dreams that whispered vain compliments into deaf ears

Who once was the girl with wings who could fly to every corner of the earth and still have time to listen to the quiet singing in front of the campfire

Who remembers the world crumble with the weight of what she has and hasn't done

Who likes the swift cool breeze that sent shivers down her fragile spine

Who hates the fiery passion of those who were wrong but were confident anyway

Who believes in nothing but the pain that kept her awake at night and tired in the mornings

Who fears the slowly burning embers because when they disappear, she will too

Who hopes for change even when she knows she is forever doomed to despair

The least you could do

is serve your lies

and your bitter words

on one of your pricey,

rectangular dinner platters,

drizzled with honey

and covered in that

annoying parsley garnish

you seem to be obsessed over.

Add a scoop on the side

of cheap vanilla ice cream

that tastes more like

laundry detergent

than anything.

Hire a waiter

or a butler

to serve it

to me,

because you are

too cowardly

to hand it to me

yourself.

"They are coming!" she screamed, her ear-piercing voice ripping through my dreams. I snapped my eyes open in fear, blinking rapidly to clear my eyesight. I had no time for morning grogginess. I never did.

"Where?" I hissed, sitting up. I reached underneath a nearby pile of leaves, groping for my knife. I managed not to cut myself this time as I gripped the hilt and held the blade in front of me shakily. I heard someone fall to the ground, followed by another one of my sister's screams.

"Omthertehhoramoph!" the muffled voice of my sister screeched. I looked over to my right, expecting to see a bandit with his hand around my sister's head, kneeling over her fallen body with a spearhead pressed to her throat. Instead, my cousin Archie was desperately trying to stifle my sister's screams by tackling her to the ground and clamping his hand over her mouth.

"Shh, Edyln! They'll hear us!" he whispered in my sister's ear. She was only six. She didn't know anything about the projection of sound, but we tried our best to teach her. And yet sometimes she simply forgot.

Archie turned to me. "They're over the horizon! Get Meredith and Anissa! I'll pack the food!" he ordered in a hushed voice.

I nodded briskly and took off, my feet carrying me up the hill in a blur of speed. I burst into the tent up the hill, panting. "Hurry! They're nearly here! Archie and Edyln are safe, but go!" I said between gasps of breath. The two twins stood up in a rush, grabbing their weapons. Once they were outside, they each pulled a thick string on the tent, and the tent collapsed. Meredith gathered the cloth in her arms and threw it off the hill and into the lake below us. She and Anissa jumped down after it.

Archie was running up the hill with Edyln in tow. "Tent?"

"Gone!"

"Twins?"

"Jumped!"

"Weapons?"

"With the twins!"

"Then go!"

Archie pushed me off the hill, and I fumbled in the air, twisting towards the lake below me. It wasn't a particularly high hill, but it was high enough for bandit cowards to second-guess jumping off of. Especially if they spotted a clump of red in the lake. Our red tent made for a good fake blood effect.

I had fallen off high places thousands of times by now, but I never got used to it. I clung to my knife, and as I was a few feet from the water, I threw it towards the dripping figures of Meredith and Anissa beside the lake. I didn't have to worry about hurting them; I knew they would catch it. Fighting against the wind, I hugged my arms together and closed my eyes as I hit the cold, welcoming water.

I couldn't find a way to justify my teacher since I could never read her thoughts, so I just made her sound terrible. Oops.

______________________________________________________________

The first bell rang, and my early birds entered the room, struggling to carry their heavy binders and textbooks. I smiled to myself, and made a mental note to commission yet another unnecessary textbook to their load. They needed the exercise, the skinny little string beans.

Students continued to trickle in throughout the next few minutes. The second bell rang. I didn't bother starting the lesson yet, but instead, I prepared my detention slips. John rushed in 27 seconds later. 27 seconds. A new record for him. I walked over to him as he sat down, and slid a signed detention pass to him. He shrunk into his seat with a sigh. Mrs. Lilith, the current detention room overseer, was always accompanied at lunch by at least one of my students. She was a lonely and sullen woman, so I told myself that I was doing her a favor.

A few students had noticed the black piece of construction paper taped over the clock. Being able to tell the time was the basic human right of the privileged. So I took it away from them. That way, they wouldn't be able to pack their things five minutes before the bell. I introduced this method to my class formally, and they stared at me as if I were insane. Many of them groaned, four of them panicked, and one of them looked ready to kiss his watch. It was amusing.

I instructed my students to place their homework in the basket at the front of the room. Most of them did so. A few of them quickly checked it over, and I noticed the look of horror on three of the student's faces when they realized that they forgot to fill out the bonus question at the very bottom of the page. In my class, the word "bonus" was synonymous with the word "mandatory". I smiled thinly, "Speak to me after class if your homework is incomplete. And yes, if you didn't fill the bonus out, it's incomplete."

I headed to the front of the class and turned the Smartboard on, a PowerPoint already set up. I could hear the faint mumble of two of my students talking. "I could turn this off and hand you a worksheet, you know," I said after a brief pause of silence. That shut them up. I'd give the class the worksheets for homework anyway.

I went through the PowerPoint, clicking away with my remote control and pointing to important details with my laser pointer. My commentary was monotone, and was practiced in a way that would convince my students that every word I spoke was fact and not opinion.

The bell rang, and I handed out the homework for the day and detention slips to students who neglected to finish their homework. Another successful day. I was sick of this job. Over twenty years of it, and never any appreciation or respect. I even had to open a "complaint department" in the summer just so my students would stop complaining until then. Not to mention I didn't get paid nearly enough.

On this cloudy day

I follow the dreams I never had

And cherish the friends I never wanted

On this sunny day

I throw caution to the wind

Even when I can't feel a single breeze

On this rainy day

I pick out the flowers for my funeral

And drown the petals for my wedding

On this broiling day

I tan my throbbing brain

In the heat of the moment

On this chilly day

I dig a graveyard for myself

When I don't think I'm about to die

On this snowy day

I can't tell which hurts more

The loneliness or the swarm of strangers