I saw

stars

ascending

Diamonds

melting

Within me

Her eyes.

"Shoot!" I yelled as I ran out of math. The fourth period had just begun and I was finishing up my warm up. Today we were learning about linear equations but, I could care less. Math was easy but, my laziness affected my grade in the class, earning me a 98 and a G instead of the stereotypical 100% Nerd Grade. Earlier today, I was starting off with my normal and typical day. Go to school at 6: 35, meet my friends and talk to Nya about the plans for the middle school yearbook. Today was a bit rambunctious.

Earlier...

"Nya!" I slightly yelled at her in anger. I held a tight glare as I looked up at her. Her height may have intimidated me nearly ALL of the time but, it was okay since I knew how to scare the heck out of her. "Why haven't you finished those spreads?" I continued as I slightly groaned at her, "It October but, we need those spreads in before April!"

"Loosen up Allina," Nya said as she sighed, "We have 6 months. We have a ton of time."

I groaned and suppressed the urge to smash her face onto the cold hard concrete. I inhaled a deep breath and grabbed the yearbook camera that was slung over my shoulder. "Here," I began, "It's your turn to take care of the camera Nya." She nodded and I placed it on the benches nearby. "Remember," I continued, "Take care of it Nya."

"Loosen up Allina," Nya groaned, "Trust me for once."

I rolled my eyes. "I trust you," I said, "I just don't trust you with the camera." Then I turned my around and began to walk to my first class of the day, English. I kept on reciting, 'Please God let her take good care of the camera, Please God let her take good care of the camera,' in my head. Not the most efficient way to prevent a disaster from occurring but, it's a start.

Later in 4th period...

"YOU WHAT?!" I screamed at Nya, "YOU DIDN'T TAKE THE CAMERA?!" Tears fell from my eyes rapidly. I was hyperventilating. Nya looked at me shocked and scared.

"I THOUGHT YOU TOOK THE CAMERA?!" Nya said. She looked as if she was going to hyperventilate as well.

"I- You- We l-lost a one the-thousand dollar piece o-of e-equipment," I stuttered. I looked to the ground and nearly lost it. I punched the table. "Dammit," I cried. Immediately, I walked to the teacher and asked if could search for my camera. Luckily, she said yes. Then we were off.

I ran like the wind out of the class in my wedges. And yes, I, Allina the tomboy was wearing wedges to school in order to participate in some stupid school spirit day. I'm part of the yearbook committee so I technically had to try my best to take part in ASB activities. Yay? More like nay.

The first place that we hit was the benches, where I placed our camera. Was it there? You bet it! It was right...

No..

It wasn't even there.

I could've sworn that I saw the animated lines that animated shows would have to indicate if something was missing. The white lines on the missing object made my eye twitched. I inhaled a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. Soon enough, water was dripping onto my white button up. I hiccupped and began to cry. I bawled right in front of Nya. She started bawling with me. We were both a mess. A terrible screwed up mess.

"What are you girls doing out of class?" I heard a feminine voice call out. I looked at the adult with dark skin and black hair. This woman, I think, was the vice principal of MHSMSU, Malstone High School Middle School Unit.

"I-I'm sorry M-Ms. Kloven," I cried as I looked at her, "M-My friend and I were a-allowed o-out of class t-to find o-our missing c-camera a-and when w-we came b-b-back it w-wasn't there." My tears fell from my eyes faster. For some people this may have been normal but, for me, it wasn't. I wasn't the type of girl to cry unless something really REALLY bad occurred.

She sat beside us on the benches and calmed us down. She told us that she'll help us find our equipment. It was a long process... very long process... After many calls, tears, runs, jumps, and hugs, we found out where the camera was. Apparently someone brought the camera to the Photo/ Image class.

Nya and I ran out of the office as soon as I was told where the camera was until I was stopped by a boy with puffy hair and a clicking camera. I stopped for a moment, as well as Nya.

"You mind if I take you picture?" the boy asked.

"No," I immediately said, "No." Then I continued running, with Nya's footsteps trailing behind me. I groaned in annoyance when I heard the sounds of the boy's camera shutters. "Stop taking our pictures!" I yelled in annoyance. I continued to run to the Photo/Image class, I was so happy. I ran up to the teacher and hugged her with gratitude. Nya did the same, and the three of us had a long conversation about how we should be more careful with our equipment.

When we met up with the high schooler that returned the camera, I was ecstatic. I was so happy that I hugged her as soon as we got the camera back. I also hugged the other people who assisted us in finding our equipment. Oddly enough, some people were shocked. I guess it was because they knew that I was the infamous Allina Porter who hated hugs and drugs. I'm kidding. They weren't surprised.

As we walked out of the office, after hugging everyone, Nya and I heard shutters. Welp. It's the Photographer. I ran as fast I could away from him but, it was no use. As I rested near the trees by the science classes, I saw him by the trees.

"Why," I groaned, "Why are you chasing us?" He shrugged.

"I want your guys' pictures," he said. I rolled my eyes and sighed in defeat. I looked at Nya, who was following me the whole time.

"If I do it," I asked, "Will you go away?" The boy smirked and nodded. I smiled as if the heavens praised my dead soul. "Okay," I began, "but, Nya is suffering with me!" I pulled her closer to me and smiled when I heard her groan. The boy laughed.

"Okay!" he said and told me where to stand. As he looked into the camera, he seemed so serious. I was a bit amazed by that to be honest.. really amazed. "Smile?" I heard him say. I nodded and smiled at the camera. The sounds of the shutters alerted me that I was done.

"Your turn Nya!" I said. She nodded and rolled her eyes at me. She got her picture taken and shrugged it off as soon as she was done.

"What's your name?" I asked as the boy was scrolling through the pictures,

"Scott," he said as he continued his work.

"I'm Allina Scott," I began, "And this is Nya. We're part of the middle school yearbook."

"Oh!" he said, "So you're to two kids that lost their camera." I looked at him sheepishly and nodded. He laughed.

I rolled my eyes and we began to walk away. "What grade are you Scott?" I asked.

"10th," he replied nonchalantly.

"You're just 2 years older than us!" I said with annoyance. He chuckled.

"Yeah but," he said, "You're in middle school so you're still considered a kid." I rolled my eyes then sighed. Then we both began to go back to class.

"It was nice meeting you, Scott!" I said as I waved at the boy who continued to scroll through the pictures. He looked up and waved back with a smile. My eyes widened as I saw his smile. His smile...

"Come on Nya," I said, "We're going to be late."

“My younger sister was autistic.”

Neon flashed through the window. One of the letters was broken, the ‘A’ in ‘Gentleman’s’ flicking on and off between pulses. It glanced off the side of her face, leaving it green and alien-looking.

“That so?”

“Yeah. You should have seen the fits she threw.” She pulled her stockings slowly up over her legs, slipping her underwear beneath her rumpled skirt. “The slightest change would drive her to screeching melt-downs. Usually in public, with my parents wringing their hands.”

He lit a cigarette and watched her, fingers thumping over the comforter. “Sounds rough.”

“Not for the reasons you’d think. I mean, it was embarrassing, sure, but I was a kid too at the time. Nobody blamed me for it.”

“Naturally not.”

“They planned everything around her,” she continued softly. Her nimble fingers began lacing up her high-heeled boots. “Whether or not we could do something depended on Abby. Could Abby handle the noise of it? The lights? The sounds?”

“Mmmm.” He flicked some of the ashes into the tray near the bed, looking up at the ceiling and blowing out smoke.

“It was like I was competing with her, after a while. Trying to tear their rigid attention away from her just for a moment. I was all over sports. Academics. You name it. I did everything to try and win a little.”

“Like you won my heart?” His voice had a slight slur to it. A half empty bottle of vodka sloshed as he bumped the nightstand.

“I think on some level she knew it. What I was trying to do. I swear she’d get this gleam in her eye and start her screeching if they so much as patted me on the head. If she made it a day without freaking out they’d take her for fucking ice cream or buy her some new toy.” She laughed dryly, bunching her hair up on her head. “Every time they said ‘good job Jess’ to me, it was an afterthought.”

“S’rough,” he muttered. The bottle gleamed in the faint light as he picked it up, choking down a few swigs. “S’real rough.”

She stood and moved to her purse, putting the cash inside. “She threw a tantrum at my graduation. I got magna cum laude if you can believe it. A whopping four-point-oh.”

“H’I didn’ know you spoke Latin,” he babbled. “S’sexy.”

“Right when they called my name, right then, she started screaming. She filled the whole auditorium with it. People turned and stared. Every eye in the room was on her as I walked up on that stage to shake hands. My parents didn’t even see me do it. They were on their way out the door when they handed me that diploma.”

“Ooouuuuuch. Y’want me t’kiss it better?”

Jess slung the purse over her shoulder and closed the curtains. “I hate her,” she whispered. “I’ll always hate her.”

“Awwwww,” he said. “I love’ya baby.”

She crossed the room to the door and pulled it open. “Nah,” she replied. “Bet you’ll forget me. Might remember the story though.”

There was no reply. She glanced back at the bed to see him passed out, his gut exposed pale and milky in the sparse light.

“Goodnight Casanova.”

She stepped into the night unheard.

Pace, pace.

A heartbeat and a tremble away

and there you are.

Flagging in-between the moss

and tumbledown hearthstones

that pave the

broken memories.

Captivated

in the renaissance of your

discontent

you burn

up everything in

your glare.

You are the sun

and we,

silently rotating,

Are forever entrapped

in your grasp.

The pieces shatter

and make anew

a world without gravity,

a world without

your hated

caress.

Folds, rivulets -

Cascading down

into those cauliflower

waves of

icy countenance.

That look could break

a thousand ships

upon a rock

of your

frigid desire.

The heart warps

in a tiny box

made all of steel.

I'll drown

in your silent protestations.

My name is Harry - well, that’s not my real name but you’ll understand later why I must remain anonymous. I’ve spent 52 years on this planet, always considering myself the average Joe until I picked up the book, Lolita, from the library shelves and became intoxicated by its contents. “...that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since –until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.”

As I read the passages, I felt warmth coursing through my body and found it necessary to sit down, crossing my legs to hide my budding growth. I was embarrassed by my welling desire as I panned through the book but also titillated by the realization that I, too, was one of the select five percent who experienced the same feelings.

As I ventured further into the book, I felt the commonalities that the author and I had shared.  As a very young lad, I had lost my mother to cancer and had to make my way through life without her nurturing influence. When I was 19, I watched a little girl at the playground and imagined us together, lying in silken sheets with her prepubescent body touching mine. Her breasts were not yet blossoming but her lithe legs held such promise as I observed her swinging by her knees from the jungle gym, exposing her virgin white cotton underpants. I fantasized that she was embryonic, just waiting for me to introduce her to the delights she had not yet experienced. But, alas, it was not to be, as her mother walked over and told her it was time to leave. Although I went to the same playground many times, I never saw her again, much to my dismay.

Although I never completely excised my fantasy, I was able to live a fairly normal life for many years until I was in my late forties. I had never married but I had had numerous girlfriends, mostly ones who were youthful and almost childlike with small breasts and straight bodies. One day, I met a new woman who had a 12 year old daughter, full of innocence and unable to recognize the stirring she aroused in me as I looked at her legs with a little peach fuzz outlining their shape. I imagined her little suckling rosebud mouth caressing my manhood as I taught her how to please me and at the same time, introduce her to the beginning of womanhood. Thinking she was the main attraction, her unsuspecting mother  moved in with me bringing her young daughter. I began to assume a doting father figure to the child, holding her on my lap, stroking her arms and rubbing my mustache on the back of her neck, causing her to dissolve in paroxysms of giggles. I rubbed lotion on her legs and dried her with fluffy towels after her bath. Knowing she was needy, I played to the gaping void in her life. She was my goddess and I was the one who could fulfill her every desire.

One spring day, I arrived home early to find my little innocent cherub sitting in the kitchen eating graham crackers in her t-shirt and panties. I hugged her and kissed her on the mouth, lingering there as I parted her lips and inserted my wet tongue. She appeared surprised but I told her I was just glad to see her. I picked her up and placed her on my lap, holding her as my fingers played with the lace at the edge of her underwear. Her eyes shut in passion, at least that’s what I thought, and she began moaning as I explored deeper into her little flower. This is what Daddies do to little girls I told her. You’ll learn how to please your husband when you are older. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her gently to the bedroom. Slowly, I began slipping her blouse and then her panties off as the tip of my tongue flicked her skin.

I undid my belt buckle and began ripping my clothes off to consummate my urgency. All of a sudden, I heard a blood-curdling scream. There stood my little nymph’s mother at the bedroom door with a look of complete horror on her face.

This is not the end of my story. Pardon me, for a moment, while I use the toilet in my cell. I really do not like the design of the combined toilet and sink because my grey shirt keeps getting wet and I don’t have a spare. I am the pariah of the cell block, at the receiving end of the other prisoners’ ministrations, over and over again until it becomes difficult to walk. I don’t think it’s really my fault. I was cursed by a biologically related condition; a psychological disorder, if you will, according to my psychiatrist. I am left-handed which possibly indicates that disturbed hemispheric brain lateralization may play a role in my deviant attractions.

They consider me a pedophile but I prefer to think that they are biased against me. Unfortunately, I am confined for an indefinite period of time where I am forced to remain without my little sprite who brought me so much joy. But what I continue to wonder is did I cause the effect or did the effect of her beauty cause my neurosis?

It was 2 in the morning. A 35-year-old man was lying on a chair, where dust was reflected under his glowing lamp. He felt the remaining warmness left on the sharp tip of injector; the brownish beads had entirely blended into his crimson blood while one or two tiny bubbles popped up and off on the surface.

A red spicy smell overflowed the glass tube holding in his hand. In a mixture, the smell sharpened his sleepy mind and went off. Reminding him the fact that he was left alone with solitude in a quiet isolated room.

He rose up from the chair, which several injectors lie upon it, and limped downstairs with imperfect paces. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty house.

Everything in the room was covered in dust-- a thick layer of dust. Photos hanging on each side of the wall were blurred, only showing fuzzy shapes of singular figures. Gleams from the neighborhood glittered in a perfect angle that stroke his eyes. On the contrary, the dim living room provide a tiny space that tolerated his existence.

Right next to where he was standing, there lay a inserted safe into the wall. Somehow he remembered, that was built a few months ago, right before his wife died. A gray sadness shone in front of his pupils, bringing tears out from corners of his exhausted eyes. She was the only person who he had lived on through his life.That day, she left in a silent dream, leaving him in a world of suffering and solitude. No one ever told him about the death of his wife, however. Only until the next morning he saw the name card posting outside the room was changed. Then, even his step-family refused to meet him, saying there was no relationship between them.

He knew what was waiting for him inside the safe. It was a letter, the last gift from his wife, which proved their love was true and had been real to the world. He was told by her, whom knew she would not have a long life, only open the safe when he was desperate toward his life.

After hesitating for a while, he rotated the scratched number lock. Though it seemed to be the first time in his life operating this, he felt a implied familiarity from the icy lock.

“09…31...63...” He murmured while he was handling the lock, how could he ever forget about his darling's birthday.

The safe was finally opened; a pale white letters lie in the little space. He grabbed the letter with no patience and smell the leftover smell on it. A smell of mum, of course, he knew that was her favorite.

As he opened the letter and flipped the blank piece of paper; a brief line of small but exquisite words emerged on the page: “Go to the balcony.”

“Wait, that’s it?” He fell into a sudden astonishment.

Was that it? The love of all the sweet memory and time they spent together were compressed into these feeble words? He could hardly control the vertigo lingering in his mind and collapsed on the sofa next to him. He thought of all possibilities, but still could not find a reasonable answer.

On the way to the balcony, he returned to his room and injected a couple more tubes of brown liquid to calm himself down.

In the moment he entered balcony, an enormous weight climbed up from his leg and tried to pulled him down to the underworld. Every step he made, force and screaming from behind increased. He gripped the letter tightly and focused his eyesight on the door. Right before he could touch the door with jalousies on, something rough but powerful grabbed his neck. He started to cough and spit a mouthful of blood.

However, he knew he could not stop. That was the place she want to be and probably the last connective place to their life. As soon as he thrust the door aside with all his strength, rays of sunlight snapped out from the frames and rushed into the room. All but in a sudden, the screaming along with the force were all gone. He leaned his body on the door with left strength fell onto the floor. The warmness from the first rays of sunlight soon covered his body into milk white serene. He saw his wife, who dressed in pure white with two giant wings on her back standing on the rails of the window, offering him her hands. She was so closed that he could just reach her by stepping out. Breeze swept all the pain he just received, and brought him into her warm hug.

A few seconds later, he crashed onto the hard concrete and splashed into pieces, saying goodbye to this ugly world. A piece of cut newspaper, which was held in his hand, slowly dropped out and fell into the pool of blood, turning into scarlet.

You’re drunk.

Your words are cyclical. You keep tripping over your tongue and yourself. I can hear the slurs and the grunting. Your teeth are chattering and you keep telling me how cold you are.

“You shouldn’t be outside, bud. It’s freezing out there.”

I want to be relieved you picked up the phone. I tell myself I should be, that any sister would be. I keep distracting you with words, meaningless babble you won’t remember past the booze.

“I…I don’t even kn-know what to say t-to you. I haven’t kn-known what to say to you for a l-long time.”

More words. I don’t remember what they are the moment they leave my lips. I’m hurling them through the receiver, using hints and clues to tell the cops where you are. Downtown, somewhere. You’re not wearing gloves. You could get frostbite in this weather.

“I n-need to hang up and c-call my f-friends.”

What friends, I want to ask. The ones that feed your addiction? The ones that got you the weed you smoked? All those chemicals volleying around in your brain are about to pitch you over a bridge, boy. Or maybe they’ve just loosened your long-bitten tongue to honesty.

“Y-you’ve always been the responsible one. Y-you were right. I sh-should just d-drown.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? I can’t say I’m surprised, really. You’re standing on the precipice and now you’re cutting the belay line. You want to make me bleed before you go. Drive the dagger in, up, and out. Eviscerate me and leave me cut wide with my guts on the ground.

After all these years of pushing me away, you’ve come to blame me for the distance. All the lying to get what you want, all the scheming and charming your way out of consequences.

There’s no one to scheme now. No more people to lie to.

Standing in that place, you want to leave me with the guilt so you can go free. You’ll let me be your scapegoat. Your ghost will grin as your family is ripped apart with finger-pointing.

“I-I’ve gotta go n-now.”

I will not bear your cross for you.

I will not.

“Stay on the line, bud. Don’t hang up. I love you.”

Fuck you for that.

In the evening, the boats start disappearing. During the day the town’s waterways are filled with boats and the streets are filled with buyers and merchants. Now, as Dall walked with his cane and stood on the bluebrick road near the church looking over the pier, the boats were sloppily parked, their owners calling it a day. The boats swayed back and forth. Some tied to a post with rope, chain or anchor. The sky was a fire red, the Sun slowly going down into the sea. Dall smelled the salt in the air, his heart pounding. Leaning over the railings, he looked at his boat near the end of the line of boats. A cheap, small one that cost a few silver coins. This will do, he thought. He looked back at the church, about ten minutes in boating distance.

The church bell started singing, as it always did in the evening. He had lost too many nights doing nothing but listening to the church bell. Just lying there… Thinking about how his wife had left him and taken their two children with her. He had lost his left foot in an accident handling crates at the old docks. A few days back, he had been laid off of his job, as well. He could find one easily in the bustling town, but he was tired of it all. Of living. It was why he perked up one night, suddenly remembering something he had heard a few months ago.

“Near the waterway by th’ church, aye…” Bristle had been saying to a group of drinking men gathered around a table, a middle aged man who worked with him on the docks, “They say you hafta listen to what’s gonna happen’ to ya… It never says pretty stuff, they say… Some don’ even come out, y’see? Some have heard they’ll receive endless gold and all that worthy shit, y’see? Never know if it comes true or not, but they say it does… They say it does…” He took a long gulp from his beer. The men around him muttered.

“Bunch of bullshit is what I think…” scoffed Jeer, a skinny man who Dall had had to help countless times lifting crates due to his weak build, “The way you say it you sound like you actually believe that bullshit, old man. You know how many stuff gets spread around that is complete and utter horseshit?”

Bristle finished his gulp and put his cup down on the table. “Tell that to the missin’ people, mm? Those who never come out? You think yer tough, go into the alleyway yerself, see if we can get rid of ya…” The men listening to the story laughed and so did Dall. Jeer scowled and turned red.

“I will, pops. Prove what a senile sack of shit you are, I will.” Jeer said in his scratchy voice as he took a swig of beer. He found that he had already finished it. “Gimme some more, sweetie!” He yelled over at the serving girl. Dall took some more for himself, as well.

Nothing came of Bristle’s japes. Jeer had been pissdrunk by the time they had left the tavern that night and Dall knew that even if Jeer had been sober he wouldn’t have had the guts to do it. Dall reached his boat near the end of the pier, placed his cane aside and undid the knot in the rope. He got into the boat awkwardly and pushed the boat away.

Dall was inclined to believe that the story was not true, but the legend was apparently a lot more well-known than he had thought. A lot of people went missing supposedly from going into that alleyway, but those claims were groundless. There were a lot of people who had also said that their fortune had come true, but those claims proved groundless, too. Another group of people claimed that it was “complete and utter horseshit” altogether. It was a matter of looking for yourself and finding out, probably finding a dead end in the waterway. He was going in, anyways. What did Dall have to lose? He had lost a lot already. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the absurdity.

He was now reaching the alleyway. There was still a bit of light from the setting sun, but the waterway was still very dark. In front of the alleyway was a bridge that arced over, creating the sense that he was entering a tunnel. To his left, Dall saw the church up close. It had its candles lit from the inside giving it a ghostly feeling. He rowed his boat into the pseudo-tunnel.

When he got under the bridge, he realized that the bridge had hidden the dimly lit candles that were near the end of the alley. The candles reflected solemnly against the black water. The smell of salt was much more prominent here, but something else. Dall couldn’t tell, but he wrinkled his nose slightly.

He had been rowing down the alleyway for some time and looked back. He saw the silhouette of the bridge. It was almost night. The smell was stronger now, Dall noticed, like the smell of… not fish, exactly. Something stronger. Where had he smelt that before? The hairs of his arms began to stand up. He kept rowing nonetheless. He realized that the candles ended abruptly.

The alleyway appeared to keep going but it was dark. Dall wasn’t planning on going in without any sort of light to guide him so he decided he’d turn back. Complete utter horseshit sounded about right at that moment. He sighed.

As he began to row backwards, he heard a low thump on the back of his boat. Now the smell was so strong Dall grimaced. He covered his nose and then quickly realized why the smell had been so familiar. When he had worked as a butcher, a cow had been left to rot in the back room along with other products due to preservation issues. Rotting flesh. Dall leaned over the back of his boat and saw something that would’ve made him scream had his breath not being taken away. He stumbled backwards only able to utter a choked gasp.

“Why do you hide?” said a voice that sounded as if it were gurgling water. It speaks? Dall thought, still unable to scream. He heard light splashes all around his boat, the sound when something underwater breaks into the surface. Steeling himself, he stood up and looked around the boat.

Floating from the water were dismembered heads. Some men, some women, some looked like children, but it didn’t matter. They were dead. Yet they were looking at him. He felt it. Some had their eyes closed, others had them open and others were eyeless altogether. Dall’s shock was soon turning into panic. He looked over to the original speaker, where the first head had bumped into the boat. The eyes regarded him, his white skin glowing from the flickers of the dim candles. He had long black hair that stuck to his face and deep scars that were as black as his hair. The smell of rotting fleshed filled Dall’s nose.

“Who—” Dall could still not speak. He suppressed the urge to vomit and stood his ground. Finally, he said, “Who are you?”

“The better question is…” Dall noticed with horror that some heads to his back were talking in unison to the one in front of him. Some voice from a woman, another from a child. “Who are you?”

Silence.

“Why did you come?” The head floated up and down from the water, his voice gurgling. Dall felt dizzy.

“Did you expect a fortune?” A head to Dall’s right spoke. He saw it was a woman without an eye and an eternal grin.

“Did you perhaps want gold?

“Or women?”

“You can have me, if you’d like.”

There was a horrible gurgling and gasping sound all around Dall, and he quickly realized they were laughing.

“I was told… I’d be told my… Future.” Dall stuttered.

“And why would you want that?” the original head sneered. “What if you lose your woman in a terrible accident or lose your foot?” Dall’s body tightened.

“The truth is… our fortunes always come true.” To his left Dall saw a child’s head, but its voice was a drowned man’s. That made him sicker than the rotting smell. His words were little comfort, though. Above all else, he wanted to get out of this place.

“So… Will you tell me?” Dall asked in a shaky voice.

Silence. For a while the only thing Dall heard was the sound of the water as the heads bobbed up and down around him. Finally, they spoke.

“Yes.” And they all said in unison:

The church teaches us death is the end

In this cursed place

They are all wrong, my good friend

Tell us, the Floating Face

Different; to the ones who’ve drowned

You came to seek vision

We came to seek the cold, soft ground

To revive us is your mission

Suddenly, the boat rocked unsteadily. Dall’s boat began swerving to the left and then to the right. Dall saw that the heads were attempting to mount the boat. Some were biting their way up and others were biting through the wood. The face that had first spoken kept floating. It was watching, but it wasn’t moving. Suddenly, the boat gave an uneasy lurch and Dall fell on his rear. Suddenly snapping back into reality, he took one of his oars and started smacking any head that he could see. He began to hear crunching and realized one of the heads had made an awful hole on the right side of his boat, gushing water in. Dall began to row desperately, to leave, but his oar was jerked so hard away from him his shoulder almost popped out of place. He still had his cane. He fought and fought, until a head bit into his cane, trying to grab him under water.

“It’s time to teach some of those outsiders a lesson…” Dall heard a gurgling voice say, but he couldn’t say where it came from. Before he knew it, he was screaming, but nobody heard him. He was sure. As he struggled to keep his cane, a head bit into his back and one jumped from the water to bite his arm. The boat was already filled with water and he fell face-first into the bottom of the boat. The heads started to jump on top of his back and before he knew it the boat had swerved over and was sinking. The heads fed. He screamed underwater, but he was sure nobody heard him there, either.

~o~

The moon glistened over the water under the bridge. A lonely wet figure walked across the bridge, dripping water around him as it walked. It looked up at the church. The moon shined on its face, revealing milk white skin with scars and long black hair. Its body had pieces of flesh bitten off of it. Its face made a grotesque mismatch of color that started at a flesh wound around his neck and down to his body. It regarded the church solemnly. The candles flickered feebly inside of the church. As it dragged itself across the bluebrick road, it pushed the doors of the church open, where he went inside and waited. Waited for all of those empty promises.

She stood there staring into the open wound, shocked. It had been so long since she had felt anything, so it brought her happiness to feel something even if it was pain. She smiled as the warmth of her blood dripped down her leg and hit the floor. Thump, thump, thump. The thick drops of blood brought tears to her eyes. The tears she shed weren't because she had harmed herself. She shed them because she was excited to see that should could, in fact, bleed. She was real. Life was coursing through her veins and the nothingness she felt, the meaningless vapor that seemed to be her life, disappeared ever so briefly.

He watched her in her deepest sleep. Staring at her captivating face, his obsession grew tenfold. Her breathing was slow and steady while his became heavy and rushed. Tempted to caress her cheek he emerged from the shadows and loomed over her body. She smelled like the rain. Clean, fresh and wet. Her blanket was draped over her body shielding her from the chill of the air. Still deep in sleep, she didn’t register the touch of her admirer. Approaching his love from behind, he ran his fingertips along her sloping shoulders. He slid his palm down her spine and wrapped his arm around her waist. He kissed the tender area behind her ear and whispered words only they understood to each other. This moment so sweet and sinister in its nature must end. His love travels down a very narrow tunnel and visions of the future are gray at best. Secretly pining over the woman of his dreams is all he wants to do. For in his dreams, all his desires come true.