And on the eighth day god looked at his children with utter despondency. And on the ninth he abandoned them entirely. And years later he looked upon his project called mankind with feigned surprise and whispered to death, “Look. Stare straight into the son. Is it not the darkest light you’ve ever seen?” And then he sold us all to the shadows.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. Really, it had all been so obvious, so dreadfully clear, from anyone else’s perspective. But not hers. She’d been the blind fool this time, stumbling after them in hopes of acceptance, hopes that she could trust them.

The January park was cold, and the bench was positively icy, since it was early morning, but she didn’t care. The cold made her feel numb, and the numb hollowness inside was always more welcome than the pain. She would rather feel nothing right now. She could hear echoes of their laughter as they skipped and jostled away.

She didn’t know why she’d trusted them. She, who’d always been the odd girl out, had no reason to trust them- they were the sort of people who you could tell were two-faced; they’d smile sweetly at you, then stab you in the back. But, desperate for a friend that didn’t come from between the pages of a novel, she had lost all discretion.

It was for a project, some sort of literature assignment. Normally, she worked alone when given the option, but today she just didn’t feel like it. And then what had seemed like a blessing had happened. Khloe Baker, who knew full well that if she wanted a good grade, had to choose a bookish partner, had asked if they could work together. She had said yes, and at first it seemed that she’d found a friend. Her part of the work, a result of an eager effort to please the other, floated their grade to an A+. Well, all of it was her work, but didn’t friends help other friends? Khloe had admitted she wasn’t an excellent student. It had all gone so well- she’d started eating lunch with Khloe and the rest of the volleyball team, talking to them. No, what had happened was even worse; she’d started trusting them. They told her tidbits of their lives-which boys they liked, little things like that- and she kept them solemnly, expecting them to do the same.

They didn’t. The moment they’d told everyone kept replaying, on and on, around and around, in a loop, in her head. They’d broadcast it over the loudspeakers, spreading her humiliation so that even her teachers looked at her pityingly. She remembered when she’d let it slip- one walk home, when she told them that they were the only friends she had, and before, fictional characters were her only companions. She just didn’t get along with people. Was that so odd, so wrong? Evidently so; but she’d learned the lesson the hard way. Fictional characters, although nonexistent in the real world, always kept your secrets. They didn’t make you the laughingstock of the school. They didn’t walk up to you, after school, and just rub it in, like salt in the wound. No, not salt. Something much stronger. Hydrochloric acid, perhaps. Sometimes the people you couldn’t meet in real life were the best friends you could ever have. Moreover, they kept your secrets

Through the tears and the laughter,

She pretends to be worthy of the strength she flaunts

Everyone wants to know what she is after

On the surface, she doesn’t know what she wants

She submerges herself in her dreams

A delicate soul bounded by chains

She’s as cursed as she seems

Yet, she barely sustained through the last hurricane

And if anyone tries to save her

Their whole world would cave in

So, she toys with a bottle of liquor

To rid herself of desperation

No one knows what she is after

And if anyone could hold on

Through her tears and laughter

Just maybe she could soldier on

She’s enchanting and ethereal

A tragedy with more drama a soul should witness

The fight inside left her the day of the memorial

Of her aunt’s passing with a quickness

But should anyone try to change her?

She allowed herself to drown

Should we blame her?

For being such a beautiful letdown?

I am longing for love and sensibility

I’m hunting for some kind of middle

But she’s only happy in her destructibility

Disappearing little by little

She’s soft to the touch

But fearful at the end, she’ll break

She’s never enough

And still, she’s more than I can take

I don’t know what she’s after

But she wears the crown

Yet, a horrible actor

Still, she’s such a beautiful letdown.

#poetry #nonfiction #love

My life hangs by a thread, or better yet,

A noose. Each angry word you shout,

Each burning tear you shed,

Each sob you let escape behind closed doors

Reminds me I would be better off dead

Than living like this,

A prisoner to the pain I’ve caused,

Cutting myself on the shards

Of the life we once had,

Knowing that, as long as I stay,

I have damned you to the same fate.

So, since you’ve been a faithful judge and jury,

To spare you any further trouble,

I’ve gone ahead and called on the executioner.

He is coming tomorrow at 2 o’clock.

I’m sorry you’ll have to come home to this,

But I believe this is truly for the better.

I hope so.

Please forgive me,

Your loving husband

#fiction #poetry #letter

I’ve spent many years in a dark, seemingly bottomless pit I never thought I’d be able to crawl out of. I deemed myself unworthy of happiness. But now as I’m in this bed, in extreme pain, my screaming is cut off when I hear a loud, piercing cry, and it’s music to my ears. A bundle of joy. A page has been flipped and a new chapter is here.

She’s in my arms, tiny and wrinkled but the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I named her Jane, after my favorite author, Jane Austen. I’ll teach her to love her namesake when she’s old enough to understand. I hand her to her father, who will teach her how to play guitar, and show her the kind of man she deserves. Exhaustion begins to overtake me and I’m asleep before I even know it. I have nothing but the sweetest dreams of Jane and think about how incredible it’s going to be to watch her grow up, to raise a little girl into a young woman. But I’m in no rush. She can take her time, and I will cherish every second of it.

Now I’ve changed. I’m a phoenix that rose from the ashes of the old me, lost in the dark pit. I’ve shed it all so I could fly higher and be better than I was. For my daughter, my sweet baby Jane.

©Heather Ann

#Fiction #ShortFiction #Story #ShortStory #Challenge

The tension inside me is crushing. My own blood boiling so hot that it fills me up and drowns me. Heated copper brimming over, bursting my veins, enveloping my lungs. And it rises from the pit of me. Spews out my mouth, geyser-like. Flowing faster than I can release it. Until all I see is red. Until all I breathe is scarlet. Until all I feel is crimson. Until I’m so full that my own hungry shadows consume me.

So, how often do you skip dessert?

I don’t know. Rarely, I guess. But that’s not the point. The point is that you still need the meat and potatoes. You need something substantial.

In one breath, you’re not wrong. But. Chew on this. How was that salmon?

It was delicious. It filled me up, but it was still light. I’d definitely order again.

I agree. I loved the salmon last time I was here. But I wasn’t really crazy about the salad or the way the veggies that came with it were cooked.

Yeah, they weren’t my favorite.

I thought about substituting both, but everything I wanted just kind of clashed with that flavor profile. It would have ruined the fish. Anyway. You’d come back for the salmon, right?

Well, yeah. I don’t know. Now that I’m thinking about the salad, I’m thinking I might try a steak next time. But if it were just the salmon then, yeah.

What if they paired it with something you liked better, but the service was garbage?

Then I probably wouldn’t come back at all. I wouldn’t mind if someone brought me food, but that also just sort of throws off the experience.

Right. That makes sense. Certain things just have to happen a certain way or the whole situation is tainted. I really want to try the cheesecake.

I am so full. I couldn’t.

But then. The plating is exquisite. Sweet, light crust barely containing the tangy, whipped filling. Her fork dips in and slides the bite past her teeth and across her tongue. And her mouth lightly meets his. Crystallized sugar settles on his tongue and caramel drips to his throat. And he thought he was filled to the bursting, but he can’t help but to swallow down sticky fluff. His eyes close and his mouth is suddenly too wet. And he lifts his own fork to his mouth, ravenous. Unsure whether he wants her mouth or the soft, creamy confection dripping with hot syrup. And as he settles for both, the coyest giggle trickles out her lips, barely escaping past her teeth, using his mouth as refuge.

You may not need dessert, but she almost always wins.

I wake in fever sweats.

My skin releasing the too hot pain of memory.

And even when I think I’m past him,

he’s there.

Resting just below my skin.

More mud than blood.

The weight of him deafening.

Heavy pulsing in my ear drums.

Creeping sludge

screaming it’s way through my veins.

I needed an extreme amount of energy. A weather spell far surpassed my normal output. I figured if I could get something tangible to help channel my magic it might just work. Even from a distance the carousel was beautiful. It had shining organ pipes so that when it was running this place was alive with music. The horses’ saddles were gilded and colored in muted pastels, and the creator had built sconces into the giant center post. I lit the candles with a wave of my hand. The sun was setting fast which meant time was short. I could feel myself overflowing with mystic energy as my heavy, black boots hit the hardwood floor of the machine. I could swear the wooden eyes came alive in sympathetic stares as I poured myself into the wood and metal. I got to work immediately. I crossed the circle in five points, marking the floor with chalk as I went. At the last point I grabbed the saddle of the horse nearest me and climbed. My jacket and boots didn’t make shimmying to the top of a massive carousel ideal, but something told me that the highest point at the center would offer me the best chance of completing the spell in time. The top had almost no foot holds and was angled enough that I had to crouch to make my way to the center. I knelt down facing the setting sun, and almost forgot what I had to do. The fair grounds were laid out before me with fiery light bouncing off every shining surface. Oranges and yellows playing against bright pinks that shone almost white at the edges. I could live forever in this moment, sitting on the precipice of a possible collapse. I swallowed that image like a violent shove of motivation. And with my palms to the sky I started begging the universe to send me winds. I plead for rain. For full, dark clouds to blot out that beautiful sun-down and send storms to me. And the sky darkened. And the wind whipped. And as the shadows grew and the earth’s breath became heavier I let my voice raise over it. And underneath me I could feel the carousel picking up speed. I concentrated on its tumultuous, turning weight. I let it pull the air around it in cyclonic energy. And as my chanting grew louder and more insistent the storm hit with enough ferocity to extinguish the candles I had lit. And in my panic I made a quick and sacrificial decision. And with my left hand I kept the storm careening towards us, but with my right I sent flames licking the hooves of the horses. Crawling up their bodies and scorching their rose and lilac skin into bubbling black and brown. And as it caught on the saddles I knew that I no longer would need to concentrate on the fire. It would devour myself and my companions. I had conjured my own demise. And it only fueled my frenzied desires. I was a dark and slender effigy blurring into the background of uproar that was the sky. My face upturned in communion with the world above and ground below. And I screamed the wind into violent fits. It whistled through the organ pipes creating an eerie soundtrack against the resounding destruction of nature. And all the while the machine below me was a spinning, reeling inferno. Surrounding me in pirouettes of revolution. Turning with magnificent force. And as the water-logged clouds filled the sky with black and as the fire worked it’s way up the bodies below me and as the wind breathed life into the organ pipes, my voice finally reached its peak. And the ghostly sky opened in torrents. And the downpour turned to tempest. And as the water fell in heavy curtains I saw the ground shake. I felt the air around me quiver with the psychic disturbance that my storm had created. And the impending flames below me were extinguished. And as I spent the last of my energy and fainted atop my steeple, all I could hope was that the fissure in energies would be enough for everything that was to come.