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Murdering three
I was nine years old when I murdered my friend, Nessie.
She had died fast, her body thrashing on the ground. I stared, awestruck. The only sadness I’d felt was when it was over. Destructive me.
I was ten years old when I killed Finley. He died the same way as Nessie, his body thrashing on the ground, squirming. It was a really interesting sight. And I've kept it a secret, because I'm pretty sure no one would have liked to hear that I had killed two of my good friends.
Finley and Nessie are buried together. I didn’t have that much space for them, because they were... well, they were really big. I used a shovel to sink them into the ground, and then I prayed for them.
I did the same thing when I was eleven to my other friend, Feefee. She died the same way, and I began getting bored of killing. I went out to bury Feefee that day, but then, my dad my stepped outside.
“Athena, will you take out the gar-” he’d started to say, then stopped when he saw me. His eyes grew big.
I was dragging Feefee out onto the lawn. My dad’s eyes grew even larger, if that was even possible, and his eyebrows bended over so much that they crossed. He looked ready to choke, and I couldn’t blame him. Dragging something takes a lot of effort.
“What is that your carrying?” He asked, his eyes now bulging out of his head. He closed his eyes. “Oh God, tell me I’m dreaming, tell me this isn’t real.”
He told me I had a lot to explain. And I did, later. I told him about Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.
Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.
In my life, I’ve murdered three.
Fish.
___________________________________________________________________
Spring, Once Moor
Earth; living, breathing; possession
Fields of my forest ablaze
Blood of mankind; soot and ashen
Flames lick the lands as they graze
Smoke rises; flickering tendrils
Stench of the life wasting way
Tears gather; storm against evils
Rain sheds my soul on dismay
Soil, scarred and battered, now fragile
Receives not my cries; flooded; drenched
Ash of the flora once fertile
Parched and corroded; unquenched
Bitter, where once dwelt immortal
Spring never failed, though asunder
Death, now, by fire’s example
Echoes my angst; clapping thunder
Tender and weak, will find healing
Revolutions of time, slowly yields
Bruised by the heat and once reeling
First bud of wildflowers; Moor fields
Mother Gaia
Tossing trash aside
Without a second thought,
Adding to the rotting piles strewn about
Tearing apart the land
For selfish indulgence,
Destroying vibrant vegetation
Tainting the air
With manmade machines,
Polluting everything
Littering the waters
With human filth,
Slowly killing the life within
Someday soon, seething with rage,
Heart filled with anger,
Gaia will descend
To reap her final revenge
'The delicate green shoots grew
in the warm spring sunlight.
A vibrantly beautiful hue
spread across the new pink flowers.
The scent of mown grass and dry earth
bakes in the warmth of the sun.'
The book is snapped shut with a dry, rustling sound. Despite the vivid description, I can't visualise this lively world. All that I can see out of the window is a barren bleakness of rocks, and nothing even suggests that life would have been able to survive out there, once upon a time . . . and as I imagine the beauty and the splendour of nature that once existed I wonder how the extinction of life was ever allowed to happen.
find meaning
I went into the river
I glided my fingers against its surface
I bowed my head and counted to three
waiting for my heartbeats to be heard
against the current
against the rushing water
wanting to silence the fear
and listen to a fading pulse
the world is too loud for those who sink without the fluster
or it can be so quiet that we no longer hear the sounds
without sight and hearing
we lose control
we lose our path
I went into the river
I glided my fingers against its surface
I counted to three
for now, I just stand in the water
and feel the cold current
against my bare skin
waiting, surrounded only by my pulse
slow heartbeats
and the rhythm of life
I listen with my soul
not being able to hear
trying to see with what I touch
without the power to feel with all that there is
regaining the strength
and remembering how it is to swim
and not just to float
Judas Kiss (my betrayal)
I confess (weakly) to you, what I could not, should not, say to others.
Though (I confess) at times, my confession is false, deceiving myself (yourself) and all others involved.
Because (anemically) I cannot look into my heart, to pull out the arrows (stuck fast) stained livid with your blood, and give them back to you.
If I could carve out (this stone) my heart, I would lay it on your altar (I would ) in return for the truth I owe.
But (cross myself) I just leave with the absurdity.
There will be no sacrifice today.