Mother told me it was just a fright. But the old woman that came to me that night told me words I would never forget. She said that she speaks with the earth sprites and that my name came from their lips. They had chosen me as sacrifice, a fate I would not escape, try as I might. I had made them angry by sharing my luminescence and giving life to that which they did not want in existence. I knew she was speaking of the shadows and feared for a moment that they'd make me into gallows. She assured me that would not be the case but for my contravention a price must be paid. It was decided then that when the sun fell the next night my essence would drain from sight. What was once a vibrate green the shadows would no longer be able to see. Only once the shadows all perished would my presence be allowed without forbearance. As the sun fell the next day my life force left me as I heard the shadows writhe in pain. They were made to suffer but I was to blame and so I dropped my cover and laid myself bare in shame. This was not enough however, and so to remind me of this lesson each year I must relive my transgression.

You did this to yourself you know. You left me when I needed you most.

You'd scream every name you could think of at me and tell me I should die then play pretend to everyone else like everything is fine. At night you'd hold that blade in your hand, tempting me to give it a try. You're the worst person I've ever met in my life. If I ever meet you outside of my mind, you'd be wise to run and hide, it was always going to be your or I.

Oh you and I Johnny

we would've made quite the pair

Had our eyes met

it would've been quite the dare

You with those blue shades

and steel-like edges

Me more soft spoken

with a laugh that's infectious

Had we gone different places,

had our paths collide,

we would've given them a run for their money

The new age Bonnie and Clyde

Oh you and I Johnny

we would've painted the town red

then burned it to the ground

all before a word was said

Best we not have met then

Best we leave it all behind

Best I keep this to myself

A pseudo memory in my mind

Make goals for yourself and remember to KISS (keep it simple, stupid). Make them attainable but still enough to challenge yourself to get from where you're currently at to where you want to be. There's quite a few publishers out there that will edit the first few pages of your work for free and give you advice, one of them is Write My Wrongs. They'll edit it and give you a quote for a full edit, they also help publish but I believe it's technically self-publish. Hope that helps!

I'm addicted to it, that pure white earthy mineral that leaves my mouth salivating for more. Put it on a pretzel, put it on a fry, just dole me out a line. It enhances the flavor of all it touches, I mean my God just try it with lime. Tequila shot in hand, I don't mind. What does it taste like? The sand of the divine.

Upon entering the room Kate could tell that Donald had spent most of the time crying and struggling against his fate. His face was red and puffy, the front of his shirt was completely soaked in a mixture of drool, tears and sweat. She could see red marks on his wrists where he had fought a useless battle against the restraints. The exertion had taken its toll; his body was limp in the chair. Kate doubted that he’d even try to run at this point.

“Are you going to yell if I remove your gag?” She asked. He slowly moved his head back and forth, he had managed to loosen the head restraint enough to afford himself this slight movement. Gently she took the gag out of his mouth; there was no need to cause him any more pain or fear.

“Have you come to a decision?” She asked.

“Please.” His voice came out in a sob. “I’ve learned my lesson. Please, have mercy.”

“It’s not about learning a lesson.” Kate said. “This isn’t a punishment. This is about making sure that you won’t be able to harm any children. As for mercy, that’s for God to dole out. I don’t have the luxury of mercy. I can’t just let you leave here knowing that you may go out and harm a child. I’m not telling you that you must die. You can live, but you will suffer immensely to do so.” At this he began sobbing, his body shaking in the restraints.

“I c-can’t.” He stammered. “I can’t ch-choose.”

It was never easy, this business of getting them to decide, but it allowed her some peace at the end; after all the choice was up to them. They could always choose to live, though none of them ever did.

“You will choose Harvey, or I will choose for you and if I have to decide I will make sure that either way it is slow and painful.” He straightened himself out a bit and took some deep breaths, calming himself.

“What will you do to me if I choose to live?”

“To help stop urges a castration will be performed. To ensure that you cannot touch a child your fingers will be removed. To stop you from trying to coerce a child your tongue will be cut out. To keep you from bleeding out I will use an iron to cauterize the wounds as we go. And to make sure children are as afraid of you as they should be the word “chomo” will be branded across your face.”

“How will you kill me?”

“Viagra and nitroglycerin just like I explained before.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, you’ll lose consciousness prior to organ failure, you won’t feel a thing.”

“Why can’t you knock me out and then do all the stuff to me?” He asked, tears still pooling in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t afford a child that same mercy, therefore you won’t receive it from me. All has been explained, now it’s time to choose.”

Donald thought it over for a while. He seemed to be coming to terms with the situation. They hardly ever want to die, though Kate had come across some that expressed their relief in it. For them being branded with exactly what they are, the worst part of themselves, that was more unimaginable than death. At least in death they have a chance of their life remaining untainted.

Subtly they sneak outside to

Play in the brief moment of sunshine

Rightfully so as children should

In front of them floats the first butterfly freshly

Nourished from the bounty of flowers

Growing through the weeds and grasses

Ecstatic they blow their cover in expressing their joy

Questions come as Mom opens the door

Until she too spots the floating symbol of newness

Into the yard she goes

Now rejoicing in childhood delight

Owning this moment forever in her memory to

Xerox copy on days that are gloomy

I've heard it said that peace can feel boring when you're used to chaos.

My ex would tell me that I was boring. I was so boring that he would steal anything and everything he could from me to pawn for meth. It was super boring of me to drive him 300 miles to go to rehab. My boring ass took care of his kid the whole time. I was so bored that I continued taking care of his kid even when I kicked him out after rehab wasn't enough. Still so bored that I fought CPS and won, just so I could find his kid a boring adoptive family.

He stole my peace from me for over two years and managed to make it feel like ten. But now, well now he's dead. And me, I have my peace back.

How boring is that?

"Just hold that happy thought, Peter." Donna said, holding Peter's hand in a firm yet gentle grip. After seven years of being a hospice nurse she knew it was his time to exit this earth. Peter hadn't been conscious in three days now and hadn't responded to voice or touch. Donna knew from their talks prior how much he loved fishing with his father when he was a child. She repeated one of his own stories back to him as she held his hand in that final moment. It was a story she was familiar with not only by Peter telling her but also because she knew the location the story took place. It was the same lake she would take her young sons during the summer to camp and hike. She knew the place well although it held only regretful memories for her now.

As she finished the story she felt Peter's hand grip hers back, looking at his face she could see him trying to open his eyes. Donna had seen this happen before, sometimes just before death the patient would have an amazing moment of clarity. She knew from experience not to get her hopes up.

"It wasn't about the fish." Peter croaked out, his voice was barely audible.

"No?" Replied Donna. "Just about spending time with your Dad?" She asked quietly.

"We killed them." Peter whispered.

"The fish? You killed the fish?"

"The boys. We killed the boys." Were Peter's last words. After trying to take a few more struggling breaths Peter was gone. Donna sat there, still gripping his hand, staring at Peter's face. A face that seemed too peaceful after just confessing to murder. A realization clicked and Donna dropped Peter's hand, an anger rising up inside of her that she had not felt in many years. Unable to hold herself back she slapped Peter across the face as hard as she could then took him by the collar, pulling his lifeless torso up, his head lolling back and to the side.

"My boys?!" She screamed into his face. "You killed my boys?!". She started shaking his limp body. "You killed MY boys?!"