Life once told the god of spring,

Immense beauty suits you quite well,

To which she smiled and responded,

I touched death as the night fell.

In autumn, the wind was heavy,

it carried past me, notes of death.

but when the sun came out again,

the wind felt like a fresh breath.

Spring brushed a petal from my hair,

and handed me a wilting flower.

Do not confuse beauty with life, she said.

Giving the world beauty is not my power.

With my breath, I only can give life.

How you see it, is left up to you.

People miss beautiful things every day,

The most beautiful things are seen by few.

Life wrapped a hand around mine,

The signs of life surround you, my child.

When will you look up and see them?

Then Life closed its eyes and smiled.

Later, I walked through a dormant garden,

and like a tree, I planted myself in the grass.

Through the winter, I stayed there.

feeling like ice, transparent like glass.

There was warmth coming from the soil.

Where I touched the earth, the earth made room.

If I hadn’t looked up, I would have never noticed,

The flowers had already begin to bloom.

The footsteps –

oh, he is coming!

That monster of the darkness -

that creature just burst alive!

Out from the basement,

he arrives.

Ferociously chasing me,

but in his own devil’s dance.

Oh, make him go away!

The torment to my mind –

the awful visions do play.

I scream a fierce sound

but it is drowned in the shadow

of his stature.

Tall and beastly;

a horror to my eyes.

Panic sets in deep.

The abnormality of me he eats at,

tasting of my sweet flesh.

There is no end to my suffering.

Someone is controlling me. I don't know who, and I don't know how, but someone is controlling my body. He controls what I say and what I do. He even controls my emotions. I'm just a spectator in my own body. I'm watching my life go by through a dirty window. And no matter what I do, I can't break through it.

It started when I was ten. Life was bad. The thing I wanted more than anything, was a way to escape. To get out of the yoke of my horrible life. I suppose I got what I wished for.

They started as isolated episodes. Only a few hours here and there, where someone else would take control. All I had to do was sit back and relax. I could escape. But the monster I released wasn't happy with a few hours. He wanted everything. He wanted my life.

I realized much too late what I was dealing with. I tried to send him back to where he came from, but it was too late for that. He was a part of me now. And he wasn't going anywhere.

The monster wasn't done ruining my life though. He brought two other friends of his to help. The first one told me that I was a failure. That I would never amount to anything. It told me that I would fail at anything I ever wished for. That everyone was laughing at me. According to him, the earth revolved around me. And everybody hated me. He wasn't so bad. He would shut up every once in a while. I called him George. But the other friend he brought was more insidious.

His name was Bobby. I was sure that we were friends. He protected me. He would comfort me after George would rant at me for hours on end. He allowed me to rest. He told me that it was ok to stay in bed all day. It's ok to stay alone. He allowed me to feel... not good about being a failure, but he never made me feel as bad about it like George did. He told me that he cared about me.

Of course, at the time, I thought that Bobby was my friend. I didn't realize that he was even worse than George. I could get George to stop talking. It was never easy, but it was possible. But Bobby never left. He was an invisible weight on me, that never moved. He wasn't happy until I collapsed on the bed and stayed there, for days on end. And eventually, even that didn't make him happy.

Those two made me hate my life even more. I would give it up to him more and more. Eventually, he would control me for months and months. I didn't know who I was. I couldn't remember who my friends were. Or if I had any. I would lose patches of my life. To this day, there are months of my life that I don't remember. People that I don't remember. A life that he took from me. He turned my life into a hell. When he was in control, he wouldn't allow me to feel anything. I didn't care about anything good. I didn't care about anything bad. I couldn't feel anything at all. I started cutting myself. I wanted to feel something. That didn't work, but I continued. I thought that would allow me to escape. As if the blood escaping my body was my soul, escaping his clutches.

I started sitting on the rooftop of my building. Wondering at first, why I shouldn't jump. Then why I should. I must've decided to kill myself dozens of times there. But I could never get the courage. I would sit on the edge, trying to force myself to jump. Not being able to. Crying about how I was such a failure. I couldn't even die properly.

This might have gone indefinitely. Until he intervened. It was just a normal day for me. I was even having a good day. My first one that year. George was quiet. Bobby didn't feel quite so heavy. I was watching the clouds that April afternoon, half napping.

The voices woke me up. The voices that told me that I would never be happy. That I was going to be alone forever. That no one could ever cure me. I knew it wasn't Bobby. These were different voices. Maybe because I didn't know them, I trusted them. Maybe I thought that at least some of my voices would help me. Or maybe I trusted them because I needed some way to escape. And I didn't care how. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter why I believed them. The only thing that matters is that they forced me to decide. Decide if I wanted to live or die. They promised that the only way to end my suffering would be to jump. If not, I would be crazy forever. Sad forever. Alone forever. This was the only way, they told me.

"Trust us." they whispered. "We want only the best for you. We want for you to stop hurting. Jump. Right now. Now! Now! Do it! Do it already!"

But if I was going to die, I would do it on my terms. I got a coin from my room and headed to the roof.

"Ok" I mumbled to myself. "Heads I jump. Tails I don't." Crazily, I was happy. I was deciding something by myself. I was in control of my body for the first time in two months. I took a deep breath of air. It was nice feeling like myself again. I had missed it. If only I could stay that way forever. But I knew that I couldn't. Already, I could feel him, waiting patiently for my focus to drop, allowing him to take control. I know what he would have done. And I wasn't willing for him to make that decision for me.

I flipped the coin. It didn't stay in the air for an eternity. It didn't land on the edge. It didn't do anything special. It just landed, like a normal coin. Like it was a normal decision.

I looked at it and smiled. I had always wanted to fly.

The clouds were beautiful that day.

i told him i didn't need a ride

but insistent, he was

followed me a few miles

in my small white shorts

i really tried to pull of a smile

take few detours

can't shake him off

his red truck creeps behind

16 years old, don't know what to do

thoughts racing through my mind

a neighbors house

knock on the door

damn it, nobody is home

he issues me towards

why did i listen?

nothing happened,

but that situation

taught me never to take

rides from a stranger, though i saw the danger

i'd listen to the things he's say

vulgar and thoughtless

soul-crushing to say the least

but conversely i promise,

you'll never get a ride from me.

I seem to go through this more often than I would like to admit

My body betraying my mind and heart, making me look like a hypocrite

I love the sea like no words could give justice to the elation that boils within me

The way my body breathes its water and turns it to oxygen like it’s meant to be

I remember the days when the waves would feel like ginormous clouds drifting me to the heavens

Cradling my soul into a state of absolute surrender. A total soul cleanse

Then one day, this love turned to something my heart knew not of

An absolute dread coursed through my veins replacing the once so called love

I do not understand how can love and passion morph into morbid terror

A fear so engrained in the depth of my soul, there must be an error

It all started on the day where I was supposed to celebrate my coming to be

The first time ever I thought I wanted to venture into the sea

Let me add that I do not know how to swim let alone survive in the depth of the sea

Like a buffoon I jumped at the first intrusive thought that should have been a red flag

Straddled a device in the midst of a windy cold nature attack

Yeah, stupid I was, I know that much and more believe me

As I was advancing to the deep, deep part of the turbulent sea

I looked below, and god I wish, I just wish that day didn’t come to be

The once clear blue turquoise suddenly took on a shade of black that hooked my soul

For a while I froze as if entranced by an entity that promised to eat me whole

You see, when faced with death you know for sure there is no escape

And mine looked me in the eyes revealing to me its true shape

I can’t remember how I got back to shore that day

I swore an oath of tears and blood to never again go that way

Like a newborn foal I dragged my shaky feet back to my room

Wept like an archeologist who just found Nefertiti’s lost tomb

I lied to myself though, like I always do

You see, to run from the things that I love, I don’t know how to

I might not venture into the deep like a pirate looking for his treasure

But the shallows call for me reminding me of the once felt pleasure

As the water slowly started to submerge this cowardly body of mine

My lungs forgot how to breathe reminding me how easy it is to fate to resign

But you see I am no stranger to crippling fear

I might be a coward sometimes but let me make this clear

I refuse to let go of the things that make me feel alive

I’ll cry and swear and nag but head first, in I’ll dive

And I did, and somehow my body remembered what living was like

When peace was injected to my skin; like a lightening strike

I might never look beyond the shallow blue

But I’d rather nurture the love that I have and not over it screw

This may be, perhaps, the stupidest thing you'll read all year. Be that as it may, read it and remember it. Read it twice if you have to.

As far as I know, there are only two types of ear lobes-- those which connect to that lovely space just above the jaw directly, without sloping back upward; and those which do slope back upward, forming a distinct, dangling lobe which little children enjoy flipping back and forth as they're held aloft by an adoring adult or... perhaps an older sibling, or what have you.

Imagine, if you will, some circumstance whereby a person with ears featuring a distinct, dangling ear lobe could somehow transform into one whose lobes terminated without the upward turn. What could possibly cause an ear's lobe to suddenly (or even gradually) change from one type to the other? Obviously, surgical reconstruction could accomplish the task, but why would anyone do such a thing? What about the ravages of time? Would mere aging cause a lobe to merge with adjacent skin at a lower point on the face? That seems unlikely. An injury--perhaps a burn, or a malignant lesion--could justify surgically attaching the lobe. That seems innocent enough. That's probably what they'll say.

What is absolutely ridiculous, however, is alien interference. That's just plain silly. An ear lobe, changing from one form to another, having anything to do with alien life forms visiting Earth... that's just ludicrous. Asinine is what it is-- complete and utter nonsense.

Unless...

Unless the aliens were actually fake. It makes perfect sense.

Twelve years ago, on a Sunday in mid-August was when I felt the deepest fear I’ve ever known.

My father, my brother, and I were moving my grandmother from her little apartment in Riverview back home to Campbellton. A drive that I was familiar with, and on a good day, nice weather, no traffic, you were looking at four hours to make it from point A to point B.

The day’s plan was for my father to drive the U-Haul with all my grandmother’s belongings, my brother to take my father’s work truck, and for me to ride with my grandmother in her little red civic. Easy peasy.

We spent the morning loading all her stuff in the U-Haul and then we drove out of the small apartment complex parking lot like a three-vehicle convoy. We were highway bound.

The drive wasn’t an easy one from the get-go. My grandmother was visibly anxious, but I couldn’t blame her. Who could? That apartment had only been her temporary home at the insistence of my grandfather, whose intensive cancer treatment regimen demanded him to be closer to his doctor, who was a stone’s throw away across the chocolate river.

He battled as valiantly as a man could. For nearly a decade he underwent treatment. But eventually, there was nothing left for him to give, and he passed away.

My grandmother married him at 16. She had never been without him. Never even learned how to pay a bill. Needless to say, she felt lost and old, like a relic from a bygone era. And going back home to be close to her sisters was the only logical option.

But to deal with her anxiety, she chain-smoked with the windows up to keep out the cold. One after another with production line accuracy.

I kept my lips sealed as my head pulsated from second-hand smoke. Her brittle fingers shook like the onset of Parkinson’s as each cigarette reached her mouth. It was heartbreaking to watch her in that state. A wonderful woman who had treated me with nothing but warmth and love since as far back as my memories could travel.

I just wanted to make her laugh. Calm her down. And let her know that things were going to be okay. We’d all be okay.

But as Murphy’s Law dictates, things can always, and I mean always, get shittier.

This came in the form of my brother, who was driving the black Ford directly in front of us. He began to swerve back and forth over the solid yellow line in strange rattlesnake movements like he was stone-cold drunk, even though all we had that day up until that point was a couple cups of coffee.

This was the absolute last thing her anxious mind needed to be witnessing and processing.

I laughed, and acted like he was pulling a practical joke, because everyone in the family knew that the man joked to no end. A hill he would gladly die on. Some were outrageously funny, others were just outrageous. And this one, to me, seemed to be the latter. But I showed no sign of distress, because I could feel her watching for my reaction. And I felt if I began to slip, then she would slide right past me off the edge of the world.

But in my bones, I was worried. It was strange behaviour, even for him.

Then, the horror that I had been fearing since the swerving began a half-hour earlier presented itself in shattering fashion.

On route 126, still about two hours from our destination, my brother swerved into the left lane, but this time he stayed. And an SUV travelling at 100 km/h met my brother, with what I suspected was the kiss of death.

I screamed his name and my grandmother followed suit as I pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. “Wait here.” I told her, then I took off running towards the truck. A parade of onlookers already gathering. Death and destruction peaking interest like nothing else on God’s green earth.

Smoke was rising from the hood of the truck, and inside where it engulfed my brother. I was standing at the door, pulling on it with all the strength I had, and ever would have. Even in that close proximity, I could barely see him behind the thick, cloudy veil.

The door didn’t budge for a while. It seemed like a lifetime in my panicked state, but it was likely only thirty seconds or so. Eventually, it flung open, nearly throwing me to the asphalt as I staggered backwards, trying to regain my balance.

I called his name several times before he came to. He was floating in that purgatory state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Eyes open, but not looking anywhere. Or at anything.

That empty face broke me, but there was no time to stand on ceremony. So I unbuckled the seatbelt, helped him out of the truck, and it wasn’t long before the EMTs arrived to put him on the stretcher and take him to the nearest hospital.

After a series of tests were conducted, he only suffered a concussion and was discharged from the hospital the following morning. The passengers of the SUV were also fine, shaken up with a few cuts and bruises, but nothing life-threatening.

A terrifying experience, but one that ended much better than it could have.

The words are just at the tip of my tongue

But it steals them away until I am left hating the silence

This page laughs, each new draft makes a mockery of me

Too tired to fully commit or force myself to think

Too tired to gain my energy back

This ink holds so much potential within me

I avoid full stops in the hope that it will not hinder my progress

Grabbing the vial to swallow the ink

If it will not bend to my fingers and let me speak

Then I will become one with it

Ink flows through my veins

Sentences wrap themselves around my neck and limbs

Words empty my brain and fill it anew

My skin burns away, replaced with handcrafted paper

My eyes slowly open and the colour is different inks all mixed

My head raises to where they can see my face

Remade and tired of new drafts

Tired of feeling these words crawling under my skin

Tired of not letting them out on paper

Tired of not being able to write down the stories

With blood of ink, skin of paper and talons made of words

I am the story

There comes a point of everyone's school life where they are tested on all they have learned. Finals. GSCES. State testing. Whatever you call it. It diminishes any good from the year. A test and its score clams up students as they complete it.

I'm still dealing with that fear myself.

It swallows you whole. Plaguing your mind, making you believe things that aren't true. Sweat runs down your hands in rivers. Your mind is blank as you frantically scan the questions. The time ticks like a mournful gong. Your stomach becomes a vacant anxious pit. It doesn't go away after the test because you know in the deepest corners of your mind, it will keep coming back the following year.

I also doubt it will ever go away because even if I finish every final I am given, there will always be something to measure our success in numerical values. Something that makes even the most motivated people doubt their own skills in fear of never being good enough to get the score they want.

No one I know really talks about memory gaps due to trauma, but most of my family has them. The two main ones for me are when I was six, one of my older brothers was dying of leukemia, and the other was in 2020, when my dad went insane.

It honestly is a terrifying feeling to have literally months of your life be blank. My family doesn't really talk much about what happened with my brother (he is alive and doing well by the way), but recently it has been up for discussion. I have discovered that almost a year of my memory during that time is missing: I mostly remember people crying (especially my baby sister) and visiting the hospital several times.

But the most terrifying time of my life was probably when my dad went crazy.

He hadn't been mentally stable for years, but we hadn't realized anything was off. (He mostly sat around like a rock and did nothing.) We discovered that he was crazy when he was on a trip with my oldest brother about halfway across the USA from us. My brother ended up calling 911, and when they made it back home we found out that my father was Bipolar.

It is a really terrifying feeling when you realize that you have a dad, but he doesn't do anything a dad should do. My dad is pretty normal now (he still gets kinda weird sometimes), and I simply am not used to it. If I am going to be honest, I and most of my siblings no longer have a good relationship with our dad. For too many years he didn't care about us, or what we did, and I simply don't have the level of respect for him that I should have.

I have a memory gap of several months, and only recently have I opened up to several people close to me and let some of the trauma go. I've kept it locked inside of me for so long, and I don't really know how to let go. I am afraid of letting people see my vulnerable side, and I'm afraid of building a relationship with my dad because I'm afraid that he will go insane again.

So I guess for me, the most terrifying experiences of my life are from when I went through trauma, and I'm afraid to go through that again. I'm slowly healing, but I've got a long ways to go.