She hadn’t seen her father in years, twelve to be exact and the two days she had spent in his company had not been pleasant. She wasn’t surprised a man who tortured her mother for daring to get pregnant and disowning the children in her womb before the second trimester, didn’t leave much doubt of how fucking awful this man was. 22 years old. That was two years before she would reach her full potential, or at least that was the tradition, Karma had never been one for tradition. Karma wanted to run and stab out his eyeballs, but you can’t just kill a Van Helsing. Apparently, it’s imperative the vindictive assholes live to see another day, when they kill demons. So, who cares if they occasionally fuck one? It is safe enough to say that Van Helsings haven’t been pure hunter in quite a long time. Karma and her brother Talion, named by a very pissed off mother, were just the latest science experiment and mutts that had come down the line. Talion was twelve minutes older than Karma, which had been just long enough for the Van Helsing leader to see he had a son and to leave before the contractions even started again. He hadn’t known about Karma until he had met her a decade later. One of the most terrifying times of her life. The only thing keeping Karma from letting this man, this monster, see what horrifying creatures he had spawned. Was right now her mother was sitting comfortably next to him, wringing her hands and begging Karma with her eyes to behave. That was the problem with her mother’s anger, Karma thought, it never lasted. If you’re going to hate someone, do it with every fiber in you and you never forgive. So, Karma would hate him enough for both. Talion stepped closer to Karma and she could tell by his breathing and the way his hands had yet to relax from the fists he had made when he saw their father. Talion knew how to hate. Talion was the only person in the world Karma believed she could never truly hate and the one person she never had to worry would betray her. Although, she used to count her mother among those choice few. Their mother, the woman that had hid them their whole lives that now sat gazing up at Van Helsing like she was waiting for a treat, she would betray them for a smidge of validation apparently.

I found you

When I was alone and tired

I found you

When I was empty and afraid

I found you

When nothing else mattered

I found you

And the lights shone brighter

I found you

And now I am never alone

I found you

And I prayed for the first time in years

I found you

And I couldn't look away from your smile

I found you

And you found me

Over and Over again

No matter how far I ran

I found you

Beside my car

I found you

In front of my house

I found you

In my room

I found you

And you found me

I told my teacher I had amnesia and thus could not sit down for circle time as I did not know where I was. I was in kindergarten. I blame the teacher for how big this lie got as what child gets amnesia from spinning in circles.

That I got dizzy when I went upstairs and so I needed to use the elevator. I stole this from my brother who actually struggles with this in order to read while on the school elevator.

That I had no idea who set fire to a bag of popcorn in the teachers lounge. It was me and my brother. We ran and the fire department had to be called.

These are just a few of the reasons I can't have kids as Karma is just waiting for me.

"Help! He's Kidnapping me!"

This was said about my father who was dragging me to the car as I did not do as I was told and had called his bluff. This being Halloween however there was quite a crowd when I shouted I was being kidnapped and the police were soon called.

The candy was not worth that ride home.

For the girl was painted in Red

Upon a strong backing of white

As though the artist had bled

The picture that came from his head

Was of a lonely and grieving sight

For the girl was painted in Red

The girl had no pain she could shed

As though nothing could make it right

As though the artist had bled

And onto the bright canvas instead

Was the forewarning of a blight

For the girl was painted in Red

As if in memory of someone who had fled

From an embrace that was all too tight

As though the artist had bled

As though the thought sprung him from bed

And with his grief and pain he had to fight

For the girl was painted in red

As though the artist had bled

There is something honest in a lie. Something honest in the fear of the truth. The fear of being found. There is nothing convoluted about fear. The wish to run or hide from things that frighten us is as natural as breathing. Fear is simple.

Honesty is the true liar. To convince yourself that you aren't afraid of the judgement of others. Of the baring of your soul to another even in small acts or small truths. To lie to yourself that their judgement won't sting or that they don't care. That their words won't leave a mark on your soul and start haunting the hour between conscious and unconscious.

A lie will make you wonder, "Why? Why did I lie?" and the truth is simple because you were more afraid of the truth. That even if this lie haunts you it would be a fleeting moment and a self deprecating thought. Instead of the outright assurance of what others think.

Even in an honest moment how are you completely sure that the other is telling the truth. how do you know that they are baring their soul to the same extent that you are?

Lies are simpler. "How are you?" Fine." One person pretended to care and the other pretended to be okay and it is the expected course of the conversation.

So lie. It is only natural and so very honest.

I have been trying to write the same story since I was in the third grade. Of a girl who struggles and falls. Of her friends and family. Of the different ways each character is amazing. I have written and rewritten this book so many times, but I never finish it. I always get stuck at the beginning. How to start? Is it when everything is happy or when the worst was over? Do I start when they have nothing or show when they had everything? I want them to be happy. Its why I don't read the last book of a series. My burning need to know how it all ends is replaced by my fear that they won't be happy. That the series will end with all those people, I came to love being unable to piece themselves back together. So, where do I start? When their family was in pieces? When they could not see past their pain? I could have the whole story to be about how they came back together. Or would the story be all about how they fell apart?

Blood is thicker than water. My family has always told me that and I believe it to my very core, my family is more important than anything else including myself. I don't know if it made what you did hurt more. You fell for me, so fast and without any fear that I didn't know what to do. Love was fleeting for anyone, but relatives and I knew that from the beginning. I set lines I let you cross and boundaries you didn't even notice. I didn't fall for you. I walked down to meet you, carefully and controlled expecting you to run long before I got there. When I reached you I was safe and comfortable, which isn't what you wanted I guess. You wanted tension and guesswork and when I fell for you I released all of that. I was honest and upfront. So you picked her. You fell for her like you fell for me then tried to keep us both. The only difference was you didn't understand how rare it was to fall for you. You were an outsider, my loyalty wasn't given freely it was earned. You fought so hard to make me love you and then you decided I hadn't been worth the effort. I havent stopped thinking about you, we were good together. It was how you ended things that broke us. I would have stayed loyal. If you had decided we were nothing more than friends I would have tucked away the part that loved and cherished you and went on to stand at your wedding cheering with the rest, but you told me she was more important. That we had nothing. That there was nothing outside of our relationship than a bed. You ruined it. Now I doubt all the moments you held me. I doubt every kind word. Why did you choose then to be honest? I didn't want to know that! I didn't want to realize I had wasted a year of my life on someone who was using me. You could have stopped loving me and I would have accepted it. I would have moved on knowing I had been loved even if it didn't last forever. Yet here we are.

Souls taste like carrot fries. Still better than regular carrots but nowhere near salty delicious fries. Souls are the pieces of people that contain all their good and bad. No one can be completely awful, with some exceptions of course, but no one is amazingly good. So you are left with cafeteria carrot fries that everyone grabs because its the closest they are going to get to real goodness, but no one is incredibly happy about. So they torment you with their middle groundness.

Why do I only seem to write when I’m in weird moods? I only seem to write and rant and say what I’m actually thinking when I’m in a spiral of nonsense, anxiety, and sadness. SO let me try and break that chain at 1 in the morning.

Things that make me happy

-Puppies- Because I am not a monster.

-Sugar- Because I am highly addicted.

-Caffeine - Refer to the above line.

-Comforters that you’ve had for years- They are so soft without being too thick or too thin. Like the couch blanket of the comforters.

-Books- I know you guys are shocked. I take them, I read them, and then I reread them ten million more times.

- REALLY LOUD MUSIC- If my car is not shaking I don’t think its loud enough.

- Cheesy 90s shows- Charmed, Xena, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I got a thing for heroines and relationships that seem to come before saving the world and always have makeout scenes when you really should be more focused on the giant apocalyptic monster.

-Harry Potter- Been to Harry Potter world three times now. I cried with joy each time. I am not ashamed.

- Annoying people- Frustration is hilarious when it is not me.

That’s kind of my list. I mena I’m sure there’s more things I can’t think of right now, but this is a good start for me not just writing and being creative when I am upset. I have good days too, they just get lost in the spiraling and the self-pity.