Cleansed with Blood
I'd always wondered how it would feel to kill myself.
The morning sun recreated the bars of the windows on my bed, imprisoning me in a cage of shadows. I grabbed the sheets where the dark lines fell, seeing if I could pull them apart, and off to my liberation. But I couldn't even grasp them, as if they never existed. But I knew. I knew how the cage bound me in chains-- disguised as a blanket of warmth and comfort. Disguised as a tapestry of blood and kinship.
"Morning, sweetheart." He entered my room again, dawning his pretence costume of a saviour in the streets. People looked at him like a hero, but I knew who he was beneath all the medals and the stars. I knew the creepy ogre lurking beneath his malicious sneer. I knew the grotesque fantasies hiding underneath his firm assurances. I knew. I knew.
His filthy palms were on my neck. I baulked away from his disgusting frame, his foul stench. I knew I shouldn't have-- he was about to leave, and I could have been in peace till the night fell, but no. Today was different.
Frustrated sigh-- removing the metal watch and holster from his undeserving outfit-- he stood with his back against me. The silhouette of his stocky frame enclosed within the same bars that held me-- but he stood mighty, while I, an incomprehensible heap of slender patterns. But today was different.
I stood upon my bed, my shadow growing vast behind me. The bars could only then reach my knees, but they surrounded him-- a beast prepared for the kill. I bent down, seizing the holster without his notice. Bore the cold piece of metal on my skinny arms. Turn around, sweetheart.
The sheets would have to be washed. The floors would have to be wiped. The walls would have to be painted. But the house was cleansed of its dirt more than ever-- it no longer sheltered within an aberration, one the world didn't need.
I exited the bed and onto the floor. The bars could not hold me anymore.
Blood squished under my bare feet. I walked out the front doors and onto my liberation.
I'd always wondered how it would feel to be alive.
#fiction
ticking clocks.
I think parts of me are different ages, you could tear me apart, limb by limb, and you would be able to never guess how the parts of me belong to each other. I am a paradox by my very existence. I am old and new at the same time. My fingers are old, they hold the earth like they have felt its waters a million times over. They drum along to old songs from the '80s, the '40s, and the '20s, then to hymns that were first sung thousands of years ago. They touch the ivory keys on a piano with the same fervor and curiosity that Mozart and Beethoven had. My hands are the oldest in the way they hold a paintbrush, only wanting to capture raw human emotion as softly as possible.
Yet my eyes are young, they have life and light in them. Yes, they show the heaviness of my pain but do not mistake that for a faded spirit. The youth in my eyes is only filled with possibilities. I look up at the stars and the universe with the same astonishment and child-like awe that you can see in cracks through the professional facade of astronomers when they send satellites into deep space. My eyes will show you all the things that you can be and everything you have ever wanted to be.
Just like that, I am made up of different pieces. My feet are old, they have walked this earth hundreds of times before and they are no strangers to the soil. I can walk anywhere, however long it takes me, I have no objections. My smile is that of a 19 year old, forever on the edge of adulthood but still standing in adolescence. I will hug you like I am 78, and this may be the last time. I will hold your hand like I am 2 and you are all I know and have in this world. I will love you in multiple ways. I will love you like the 8-year-old who needs her father's hand to jump across a river, and I will love you like we are 15 and have never known hurt before. I will love you like I am 18 and see the rest of my life with you. I will love you like I am 29, creating our life together. I will love you like I am 35, where, in the mess of life and chaos, I still choose you. I will love you like I am 50, still in love with your smile and the glitter in your eyes. I will love you like I am 83 and not even death can pull us apart. I will love you in all these ways, all at once.
I have no fear of turning 20, or 30, or 50, or 80 and I especially, have no fear of meeting death. For my soul is without age, it floats and it dances. It belongs to futuristic dreamers and impressionist painters. It reads the articles of tomorrow and falls in love with the classics of yesterday. My soul is not a diamond to be valued, it is simply beautiful because it is. I could guess my age in every mirror, but each time I would see something different. In one, I would see my mother's face, and in another, I will see my younger sister. My face, my features, and my aura were generations in the making and will be seen for generations to come. My eyes are hundreds of generations old, and my nose will be there for generations to come. You have seen me before and you will see me again.
I suppose I couldn't say how old I am, just that I am of this earth and in the most earth-shattering and unnerving way, I am human.
lemon
He sits on the wooden stoop, his curls still wet from the river. Kicks his feet against the ground, bare feet, dust between his toes. Behind him on the porch, his mother is zesting a lemon, the scent swirling from her grater, across the porch and into his nose.
He smiles back at her, "I can smell your lemon, Mama,"
She laughs. Gets up and goes into the house, her skirts brushing briefly against his shoulder as she walks past.
The air smells of dust, sunbaked wood, and the faintest hint of lemon. The birds sing. He sits there and kicks his feet until his mama calls him in for dinner.
#microfiction
As Simple as That
All he wanted was just to see her again. Was it really so much to ask? Every day he woke up in a luxurious white bed with the sun streaming through his window and pooling on the carpet, and the coffee was there on his table, white wisps rising from the surface, and he wondered how the butler managed to bring it hot right before he woke up. He stepped out of bed and went to the window and the fragrance of the garden greeted him kindly. He drank the coffee and read the paper like any ordinary man and they came and took his cup silently, bowed heads. He had tried to converse with them, but he just didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to talk to anyone except her.
He opened the wardrobe doors wide and looked at the endless row of coats and jackets and suits and ties and trousers, all white and black and grey with no colour to them at all, and he dressed in one outfit and felt small inside it, like a little imposter with no right to be there at all. All his life he’d been too short, his hands too big and clumsy and scratched, his smile too awkward and his face too unsure to fit into a man’s suit. He didn’t feel like a man anymore. They’d taken that away from him when they gave him soft pillows and smart leather shoes. When he was with her, that was when he felt strong, not like a little frightened boy. And he wanted that back. He wanted to know that he had a purpose, someone to protect, to love. The coffee didn’t taste good to him. The bed was too soft and the garden so big he got lost in it just the way he got lost in the rows of suits. He didn’t like the abstract paintings they’d hung up on his wall or the way they moved around the house silently as if they were mourning his death while he was very plainly alive. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of it.
He just wanted her.
Pen to the Paper 20: The Announcement
I hobbled onto stage. I groaned as I grabbed a hold of a rail in front of the microphone. “I feel like Michael freaking Morbius before the bat-serum,” I said. “Welcome to the announcement everyone! I ran my first marathon today! Why? Easy. I’m a masochist. What was that, Nick? Are you sure? Is there a second definition. Yeah, I mean the second definition, you sicko. Anyway, how are you guys? It’s May, and I am finishing the April challenge. Sorry for how late this one was. I’m tired and hurting, so I’m going to jump right into this, is that okay?
“In third place, The Power and Its Victims by ThatGirlAJ. It was a really fun read! Super creative. I enjoyed every second of it. Hopefully Sally learns her lesson.
“In second, we have Unplanned by Rosemandle. It was very heart-warming. It makes me smile every time I read it.
“Our winner won by a long shot. I want to read a book by this contestant. The story was magnificent. They didn’t hold back, either, so it was a ‘long’ post for Prose. Which is good, because we have a lot of short little stories here. I was hooked from the start and was sads to see it end. Our winner is… ME! Wait, I used that joke before. Oh, I see. There have been some technical difficulties. Although I may be listed as the winner, the true winner of Pen to the Paper this month is KoconutLatte with their post The Shaman!”
The crowd cheered.
“I’m serious, man. If you ever publish a book, hit me up. I’ll be your first customer.
“There were a lot of excellent posts this time, some of my favorites being by Uschibear, AlisonAudrey, Sanjana_S, and Raybug63. I suggest that those of you who like looking at the posts to check them out, and most of the others as well!
“Sorry for the low effort post this month. I’ll be back soon with a far better, much funnier Pen to the Paper 21!”
Who I was...
What I did was neither right
Nor wrong,
What I did was awful,
What I did was majestic.
Some said I was wrong,
Others said I was right,
To get here I fought,
I fought till I could not breathe.
What I did was cruel,
But what I did was necessary,
They didn't knew it then,
But they do now.
I tried to save them,
I tried to bring balance,
To life and to the Universe,
But they resisted me,
They fought me till the end.
Everything should be balanced,
As balanced as it should be,
A tip over either side,
Will bring forth great catastrophe.
Now they say that I was right,
Now they say that I was their savior,
But what difference does that make,
I'm nothing but dust now.
Pen to the Paper: The Announcement
“No,” Nick said.
“What?”
“No.”
“What?”
“No girls.”
I scratched my head and gave Nick a funny look. “What do you have against women?”
“I thought we had an agreement,” Nick started furiously. “After all the drama with Maya, how on earth could you possibly think it’s a good idea to bring another girl into the mix?”
“Hey, man, the break-up with Maya was very civil. Happened so smoothly, no one even knew it happened. She’s a thing of the past, entirely forgotten. And it’s different this time.”
“It is literally the exact same. A cute assistant who tells you when it’s time. That’s my job!”
“Awwww, is Nick jealous? We are getting massive, my man. We need all the help that we can get around here. Besides, she isn’t in that position. She’s the accountant.”
Nick took a step back. “Oh. Well, I still don’t like that you hired a girl for the position.”
“That’s sexist, dude. Girls can be good with numbers too.”
Nick blushed. “No, no, no! That’s not what I was saying—”
I crossed my arms and cocked a brow. “Sure seemed to me like that was what you were saying.”
“All that I am trying to say is that I don’t want any more relationship drama as part of the show!”
I patted Nick’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, friend. You will have more contact with her than I will. Besides, I’m, like, totes off the market.”
Nick laughed, but stopped when he saw my expression. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Yep. I have things I need to focus on… I don’t think that I can give a relationship the attention it deserves while also focusing on my dreams. Though I’m more worried about putting all of my focus into the relationship and none into the fulfillment of my dreams…”
“I can’t decide if that is mature or not.”
“It’s neither. Because I very loosely abide by that statement. Anywho, is everything ready? And are you sure that you don’t need an assistant? You pretty much run the place.”
“Well, you used to be more involved.”
“Now I’m the idea creator. Though I love working with numbers, I figured my energy was best spent somewhere else here…”
Nick looked at his watch. “The show begins soon. Are you ready?”
Cracking my knuckles, I said, “Let’s do this.”
*****
“Y’all ready for this?”
Music started blasting through the arena as I dribbled a basketball onto stage. Six players rushed me. I pushed through them, barely able to hold onto the ball, then hesitated when I saw the hulk of a man standing right behind the half court line. Without thinking, I jumped, ball in hand, flying through the air as the strings on the ceiling guided me along the staged path that the audience was totally convinced was real.
I came down on the basket hard, nearly breaking the backboard as the ball went through. A buzzer blared.
“WHAT AN AM-AAAA-ZING JUMP!” a sports announcer said as the score went onto the board. “I have NEVER seen anything like that in the history of basketball, Phil.”
“Well, Mitch, we all know that Caleb is the best player out there,” Phil replied. “His jump is unmatched by anyone. He never fails to dunk, no matter the situation. Even if there is a seven foot eight hundred pound man guarding the basket.”
“Now, let’s see that replay!”
An image of me jumping over the basket-ball playing mammoth of a man flashed onto the big screen above me. The camera zoomed in on my face, my tongue hanging out as a slammed the basketball into the net.
“Classic homage to Jordan!” Mitch said.
“Actually,” I said into the microphone, “I was saying that I was better than him.”
The crowd in the arena oo-ed. “Have you ever seen Jordan pull a play like that? I jumped five feet over Gigantor over there and still got a slam dunk. Unstoppable. Beat that, Jordan, I dare you!”
“Did someone challenge me? Because you know I’m the GOAT,” Jordan said, walking up on stage, dribbling a ball. His classic red Bull’s uniform was on. “Try to stop me.”
Jordan leapt across the full court, clearing Gigantor in the center, then breaking the backboard as he came down with a dunk. Brushing the glass off of his shoulder, he said, “And don’t you ever stick your tongue out on a dunk. That’s my thing.”
Jordan walked off stage. I stood there, mouth agape, as the team cleared the stage. The entire audience stared in shock.
“I did not plan that,” I said. “That was freaking awesome.
“So, who wants to hear who won this week!?”
The crowd cheered and applauded.
“Glad you guys are back…
“Coming in third place is Roses311Sublime’s An Ode To My Dear Friends - My Writing Ideas. It was great! I loved it. I had a good laugh in some parts, and the whole thing was just very well written. It was interesting.
“In second place, we have xCalypso’s Her Basement. The descriptions were masterful.
“In first place, we have Knowledge’s Boredom. Locked away, isolated and alone… He explores the main character’s mind very well, then everything comes together neatly at the end. I loved it!
“Now, for some honorable mentions
“GLD has returned! At least, for now. Appearing in the challenge with Madness, GLD does it again! Such a great poem.
“Never ceasing to amaze me with here incredible detail, Sanjana_S has stopped on by with The Lord God Made Them All. It was incredible!
“I loved Raybug63’s Limbo. Another beautiful work featuring a one-sided conversation with someone in Limbo. I’d say more, but I don’t want to spoil it for those of you who go back to read it…
“Oh, itsjess, if you ever finish that story of yours… tag me.
“Thanks for coming out tonight! I’ll see you guys next month!”
As the platform began descending, a basketball came flying out of nowhere. I looked up in time to see an angry Michael Jordan and a basketball hurtling towards my face. Then the world faded to black as my face erupted into immense pain.