Fine Again by Seether is a song about a man struggling to find any meaning in his life and being isolated because of it. The song starts with the words "It seems like everydays the same and I am left to my own. It seems like everything is grey and there's no color to behold." This encapsulates the mood of the entire song as one of melancholy. The next verse says "They say it's over, and I'm fine again, yeah." "They" think that there is nothing wrong with the narrator, while the narrator agrees only because they don't understand what the problem is. "Try to stay sober feels like I'm dying, yeah." Further communicates his struggles and inability to cope unless he has a vice. The chorus then follows. "And I am aware now how everything is gonna be fine, one day too late I'm in Hell. I am prepared now seems everything's gonna be fine, one day too late just as well." The chorus is entirely about how hopeless the man feels, that even if things did get better, it would be too late, he's already been damaged and broken by his past. "I feel a dream in me expire and there's no one left to blame it on." This line relates how depressed and lonely the man feels. His dreams are dead and it can only be his own fault. In the past he blamed others for his problems and drove them away, exacerbating his solitude. "I hear you label me a liar, cuz I can't seem to get this through." People are so unwilling to believe that there might be something that they think its more plausible that he's just lying about feeling wrong. "You say it's over, I can sigh again. Yeah." The man now speaks directly to the audience making them accountable for anytime they may have done this. Frustration grows at the total disregard of his feelings. "Why try to stay sober when I'm dying. Yeah." That frustration has hit a boiling point and the man has completely given up on staying healthy if it means he can escape his pain. Once more the chorus plays "And I am aware now how everything's going to be fine one day too late I'm in Hell. I am prepared now how everyone's gonna be fine one day too late just as well." The chorus really drives the nail in on this metaphor for despair and depression. "And I'm not scared now, I must assure you, you're never going to get away and I'm not scared no, no." This is where the man changes his perspective on his mental illness, he knows that it's inescapable so he must learn to cope with it. And he assures the audience that they will never escape either and calls to action for everybody prepare. One more repetition of the first half of the chorus "I am aware now how everything's going to be fine one day, too late I'm in hell. And I am prepared now how everyone's going to be fine, for me, for me, for myself. For me, for me, for myself. For me, for me, for myself." The second half has changed however. Now he embraces that if things will ever get better, he must change for himself and nobody else. "And I am prepared now for myself. I am prepared now, and I am fine again." Finally the man has prepared for his struggles, and while it may be too late, he is at last fine again.

This song has both obvious and subtle meanings within the text, from things like depression makes the world grey, to fix yourself for yourself because you deserve it. This song has been an inspiration to me through several hard times in my life and I hope it will help others as well.

The last thing Bedisa remembered was how terrible she felt. A fever so hot she thought her eyes would melt. Even now, comatose she could the burning. The burning of the fever but also a blazing rage inside her. She needed vengeance, only that would extinguish this fire. The screams and smoke still filled her memories. An inferno of a thousand tongues licked the sky the day her family died. She could still see the banners waving, embroidered with a red, headless ox on a black field. Could still see her father begging with the one-eyed man for mercy, not for himself but for us. Could still see the sword sticking out his back, slick and red with blood. Her mother screamed “Run Bedisa, Run!” Bedisa turned and as she ran out the back door, her mother’s shriek pierced the air. Bedisa wanted desperately to stop but knew that if she did she would not escape. Another cry from her mother went out. They had not killed her yet, instead, they would have their amusement with her. Bedisa didn’t think, her legs knew where to go, her head would only get in the way. Minutes may as well have been hours or seconds, Bedisa couldn’t tell the amount of time she spent sprinting through the city streets and alleys, all she knew was she needed to run. She managed to escape the city but still, she ran, until her legs felt like rubber, bending and swaying. Only then did she stop. Only then did she cry.

The one-eyed man was all she could see after that. Every detail of his had been seared into her brain. A full head and a half taller than her father, an admittedly short man. Brown, flowing hair down to his midchest with his one eye matching it. A scar running vertically across his face where his other eye had been. And a banner with a red, headless ox on a black field.

Ben was dragged into slumber. He did not want to sleep, but it came for him anyways. And with sleep came dreams he had not had for several years. He was in his mother’s art room, a place he had visited often. There were many familiar pictures in the room but only one caught his eye. In the center of the room, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A painting of a single white lily, held in a transparent glass vase. The flower had a long stem, aproximately thirteen inches in length with a dark green hue. Perched atop the stem were six ivory petals pealed so far back they nearly made a circle, as if to reveal a hidden treasure. Six golden bulbs stretched out, all with their own pale green stems luring him in with the sweetest aroma he had ever smelled. He went to grab the aromatic painting, to take it with him, but as soon as he touched the it, the bulbs turned a sickly brown. The smell that had been so sweet betrayed him, it was now so noisome that it sent him reeling back so fast he lost his footing, colliding with the ground. From his new perspective he could see that not only the bulbs had changed, the rest of the plant was darkening too. A hungry circle that spread radially outward consuming the whole flower, but it didn’t stop there. The easel was next, blackening before crumbling to the ground, a heap of dust. The wave of decay crept along the floor, devouring all that would fit into it’s gaping maw, filling the air with the stench of death and particles of dust. Ben began to wonder if the whole world would be consumed. The mouth was nearly upon him and in fear he closed his eyes, and thought of his mother.

When he opened his eyes he was no longer in his mother’s old art room. Instead he was in his foyer. He was lounging in a chair next to a lit fireplace. His parents were there sitting of the sofa with a small wooden table that had a glass top seperating them from the fireplace. On the tabletop was a glass of amber liquid, his father’s favored nighttime drink. His mother was softly sobbing into his fathers’ chest as she had done many times. Ben didn’t know how he knew, but he could tell that this was because of another episode that he had brought on. When she saw Ben she began to wail, and flail, lashing out at everything in her reach. Her screams were delirious, being punctuated by the repeated blows she dealt to his father. In her frenzy she managed to spill the glass of amber liquid on to the table before it dripped onto the floor. Growing angry, his father stuck her to the ground and pulled a sewing needle out of his pocket. He mounted on top of her, knees pinning her arms to the ground, and began to stitched her mouth shut. He started with pulling on the bottom lip so that he could pierce all the way through the tissues, blood and screams spurting into his face. She bit at his fingers so he bashed her head into the floor, before continuing his perverted tailoring. Ben was frozen despite the raging fire next to him. Fear had stolen all the heat and passion out of his body, leaving nothing but terror behind. His father had finished mutilating his mother and began to drag her out the front door, into a room that had pillows for walls where he forced her into a suit made of leather straps, all the while her screaming was muffled, but unbroken.

Ben reached out, calling “Mother!” but this only drew the ire of his father. The man whipped around staring Ben down, blood covering his face like a lion after a fresh kill. His father was looming over him, howling while fire spewed from his father’s mouth, scorching the house as he began to transform. His eyes turned red with, slitted black pupils. His face grew into a long muzzle with teeth streching until they were bigger than daggers. Black scales shredded his skin, tearing it to pieces from beneath. His arms shifting into large velvety wings that created gusts of wind so powerful that Ben could not stand in their wake. The creature that was once his father opened it’s mouth and lunged for Ben.

Ben plunged into slumber. He didn’t want rest, but it came for him anyway. Sleep contained dreams he had not had for years. His mother’s art room was a place he had visited often. Familiar pictures lined the walls, but only one caught his eye. In the center of the room was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A painting of a single white lily, in a transparent glass vase. It had a long thirteen-inch stem and a dark green hue. Perched atop the stem were six ivory petals peeled so far back they made a circle, revealing a treasure. Six golden bulbs stretched out, all with their own pale green stems, luring him in with the sweetest aroma. To take the aromatic painting with him was what he wanted, but the bulbs immediately turned a sickly brown when he grabbed it. Betraying him, the sweet smell was now so noisome that it sent him reeling back so fast he lost his footing. Colliding with the ground, a stab of pain flashed through his back. Spreading outward radially, the hungry circle consumed the bulbs then the stems and soon the entirety of the flower, but it didn’t stop there. Blackening, the easel was next crumbling to the ground, a heap of ash. Creeping along the floor, the wave of decay devoured all that would fit in its gaping maw. Dust and the stench of death filled the air. Would it consume the entire world? The mouth was upon him and in fear, he closed his eyes, his thoughts on his mother. When Ben opened his eyes he was no longer in the art room. Instead, he was in his foyer lounging in a chair next to a lit fireplace. Sitting on the sofa were his parents with a small, wooden table that had a glass top separating them from the fireplace. On the tabletop was a glass of amber liquid, his father’s favorite drink. Softly sobbing, his mother buried her face into his fathers’ chest. Another episode he had triggered. Looking at Ben she began to wail, and flail, lashing out at everything in her reach. Her screams were delirious, punctuated by the repeated blows she delivered to his father. A single word was distinct from the sharp shrieking, Liam. In her frenzy, she spilled the glass on the table. Growing angry, his father stuck her to the ground and pulled a needle out of his pocket. Mounting on top of her, his knees pinned her arms to the ground, he stitched her mouth shut. Pulling on her bottom lip, he pierced all the way through the tissues, blood and screams spurting on his face. She bit at his fingers so he bashed her head into the floor, before continuing his perverted tailoring. Ben froze despite the raging fire next to him, fear had stolen all the heat and passion out of his body, leaving nothing behind but a cold sweat and terror. His father had finished mutilating his mother and dragged her out the front door, into a room that had pillows for walls. He forced her into a suit made of leather straps while the stitches muffled her unbroken screams. Ben reached out, calling “Mother!” but this drew the ire of his father. Whipping around, he stared Ben down, blood covering his face like a lion after a fresh kill. Looming over him, his father grew fifty feet tall, howling while fire spewed from his mouth, scorching the house as he transformed. His face grew into a long muzzle, eyes turning red with black slits for pupils. Teeth elongating until they were bigger than daggers. Black scales shredded his skin from beneath, tearing it to pieces. Gusts of wind so powerful, that Ben could not stand in their wake, emanated from his arms that stretched into large velvety wings. Fallen and unable to stand, he desperately wanted to crawl away and hide, but cowardice had pinned his legs in place. The beast that was once his father opened its jaws and lunged.

The road is long and winding,

and sometimes, your gears start grinding.

There is no behind, only forward.

Forward 'til your cornered.

This weight called Happy, has started crushing

and so begins the rushing,

the walking, jogging, running,

away from all the shunning.

Try to stop and lift this burden Happy

making your back start snapping.

A fight inside your head,

stay alive or meet the dead.

one flank yes the other side no,

hoping the battles would just go,

go away leave you be

and let your head have some peace.

Your arms are tired, your legs are sore

you can't run, you can't fight the war.

Cast off Happy and ease your bones

Only then can you atone.

A pressure lifted from your chest,

how you wish to join the rest.

#poem#Aks#challenge#rest

The inferno was inticing. Staring into the chaotic swirls made all the mundane drudgery somehow more unbearable. The smoky smell reminded him of how much he hated the daily nine-to-five life he was living. The feel of the lashing, licking tongues of the flame against his skin was somehow more pleasurable than a hug from his mother, a kiss from his wife, or the laughter from his children. The burning in his eyes and the wavy aesthetic of the air reminded him what it meant to live, more than survive. Was this nostalgia? Or was it an infatuation? He didn’t care, as long as he had hell. Could no one else see the beauty of what he had created? Could nobody see the dazzling destruction he had given them? Each time he stuck the match he heard the call that was his nature, the call to greatness. He could not empathize with the lowly ambitions of other lesser men. They dreamed to small. Each time the accelerant ignited it was harder to return to his tiresome life. This time he could not resist, this time he had changed. He had sacrificed everything to make sure that he could never go back. He had loved his family but they were stifling his art. Even now their screams were adding to his work. He would call this piece, Pheonix. He would never again be the nine-to-five. He would be the Arsonist.

#Arsonist#WeeklyChallengeLXXIX