Stark naked, she runs in noiseless screams
fading trails of destiny wisp across sky
the moon sets in silence behind her fears
her blood bleeds colorless grains of time
full moon floods lights on desperate soul
rotating columns of light twist and spin
we’re all the same, we’re all alone
somber and deep cries of ebony skies
walking barefoot on husks of crushed stars
golden wine of moon poured on her sorrows
moon’s fiery brow of incestuous affinity
urges her to yield to endless tomorrow of sleep
moon devours her soul and then spits it out
we’re all the same, we’re all alone
He sat still.
An impossible feat in today’s world.
Everyone is always trying to get somewhere.
Legs bounce on the subway, in class, in the office at work.
Fingers tapping, tapping pencils, tapping keys on a keyboard,
tapping morse code on the desk in the naive hope that someone will hear you.
But he sat still. He did not move or sway to make room for the crowds.
He did not need to, they passed right through him
as if he was never even there.
His eyes open, drinking in every sight.
Every mugging on these busy streets, he bore witness.
He could do nothing, for he is a blank slate in a world of painted canvases.
Could not move. Could not touch.
He could only feel.
At first he tried. He screamed, he ran, he struggled.
He could do nothing.
he stood still.
A sentry among the swirling mass of bodies.
He no longer saw them as people.
Once upon a time he did,
he saw them as art, as painted canvases,
but now he sees them as bodies.
bags full of rotting meat.
He thinks that “they are even more blank than me,
and we’re all just a mass of faces.
We swirl and change, but deep down, we’re always blank.”
He says to them “you can’t keep living like this,
as sacks of meat, floating through life like broken mirrors.
You have to wake up, look at the sky, and decide:
today is the day I stop moving.”
daydreams and living nightmares
the shore of the pond is sandy, blandly melting into the matted grey clouds above.
i try to draw a heart, my finger shaking as it traces through bits of rock. impulse takes over at the last moment, slashing the curved form in half with a jagged line.
the heart is broken. just like mine.
a rock finds its way into my hand, and i toss it into the shadowy water, watching it sink. down, down, down.
there's no one else around. i don't know why i would expect anything else, but there was a spark of hope. it's gone now, hushed into only a whisper of smoke.
i flatten myself against the shore, looking up at the sky.
one day, it will be different. i'll want to do, see, and be everything.
but for now, nothing will be okay.
Through the Edgeless Expanse
Bob floated in the void, perpetually flipping end over end. The endless tumbling wasn't so bad when he didn't have a point of reference. He got super nauseous when he passed a nearby star or planet. Lucky for him, that hadn't happened in a few thousand years. Or was it unlucky? After all, he had been floating through space for hundreds of millions, maybe billions of years.
Getting sucked into a star, gas giant, or even a black hole would have at least been a refreshing change of pace. But Bob wasn't that lucky. In fact, Bob was probably the unluckiest person in the whole fucking universe because, as far as he knew, he was the only person in the universe. He was utterly alone. One might think that Bob, having traversed several galaxies and billions of celestial bodies, would have been caught in something's, anything's gravity. That wouldn't have done him any good, though. It's not like he could die.
Bob wasn't anyone special on Earth, back when the planet was still a thing. He had always found it strange that he continued to vividly retain his memories of Earth after all the time that had passed since its destruction. Bob remembered himself, his family, and everything that had occurred in his life. That probably had to do with his second wish. But here's the thing, the second one wasn't even his idea. It was the old man's, the one who granted him the three wishes.
Bob had been sitting in Smitty's tavern, same as any other Friday night, and honestly, same as most nights. He had just begun sipping his fifth gin & tonic when the door to the tavern swung open. Through the open door stepped a bearded white-haired man in a cream-colored cotton suit, with a crisp white shirt underneath. The man stood at the entrance, stroking his long flowing beard, searching the bar, until he finally turned his gaze to Bob.
When the white-haired man saw Bob, he raised his brow as if to say, ah, there you are, as though they had been planning to meet the entire time. The man casually walked to the end of the bar, where Bob always sat, and pulled up a stool next to him. The bartender came over to take the man's order, but he politely declined and asked for water. The man then turned to Bob and said. "You have three wishes. Go."
It's not like Bob had any company, and he was drunk, so what could it possibly hurt to play along with a crazy old man? "Anything I want?" asked Bob.
"Anything." replied the old man.
"I wish I could live forever."
"Done. Just know, there can be only one immortal thing in existence, and that's about to be you."
"About to be?" asked Bob.
"Yeah, it won't take effect until after you've made all three wishes. Also, just because you're going to live forever doesn't mean you can't get sick. You could perpetually live with something that regenerates, like cancer."
Bob turned his mouth downward in mock concern. "We don't want that."
"No, we do not. Might I suggest your second wish?"
"Alright, let's hear it," laughed Bob. He downed his drink and flagged the bartender for another.
"How about your second wish be that you never fall to any illness. Not of the body, not of the mind."
Bob shrugged. "Sure, why the hell not?"
"Done," said the old man. "You've got one left, and I bet you everything in existence that you're going to pick something selfish like money."
Bob took offense to that. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" he asked angrily.
"It's human nature. You guys only want what's best for yourselves. Not the whole."
Bob's face softened into a thoughtful expression. Booze made him easy-going that way. "Did I hear you bet everything? In all of existence?"
The old man's mouth turned up in a crooked grin. "Indeed, you did."
"That's a pretty big wager, sir. I don't believe it's yours to make, seeing as how not everything is yours to bet."
"You'd be surprised," said the old man, extending his hand to shake on the wager.
Bob looked at the white-haired man's hand. "Sort of seems like we're focusing more on this bet than on my final wish."
The man threw his head back and laughed heartily. Not in a sinister or maniacal way, but more like Santa Clause or a grandpa hearing a funny story. "My son," he said, catching his breath from laughing at his own inside joke. "This bet and your third wish are the same. You and I are the same. Time is an immeasurable circle, beginning at his point, in this very bar." The old man squinted curiously. "Funny thing, though. Last time you were sitting over there."
The old man pointed to the opposite end of the bar and shook his head. "One would think I'd have a better understanding of time than anyone, but I suppose I designed all of it to surprise me on occasion." He shrugged. "Where's the fun in always knowing what's going to happen?"
Bob sat, staring with a slack-jawed expression, unsure if the old man was mocking him or just had dementia. "Time is a circle beginning in this bar? What the fuck are you talking about, buddy? Are you busting my balls?"
"Don't pay me any mind," said the old man apologetically. "I'm just a lonely old man, ranting and raving."
Feeling like a jerk, Bob dropped his attitude and extended his hand. "I"ll take your bet. Considering I'll do the opposite of what you're suggesting I'm going to do, I'll win everything in existence. I already know the outcome."
"Hey, so do I!" replied the old man excitedly, shaking Bob's outstretched hand. "It's a bet."
Bob downed his drink, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. "I wish for world peace."
"Just to be clear," said the old man. "You wish for the world to be at peace? True peace?"
"What other kind of peace is there?"
The old man raised his brow to the question. "Oh, there's all kinds. I can list them off if you'd like, but in my humble opinion, true peace is the peak of the concept."
"Fine," said Bob, growing impatient with the old man's veiled speech. "I wish for the world to be at true peace."
"Done!" said the old man clapping his hands together loudly, startling the bartender and several of the patrons.
"Well, I guess you lost the bet," Bob said with a smirk.
"Guess so," shrugged the man. "I lost the bet."
"You going to give me my three wishes and everything in existence now?"
"Indeed, I am." The old man held out his finger. "Go ahead, Bob. Give it a pull."
Bob squinted at the old man. He might have been drunk, but he wasn't oblivious. "I don't remember telling you my name, buddy." He backed his stool away from the bar, now wary of the white-haired, bearded man. "How did you know my name?"
Still holding out his finger, the man gave Bob a sheepish grin. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I know this because I've attempted to tell you time and time again. You never believe me, though."
Bob rubbed his eyes, annoyed and officially over the old guy's game. "If I pull your finger, will you go away?"
"Immediately." finished the old man.
Bob sighed and grabbed the man's finger, pausing for some reason to look the man in the eyes. He had the greenest eyes Bob had ever seen, which was odd because that's what people said about Bob.
The old man smiled warmly. "Until next time, my son."
"Sure thing, old-timer," said Bob, pulling the man's finger. Suddenly the man and his finger disintegrated into a white flame. The flame was blinding, and as Bob shielded his eyes from its brilliance, he heard the most ear-shattering noise in the history of Earth, and that statement was a fact considering it was the sound of the planet exploding. Then Bob was flying indescribably fast through the edgeless expanse of space, completely and utterly alone.
Emily sits cross-legged in front of her closet and stares into the mirror door trying to find her face. Since the overhead light is switched off all she has to work with is scattered moonlight, so she tries focusing harder, intent on studying the features of the girl stuck there—in the shadows—filling up the space where her own face should be.
Emily lifts her eyebrow
and watches as the girl does the same.
and the girl copies.
Suddenly, from behind her bedroom door, Emily hears a noise. They are fucking again. She doesn't mind...shouldn't mind...but she can hear his voice in her ear, telling her that whenever he fucks Lori it is like he is fucking a skeleton, he tells her that he can see how she, Emily, looks at people, notices things, that she's different. The memory causes her to stand up so quickly she sways like a drunk; then she rushes for the door checking frantically, quietly, that it is still locked. And as the groaning gets louder all she can do is to sit back down and resume the search for her eyes, her lips, her nose, none of which she can seem to find in the scattered moonlight.
Surrounded by Nothing
"Take care of your Mom."
That's what my Father whispered in my ear as I hugged him goodbye. He was just doing his job, returning me to my Mother's house on that bitter-cold Sunday morning, it was the agreement they had when they split years before. Nothing in the agreement mentioned what to do when my Grandma died that morning, though. The news rattled my core in the worst ways, she was truly the only person who would listen. I was unprepared, and further broken than a glass shattered in a million pieces. She was my bestfriend, my savior. I didn't want to share the loss I felt with anyone, so instead it was forceably shoved down as my weak body walked to my crying Mother.
"It'll be okay, shhh."
If only I could count how many times I repeated this phrase that day, it was what my Dad would tell me whenever I came to him crying because of a bad dream. I remember wrapping my frozen stiff arms around her, knowing no one would hug me like I did her. Quickly, I grew to understand why he had asked me to take care of my Mom. She was never very stable, but with Grandma gone, everything around her turned to the chaos that she was on the inside.
She and her boyfriend fought more, yelling over money like we didn't live off of his rich great-grand parents paychecks. The children all cried more, and began running to me in moments of uncertainty. My Mom's family all avoided us, because no one liked her boyfriend, who was nearly as empathetic as a rock. But me, I blanked. It was like the world around me turned to static and I was merely a broken television on auto-pilot for what felt like years. Not ever even moping, but simply not feeling, nothing good, nothing bad, just nothing.
School was and endless wave of work, and trying to keep afloat with the one friend I had wasn't feesible for my tiresome fifth grade life. I was so empty, yet so full of bottled up emotions. The fights the adults got into stopped being interviened by me. The children stopped depending on me. My Mom's family stopped small talking with me the times that they did come around. I was surrounded with those who felt the same despair as myself, yet felt no connection. Not floating above the water, not drowning either, I was less consious than a single-celled organism. I didn't feel broken or whole, but the house that was my body became vacant--all signs of life deserted. Anything left was defective, flawed, and over-all useless. Completely hollow.
The Boy With The Sandwich
The boy sat there trying to save the mustard that was oozing out of his ham sandwich as he sat on the bench, swinging his legs. Janie pulled a napkin out of her lunchbag and handed it to him as she another bite of her chocolate pudding. He grabbed it and thanked his friend. He was happy, excited to be alive.
But only for a moment. Then it faded into dullness. And though Janie was in arm’s reach, he felt so alone. He seemed to lull out of existance for a moment, just losing himself in his mind. And to Janie, it just looked like he was blank. His legs had stopped swinging, and he was just holding his sandwich in silence. But he wasn’t blank. He was going through the maze of his mind, she just didn’t know it. Nobody did. Nobody understood what he thought, and he didn’t even want them to! What are the chances they would understand? Close to zero. And more importantly, would they keep the secrets and thoughts he locked in his head? They were all weighing him down, but no, no, he needed more. Thinking was like a drug to the boy. It made him feel good, but it weighed him down in the end. Maybe it felt so good to him because he felt more blank in real life than inside his head. Janie waved her hand in front of his eyes, and he snapped back to the world.
she sits on the couch with tears flowing down her face. the movie just ended with the two leads getting married as so many love stories do. but her tears arent from happiness for the characters. the tears are for her. most people love weddings but she doesnt. they remind her of how lonely she is. not in terms of her being single but in regards to friends. she often wondered if she had a wedding how many people would be there? how many bridesmaids will she have, if any at all? how many people would be there that she wanted to invite versus those she had to invite. would her side be empty while her husband's overflowed? how could she have gone through life and not accumulated friends? some 'friends' were simply her friends through association and when they no longer had that association, they left. some she had considered her closest friends but they didnt even consider her as part of their inner-circle. and those she considered her best friends would never reach out to her. any news she got would be given months after they had happened. parties would be thrown and the invites would be forgotten to send to her. people would say they got their friends in highschool but how was she to find friends when she was trying to find herself? in university no friends were obtained either as no one would speak to her except in regards to assignments and the workforce still yields nothing. she goes out with her colleagues for drinks but no one seems interested in being friends. they all have their own lives, their own friends. and so she sits on the counch, crying with no one to confort her.
Ice and Snow
Ice and snow. Snow and ice. She wanders through them both. Away from me. Away from the cabin that has kept her safe. The fire that has kept her warm. Away from the saftey of my protection. Everything, gone. Lost in the ice and the snow. The snow and the ice. She doesn't understand why I need her. She doesn't understand how lucky she is, the honor it is, the beauty of it all. I pull on my boots, my coat, my hat, my gloves and follow her out into the ice and snow. Snow and ice.
The snow is deep. The wind is blowing, blowing me numb on this dark, starless night. Clouds blanket the sky, dropping the snow mercilessly down. What if she is lost. She need me, though she does not know it. I need her, though I've done nothing until now to show it.
The ice is cold, the snow unforgiving. I sink down under a tree. I will never find her like this. I am truly all alone. She was the bright spot, the glimmer through the despair, gone now. Gone like the stars hidden away from me behind the clouds. We are doomed without her. All is lost.
The ice and snow seep down through my clothes all the way to my bones. That feeling of nothingness, blank and empty, spreads throughout my body. All feeling, all emotions have been washed away by the ice and snow. Snow and ice. What is the point of feelings? Of emotions? All is lost anyways. What does it matter? What does any of it matter? The joy, pain, love, loss, are all gone. Why feel anything at all when your reason to live, the thing that you needed to survive, has run away?
#nothingness #iceandsnow #alone #empty