Its been 4 years when will I move on, when will I be allowed to let go, when will our souls finally disconnect? I need to know when, for this pain that exists in me needs to leave, it needs to go back from where it came from, back with you. you broke every thing in me that day.

When will I be able to hug someone again, when will I be able to trust again, when can I let someone touch me? I loved hugs, I loved holding hands and being near someone. That feeling once there now lost in the mist of this heartache.

When will I let myself be loved again, when will I stop ruining good things, when will I stop crying? Every night as I fall asleep these tears roll down every bump and scar I have on my body, I destroy the good things that may happen or do happen as to not be destroyed first.

When can I live again?

One day, Helen took the status quo in her hands and set it on fire. She was sick of being its puppet. She went to the right school, married the right man, raised the right children. All that earned her was chronic back pain and crippling debt. She was a good mom, of course. She waited for the young ones to grow up into their own directionless followers of the approved life script. Then, she ran away to start anew in Venice. Her family didn’t even file a missing person report. They were too busy to notice she was gone.

Growing up I knew what I wanted to be, a princess, no wait thats not correct actually a doctor, but to my dad I would be a princess. Dad that word sounds familiar yet not familiar enough to be able to use it on him. He was everything but a father, never would be, never was, all those days spent missing him and crying for him at the age of 4 to the age of 6 when he was working in different cities or so it was said he was working, but hey a little kid like me has no reason to think otherwise, was I supposed to know that he's actually with another women of course not, but when you grow up and reach a certain age you realize thats exactly what he was doing. Imagine being in the fifth grade learning that your father who supposedly only worked far away because thats where the work was, was actually just spending time with his second family. To be exact his supposed ex-wife and his two songs which would make them my half-brothers is who he would be seeing.

It changed everything I thought of him I looked up at him as a kid because he took care of us, but thats far from what it was, my mother who played both roles took care of me and my brother while he was seeing his other family, she fed us, she kept us safe, took us to school and stayed up late when we needed to do homework. While he layeth in another womens bed, loving them instead of loving us, I slept in a home that I couldn't call home anymore. We were his family here, they were supposed to be his past life the family left back in Cuba while he came to the United States and yet they followed.

I think of all those memories when I needed both my parents for awards and for when I needed therapy but he wasn't there he was "working". While I struggled to stay alive, trying to not reach the end knowing all this information and not being able to do a single damn thing only allowed to sit back and watch. He slowly started to forget and not care about what we thought and now even though he thinks its still a secret we all know and I m sure a part of him knows we know.

My main problem is how can you sit here and tell me you love me and my brother not my mother of course but you can tell us and like everything is ok. Its not ok I will never be ok you screwed me up, I have anger issues because of you, I learned to lie at such a young age and how to get away with things, I learned to tell when your lying and when your going to see her. You criticize me and my brother all the time because I'm to fat for my age, which Im not I'm healthy actually and as for my brother he can't find a job yet so hes incompetent in your eyes but he was top of all his classes and even went for his masters with a full ride because of how smart he is. Not only that but how you did my mother, made me believe that was normal for a relationship, that it was ok for the man to cheat and tell you he loves you but not mean it, that they can want someone else at the same time and be with them while with you. All my failed relationships because of you because I thought it was ok to be treated like shit because thats what love was. You will never be my father although you live in this house, your house to be exact because it will never be me and my families home.

YOU WILL NEVER BE MY FATHER.

forget what you thought you knew. the world is full of mystery, glamor, intrigue, hope–– we simply live in it, watching it form and change around us, sometimes shaped by our hands, sometimes unexpected, purely natural. oceans hide ruins of lost civilizations, buried treasure, forgotten people, dead loved ones, families. the earth hides multitudes, elements we might not even have names for yet, the bodies of people who walked the earth when god hadn't even been invented yet, all held together by a molten core that we've never seen before and probable never will. we cannot even comprehend our own brains, those mysterious lumps of flesh suspended in water and powered by electricity, responsible for movement and thoughts and dreams and personality, responsible for our entire identity–– and yet, a mystery. a blackbox, the contents of which we might never truly understand.

learning our place in the universe might be overwhelming. look the stars in their eyes and remember that they do not look back, they are too far away, living their own lives billions of miles away. they look at their own stars, and the cycle continues on and on, past the edge of the universe and into infinity.

about time we look at ourselves and answer the question we've been asking ourselves: why am i here? here, as in the place? perhaps a house with a mirror, or a public bathroom, or simply a window as you're walking down the street and you make the mistake of making eye contact with your reflection and it beckons, promising answers that don't exist. why am i here? we were not meant to know the answer. we merely fill in the blanks with a meaning that satisfies us until the end, or we borrow someone else's meaning, or we spend the rest of our lives searching. it matters not, the world is here and we are on it, whether we like it or not, whether we know why or not.'

broken pieces never fit back together perfectly, there are gaps in the glass where the surface was reduced to powder. we can seal the cracks with gold but the meaning of the original is gone, replaced now by a metaphor for healing and trauma. we can never return to the way we were. does that mean we never heal? or is healing something else, something deeper? perhaps we are not meant to be the way we were, perhaps this is the universe's way of telling us we need to change. and we will change, for better or for worse. the universe wills it, and gives no thought to the lives it destroys.

bodies, mere collections of atoms with empty spaces in between, and yet we call ourselves solid. bodies that bend, bodies that break, bodies that grow, bodies that crumble and decay. everything has a body. bodies of water, the trunks of trees, the welcoming hands of the clock. everything has form. nothing is solid. even mountains move, with time.

ending the story is always bittersweet. finality is the one thing that terrifies us most and also what soothes us. when we are gone, we will no longer be responsible for what happens to us or anyone else. but when we are gone, we will no longer be able to control what happens to us or anyone else. it is the ultimate surrender, finally giving in to the tides of fate. and it sweeps us away.

revolution begins, a clash of ideals, rebels seeking freedom, justice, reparations. we are all the rebels, whether we admit it or not. we are all fighting each day, and most of the night, until one day we wake up and we've lost the war, or we defect to the other side in shame, and the rest of our lives is merely watching ourselves live from afar. life is a revolution, one that we are unable to win, but that cannot be lost.

grasped the truth at last, have you? have you found what it is that makes us real, that makes us human, that makes us alive? we are infinite, we are broken, we are strange malleable forms that twist under the cruel hands of time until we find our past selves unrecognizable. we grasp our own selves and hide our identities in the palms of our hands, carved into the grooves and callouses so deeply that even the most skilled palm reader cannot decipher.

as odd as it sounds, there is no difference between you and i. both of us are lumps of flesh suspended in cerebral fluid, salt and water, fueled by electricity, piloted by a conscience that we are only half aware of. the bodies we are in are mere happenstance. our genes and personality are mere side effectsit is not what we are. it is merely a machine piloted by a parasite. a complex, dysfunctional machine. with opposable thumbs.

successful, who defines success? is it wealth, happiness, fame, remembrance? is it flowers left on your headstone decades after you passed, or simply who owns the largest headstone? can you define your own success, or must it be decided for you by a council of strangers? perhaps the greatest success is simply existing. we won a race before we were even born, and each day after our birth we have avoided millions of lethal accidents only to end up here. alive.

though our story is nearing its close and the sentences grow slimmer, know that even the smallest chunks of text can contain the greatest meaning.

everyone and everything comes to an end, of that we can all be certain. perhaps one day, even death itself might come to an end, releasing the souls of long lost loved ones back onto the earth to roam once again, to live their life as they should have lived it the first time. perhaps they will live their life exactly the same way as they did before they

died.

A growl ripped from the woman, blood dripping from her mouth and red bits stuck to her teeth.

"Settle down, sweet." Elia cooed, beckoning at her with a soft smile. "You've fed, have you not?"

She received no response. Elia clicked her tongue in disappointment, a sound that caused a flinch in the woman before her. She had realized her mistake, scrambling to back away too late as her leg was caught by a delicate hand.

"Where." Elia slowly began, smile stretching wider to display a row of sharpened yellow teeth. "Do you think you are going?"

This excerpt contains minor spoilers for my unreleased book.

“You were supposed to be a valedictorian!” Mom shouted, forcing a laugh. “What happened? Are you being lazy? Have you slacked off on studying again?”

I widened my eyes, my chest starting to tighten. If only she could understand. I slacked off on studying because it was starting to mentally eat me alive. I was being ‘lazy’ because I couldn’t even complete basic tasks without feeling exhausted afterwards.

I struggled to even wake up every day. “No,” I said, keeping my voice as low and as reserved as possible. “I wasn’t required to be one. You forced me to want to be one.”

“No I didn’t,” Mom muttered, vigorously shaking her head. “You wanted this for so long. You wanted to make yourself feel proud all this time, and now you decided to throw all that effort away.” She raised her voice, scooting her body forward towards

me.

“I wanted it for so long because that seemed to be the only way I can actually have validation from you.” I glared at her, sweat running down the side of my face. I clenched a fist as I bit the insides of my cheek, my lungs turning into fragments again.

“I—” Mom spluttered. “No, when did I ever say that? When did I ever act like that? I never acted like that. Being a valedictorian should not be a hard task. It’s just straight A’s for four years. I don’t see why you’re so damn burdensome all the sudden—”

I stood up from my chair, resentment rising in my body. “I’m struggling, okay?” I yelled, my blood turning cold. “Do you know how hard it is to maintain that for four years? I can’t always be perfect to you all the time. If you were in my shoes, you would know exactly how I’m feeling. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to do this for the sake of your happiness, because I wasn’t even doing this to make myself proud! I only wanted to please you just so I wouldn’t feel so

useless to you!”

Mom gaped, her eyebrows starting to slant. Dad’s smile was growing larger.

“Grades don’t define me or anyone. You really don’t know me at all,” I muttered, huffing out a rough breath. “I thought you would’ve known that by now, considering the fact that Dad literally had to go through that in order to teach me properly about perfection! I don’t even know if he ever told you that!”

“Yes, grades define you! It gets you to a good college and you will have a good future! Otherwise, you would be working at a fast food restaurant for the rest of your life!” Mom yelled back, her voice faltering from her aching throat.

“If I’m even alive by then!” I ticked off, my face tensing up. “Do you know how hard it is to even be alive, especially in this society!?” I choked out a laugh out of exasperation.

“You don’t get it. I try so hard to be everything to you but in reality it backfired because now I’m only doing this for you. Nothing else. You only admire me as your child because I was perfect, and only for that reason. I wasn’t even supposed to be perfect! I was supposed to be human! I’m still just a child trying to explore my life!”

Mom widened her eyes out of disbelief, her pupils shrinking. “Oh, no, August. You don’t raise your voice like that. Am I being a bad mother then!? Am I!? I just want the best for you. I only pressured you because I love you. I think you’re just so sensitive like all crummy teenagers nowadays. I guess I’m just bad at being a mother.”

“No! That’s not what I meant—” I stammered.

“Do you not love me after all!? I gave you food, shelter, and I carried you for nine whole months! Some kids at your age don’t even have that privilege! Be grateful for what you have because now you’re just being ungrateful. You have everything. I had nothing when I was growing up,” Mom hoarsely said.

I felt my lips tightening. Food, shelter, and water were only the bare necessities. That’s literally what you needed to provide to be a parent.

“I tried. I tried everything. I gave up my life just for you, and this is what I get in return!?” Mom retorted. “Why do you only think about yourself!? Selfish. Why can’t you be more like Eden? Why is that so hard for you?”

And then my words escaped from my mouth without thinking first. I wanted this to stop. “I had everything except for the biggest thing that ties everything together,” I wept, taking my eyes away from everyone. I can’t believe I talked back to her.

“What? You have everything. There’s nothing else you need except—”

“Unconditional love,” I answered for her. “All I wanted was to feel like I belong here without having to constantly ask to feel loved by you. And do you know why I can’t be more like Eden?” I huffed out a weak laugh. “It’s because unlike you, he actually cared. And guess what? It didn’t even matter if I was struggling. He still loved me regardless.

Unlike you.”

And that immediately silenced her.

“Frick!” I gasped allowed, clutching tight to my severed leg, barely recognisable underneath the layer of tattered skin, blood and frayed material. I held the rock high above my head with my free hand, ready for strike 2. As it came down, I heard the crunch of bone, tears trickled out of my eyes, though all I felt was triumph. I smiled joyously through the pain. As my knuckles turned whiter and whiter as they gripped my leg ever tighter. I did like the pain; my body just couldn’t help its natural reflexes.

A clatter came from the top of the street, at least a hundred meters, from where I was situated. I looked up and saw, emerging over the crest of the hill, a filth covered man dragging a sack. He stopped every few seconds to let out slow, wheezy breaths. Each one sounding like his last. As his silhouette became more defined, I could see the many cuts and bruises coating his body, almost like grotesque body paint. A few years ago, I would have offered to help, asked what had happened, even given him some of my few supplies, not now. Not when the world was in peril, everyone dead, or worse. A zombie apocalypse with no zombies. Now offering help was a death sentence, a sure way to an early grave.

I looked at the man, he couldn’t have been older than 50. He was clearly not in a good way, judging by his blood-stained shirt and pants. I looked at his sack. My stomach growled.

Finally, he was less than a meter away. It was time to see if this man would help or not. I groaned loudly, clutching my leg once more. He whipped his head around and stared.

“You dead?” He asked, taking a wary step back. I shook my head pathetically. He nodded and edged closer.

“Do you need help?” He asked. I had to stop myself rolling my eyes, what a stupid question.

“Yes” I croaked, moving my leg slightly and swearing as the pain hit me. The man still looked unsure.

“Please,” I begged. “I promise I’ve no weapons, and I sure as hell can’t attack you with this”, I gestured at my limp left leg. This seemed to relax the man. And he came to a crouching position beside me. His sack dumped on the ground next to him, a little out of my reach.

“What can I do?” He asked, “I’m no doctor, though I reckon you’d need one to fix that.” He glanced at my leg, shuddering slightly.

“Just have a look”, I begged. “I’m sure there are still shards of something stuck in it.” Nodding the man bent down, and slowly began to pull away the layers of torn skin, peering into the deep holes in the flesh, and cuts. He was concentrating so hard.

“I’m Angus by the way-.” He was cut short, as I stabbed the sharpened rock into the exposed part of his neck. Leaving a deep gash, running from his hairline down to the Thoracic section of his spine. Enough to stop him cold. He slumped forward straight on to my injured leg. The pain felt like electricity coursing through my veins, keeping me alive!

I shoved him off and he rolled pitifully on to the floor, dead as a door nail. I stood and snatched up the sack. I tipped it upside down, and the body of a dog fell with a thunk to the asphalt. Whether the dog had been the man’s companion, next meal or both didn’t really matter. I picked up the sharpened rock. Ready to feast.

To different types of meat tonight I thought. Very fancy!

Cup to lips, tea spilled over my tongue. Yanking back, I grimaced, seething noisily in the dark of my living room while pouring bits of blackened water over my book. "Hot!"

"You should be more careful," my wife chastised me from the corner of the living room, sitting along the length of the sofa.

"I thought I let it set long enough. I'm fine." I answered ruminatively, though I could hear her chuckling much to my light annoyance. Still, I smiled, knowing she was there with me. In the dark of the hour as I read through my latest author's work. A work I was editing tastefully in hopes to release his manuscript in the coming weeks.

"Well, either way or not. I only hope your author-friend isn't going to be too upset the manuscript is brown," she chuckled, standing up from the couch to finally cross the robe over herself. I only know because I was ogling her the moment I heard her get up.

My eyes wandered over the cast of her frame, watching her saunter up to me as her gleaming brown eyes glowed with that bright cyan hue about them. Then, when her fingers stretched out across the space between us, the light caught them, making her fingers translucent. "I love you," I whispered.

"I know you do," she whispered back.

I waited, waited for the tender feeling of her hand to brush my cheek which never came. No, only the shadow of coldness pressed in where her palm should have been against my cheek. Then it slid up to my ear and as she leaned in, the gaping hole in her chest beneath her white nightgown was revealed.

"Go to bed, Cheshire," she whispered.

"When I lay under the Earth beside you," I whispered back. Opening my eyes, I noticed her visage was gone. I knew she could only hold form for small moments at a time, but my mind liked to replay the bits as if she were still here. Still mine, nestled warmly in my arms. Putting the manuscript aside, along with my tea to the other small table to my left, I rose up from my recliner.

My footsteps were heavy as I tried to drag my legs up so as not to scrape my feet across the floor. It was only once I got to the front door that I fingered the strap of my shotgun, pulling it up from the propped position I had beside my old leather mudding boots. "Bespot the monster, forget the dream. Bespot the monster, forget the dream." And I opened the front door into the black of the night, staring into the darkness that only crept and lapped at the edge of my tiny house in the woods. The only thing keeping it from coming at me was the light from my windows and the smell of citrus peels littered from one end of the property up to the front door. A common ritual that I had done once a week to keep myself from being jumped at while unawares.

"Come out, Alice! I know you're out there!"

Silence.

"Fucking bitch, I know how psychotic you are!" Stepping out of my front door, I let my boots crunch over drying citric peels and dead leaves, crossing up to the boundary where I started to see her visible form lurking. She was massive tonight, towing a towering figure with golden strings of hair that draped across the floor like sinew. If it weren't for the fact that I knew what they were, I would have thought it was spun gold, but that was a trick.

"Chester," a voice beckoned. "Chester, I am sorry."

"You are not sorry, you old witch," I answered defiantly. In an instant, she was upon me at the barrier of the property, hair forward, flying crazily around her as she stopped just a breath from me. I only had to stick my nose right outside of it and it would have been lost. Devoured and cleaved from me in that breath. "You do not scare me," I told her stiffly, standing my ground.

"And you do not bore me," she answered back, stretching her lips over her teeth until they peeled back, revealing the foul stench that assaulted my senses.

I rose my hand up under the forcarm, pointing at her chest. "It's a shame Lily was kind enough to let you in," I breathed.

"I was cold," she answered me, pressing her hands up along the barrier. I could see her arms stretching along the length it, seemingly endlessly trying to find a way in. A way in that she could peel back even the tiniest tear so she could get at me.

"And you stole her heart and ate it."

"The Queen stole her heart."

"That's a lie," I answered back, aiming straight for the scar that ribboned across her chest. Terror gripped me. It long assaulted me that the last tie to my wife would wither away in an instant if I shot her, if I shot that heart, but I had to let Lily go in peace or I'd be trapping her forever with me and Alice would continue to worry Lily each night, visiting me.

"I would not come back if I did not feel the tug," Alice groaned. "Let me hug you Cheshire."

"No."

"Let me hold you," she wept.

"No."

"Let me touch the flesh I yearn for, oh I need you. I need to. I crave it so terribly," she moaned.

"Fuck. You." My hand shook, holding the barrel at her chest. I noticed I was testing my limits, knowing that her white apron was nearly pressed to the muzzle while the light blue line of fabric seemed to obscure anything behind her.

"Chesir-"

BANG! The sound of the shotgun going off rang in my ears, and her plaintive pleas turned to screams as she jerked back. I heard her yank to the trees, tangling in them as the limbs snapped and groaned from her thrashing. My ears were burning, ringing quickly after the noise settled and echoed out in my head and into the dark of the forest. I know I missed. I purposely missed and tonight would be another night in which I only wounded her, but she would return again. Tomorrow night and we would dance pretty words again until I could let Lily go. There was only one thing keeping me from jumping out into the night with her. Little Louise, our daughter, and what would I have to say for myself in death if I left her alone?

"Nooo!" she screamed. I could hear the hollow cry of pain and anger as it grew more distant, as it rang out into the night filtering in sharply with my deadening hearing. I knew I should get ear plugs, it would reduce my anxiety and keep me from second guessing it all, but hearing her plea with me was like poison on the throat, but fuck it was delicious. It was hard to believe I wanted it as bad as she did. I wanted her heart too. I wanted Lily's heart, because if I had it against my chest again, I'd feel whole once more, and it was hard to live with a half empty heart. I couldn't even smile for it, not unless we were close again.

He made me scared. The way he would watch me while trying not to be seen. The way he would following, and hope I couldn't tell. I could tell, every single time.

It was obvious that he wanted me dead, or maybe to take me somewhere isolated. Perhaps he never had the guts, and his cowardice only allowed him to watch.

There was never a hair harmed on my head, but his eyes make me want to rip my hair out. That's why I invited his prying eyes into my home that evening.

I treated it like having any other friend over, giving him an abundance of drinks and making small talk.

Not longer after, his words were slurred when he asked where the bathroom was. I got up and walked him to it.

The bathtub was already filled and plugged up, so when I opened the door and shoved his head into water, the nice shirt I was wearing got soaked.

Of course he struggled. His arms tried to bend back to scratch him, and his attempt to lift his head failed as I refused to remove my hand from his hair.

Even after he stopped struggling, I kept his limp head under the water for five more minutes until I checked his non-existent pulse.

I left him floating face down in my bathroom, and went to change.

love does not exist. only in our head is it real. who says love is not fantasy? love is to easily broken to be more than the wind. is has no rhyme or reason because it isn't real, not because it's mind boggling. love, espescially at first sight is ridiculous on so many levels or broken trust.