Oakdale is a small town. It's a small and nice town, filled with good people. Oak trees are all over this town, that's where the name comes from. As any town does, plenty of stories come from those woods. So, don't go looking too deep. Visitors should stay on designated visitor trails when out for a forest stroll. Don't talk to anyone you see that is off the path. Anyways- there are many great restaurants and stores. Dan's butchery is known for its amazing meat! Don't ask what the chili is made of . There are some stories going around about Deadly Dan, sorry I mean Dan, that could ruin his reputation. What's in the meat? I thought I just said don't ask that. No worries! It includes Ms. Smith, Dr. Daniel, and little Mavis. Huh? Oh, I mean't that they help with the process in the kitchen. Are you crazy? Moving on to entertainment. There's a local book store with lots of choices. They even have old skin bound books if that's more your style. Did I mean leather bound? No, but yes let's go with that. There's also a bakery in downtown. They sell brownies, cookies, and everything in between. Sometimes they make you feel a little tipsy. Are they spiked? No silly! Spiking something has malicious intent. This is all good fun! Let's meet some residents now! First is Mr. Sullivan. Him and his girlfriend Ms. Sanders live in the beautiful historic downtown district! Ms. Jones and him love to take walks around the gorgeous area. Ms. Hernandez writes in the nature section of the news paper! Who am I talking about? Well Ms. Jenny of course! I've said several different names? Oh, I do apologize. It's so hard to keep track of them all. Poor Mr. Sullivan and his girls; they keep going missing and turning up dismembered. Mr. Sullivan is pretty unlucky. You know speaking of, I haven't see Ms. Jenny in a week or so. Ah well, she's probably fine! On to Mrs. Anderson! She is very well known in Oakdale. She doesn't like children very much though. Does she eat them? Oh goodness, did you hear about the rumor of screaming coming from her basement? Yes? It was one time! The child was very really rude, so she snapped at him and he got mad and started screaming. Where is he now you ask? Well he is missing, and I did say that she...snapped...at him. He probably just ran off to sulk about it. Oh ignore the blood stain over there, I suppose clean up crew hasn't gotten to it yet. Let's circle back around to the nature. Oakdale has plenty of public parks. They have playgrounds for the kids, and walking paths for anyone! Some even have trails through the woods. What's that weird shallow hole over there? Is there an arm sticking out of it you ask? Oh, poor Tommy...don't mind that. So, what are you thinking about Oakdale so far?

It has been two months since his death. My sweet Thomas's death. This grief is overwhelming. Everything reminds me of him. The color green was his favorite on anything. He loved stargazing in the middle of the night. Even seeing his favorite candy in the store can bring me to tears. I miss him. Oh, I miss him it's unbearable. He was so veracious. Anytime we had an argument, he would always tell me his honest truth. He would also make sure that neither of us went to bed angry, even if our conflict wasn't resolved yet. He was never indolent. He put his whole heart into everything he did, especially his passions. In its incipience, our relationship seemed like it wouldn't last long, but the more we fell for each other, the more comprehensible it became that we were meant for each other. One high school and college graduation later we were married. For only a short three years would we be married though. It befogs me why it couldn't have lasted longer. After all, when two people are meant for each other they live happily ever after. So, where's my happy ending? My alarm distracts my thoughts away. My room is lonely, boring, and emotionless. It's all I have. If only Thomas were here. There's an upbeat tune playing. Where is that coming from? Oh, it's the phone in my room. Not a cellular phone, but rather one that just sits on my desk plugged into the wall. It's sitting on the table with the rounded corners. I click answer. "Marilyn?" I stay silent. It's my sister. "Marilyn are you there?" Yes, I'm here. "Yes." I reply. "I'm so glad! I've missed you! They wouldn't let me call you for your first two months there." "Oh." I say. Who is she talking about? Who would not let her call me? "How is it there?" There? Does she mean home? She is speaking strangely. "Fine." "Do you remember what happened yet?" she asks me. There is a hesitation in her voice. "Remember what?" I ask. Something must be wrong. "His death Marilyn." Of course I remember my husbands death. "Of course." She sighs a sigh of relief, but it might also be pain. "Do you feel bad about it?" "Of course I do, he's my husband and he died a sad, accidental death.""That's not what I mean Marilyn." she sighs again. What does she mean? "What made you go so far?" What did I do? I didn't do anything. "I didn't do anything." "You don't remember?" she pauses, "It's okay Mar, they say you should remember eventually." Remember what? "Okay." "I've got to go for now Marilyn. I'll talk to you later, okay?" "Okay." "I love you!" I don't respond. The phone clicks and the dial tone starts playing. As I put down the phone, someone enters my room. Who would be in my home? 'Marilyn?" a man's voice asks. I turn to him. He has a long, white coat on. "Do you feel like joining the others today?" I don't respond. "That's alright. You'll get there." He turns to leave but I stop him, "Did I do something?" He hesitates, "Yes Marilyn, you did something." I stare blankly at hime for a few moments. "What did I do?" He considers the question and takes a seat on my table. "You remember your husband, correct?" I nod. "You also know that he has passed away?" I nod. "Do you remember how he died?" I think about it. Thomas died from a drunk driver. "A drunk driver." He shakes his head. "That's okay. You may not have memories from the event." What? "You killed him, Marilyn. You felt like you had no way out. You brain is blocking out the memories of it." No way out of what? I didn't want to get out of anything. "He abused you. He hit you and controlled you." What? No. He would never. "Marilyn, we think your brain is creating new memories to cope. From what we can gather, you believe you've been imagining a new life." He doesn't know what he's talking about. Thomas loved me and I loved him. He would never hurt me and I never him. "Breakfast will be here in 10 minutes." He gets up and leaves. I don't believe him. Why was he in my house anyway? So, as I was thinking, my dear Thomas was lovely...

A mangled mutt limps through the shadows,

Towards the trash can on 21st of main,

Staring out the window a poodle yaps,

With big shiny eyes the mutt looks up,

Staring at the fluffy thing,

With a warm light glazing the image,

And he wonders why he wasn't choosen,

To be loved,

To be one that no matter who you are you smile and say,

"Oh your dog is cute,"

But no,

Instead he is kicked,

Beaten,

Hated,

And looked at as a speckle of dirt,

What he wouldn't give to be the one in the window,

Yet,

Would that mean he would be looking down,

At another version,

Of,

Him?

May you be happy,

Attacked with eternal love,

You are beautiful.

(This is to get the word count)

"Mom! Mom!" Young Peter ran into the kitchen "Guess what happe-."

The old lady didn't glance up from fixing the old, leaky kitchen sink. "Quiet Peter. Let me focus."

"But the car! It was going too fast!"

"Peter!"

"It didn't stop!"

"Just hold that happy thought, Peter..." She said, twisting the handle until the sink turned on and then off without a leak. She turned around, "Now what did you want. Peter?" He wasn't there. "Peter!"

The sound of screeching through the open kitchen window filled the room, and the sound of a scream- a thump.

"PETER!" She dropped the towel that she was using to draw her hands, and ran outside, crashing to her knees on the front porch.

Staring at the car that hadn't stopped.

My heart thundered as I stared at my new apartment, it stretched above me, a dark and brooding place with dark windows, a cry for help. My bag was swung over my shoulder, the woman behind me with a hand on my shoulder, urging me forward before I was ready.

"Don't worry dear, your room is nice, and there is a just wonderful pool outback, for you and soon to be your lovely friends to share."

In the door we went and up the creaking, winding stairs, the hallway dark, and I could hear whimpers from behind closed doors, my door at the end of the hall covered in marks, a folder on the outside. It swung open with a slight push, the bed in the corner looked soft, the pillows a light gray, and the only window let in a glow, casting in on the dust on the floor.

Then the door locked behind me and I swung, my eyes wide, a scream escaping my lips.

"It's not my fault, I didn't kill him, let me goooooo!" but there was nothing, not a sound.

I should have stayed in my pool, with the body of my dead fiancé. I rather would have stayed in the pool and down, so I didn't have to watch him leave.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“You’re staying in your room until you calm down. Then I’ll feed you.”

That’s what I told her. I know I didn’t word it very well, and I wanted to apologize, but I was beginning to get upset.

My back hurt.

I walked away from April’s door, which I had locked because of her tantrum, and led my way over to the kitchen. I’m a poor man, it wasn’t a long walk. Just felt longer because of my back.

August was in the living room, waiting for her food. She was watching some old cartoon she watched all the time as a kid. I don’t remember what it’s called.

I got to the stove and turned it off. I had been fixing August (my wife, if that’s not noticeable) some eggs, and when I had returned to the kitchen I found them done.

Excellent.

I opened up the cupboard, reached in for a plate, got one down, picked up the spatula I had been using and flipped the eggs onto the plate. I got out a fork, turning off the stove in the process, and walked on over to August, who took the eggs with a slant smile.

I wish she had smiled more. That kind of thing got to me.

“You aren’t happy?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” August said.

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just been a hard, long day,” she told me.

“What’s all gone on?”

“Some stuff happened at work. And April..” Her voice trailed off a little. I knew how she felt.

“It’s going to be alright. Really. Some children take adoption better than others, but they all come around eventually. As long as we treat them the way they should be treated and raise them well, that is.”

“Adoption,” August remarked, and sighed just after. “Listen, Josh, what kind of life can this be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not happy with this.” She wasn’t talking about the eggs I made her.

“Look, it’s going to be okay.”

“What part of this is okay?”

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping April,” I told her.

“Adoption..”

It was then that I noticed her face had turned red, and once I had studied her enough to notice, she had turned off the television and set her plate of eggs down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

She stood up.

“You’re not going to eat those?” I asked her.

“I’m suddenly not very hungry anymore.”

I went to say something, I think was going to try and sit her down and have her finish the food I made, but she walked off back into the bedroom we share, and I let her go.

I would’ve gotten mad had she said anything else. Anything complaining. But she didn’t and so after she left, I sighed and scratched my head, and then I picked up the fork and the plate of eggs and I walked over to April’s door.

—

I picked up April a few days ago. She’s new to the house and must come from a family with violent tendencies. If I had known that I wouldn’t have picked her up, but she’s living in the little guest bedroom that had stayed empty for quite some time now. August and I had a kid before, back when August was happy. Happy with me and our marriage.

Since we got kids, she’s acted like a completely different person. I don’t know what it is about it.

I thought she was supposed to agree with what I say. I thought she was supposed to want kids.

Oh well, she still loves me.

April’s got dark hair and nice green eyes. She’s a pre-teen, I think around 12 years old.

She was nice originally, since I’ve brought her home it seems her personality has changed quite a bit. I don’t know what to make of it, in the sense of not knowing exactly how to handle that sort of thing.

Martha (our kid a few years ago) didn’t act out half as much as April does. I guess some girls are different than others.

I miss Martha.

I wish April could come around and make up to me, I’ve always wanted a kid. August has never wanted a child.

I’ve always wanted a kid.

—

I knocked on April’s door. No response.

I knocked again.

“Hello, anyone home?” Just some playful fun on my part.

“I’m here,” April responded coldly.

I don’t like when people speak to me as if I’m a bother, especially when I’m trying to do something for them. I sighed and opened her door.

April looked disheveled, her hair a mess. You could tell she had had a large tantrum just from the look of her. She had this crazed look in her eyes that could turn so swiftly into tire.

I didn’t want to disturb her, and I didn’t want her mad at me. I just wanted to give her some food.

My back hurt still.

I walked over to her, she sitting up in bed as if in a bit of alert, and set down the plates of eggs next to her.

“Would you like some salt and pepper?”

“No,” she said. And that was all.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“No.”

I wanted her to actually talk to me, or at least act like she liked me. Those one-word answers of hers were bothering me.

“Don’t you say anything else?”

“I hate you,” she responded.

That’s when I got mad.

I had contained myself for so long. It’s easy to understate how long my patience lasts. But I can’t be told that I’m hated.

Not when my body hurts.

“You know what,” I told her, “you’re lucky I’m feeding you at all.”

And then all the dirty things I could ever think to say came through.

“You should be nicer to me. I don’t have to feed you. I do so much for you and for my wife and both of you seem to not care for me. You know what? You’re lucky you’re alive. Yeah, I said it. And if it bothers you so much being here you should put up a fight or something. I’ve wanted a kid for so long, you better start acting right.”

I paused for a moment.

“My wife and I had a kid once. She’s dead because she didn’t listen. Don’t let you be next. You understand that?”

“I just want to go home,” April said, and then she began to cry. “Why me?”

“I’ve always wanted a kid,” I told her. “I wouldn’t go out of my way to kidnap one if I didn’t!”

I had had enough. I knew I shouldn’t have said half the things I did, but in that moment, that had no chance of processing through me. How could it? I was upset.

August must’ve heard me because she started playing music so she could drown out the noise from me yelling.

I turned, left April’s room, shut the door and locked it. I didn’t want to say anything else.

I went into the living room, walked past it, and started into my bedroom. August turned off the music when I came in. She’s an okay wife, at least she knows when to turn the music down.

I hopped in next to her, gave her a kiss, and went to sleep. I needed to, I had such a long day.

I woke up a few times throughout the night due to the pain in my back, but most of the night ran smooth.

When I got up in the morning, I went to kiss August awake.

She wasn’t there.

Two young girls holding hands

Hiding from a world that won't understand

Being kids and hoping for change

They continued hiding their pain

Two teen girls still in love

Find themselves covered in blood

Black and blue and red and cut

Living would never be enough

Two young women try to hide

But one girl's father discovered the lie

He made her take a final breath

Forced into a waltz with death

One young woman filled with rage

Decided it was time to turn the page

A father dead and sacrifice made

That one woman join the other in the grave

Two dead women finally free

Able to thrive where no one can see

Eternal flames light their path

Hope you do nothing to invoke their wrath

Those who beat and hate

Cannot escape their fate

Two ghost cry

And never die

I'm always in favor of talking and learning about people's beliefs and philosophies. It's a great way to learn about one and other, and hopefully understand each other a little better. I've asked these questions before, and I've received some interesting answers. So here are a series of questions. Fill free to answer.

1) Do you believe that an atheist like me deserves to burn in Hell? How do you feel about the concept of Hell? Do you believe that a person can only go to Heaven if they do good deeds or have to accept Christ as their savior? If you believe that a person that is not a Christian or doesn’t accept Jesus Christ as their lord and savior automatically goes to Hell to pay for their sins, then do you believe that Anne Frank is burning in Hell right now? What about Gandhi? Do you believe that Jeffery Dahmer, America’s most notorious serial killer, is in Heaven now after he converted to Christianity during his prison sentence?

2) How do you feel about homosexuality and same sex marriage? If you're against them both, without referencing the Bible, what’s your reason? If you're supportive of both, do other Christians you know feel the same? If not, why do you still hang out with them? Have any friends or family members who are gay/lesbian? And how many of them consider you a friend?

3) How old would you say the Earth is? If you say it's 6000 years, what’s your solid evidence that suggests that (again, without referencing the Bible)? What about evolution? Do you believe/support that too? If you disagree, what's your evidence against it (again, without referencing the Bible)? If agree, why do you feel some Christians won't accept scientific evidence? If they can accept that a Creator made the whole universe, can’t they make room for accepting the fact that both Earth and the universe are billions of years old?

4) According to the Bible, God has committed numerous acts of violence against humanity, from the Great Flood to the 10 Plagues of Egypt. So why is God still considered the "good guy"? Is God still the "good guy" if he watches children get beaten, get raped, or slowly die of cancer, and does nothing about it? What about the Devil? He technically punishes bad people for their sins. Why is he labeled the bad guy?

5) How do you feel knowing that there are Christian extremists out there right now that promote violence, bigotry, ignorance, and intolerance? How do you feel about televangelists who scam and rob money from their followers? How do you feel about Church groups that try to cover up sexual abuse? How did you feel when right-wing Christian extremists stormed the Capital Building on January 6th? If all these actions that these people who identify themselves as "Christians" make you upset, why do you still hold onto your faith?

Thank you for your time.

#Christianity #atheism #questions

I’ve never been the type to settle down, I’ve never felt the calling people describe to marry or have kids. I don’t want to live forever or stay young. That isn’t the point of life. I want to see the world, and get old as I do so. Is that so wrong? The world is crap anyways, it’s all death and lack of respect.

A ship to Ireland sounds great, a plane to Russia makes me want to leave right now. I have the power to do so, with the stash of money my parents left, the fire that burned them to ashes and scarred me giving me a curse wrapped in the most beautiful paper. I’ve been begged, ignored bribery, and avoided death by people who have wanted my money to remove their greed. I can tell you, money only makes you more greedy. You get it and you will never have enough, I would rather spend it all on people who need it. Those who have never experienced it and don’t want it, those people who live life to its fullest and know what it is to live without worrying about the thing that affects them the most in this ruined universe.

I’ve been lied to, told my money would save a child’s life and instead gives the person a mansion. I killed that person in the dark of night. Poison soaking though their black heart until the blood that filled it could no longer support the hardened rock.

But because if everything I have done, most have backed off. Fake charity’s disappeared, and those who needed the money got it. I would like to say I’m the kind to not brag, but hundreds of children have found homes under my watch, cancer has gotten that much closer to being cured, and hospitals finally have enough equipment and staff to safe dozens of more lives.

Yet the money never ends, it hasn’t corrupted me yet, and I hope to keep it that way. Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier... if it wasn’t a thing at all.