As a child, they were the most powerful beings in the world. They were omnipotent and omniscient. There was nothing they could not do, nothing they could not achieve.

Their word was law. Should they form a negative opinion of a thing, it disappeared from the face of the earth. If something found their favour, it was transcended to the echelon reserved for the divine.

I lived in awe of them and believed they would forever guide my life.

*

Now I am a man with the foolishness of childhood long gone. Life has pierced me, battered me, taken my innocence. I have been affronted by a score of sins committed against me, and poisoned by the hundreds more I have committed.

The guardians of my youth protect me no more. In truth, I now see that they never had the ability to shield me from this dreaded world. Their power was imaginary, their influence paltry.

I regard them now with disdain, scornful of the time I spent with them in aimless play, time that could have been spent preparing for these incessant battles which make up what we call life.

*

Yesterday, my parents passed.

I look to my children and see how, in trying to be different from my parents, I have disappointed and scarred them. Have I been too harsh? Did I quell their imagination in my desire to make them ready for the world?

I do not have the answer, I cannot see the future. Perhaps my children will teach my grandchildren in manner neither I nor my parents could find. Perhaps there is no right way to raise a child, only myriad wrong ways. Is parenthood nothing but a guideless route from birth to adulthood which all are destined to fail in some way?

With this new insight comes a new appreciation of the strength, the power, the tenacity my parents displayed when raising me. Though they knew not the answers, their positive approach and keenness to chase those answers has reignited the unquestioning love I once held for them.

If he only knew,

That the previous night I had a huge fight with my mom,

Then he would know that I wasn’t trying to hurt that girl’s feelings when I made that rude remark to her in the hallway.

If he only knew,

That his class was my favorite,

Then he might not criticize me for looking a little pessimistic once in a while.

If he only knew,

That I felt crushing anxiety surrounded by all these kids that treat me like garbage,

Then he might not constantly call on me and draw unnecessary attention towards me.

If he only knew,

That a smile does not always equal happiness,

Then he might understand why sometimes my facial expressions and actions don’t always seem to match up.

If he only knew,

That my after school life consisted of therapy sessions instead of sports practices,

Then he would know that I am working through my own personal problems,

And he might be able to see the real me,

And not just the me that walks into his classroom everyday.

Ask me anyday and I will say that I love you. But on the other hand, I don't know what loving means. To love is to strain oneself for another. To love is to be forgiving.

To love is to be giving, without expecting anything in return.

And sometimes, I wonder.

Like the time you came home from your football practice and I was mad that you chose to spent time running after a ball instead of helping me clean the house.

Or the time that I was annoyed that you signed us up as volunteers without checking with me first.

Or when I realize that you have stopped writting me love letters as you once did.

Dear, I do say that I love you, but sometimes I wonder: If I loved you, what I think like this? Would I act like this? Would I speak like this?

A year ago when I really wished that you'd be mine, I would have signed up for hours and hours of voluntary practice with you! Or I would have spent hours just watching you play.

But how is it now that I have my heart's deepest desire - now that I can call you mine, now that I can love all of you, I wonder?

Ask me anyday and I will say that I love you. But on the other hand, I don't know what loving means.

Or maybe I am just not trying hard enough?

I am scared for my future, for us. What will happen to us? Will you wait for me? I'm waiting for something to happen. Am I wasting my time? Are you what I need, what I want forever? Will you change when we are free to be together? Free to be as one? I am ready for a change but scared to make a move. Life is the same, life is stable, life is lonely, life is familiar, life is unhappy. I don't know you. I don't know how to live with you. Will I be at one with you or will you drive me mad? The unknowing is killing me inside. How will I know unless I take a gamble. Is this love, a awakening, a chance for change? Or is this friendship, someone to pass time with when you are unhappy, feeling lonely and unloved? What do I do? Stay with comfort, or go with excitement and passion? Only the future will tell me who holds my destiny, the future or you...

I wanted to formally introduce myself. My name is Anslee, I live in the USA, I just turned 17, and I've been writing for a decade now.

When I was seven, I wrote a play for my Webkinz dolls. While I don't remember exactly what it was about, or how to find the video my mom recorded, it had something to do with dinosaurs and the Bahamas.

When I was in 3rd grade, I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome (high functioning autism), ADD, and was told I had a possibility of growing up with anxiety and/or depression. I ended up developing anxiety from bullying and social contrast, but I am also getting tested for depression in a few weeks. When I hit 4th grade, I was taken out of public school for a year when my teacher physically assaulted me out of aggrivation of my differences. That's when I stopped screenwriting and moved onto short stories and fanfiction.

I dropped writing for a while after that. I didn't get really into it again until high school. I now have written one novel (it's a fanfiction, but it has 133 pages, so in a technical sense, it's still a novel) and I'm writing another.

My current works so far are:

-Beautiful Minds (Dystopian-esque novel to raise mental health awareness)

-"Stay Determined" CharAsriel Undertale fanfic that shows my interpretation of Chara's backstory

These are the only two I'm working seriously on. If you'd like to find them, "Beautiful Minds" is on fictionpress.net (username: VocaloidMaster13) and "Stay Determined" will be on my fanfiction.net (user: VocaloidMaster13) when it's finished and/or on my fanicfiction Wattpad account (user: ToriSansCharAsriel).

I can feel your fingers

fingers and hands

where they once resided

a time ago

feel them digging

digging and pulling

feel them glide

feel you pulling me impossibly close

feel hands squeeze

hips dig in

lips press hard

tongues do dance

I can feel it all

all from a time ago

fingers and hands

the ghost of them

the ghost of you

I feel it brushing against my skin

close my eyes

feel you here

next to me

on top of me

kissing me

holding me

squeezing me

the ghost of you

is touching me

fingers and hands are touching me

the memory of you

is on me

it paints my skin

it feels each beating breath

each catching breath

all from a time ago

fingers glide and dance over hidden skin

hands pull and hold; closer and closer I go

I feel fingers, hands, and even lips

they whisper softly on my chest

hands and fingers moving swift

digging deep down into hips

while now you're gone

I'll close my eyes

and come alive

under the memory of

your fingers and hands

Eyes come alive in the dead of night

Silent sigh

all your weight on top; into me

closer, closer

lips caress skin; teeth graze skin

claw you nearer

fingers glide over a pounding chest

breathe deep

hands crawl into hidden spaces

oh yes

lips touch what hasn't been

exhilaration; ecstasy

all I can feel is you; your hands, your touch

breath you in

I hunger for your hands

on thigh, on stomach, on neck, on chest, in hair

your touch is a drug

i'm floating high

a guilty addict of you

closer, closer

claw you in

closer, closer

breath you in

eyes meet, smiles greet

heart races and pulls and tugs

my love for you is so much fun

Fall arrived tonight

A stranger in Summerʼs town

He stole into the night

As the streets quieted down

A tricky little sprite

With a dying twisted crown

He searched across the moonlight

And ran until he fell down

In front of tallest tree in sight

And he presented her a gown

In the twinkling starlight

You could see the reds and browns

His tears came to light

Before his head could bow

As he wished with all his mite

That he could grow into her ground

 "So you're the lil Miss."

     That was the first ever utterance from his lips as he stood in our dusty driveway just beneath our scrawny apple tree. We both took our time sizing one another up. I think every inch of my ten year old self was in love with him, even then.

     He never had much to say, and he would mostly keep to himself. But to my precocious young self, he was ever indulgent, always patient in the face of my neverending questions. He used to carry a tiny, worn scrap of parchment in a pouch he kept near his heart. One night after sup, I snuck out through my bedroom window and shimmied down the iron bougainvillea trellis, snagging my linen night shift in the process. I made my way to the barn across the crisp summertime lawn, made silver in the moonlight like an old black and white movie.

     He had not settled in yet for the night, instead staring up at the moon as he absentmindedly twined a new length of rope. Lulu, my old mare, snickered softly in her stall at my approach, rousing him from whatever demons claimed his thoughts that evening.

     "Ain't cha s'pposed to be tucked away safe in bed, lil Miss?" he spared me just a glance before resuming his quiet work.

     I was a bold little scrap back in those days. "What is it that's so special, Charlie Davies,  that you always have it hidden in your breast pocket?"

      The corner of his lip lifted just a bit. "You been spyin' up on me, lil one?"

      "No! Is just a question, is all! I seen ya, after all the otha boys take off to town, you never join 'em just always hole yourself up in here, all pensive like, brooding over that old raggedy paper. "

     I had become all of a sudden abashed and indignant at being found out in my rapt observation. Still, curiosity got the better of my childish fancies. I picked at a loose thread on my nightgown, eyeing him shyly, until my questions about burst forth from me.

     "What is on the paper? Is it a love letter from your sweetheart? Can I see it?"

     "NO!" His face was a shadow as he hurried me out of the side passage of the barn, pushing me firmly by my shoulders and closing the door behind me. Through the wood I heard the tortured tone in his muffled voice, "Go away, Gracie Anne."

     The next morning Paw said he had left without even a goodbye, leaving all his belonging behind save for the clothes on his back. "And that dumb parchment he loved so much," I muttered to myself, kicking the duffel full of his discarded things, my innocent heart broken.

_._._._._

     Grace attempted to shake last night's drinking out of her still hazy mind as she navigated the traffic that Monday morning. She was at the last long bend of slightly cliff hugging highway before she arrived at the town proper. She heaved another heavy sigh as the mostly tourist traffic inched gingerly past the requisite "Proceed with Caution" sign. For chrissakes people! It's a road, a fairly wide one at that, not a friggin' trapeze act! Grace took a couple more quick breaths to calm herself. She was already running late with this errand as it was, and Mike, her boss, would be expecting her in the office in two hours. 'Don't take me out for drinks late on a Sunday, then,' she fretted listlessly in her muddled brain. 'Don't invite yourself over for sex at my place and then leave only a curt note behind in the morning." She thrummed a frenetic beat on the steering wheel as the traffic inched along until she finally made it to her destination.

     Mike's vague instructions only indicated that she were to pick up a file from a friend of his at the local library who curated oddities and tidbits from throughout rural U.S. history. Nevermind telling Grace that the "local" library was about a two hour drive away from the city proper. What a dick. For all she knew, this could be a ploy to avoid her. All she knew for certain was that they were planning on running a piece at the magazine on obscure urban legends and their supposed origins.

     File in hand, she hurriedly got in her car, zooming past novelty shops and signs. Soon she was back on the highway, elated that she may actually make it on time. Damn, traffic! Still?! At this hour? Up the queue a little further, she finally saw the reason for the delay: another "Proceed with Caution" sign. What was up with those in this area? She honked her horn a few times at the nervous drivers ahead of her, gritting her teeth at her predicament. Looks like they would be at a near standstill for quite awhile.  'Might as well take a look at what was so important to drive out of the city limits for!' Still flustered from last night's extracurricular activities, Grace cranks open the windows a bit as she peeks at the file. The brisk ocean air enters the car and fans the file before she could hurriedly shut the windows again.

     There on the freshly exposed page is a sketch of Charlie Davies.

     A honk behind her lifts her from her initial shock. At each frequent stop of the traffic, she pieces together fragments. Widower. Suspicion of foul play. The Lovesick Murderer. A trail of victims with a telltale similarity. Two unrequited loves of his life. Grace arrives at his confession as the line of cars begin to slow down again.

     "I loved Maybelle with all my heart, even after she gone left me. I always told her she should never try to leave me. We were meant to be. I loved my wife, I really did, but I wasn't so heartbroken for very long after I met little Gracie Anne. I think I may have loved Gracie even more than I had my wife after a point! She was too young to understand the depth of my feelings, so I had to be patient and wait for her. I saw her in every pretty face, but none of them ever measured up.

     Another impatient honk from behind and Grace steps hard on the gas without thinking.

     She swears the bright yellow caution sign was mocking as she slid past it, down, down towards the teasing blue expanse of the Pacific.

Originally written for @Soaring_Skylark 's  #skylarkchallenge at Lettrs.com for its anniversary competition. Required words: parchment, passage, pensive, thread, apple, rope. Required phrase: proceed with caution.