Sweet Bethany

She hoped he was lying

He wished she was crying

Sweet Bethany trusted too much, too easy

Lying Jonathan knelt at her feet
Down on his knees
And begged for her hand, her sweet, delicate hand
Sweet Bethany gave it to him, too quick
Too easy

Oh, Sweet Bethany, ought your sorrows pierce the sky
Demanding raindrops as fat as can be
And, dear Sweet Bethany,
Hope that Lying Jonathan knows no mercy

Hair as black as the hunters through the night,
For purity and wrong thus entwined in white,
Sweet Bethany on her wedding-day
A beautiful dove not destined for flight
Lying Jonathan in his shroud of guilt,
Wore a tired grey upon the foundation of mistruths he built

Sweet Bethany knew no stronger love than hers for Lying Jonathan
Her skin, milky and fair, flooded pink upon her face
When Lying Jonathan voiced his lies
Behind her innocent back he planned
He plotted
And still Sweet Bethany remained in the darkness, alone in her cries

Oh, Sweet Bethany, ought your sorrows pierce the sky
Demanding raindrops as fat as can be
And, dear Sweet Bethany,
Hope that Lying Jonathan knows no mercy

Sweet Bethany, her skin as waxy as can be
Her raven back hair twisted and woven into braids
Gently resting on her shoulder, lest her wounds be revealed
Lying Jonathan painting sorrow at her casket
Grinning triumph as her rich mahogany vessel
Disappeared under his foundation of lies

Oh, Sweet Bethany, ought your sorrows pierce the sky
Demanding raindrops as fat as can be
And, dear Sweet Bethany,
Hope that Lying Jonathan knows no mercy

Sweet Bethany, once a lover of clouds in the sky,
Resided six feet from fresh air and lovely flowers
And Lying Jonathan lives on
Not even Fate knows why

Sweet Bethany, Sweet Bethany
Sweet Bethany, a garden of love
Sweet Bethany, a flightless dove
Sweet Bethany, Sweet Bethany

Oh, Sweet Bethany, ought your sorrows pierce the sky
Demanding raindrops as fat as can be
And, dear Sweet Bethany,
Hope that Lying Jonathan knows no mercy

Weird Nights 2.5

Bass hadn't seen French in two weeks now. No one had. It was torture to Bass, pure torture. He was wearing himself thin with worry, barely sleeping, barely eating, and constantly searching. His anxiety did not help the fact that Sonia kept insisting that he calm down.

"I can't calm down!" Bass screamed at his sister. "She's out there! She could be hurt! I have to find her!" He insisted, his eyes burning. Sonia looked as though Bass had slapped her. Bass never raised his voice. He had never even yelled at Trumpet, not even when Trumpet had kissed French. But Bass had just yelled at Sonia. He felt terrible, and her face made him feel so guilty that he couldn't breathe. He wanted to apologize, to beg Sonia to forgive him, but his mouth would not form the words. "Maybe she doesn't want to be found." Sonia said in a voice the size of a mouse. Her fear of her brother leaked into her minuscule voice. Bass let go of the tears that choked his throat and burned his eyes. He turned away from Sonia.

Bass was out in the park without another word to Sonia. His tears still waterfalled down his face, dripping to the leaves on the ground. "French!" He screamed.

Why had he kissed her? Why had he been so stupid? Bass sniffled and cracked a stick. Large, black birds with skinny and featherless necks flew up into the sky from somewhere to Bass's right. Curious, Bass jogged to the place where the birds had taken off from.

The river ran its sapphire blue finger through the clearing. On the soft mud of the banks, a perfectly white and meatless skeleton was stuck. Black feathers littered the ground around the skeleton. A silver flash nearly blinded Bass, and he knelt to examine the source.

The bracelet had a small silver heart strung on its chain. Bass's fingers fumbled to open the heart. It snapped open. Bass's heart clenched and he dropped the silver. It was a picture of Bass and French. The bracelet belonged to French.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She woke up screaming. Her terror level had spiked to the point that she had jumped out of bed. The white sheet was tangled on the floor and the purple comforter was thrown against the wall. An oversized white t-shirt hung off her shoulders and blue yoga pants brushed against her mid-calf. She looked around wildly, whimpering in pain. The girl raised the hem of the shirt to the bottom of her ribs. Her flat stomach bore no marks, no scars, no blood. She was okay. The girl let the hem of her shirt fall. She opened the door to her room and peered into the dark hallway. Cautiously, she padded down the hallway in sock feet. 

The living room was still dark. The early morning light had yet to break through the windows. On the couch, a bulk of twisted quilts had wrapped themselves around the bulky figure of a person. Anxiously, the girl sneaked across the carpet toward the figure.

He was breathing hard in his sleep, like he was in pain. His fingers twitched in his frightened sleep. "Andrew!" The girl hissed. A muscle in Andrew's jaw twitched. The girl gently touched Andrew's jugular, calmly whispering his name. "Andrew, I had another dream." She breathed. Andrew sucked in a sharp gasp and his eyes opened, glazed over in terror. "Holly!" He gasped. His arm flew to catch her wrist. He held it tenderly. "Holly, are you alright?" Andrew's eyes, colorless in the dark, beheld her with the greatest concern. It pained Holly to see him this way. "I'm fine, Andrew. Are you okay?" Her fingers brushed his neck. "I'm okay. You're okay. We're okay." Andrew smiled softly. "If your dad found you in here before he got up, he'd kill me." Holly rolled her eyes. "You're a real dork sometimes." Andrew grinned sideways. "I know. That's why you love me." "Don't bet on that." Holly brushed the skin over his jugular again. Andrew sat up and kissed her cheek.