I don't know why it's over
But the new age has come and gone
Gone as the green in the now dead clover
Has our hope passed on?
Who can tell when it will start again?
Who knows where it will end?
Why has the world fallen down
Into the rule of a ghost king's crown?
I don't know when we'll find normal
Will we have to resort to paranormal?
Para, para, para, para
Normal----
All around me on these city streets
All that's good and innocent depletes
Oh, so innocent, oh so sweet
Why did hope have to retreat
And leave us broken?
Para, para, para, paranormal
Only our demons know the words left unspoken, spoken, spoken
We're all haunted by ghosts of the past
Until our broken winged angels rescue us at last
Who can tell when it will start again?
Who knows where it will end?
Why has the world fallen down
Into the rule of a ghost king's crown?
I don't know when we'll find normal
Will we have to resort to paranormal?
Para, para, para
Para, para, para
Paranormal----
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Friday, August 21, 2015
If You Never Fall At All
It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all
Or so they say
For with the loss of love comes the burden of pain
And never loving at all is the avoidance of the post-relationship hurt
Whether it be your best friend or your lover
To lose love hurts more than never loving at all
Love is so much more amazing when you're in it
But hurts so much more when you fall out
When you fall in love, it's easy...to...break
But if your never fall at all it's hard to feel the pain
Not feeling anything at all hurts so...much...less
But never loving is a world without hap...py...ness
If you never fall at all, it's hard to break a bone
But if you fall down and down again
You've lived more and been happier than you've ever been
If you never fall at all it's hard to break...your...heart
But if you never fall at all, what's the point in stand...ing...tall?
Thursday, August 6, 2015
The Sky is Falling Down
Scars
Fade
Along with every
Memory
Light
Fades
Along with every
Dark day
Star
Shade
Falls around me in
Tight waves
Maybe I never
Knew
Why
Oh, why
As the fire falls around me
The world still spirals down, down, down
And society crushes all my dreams
All falling around me, falling down
Maybe one day I'll understand why
The sky is falling down
Maybe I'll teach them all to see
Corrupt is knocking morals down
The world is trying to kill you and me
Da, da, na, na
The sky is falling down
As the fire falls around me
The world still spirals down, down, down
And society crushes all my dreams
All falling around me, falling down
Maybe one day I'll understand why
The sky is falling down
Falling down, falling down
The sky is falling down
And the fire falls around me
The world still spirals down, far down
And society stomps out my dreams
The sky is falling down
No one will understand why
The sky is falling down
Monday, July 6, 2015
Run Through the Sand
Every second stretches longer than it really is
Time ticks far
Too
Slow
Every hour becomes an unconquerable distance
Long time, no see
I can't wait until the time comes
It's like trying to run through sand
The waiting
I can't get any closer than time will let me
Waiting, waiting, waiting
Running, running, running, through the sands of time
Slower, slower, slower
I can't wait
But time says I must
Run through the sand
Time ticks far
Too
Slow
Every hour becomes an unconquerable distance
Long time, no see
I can't wait until the time comes
It's like trying to run through sand
The waiting
I can't get any closer than time will let me
Waiting, waiting, waiting
Running, running, running, through the sands of time
Slower, slower, slower
I can't wait
But time says I must
Run through the sand
Monday, June 22, 2015
With Every Scar Comes A Memory
I'm gonna write myself a story
Slow and peacefully
With every scar comes a memory
Slowly fading away from me
I'm gonna reach for what I can see
Each detail spreading like leaves on a tree
I'm gonna write myself a story
And my remembrance becomes cloudy
Everything I've done recalled saltily
I haven't had an original thought lately
Every little thing fading shakily
I'm gonna write myself a story
And maybe, just maybe,
These scars will be the only thing you see
And maybe you'll see
I haven't, not yet, lost me
Monday, June 15, 2015
Broken Road
Everyone needs a friend
Everyone cannot be alone
Those who wish to wish to be alone
Wish to die
For loneliness is a dark place
Along the broken road
I am an angel
Not of light, nor of dark
But I am an angel
The avenging angel
Locked in a brutal war
With the void of loneliness
Navigating with the world's forgotten at my side
Along the broken road
I walked through the door
And I found her crying
I went to sit with her
The tears flowed out of her eyes
A waterfall of trapped personality
A bandage was wrapped about her head
Stained red with hour old blood
She could barely move
But she cried
And when you beheld her rich brown eyes
You saw a soul inside
But when you beheld her mind
You saw a brain dead victim
Along the broken road
She needed a friend
Someone to help her
So I stayed
An angel of gray
Combating the loneliness that came
With those stricken by accidents
I stayed with my hand on her shoulder
Watching her soul in her rich brown eyes
Struggle to stay afloat in her muddled mind
But I had to leave her that I may navigate
Along the broken road
Down the hall I opened another door
To a man that stared
At the wall, his eyes blank
He needed a friend he did not want
He wanted for nothing
His soul was gone
Behind his glassy blue eyes
Was a shattered legacy
He had no will, for it had been splintered
Along the broken road
I stood high above the world
And I watched the girl
Not yet a woman, not yet grown
I watched them grimace at each other
The truth in their eyes reflecting the grim horror
Their souls could not take
I flew to the girl and I took her hand in mine
But she had no soul to register the gesture of kindness
Her body breathed but she did not
Her body was a slave to their machines
And their medicines
But she was not
As they cried and turned the machines off
I led the girl
Along the broken road
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Music To Your Ears
Some opt for a whiskey lullaby
Some wish to hear a song of heartbreak
Some want to listen, listen to a warbling love ballad
Some don't want to feel anything at all
But all want music to their ears
Some claim they don't dance
But have never found someone to dance with
Some say they don't sing, no, no
But they haven't found the right song or
Music to their ears
La, la, la, la, la, la
Listen to the wind
Hear the babbling brook
Or drop that bass, bass, oh, oh
Pluck some strings or tap some drums
Listen to a good voice
Or an old, sad, song, oh, oh
Find your music, music
Music to your ears
Up high on the treble clef
Or down low is the bass clef
Flying in between the registers
Or maybe hit a couple of eighth notes, eighth notes
On a good snare drum
Pluck some strings on that guitar
Pull a bow across that violin
La, la, la, la, la, la
Listen to the wind
Hear the babbling brook
Or drop that bass, bass, oh, oh
Pluck some strings or tap some drums
Listen to a good voice
Or an old, sad, song, oh, oh
Find your music, music
Music to your ears
Find your music, music
Music to your
Woah, oh, oh, oh
Listen to the, oh, oh
Hear that, oh, oh
Or drop that, oh, oh
Pluck some, oh, oh, or tap some, oh, oh
Listen to an, oh, oh
Or an, oh, oh, oh
Find your, oh, oh
Music to your ears
Oh, oh, oh
Music to your ears
Some wish to hear a song of heartbreak
Some want to listen, listen to a warbling love ballad
Some don't want to feel anything at all
But all want music to their ears
Some claim they don't dance
But have never found someone to dance with
Some say they don't sing, no, no
But they haven't found the right song or
Music to their ears
La, la, la, la, la, la
Listen to the wind
Hear the babbling brook
Or drop that bass, bass, oh, oh
Pluck some strings or tap some drums
Listen to a good voice
Or an old, sad, song, oh, oh
Find your music, music
Music to your ears
Up high on the treble clef
Or down low is the bass clef
Flying in between the registers
Or maybe hit a couple of eighth notes, eighth notes
On a good snare drum
Pluck some strings on that guitar
Pull a bow across that violin
La, la, la, la, la, la
Listen to the wind
Hear the babbling brook
Or drop that bass, bass, oh, oh
Pluck some strings or tap some drums
Listen to a good voice
Or an old, sad, song, oh, oh
Find your music, music
Music to your ears
Find your music, music
Music to your
Woah, oh, oh, oh
Listen to the, oh, oh
Hear that, oh, oh
Or drop that, oh, oh
Pluck some, oh, oh, or tap some, oh, oh
Listen to an, oh, oh
Or an, oh, oh, oh
Find your, oh, oh
Music to your ears
Oh, oh, oh
Music to your ears
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Any Last Words?
Any last words?
No, no, you cannot speak
For the world shall show no mercy
Any final requests?
They shan't be honored
For no one takes the time to hear
Any last words
No, no, you cannot speak
For the world shall show no mercy
Any final requests?
They shan't be honored
For no one takes the time to hear
Any last words
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Weird Nights 3.0 THE FINAL CHAPTER
Trumpet was secretly a little scared. First, French and Bass had disappeared. Then, Trumpet started having the visions.
They were just small glimpses at first. A raging fire. A desolate landscape. A crying mother, clutching the still body of a child. A dried up riverbed. A flooded neighborhood, the homes in ruin.
Then, the visions became accompanied by smells. Burning flesh. Metallic blood. Dry dust. Rotten meat.
Trumpet felt trapped in his own head. The final blow to his sanity, the one that drove him over the edge, were the sounds. Sizzling water. Dry wind. The screams. Of agony, despair, fear, loneliness, broken promises, shattered dreams. More screams. Of victory, fiendish delight, battle.
Trumpet was clutching his ears, curled into the fetal position on the floor of his bedroom, muttering nonstop about the pain, the desolation, the loneliness, the insanity, faster, and faster, and faster, and faster and faster and faster and faster. Trumpet screamed, he cried, he shouted, until his throat was raw, his eyes dry, and his voice ripped apart.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he refused to eat. He didn't want more energy to hear more noises, see more places, smell more odors.
The visions, the sounds, and the noises began to stay longer.
Trumpet was trapped in eternity, inside his own head. Mumbling, screeching, crying, screaming, sobbing, more and more until his own terror swallowed him, scathing him with icy claws. His heart pounded, and every time he heard the thud, thud, thud, Trumpet could see someone being beaten. First, they were men, engaged in a fight. Next, the victim were women, being beaten with long metal poles, covered in dried blood. Before Trumpet snapped, they were children. Young children. Being kicked, bruised, starved. Trumpet was buried alive, every thud of his heart shoveling more and more mania on top of him.
And Trumpet Highnotes snapped.
His brain seemed disconnected from his body. It moved, it pounded, and it screamed. The intensity forced Trumpet to howl, to shriek, to beg mercy from an unwilling master. Trumpet couldn't take it any more. Then Nate Soakreed came to visit him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brad awoke from the most horrifying nightmare he had ever dreamt up. Slowly and shakily, he got out of bed. Men in white hazmat suits swarmed in. Brad shouted and tried to claw through the suits, but he couldn't very well claw through plastic. The men held his arms and legs like Huns. One held a cool metal barrel to Brad's head. The clocked slowed down. The trigger clicked, Brad breathed out, the gunpowder ignited, the bullet spun out of the barrel.
And Brad could dream no more.
They were just small glimpses at first. A raging fire. A desolate landscape. A crying mother, clutching the still body of a child. A dried up riverbed. A flooded neighborhood, the homes in ruin.
Then, the visions became accompanied by smells. Burning flesh. Metallic blood. Dry dust. Rotten meat.
Trumpet felt trapped in his own head. The final blow to his sanity, the one that drove him over the edge, were the sounds. Sizzling water. Dry wind. The screams. Of agony, despair, fear, loneliness, broken promises, shattered dreams. More screams. Of victory, fiendish delight, battle.
Trumpet was clutching his ears, curled into the fetal position on the floor of his bedroom, muttering nonstop about the pain, the desolation, the loneliness, the insanity, faster, and faster, and faster, and faster and faster and faster and faster. Trumpet screamed, he cried, he shouted, until his throat was raw, his eyes dry, and his voice ripped apart.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he refused to eat. He didn't want more energy to hear more noises, see more places, smell more odors.
The visions, the sounds, and the noises began to stay longer.
Trumpet was trapped in eternity, inside his own head. Mumbling, screeching, crying, screaming, sobbing, more and more until his own terror swallowed him, scathing him with icy claws. His heart pounded, and every time he heard the thud, thud, thud, Trumpet could see someone being beaten. First, they were men, engaged in a fight. Next, the victim were women, being beaten with long metal poles, covered in dried blood. Before Trumpet snapped, they were children. Young children. Being kicked, bruised, starved. Trumpet was buried alive, every thud of his heart shoveling more and more mania on top of him.
And Trumpet Highnotes snapped.
His brain seemed disconnected from his body. It moved, it pounded, and it screamed. The intensity forced Trumpet to howl, to shriek, to beg mercy from an unwilling master. Trumpet couldn't take it any more. Then Nate Soakreed came to visit him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brad awoke from the most horrifying nightmare he had ever dreamt up. Slowly and shakily, he got out of bed. Men in white hazmat suits swarmed in. Brad shouted and tried to claw through the suits, but he couldn't very well claw through plastic. The men held his arms and legs like Huns. One held a cool metal barrel to Brad's head. The clocked slowed down. The trigger clicked, Brad breathed out, the gunpowder ignited, the bullet spun out of the barrel.
And Brad could dream no more.
Monday, May 18, 2015
There Is A World
There is a world
Far beyond the seas of imagination
There is a world
Closer than the dust on the wind
There is a world
Where choices have only the consequences deserved
There is a world
Where the sun sets on a deep aquamarine sea
A red bubble of healthy blood
On a horizon made of tangerines
Flecked with clouds
Purple lavenders, pink carnations, red poinsettias, white roses
Painted beyond the simple azure sky
There is a world
A world where crime is brought to justice
A world where bullies are bullied back
A world where no one goes to bed hungry at night
A world where navy blue midnight
Doesn't spell crime
A world not bourne on one person's shoulders
Threatening to crush them
A world where the grass is never dead
But not always green
There is a world
A world beyond the sea of desolation
There is a world
A world closer than the screams on the wind
There is world
A world where no one gets away with it
There is a world
A world
There is a world we can always be
Far beyond the seas of imagination
There is a world
Closer than the dust on the wind
There is a world
Where choices have only the consequences deserved
There is a world
Where the sun sets on a deep aquamarine sea
A red bubble of healthy blood
On a horizon made of tangerines
Flecked with clouds
Purple lavenders, pink carnations, red poinsettias, white roses
Painted beyond the simple azure sky
There is a world
A world where crime is brought to justice
A world where bullies are bullied back
A world where no one goes to bed hungry at night
A world where navy blue midnight
Doesn't spell crime
A world not bourne on one person's shoulders
Threatening to crush them
A world where the grass is never dead
But not always green
There is a world
A world beyond the sea of desolation
There is a world
A world closer than the screams on the wind
There is world
A world where no one gets away with it
There is a world
A world
There is a world we can always be
Empty Promises
Black hair, blue eyes
The hopeless space between stars
The color of lies
Red gold, silver lines
The hue of hollow pain
Wrapping up and down his arms in empty vines
She broke all of her
Empty promises
Wreaking frost on his soul
He was hurt
By all of her
Empty promises
Stolen Wishes
Bloodthirsty ways
He paid for all of it
Empty promises
They found his body two days later
Covered in silver lines
With no more sunshine
Shining from beneath his scars
Red gold
The hue of empty promises
Stolen wishes
Heaven, sin
Even the hopeless space
Between stars
Like his hair
Now stained
With empty promises
Fire, hell
Sunlight, heaven
Too cold for the color of lies
Akin to his staring eyes
Glassy and filled
With empty promises
The hopeless space between stars
The color of lies
Red gold, silver lines
The hue of hollow pain
Wrapping up and down his arms in empty vines
She broke all of her
Empty promises
Wreaking frost on his soul
He was hurt
By all of her
Empty promises
Stolen Wishes
Bloodthirsty ways
He paid for all of it
Empty promises
They found his body two days later
Covered in silver lines
With no more sunshine
Shining from beneath his scars
Red gold
The hue of empty promises
Stolen wishes
Heaven, sin
Even the hopeless space
Between stars
Like his hair
Now stained
With empty promises
Fire, hell
Sunlight, heaven
Too cold for the color of lies
Akin to his staring eyes
Glassy and filled
With empty promises
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Marvelous
Today was a good day
It was not a hard day
But filled with sweat nonetheless
I thought not about quitting
No one lost
Today was a good day
Today was a fine day
Filled with laughter and cheer
But reality loomed around the corner
I thought not about hurt or hurting
Everyone smiled
Today was a fine day
It was not a hard day
But filled with sweat nonetheless
I thought not about quitting
No one lost
Today was a good day
Today was a fine day
Filled with laughter and cheer
But reality loomed around the corner
I thought not about hurt or hurting
Everyone smiled
Today was a fine day
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Peace
Ignorance
Only bliss in short
Aloofness
The only choice for a hurting heart
Gossip
Only for pinch faced hawks
Rumors
The bane of eternity, just weeds
Pain
The only vector of sweet release
Isolation
A long time friend of hurt
Bravery
Deserts those who need it most
Cowardice
The only way out
Gunshots
Slashing knives
Peace
Freedom
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
The Nightmare Never Ends
Head held high
Looking over a broken city
Wind blowing through the streets
A burning smell racing through the heat
Looking down on a sea of destruction
Everywhere I look, all I see is misery
Everywhere I hear, another innocent life is wasted
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
Darkness light the day
Light darken the night
If I open my eyes
The nightmare never ends
If I open my ears
I'll never see your tears
Another detonation, another terror
Another group claiming for belief
Worst things in the world
Everything I see
Garland
Sandy Hook
ISIS
All justified by belief
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
Politicians promise relief
But all they relieve is our wallets
Looking over a broken country
Wondering when it all will end
When we will bring ourselves to destruction
Darkness light the day
Light darken the night
If I open my eyes
The nightmare never ends
If I open my ears
I'll never see your tears
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
More injustice
Looking over this broken world
Time will never slow
Slowing to a stop
Innovation cannot reach those set in their ways
Their ways
Silence, oppression, ostracism
Another parent abducts their own child
Another shooting
Another 9/11
Another broken country
Another broken world
Looking over a broken city
Wind blowing through the streets
A burning smell racing through the heat
Looking down on a sea of destruction
Everywhere I look, all I see is misery
Everywhere I hear, another innocent life is wasted
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
Darkness light the day
Light darken the night
If I open my eyes
The nightmare never ends
If I open my ears
I'll never see your tears
Another detonation, another terror
Another group claiming for belief
Worst things in the world
Everything I see
Garland
Sandy Hook
ISIS
All justified by belief
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
Politicians promise relief
But all they relieve is our wallets
Looking over a broken country
Wondering when it all will end
When we will bring ourselves to destruction
Darkness light the day
Light darken the night
If I open my eyes
The nightmare never ends
If I open my ears
I'll never see your tears
And I can't even hear my heartbeat
But I can hear my screams
More injustice
Looking over this broken world
Time will never slow
Slowing to a stop
Innovation cannot reach those set in their ways
Their ways
Silence, oppression, ostracism
Another parent abducts their own child
Another shooting
Another 9/11
Another broken country
Another broken world
Friday, April 24, 2015
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
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
Friday, April 3, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
A Game of Lies
Don't you know I can't see your face
Or play all of your little games
Don't you know I can't see your cards
But I can see your cheating ways
Don't you know I can't Hold 'Em
Or work with a royal flush
Don't you know poker is a game of lies
And you play poker all the time
Don't you know I can read your poker face
And even when you aren't playing cards
Don't you know I watched you cheat
And I'm hiding a two pair
Or play all of your little games
Don't you know I can't see your cards
But I can see your cheating ways
Don't you know I can't Hold 'Em
Or work with a royal flush
Don't you know poker is a game of lies
And you play poker all the time
Don't you know I can read your poker face
And even when you aren't playing cards
Don't you know I watched you cheat
And I'm hiding a two pair
Friday, March 6, 2015
Weird Nights 2.0
The doctor choked on his own saliva. He had watched as Subject 3R-Justin brutally murdered Subject 3R-Holly. The feeling of helplessness plagued his mind and his throat. His breath was constricted by both his disease and his worry. Subject 3R-Justin would be going for more. He would make a ghost of that town. He had started with Subject 3R-Holly, and the doctor knew he would not stop until the last person was gone. The doctor sneezed. His head pitched forward and his balance shifted. Had he not been sitting, he surely would have fallen.
The only thing more unsettling than Subject 3R-Justin's actions was Subject 3R-Holly's last words. Instead of calling her killer Nate, she called him Justin. She had asked for an Andrew, whom she knew as Bass. The serum had faded the minutes before her death. Was it her terror? Was it her resignation? What had she seen while knocked out? The doctor sneezed and sent his chair backward a bit. No, it wouldn't be long.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frenchie Midrange awoke to silence. Not the kind of silence where there isn't noise going on around him, no, this was not normal. Frenchie could not hear his own breath, or the beating of his own heart. Frenchie could not hear anything. He sat up and was greeted by the rustle of the covers, but nothing else. Nothing. The silence unnerved him to the point of looking around to make sure something wasn't stalking him. What would be, he didn't know.
A sudden stabbing pain gripped his chest. He felt like his heart was being torn in two. Frenchie crumpled to the ground, panting and hugging his chest. His chest was falling apart, falling apart on the inside. Frenchie could not breath, couldn't think, couldn't breathe...
As quickly as it came on, the feeling stopped. Frenchie stood up shakily. His chest seemed to have knit itself back together, but a throbbing pain pulsed to the beat of his heart, directly in the center of his chest. Frenchie put his hand on the epicenter of the pain. That part of his chest felt stone cold, but otherwise no different than it was usually.
Frenchie padded down the hall with bare feet, stopping at the door to French's room. He pressed his ear to the door. He was greeted by yawning silence. Frenchie opened the door, just a crack. The room was empty. The covers on the bed were rumpled and the window was open. Open. French hissed through his nose. What had his sister done now?
The constricting pain surged forth once more, spider webbing through his chest as though it were glass. For a precarious moment, the cracks in Frenchie's chest balanced carefully, then shattered. The glass of his resistance broke away and the pain flooded through his chest. Frenchie found himself on the floor, hugging his chest. Hot, molten glass poured itself into his chest cavity, and Frenchie couldn't breathe.
Like the first time, the pain snapped away as suddenly as it had set upon him. Frenchie felt heavy and full of glass. He stood up shakily. His feet stuck to the ground, weighed down with the glass that had leaked out of his chest. What had happened? Where was French? The spiderwebbing pain threatened to break him at the thought of French.
Frantic, Frenchie pulled on a shirt and jogged outside, breaking the glass in his chest with every step. His socked feet pounded in protest against the sidewalk. The shards of the glass scratched around, and around, and around, attempting to excise Frenchie's heart. "French?" He shouted. "French!" He ran down the sidewalk next to the pitifully unused street. "French! French Midrange!" His throat scratched at him, angry at being used so quickly and so rudely.
Frenchie was all but sprinting in his socked feet, shouting for his sister. He couldn't breathe anymore, and tears attempted to close his throat, to choke him while he was screaming for the only thing that made his life worth living. Frenchie refused to let them fall out of his eyes, refused to let the salt stream down his face and forcing him to get up. "French!" He choked, his vision blurred.
Navigating the town by memory, Frenchie went everywhere he could think of and some places he couldn't; the ration bank, the houses of everyone that lived in Band, the automated salon, the clothing dispension, the library, and the entrance to the park. Choking on his own failure and gripping the now numb soles of his feet, Frenchie debated on getting help before he went to search for his sister in the park. "French!" He quaked in exhaustion, fear, and a strange sense of heavy peace, laden with depression, stagnant rivers of once-clear water, and a grim truth.
And Frenchie Midrange did the heroic thing in that instant.
He fainted.
The only thing more unsettling than Subject 3R-Justin's actions was Subject 3R-Holly's last words. Instead of calling her killer Nate, she called him Justin. She had asked for an Andrew, whom she knew as Bass. The serum had faded the minutes before her death. Was it her terror? Was it her resignation? What had she seen while knocked out? The doctor sneezed and sent his chair backward a bit. No, it wouldn't be long.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frenchie Midrange awoke to silence. Not the kind of silence where there isn't noise going on around him, no, this was not normal. Frenchie could not hear his own breath, or the beating of his own heart. Frenchie could not hear anything. He sat up and was greeted by the rustle of the covers, but nothing else. Nothing. The silence unnerved him to the point of looking around to make sure something wasn't stalking him. What would be, he didn't know.
A sudden stabbing pain gripped his chest. He felt like his heart was being torn in two. Frenchie crumpled to the ground, panting and hugging his chest. His chest was falling apart, falling apart on the inside. Frenchie could not breath, couldn't think, couldn't breathe...
As quickly as it came on, the feeling stopped. Frenchie stood up shakily. His chest seemed to have knit itself back together, but a throbbing pain pulsed to the beat of his heart, directly in the center of his chest. Frenchie put his hand on the epicenter of the pain. That part of his chest felt stone cold, but otherwise no different than it was usually.
Frenchie padded down the hall with bare feet, stopping at the door to French's room. He pressed his ear to the door. He was greeted by yawning silence. Frenchie opened the door, just a crack. The room was empty. The covers on the bed were rumpled and the window was open. Open. French hissed through his nose. What had his sister done now?
The constricting pain surged forth once more, spider webbing through his chest as though it were glass. For a precarious moment, the cracks in Frenchie's chest balanced carefully, then shattered. The glass of his resistance broke away and the pain flooded through his chest. Frenchie found himself on the floor, hugging his chest. Hot, molten glass poured itself into his chest cavity, and Frenchie couldn't breathe.
Like the first time, the pain snapped away as suddenly as it had set upon him. Frenchie felt heavy and full of glass. He stood up shakily. His feet stuck to the ground, weighed down with the glass that had leaked out of his chest. What had happened? Where was French? The spiderwebbing pain threatened to break him at the thought of French.
Frantic, Frenchie pulled on a shirt and jogged outside, breaking the glass in his chest with every step. His socked feet pounded in protest against the sidewalk. The shards of the glass scratched around, and around, and around, attempting to excise Frenchie's heart. "French?" He shouted. "French!" He ran down the sidewalk next to the pitifully unused street. "French! French Midrange!" His throat scratched at him, angry at being used so quickly and so rudely.
Frenchie was all but sprinting in his socked feet, shouting for his sister. He couldn't breathe anymore, and tears attempted to close his throat, to choke him while he was screaming for the only thing that made his life worth living. Frenchie refused to let them fall out of his eyes, refused to let the salt stream down his face and forcing him to get up. "French!" He choked, his vision blurred.
Navigating the town by memory, Frenchie went everywhere he could think of and some places he couldn't; the ration bank, the houses of everyone that lived in Band, the automated salon, the clothing dispension, the library, and the entrance to the park. Choking on his own failure and gripping the now numb soles of his feet, Frenchie debated on getting help before he went to search for his sister in the park. "French!" He quaked in exhaustion, fear, and a strange sense of heavy peace, laden with depression, stagnant rivers of once-clear water, and a grim truth.
And Frenchie Midrange did the heroic thing in that instant.
He fainted.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Train Of Thought
That awful, awful smile
The more I think another tear falls out of my eye
Dripping into a salty pool
The more I think the more I love
Knowing he could never be mine
The more I think the less I know
What I fell for first
Was it his eyes, steely and mystic?
Was it his ego, ready for anything?
Was it the way he handled everything that seemed so smooth and flawless?
Was it his smirking smile?
The more I think the more I smile
A smile of love unrequited
The more I think another tear slips out of my eye
Collecting on my soaked through pillow
The more I think the more I love
A love that could kill me unreturned
The more I think the less I know
What I like about him so much
His wit, his athleticism, his virtuosity, his height?
His lean muscle, the slightly fuller shape to his lips?
The way he rocks slightly back and forth and concentrates totally on his music?
The sarcasm that is so often directed at me, or the snippets where he's calm?
The more I think the more I hurt
It's not healthy at all
The more I think the less I cry
All the tears are gone
The more I think the more I'm sure
Friday, February 6, 2015
Lone Warrior
The girl glared at the men holding guns trained upon her head. She threw back her head and laughed. "I regret nothing! I hope this rebellion ends...and Silver Rim rises!" She shouted deliriously. Her bronze locks flew around her head and stuck to her sweat soaked face. "Kill me and you'll find a martyr instead of a wolf." Her insanity filtered from her expression. Her eyes were black in the moonlight. "I've said my bit. Shoot me like you do to all of your problems. Silver Rim!" She closed her eyes tightly, almost like she was wishing herself to sleep.
The person directly in front of her, clad in a black jumpsuit with a mask over the eyes pulled the hammer back on his pistol. "In the order of King Arthur, ruler of this country of Tejas, I give this criminal, guilty of treason, murder, attempted assassination, and instigation of a rebellion, the ultimate penalty." The slack on the trigger lessened. "She was known as the Lone Warrior, a prowling wolf. She was simply another traitor. I, General Wesly E. Griffin, in the name of King Arthur, shall execute Breileigh Hazelthorn." The trigger became taut.
A loud bang and a bright flash occurred in that next second. When the gun smoke cleared, two bodies lied upon the ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SIX YEARS EARLIER
Breileigh gulped. She knew it was coming. She would have to fight. All the children from her Sector did. Sector 5, just like the other four, had Panem every year. Bread and circuses. Breileigh shuddered. She have to fight things. Terrible things. No children were allowed to watch Panem. No one talked about it. All Breileigh knew was that she would have to fight. The winner got to live. The loser was mercilessly executed. Painfully.
Panem always had 15 year olds. Always. Breileigh found herself in the holding cell, along with several other teens. The trainers would come soon. Each trainer took on four teens. At the end of Panem, two would have survived, if not less. Breileigh knew she had about a week. That was the standard preparation period.
The white walls of the cell made Breileigh uncomfortable. One wall was entirely glass. None of the teens dared to touch it. Rumors, like little weeds, stated that it was electrified. No one wanted to find out.
Breileigh Hazelthorn could not remember when she began to live with the wolves. She remembered back, far back, but her memory abruptly snapped away, like a solid wall of stones had been placed there. She remembered being but one year old, still a squirming infant, and being found by the wolves. She remembered the Wolfspeak, as clear as her own thoughts, and she remembered replying. Breileigh thus became Nameless Windsong. The wolves took her in, raised her in the savage ways of wolf, taught her honor, nobility, and cunning. And then the Raid had destroyed her life.
Breileigh remembered the Raid like she knew the Wolfspeak, with a natural understanding and clarity not found in the nature she was raised in. Breileigh remembered her shining hair become fur, she remembered the muscles cording along her body. She had lost Breileigh then, she was but Nameless Windsong, brassy furred, viciously large, and soft as down. Nameless Windsong had snarled, a snarl full of rage, of fury, of warning...and of weakness. The Tsar of the other pack, whom insisted upon being called Tsar, Breileigh reflected, had leapt upon Nameless Windsong's body, his claws tearing her soft and thin skin like her own fingernails ripped apart leaves. Nameless Windsong had collapsed, the world becoming darker, darker, darker...
The glass wall fell away. Three graying people with slumped shoulders and haggard faces shone the black spotlight of their hollow eyes into the cell. The first one, a woman so sallow her bones practically poked through her skin, and scrapes adorned every joint. A strange blue fluid leaked from the visible orifices on her body. What this a Trainer? She looked like a Feddie, Breileigh mentally gagged.
The Feddie grabbed the wrists of four frightened teens, and they disappeared out of the wall, each cringing as they passed through the once-barrier.
Breileigh had heard the rumors. If one lost the fights of Panem while the people of the Castle watched and ate, the teen would be taken before a jury, found guilty of weakness, and put to death. No one but the people from the Castle knew what horrific tortures awaited the felon beyond the court. Some said the losing side was fed to ravenous wolves. Others said they were left in a dark room to go crazy. Some said the losers were forced to become part of the Castle itself, as a lowly servant, and that was the best the losing side would ever do. Of course, rumor had it. And Breileigh had never trusted rumors.
The final Feddie grabbed Breileigh's wrist. She cried out in a whimper she had not uttered since her days in the wolf den, when the fox had attacked. Breileigh's pack brother, Lone Warrior, had been taken. The whole pack had known he was dead, but did not mourn. That was not the way of wolf. That was not how Breileigh grew up. Lone Warrior was only ever seen by his pack on one separate occasion: the Raid.
The Feddie led Breileigh and three other teens down a hallway. As each opened doorway yawned past, Breileigh got more and more nervous. her teeth cut her lip. Breileigh could not, would not, be capable of becoming Nameless Windsong here. there was no water, no sweet forest air. Nameless Windsong would go upon a rage that she could not win. Not here.
Nameless Windsong defied the laws of wolf teachings. She was soft, she mourned, and she did not fight. Breileigh knew that, for Nameless Windsong's ears and tail, Nameless Windsong was not wolf. Nameless Windsong was human. Humans did not belong in the forest. Humans belonged in the caves. In the Panem. In the Sectors. In the Castle. Breileigh did not belong here, there, anywhere. Breileigh was a wolf, howling to the stars, begging them to come out, to hide the moon and it's destruction. Breileigh was the savage growl man scurried from. Breileigh was wolf. Breileigh was wild. Breileigh was the bearer of Wolfspeak. Breileigh was the wolf.
The light in the hallway waned to barely a thing, hazing the lines the quickly ramshackling hall bore. The Feddie brought Breileigh deeper and deeper into the building, while the air choked and squeezed its way back, speaking to Breileigh in a language older than the forests Breileigh yearned to flow through, ears back and tail flying, no longer human but wolf. Danger, run away, the rushing breeze whispered, deep in Breileigh's ears. The warning became more and more frantic, crescendoing to a feral, terrified howl carried by the wind of a pup without a mother. WhoooOOOoooOoooo...
Suddenly, the hall opened into a large, brightly lit cavern. The sudden light hacked into Breileigh's eyes with a hiss. She growled, her voice reverberating throughout the cavern like the wolf she knew yearned to break free. The Feddie released its death grip on Breileigh's wrist. Blood rushed into her hand, bringing forth a whimper to cut off the growl. She looked at the other three teens.
"Fight." The Feddie's voice scratched through the rock. "Fight."
Breileigh Hazelthorn could not remember when she began to live with the wolves. She remembered back, far back, but her memory abruptly snapped away, like a solid wall of stones had been placed there. She remembered being but one year old, still a squirming infant, and being found by the wolves. She remembered the Wolfspeak, as clear as her own thoughts, and she remembered replying. Breileigh thus became Nameless Windsong. The wolves took her in, raised her in the savage ways of wolf, taught her honor, nobility, and cunning. And then the Raid had destroyed her life.
Breileigh remembered the Raid like she knew the Wolfspeak, with a natural understanding and clarity not found in the nature she was raised in. Breileigh remembered her shining hair become fur, she remembered the muscles cording along her body. She had lost Breileigh then, she was but Nameless Windsong, brassy furred, viciously large, and soft as down. Nameless Windsong had snarled, a snarl full of rage, of fury, of warning...and of weakness. The Tsar of the other pack, whom insisted upon being called Tsar, Breileigh reflected, had leapt upon Nameless Windsong's body, his claws tearing her soft and thin skin like her own fingernails ripped apart leaves. Nameless Windsong had collapsed, the world becoming darker, darker, darker...
The glass wall fell away. Three graying people with slumped shoulders and haggard faces shone the black spotlight of their hollow eyes into the cell. The first one, a woman so sallow her bones practically poked through her skin, and scrapes adorned every joint. A strange blue fluid leaked from the visible orifices on her body. What this a Trainer? She looked like a Feddie, Breileigh mentally gagged.
The Feddie grabbed the wrists of four frightened teens, and they disappeared out of the wall, each cringing as they passed through the once-barrier.
Breileigh had heard the rumors. If one lost the fights of Panem while the people of the Castle watched and ate, the teen would be taken before a jury, found guilty of weakness, and put to death. No one but the people from the Castle knew what horrific tortures awaited the felon beyond the court. Some said the losing side was fed to ravenous wolves. Others said they were left in a dark room to go crazy. Some said the losers were forced to become part of the Castle itself, as a lowly servant, and that was the best the losing side would ever do. Of course, rumor had it. And Breileigh had never trusted rumors.
The final Feddie grabbed Breileigh's wrist. She cried out in a whimper she had not uttered since her days in the wolf den, when the fox had attacked. Breileigh's pack brother, Lone Warrior, had been taken. The whole pack had known he was dead, but did not mourn. That was not the way of wolf. That was not how Breileigh grew up. Lone Warrior was only ever seen by his pack on one separate occasion: the Raid.
The Feddie led Breileigh and three other teens down a hallway. As each opened doorway yawned past, Breileigh got more and more nervous. her teeth cut her lip. Breileigh could not, would not, be capable of becoming Nameless Windsong here. there was no water, no sweet forest air. Nameless Windsong would go upon a rage that she could not win. Not here.
Nameless Windsong defied the laws of wolf teachings. She was soft, she mourned, and she did not fight. Breileigh knew that, for Nameless Windsong's ears and tail, Nameless Windsong was not wolf. Nameless Windsong was human. Humans did not belong in the forest. Humans belonged in the caves. In the Panem. In the Sectors. In the Castle. Breileigh did not belong here, there, anywhere. Breileigh was a wolf, howling to the stars, begging them to come out, to hide the moon and it's destruction. Breileigh was the savage growl man scurried from. Breileigh was wolf. Breileigh was wild. Breileigh was the bearer of Wolfspeak. Breileigh was the wolf.
The light in the hallway waned to barely a thing, hazing the lines the quickly ramshackling hall bore. The Feddie brought Breileigh deeper and deeper into the building, while the air choked and squeezed its way back, speaking to Breileigh in a language older than the forests Breileigh yearned to flow through, ears back and tail flying, no longer human but wolf. Danger, run away, the rushing breeze whispered, deep in Breileigh's ears. The warning became more and more frantic, crescendoing to a feral, terrified howl carried by the wind of a pup without a mother. WhoooOOOoooOoooo...
Suddenly, the hall opened into a large, brightly lit cavern. The sudden light hacked into Breileigh's eyes with a hiss. She growled, her voice reverberating throughout the cavern like the wolf she knew yearned to break free. The Feddie released its death grip on Breileigh's wrist. Blood rushed into her hand, bringing forth a whimper to cut off the growl. She looked at the other three teens.
"Fight." The Feddie's voice scratched through the rock. "Fight."
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