Part 2: Missing Beats

Today she’s going to school. She couldn’t go last week because I had a stomach bug, but I seem to have gotten better over the weekend. I can’t help but feel guilty for making her miss her ballet lessons all last week; she’s dreamed of being a ballerina since we were four. I have to make sure we don’t miss too many classes on account of me, or she might not be welcome back. But I can’t help it if she doesn’t get her calcium everyday or get all her vitamins. It was easier when we were four; her mother always made sure she got every essential mineral. It was like that for a while, and when mom forgot, we remembered.

We used to be so good at that; she was the perfect child and student: never missing homework, A’s on every test, keeping the cleanest room in the house, practicing our splits right before bed. She never missed a beat. But I’m just skin, blood, and bones, I couldn’t really do anything when she needed me most. Needed me to stop, to pull away, to let go, when she couldn’t.

Ninth grade, her first year in high school, and she was on top of everything. While her peers could barely snatch a B in Freshman English, she was the star pupil, and passed her first quarter with a 97. It would’ve been a 98 too, if it hadn’t been for that group project. That was the project, wasn’t it? It was while they were reading To Kill a Mockingbird. The teacher assigned them random partners, and they had to act out a scene from the book. Oh, if it had been any other project. But there's no going back now, no changing the past. She went over to his house, so that they could work on the project together. It started out that way, at least. But even after the project was turned in, we still walked to his house every day. We started going out later and later and later, even staying till morning some nights. Mom had trusted us so much, she’d never set a curfew, but even she was able to see what was going on. Mom wouldn't stand for it any longer. And she was grounded. Just like that. “You should’ve known better.” That’s what Mom would say. It became her motto over the next few years, but it didn’t even take that long for the star pupil, the perfect daughter, God’s favorite angel, to fall from grace, though. Here’s how it went…

Part 1: Skin, Blood, and Bones

I am her. I am what she lives inside. I am her skin, blood, and bones. When she wants to go, I am what moves her. When she needs to cry, I let tears stream down her skin, puddling on the ground beneath her so that she can see the reflection of her sorrow in the pools I’ve made, and she realizes it’s time for her to be happy again. Time for her to smile again, time for us to smile again. I miss her smile. I can only see it when she looks in the mirror, when she tells me to look in the mirror. I’ve managed to live without the mirror. I don’t really need it anyway. Who needs a mirror when you can feel the smile? When you can feel the warm corners of her lips curling upwards? When you can feel its comforting halo surrounding you? Bereft of the smile, I don’t know how I’d survive.

This time, though, she looked up, looked straight into the endless reflection of the mirror which hangs on her wall. She saw her luminescent smile, and it grew. It grew into the most beautiful smile, full of compassion and love. So beautiful that I feared it couldn’t be true, any moment it’d turn into a songbird and fly away, singing a song for someone else.

Then she looked into our eyes. She has the most beautiful eyes. I’ve heard people talk about eyes before. They say things like: beauty is in the eye of the beholder, an eye for an eye and the whole world’s blind, love sees not with the eyes but with the heart, eyes are the windows of the soul. I don’t know if that one’s true or not. But what if it is? And if it is, who do people see in her eyes? And will they ever see me?

The Departure of Madame Josephine

            He held his hand out for the fortuneteller, and she immediately took it in her own, unfurling it on her small table. Stars glimmered in Madame Josephina’s eyes as she looked down at his palm. The black ink written out on his hand read: They are coming. Madame Josephine’s suddenly took on a grave and sober look as she lifted her head back to the young man’s face. Yes, she saw the resemblance now.

“You are his son?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. He solemnly nodded his head.

“My brother was a great man once, but lately it has been difficult to remember why. I am sorry that we had to meet this way, but even more so, I am sorry for what I am about to do.” And with that, Madame Josephine pulled a glass phial from her cloak, lifted off the cork lid, and let its strong, acrid scent swim through the air. As his nose caught whiff of it, his eyes began to roll back in his head, and he slumped to the floor. A single tear ran down Madame Josephine’s face as she pulled her hood over her head, gathered a small bundle from the back of her shop, hung a closed sign over the door, and left, knowing full well she would not ever return to her quaint, little shop.

Hopeless Nights

Boxed in, trapped, stuck
The walls stood forebodingly,
Watching me drown.

There is fluorescence all around me,
But it is all dark, all black,
bleak unnaturalness, artificial, fake.

I want to give up,
admit my defeat.
Just let me be in peace.
But time strangles me
with moonlight chains.

Save me from this something,
rising in my throat,
tightening my jaw,
wetting my eyes. 

Tears

Leave me here,

Drowning in my tears

As you take the last word

Leave me in tears.

Why can’t you understand

That I don’t?

I love you

You’ve got to know

But sometimes

I’ve got to let go

Because you bring me to tears.

Your shouts fill the room

But this isn’t right

You’re not perfect

But neither am I.

I won’t lie to you

In words or in feelings.

Take me as I am

Because it’s all I can be.

And if you read this

Know that this is no attack

But just how I cope.

Angel Tears

The angels cry

And the whole world hears

For how could you not

Tremble with sorrow

At the sound of angels crying

The angels cry

And the whole world cries with

For what could be so cruel

That Heaven’s divine choir

Would mourn so profoundly

The angels cry

And the whole world is humbled

For the sound of their aching voices

Is the greatest and most bidding

To ever be heard

Desolation

The food has no taste

I sit alone: eating and hurting

They sit in another room: talking, eating, laughing

I sit alone: dejected

The food has no taste

The silence is agony

I lie alone: lachrymose, awake

They lie together

Though I can’t hear, I know what they do

The silence is agony

Her touch is ice

Her hand holds mine: cold and unconvincing

Where have you been?

She kisses my cheek; it hurts my skin

Her touch is ice.

A Silent Scream

What is this emotion I feel growing so deeply inside of me?

What is this sorrow that has awakened within me?

What is this intense longing that has broken through my walls and left me so desolate?

What is this dark satisfaction laughing through my every nerve,  threatening my sanity?

At the end, this is the best pain I feel, the worst hug you’ve ever given.

It is poison to my soul and medicine for my heart.

I am filled with emptiness, just pulsating with numbness.

How long till my world collapses, till my fortress crumbles, my heart stops?

I sit on the edge of everything and nothing, here at the end of it all.

My soul is screaming silently.

My eyes cry tears of drought.

I close them and hope to, perchance, dream myself away.

The Farewell

Oh how we thought in our childish, whimsical, naïve, fragile hearts

That those long, scorching, playful summer days would last for an eternity

That once we finished high school and college,

We could be done with all of the productive nonsense and play forever,

Basking in the sun, climbing trees, swinging from ropes,

Being wizards in the backyard, laughing, having fun.

Oh how we were wrong

and no one told us otherwise,

That our silly childish notions

Were only as real

As the magic we pretended to have

We danced in the light of summer,

Only to last for a short while longer,

Then it’d be gone

And so too our juvenile, immature perceptions

Of the world we knew so little about.

What sadness on the day, will we

Experience when we find out

That tomorrow no longer

Holds our beautiful summer

In its heartbreaking hands?

We cry, we pout, we long

For the days when summer

Was just in reach,

Just in the grasp

Of our short, undeveloped arms.

We will go to college,

Not enough breaks

Not enough frolics

Not enough laughter

Everything but summer

We will get a job,

Not enough breaks

Not enough frolics

Not enough laughter

Everything but summer

We will retire

 be old

We will have time then

But what

Can we do with it?

When our hips are broken

We cannot swing from ropes

When our skin is wrinkled and delicate

We cannot bask in the marvelous sun

Summer just out of reach.

When our legs creak as we walk

We cannot climb trees

When our smiles are cracked, our teeth rotten

We cannot laugh and sing

Summer just out of reach.

We have so little time left

To go on adventures

To explore the unknown

To find peace in carefree bliss

To enjoy the summers that still remain.

How do we cope,

When we finally realized

That eternal childhood games

Are naught but silly

Made up stories.

We scream goodbye

To the white-yellow lady

Sitting in the sky

Because we can find no other way

To say the words without crying

We scream goodbye

Because we know no other way

To leave behind

A friend so dear to us

That she’s never let us down before.

We scream goodbye

Because how do you

Let go

Of the one thing in life

That you though you could always come back to?

Summer only lasts so long,

How were we so fooled

By the illusion

Of eternity

That kept a smile on our faces at night?

How were we so comforted

By such a lie?

A lie that let our spirits die

With its harsh, and false

Conceptions of reality it caused us.

We scream goodbye

Because there is simply no other way

To express the pain we feel

With the violent, rude awakening

That we lost our hearts to.

Remembrance

            The wolves had left the scene of the brawl, but they would be back once they sensed it over; Kajulian wolves weren’t keen on getting between others’ fights. They just did as they were told, as the Sorcerer told them. Shay’s childhood nickname for her echoed inside the depths of her mind, diving into memories she’d thought she’d left behind. Repressed emotions, carrying her deeper into relapse, reversing all she’d worked for.

            “Jez,” he called, “come out, come out, wherever you are. You can’t hide forever, you know.” Jasteirra sucked in a quick breath before Shay wandered over to her hiding spot behind the drapery.  She closed her eyes as if it would keep him from seeing her miniature figure in the fabric. The sharp sound of the curtains being drawn made her flinch away. She opened her eyes and gazed upwards, to find her brother looming over her, his eyebrows arched salaciously. “Found you” His hand sliced through the air, grabbing for her, but she was faster. Jasteirra ducked with lightning speed, slipping under his arm and scurrying away. She jumped onto her feet, racing to the door; in seconds she found her face smothered by her mother’s warm belly. She hugged her, wrapping her short, child’s arms as far around her mother as she could. She turned her head around, to see if her brother, Shay, the monster, was still there. Shay stood by the window, acknowledging the unspoken truce between them. He met her gaze, sending her a sore glare.  That was the biggest rule—and the one that kept Jasteirra out of trouble the most often: never in front of Mother. But it didn’t matter; he would get her back later. He always did.

           She winced; the memory struck her with immeasurable force. There certainly was a reason that some nightmares were repressed. Jasteirra wasn’t that scrawny, weak, little girl any more, though. And after that day, the rules hadn’t mattered any more. Mother had died the very next day, Jasteirra’s one safe haven, snuffed out like a candle. The doctors couldn’t tell their family what’d killed her, but Jasteirra had always suspected, deep down, her own brother. That had been the day that Jasteirra had realized that her only chance of survival lay in toughening up. And that was just what she had done. Her brother hardly ever received the chance to hurt her again. And now, looking at his lifeless remains, Jasteirra smiled. He’ll never be able to hurt me, never again. 

Heartbroken

Every breath I took was a futile struggle, drowning me in the deep, black sea of heartache. I wanted to melt into myself, to sink into my own inescapable pain. There was no ground beneath me any longer, no anchor to hold me to this world, nothing grasp onto as I fell into this lifeless void, no one to hold onto… not since he had left. My once-steadfast paperweight had torn my heart to shreds as if it were no more than loose-leaf and shoved me into the abyss. His last words echoed into my head, teasing and taunting me like I was a naïve child. I was nothing more than a newborn baby, so inexperienced, who had listened to the sweet serenade of a handsome stranger, had let him hold her and heal her, had taken comfort in his warmth as he flew her to a whole new world, and had fallen so far when she realized the air she danced on was thinner than the tears that cascaded down her face in sorry waterfalls. I tried to scream out, but no one could hear me or the sounds of my voice that ricocheted every which way, echoing inside my head. 

Broken

Mara let out a horrifying shriek as the Hunter’s dagger was driven into Vin’s soft pale skin. Death seeped cruelly into the room. All the things that the child would never have the chance to see– ripped away sharply and painfully, like peeling tape off your skin. It left a gruesome gash in Vin’s chest, blood cascading down his side. Mara let out a waterfall of tears when she heard Vin’s ghastly screeching. Shudders engulfed his body as he struggled to take his last breaths. After what seemed like ages of agonizing interval, it all stopped.
The chamber’s hunger was satiated with Vin’s death. Lachrymose anguish hung smugly in the air, feeling full of itself. Death, merciless death, had won. Not only was Vin lost forever, but Mara was defeated. Her spirit snuffed out as effortlessly as a candle. Mara had lost Vin; she’d lost the boy that she’d loved like a son; she’d lost herself. And now, with Vin’s lifeless corpse staring back at her, she felt bested. Bested by death; defeated by death; conquered by death; slaughtered by her own suffering and torment. Vin was gone. Death would not give him back. I am broken, broken beyond repair, she whispered to herself, broken. She murmured it softly, like a chant. Broken, broken, broken. I am broken, broken, broken.

Chase

Rachel sped down the highway recklessly at seventy miles per hour, trying to evade her pursuers. Then, a squirrel jumped out in front of her car. She didn’t even blink—the squirrel’s life was not as important as her own. She shed a tear, not for the squirrel, not for her dead ex-husband. It was for her son, Danny. Danny was gone, dead; they had taken him away and killed him. She didn’t care that the entire world was chasing her, just that Danny could be saved. The old lady at the gas station had said so, but it wouldn’t be easy. Someone would have to die. But she had to save Danny.
His curious face with hazel eyes like hers and nose like his father’s seared a heart-breaking image in her head. She could save him, she could bring him back, she could see that beautiful adventurous face again—the face of her only son.
Then the car crashed; she went flying. The world flashed in shades of gray and green underneath her as she soared across the deserted street. She landed with a crack on the hard ground of Craybourne Court. It felt a thousand times worse than the belly flop she had accidentally performed last week at the pool. Her heart sighed sluggishly. This was it, she couldn’t save Danny. Danny was lost to her forever. The world disappeared with a flash.