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21-11-2007, 06:10 PM
| #1 |
| the Brown | Poetry Comp #1 Winners: 1st - LONGTIME, 2nd - Yachiru, 3rd - Juno Judges: Akiia, Rie Topic: Life and Death Entries: Mistakes After the first breath i took the first bike i rode after every first there is a last this last, this one last the things you normally do everything you'd normally take for granted look around, notice yourself living, breathing because if there's a first there will be a last and someday, you will know not now, not anywhere near but a day in the future you will feel the thing you are doing is the last that will be a chance to make up for all the wrongs can be put right if not: see you in another life to take your first breathe into existence and take your last breath out we find these as the significant moments in our life and time on earth we’re like a symbol engraved in the world only to be eroded and fade away into sand and dust out of existence the same way we came to be given life just to have it taken away is it worth it? This question we ponder across time Would it have been better to never have lived at all? So we’d never have to die? But we would never have been born And felt these joys of life. Death is Here There was a feeling of absolute hell, I felt tortured as I stared. The feeling was too intense, As I sat starring into nothingness. I sat and stared with eyes closed tight. I sat and stared with a great fright. I thought I was dieing and I knew it would all end. There I was starring, starring down the abyss. There I was just sitting and starring. No one knew what was wrong. They had no idea I was all dieing. A great suffering and anguish. A great and terrible pain. I felt my heart to explode. I felt such sorrows no man should feel. My mind was encircling itself within a woven web. There was no peace, no rest. Forever I was stuck down in that hellish pit. Not a soul knew my suffering, I was alone to die. As death comes to wisp me away I go over my life Seeing the sins and wrong I’ve done Knowing it’s now all gonna come back to me Knowing it’s now my time to go As I stand before death I can feel my soul slowly slipping through my fingers Trying to stay awake Wondering if I will ever be alive again Wondering if I am able to hold my last breath While you stand beside me and hold my hand I feel indebt to you and guilty To make you feel the pain of loss So I try to repent my sins So I may walk through the gates of heaven Even though I know I won’t enter I go to hell alone with a smile on my face I smile because I will always be alive in you I smile because you were the face I last saw A simple stroke of a brush Brings life born onto a canvas Lead to led lovers A kiss in paint's curvature 'O Romeo Where for art this discontent? Literature stolen by colour And swipes of a mare's best coat Poison in the under tones Of implied concept Implied meaning Implied implications Do you like what you see? 'O Romeo This canvas clad in your tale Pays homage to fictioned legacies Left faults the right This mark is failing A smudge of incoherency In a perfect fairy tale 'O Romeo Do not fear I will wipe that misplaced stroke From my cheek From my chin, and chest I will paint myself out Juliet is your's And the poison is mine The Desk I Mountains of chaos Coke cans, both red and black Sitting there they mock me Like some sort of evil midget Disks in piles Half chewed straws The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy Two dollar coins A nine of spades Three mobile phones Lose leaf paper everywhere Oh, and a computer and stuff II The second level Manga books stacked and placed Seemingly ordered but chaotic A mirror of so called democracy Empty can of Sprite sits there It glows green and yellow Zero Sugar it says smugly And stands there all high and mighty A cup of money A small red die Some sort of soccer pendant A gem made from glass Oh, and a beaker stolen from science class III The top is eerily empty Scattered white paper and A few bits of dust form clouds Really quite heavenly In the centre stands a castle Made from wonderful cardboard Cannon ink type BC-33e Delicious, no? Everything else Seems to be blank Even the curtains Above are white Oh, and theres some air As my eyes open wide I see nothing but objects Moving as my eyes follow Knowing hardly anything As I now start to understand Colors seem everywhere However, the objects I see Are still nothing to me Now I know what to do When I see certain colors I play, I watch Still wondering why I'm here A coherent sound finally comes out of me Yearning for attention I am now seeing clearly What I still want to learn People, people like me Walking around Like they were always here And yet I never seemed to care I think I know everything And yet I still want more About the heart beats That quicken as I see an opposite of me Knowledge seems like everything now I have learned so much And yet so much more Is still waiting for me to understand As I work, I start to wonder Why life is so long As I ponder this I keep working and working I now have more than Myself to love And it seems life is Beginning to seem clearer Not one, not two But three or maybe more Have become my love And I wish to share what I learned Now it seems as though Life is becoming shorter My whole self has become slower And yet I wish to live more It seems my life Is about to end I sit with the person I love Waiting for something to happen My whole body has stopped moving I rest forever while tears are coming down My life has ended and I wonder where I go next I open my eyes once more and then I see........ Utada~ It feels impossible to push his chest up with my weight While I feel his hands pushing gently against my thighs I can hear the soft, fragile sounds of his devilish work As I feel those wonderful feelings I don’t want to feel I’m almost relieved to be able to breathe again Though I know it only gets worse from here At least I can sit up now, even though I’m unable To clench my teeth, or scream I can’t find the strength to close my mouth now But once again his weight is on my chest Shifting, again, his hands pressing down I wanted to say that it hurt Long in his absence I still didn’t move I was thankful for his mercy, for leaving me intact I was afraid to see my face I was afraid to see his. I've got these abstract thoughts of being who I'm not/Like Ripley's, Believe It Or Not!/Got caught, I'm feeling distraught/like I've been shot now I'm on the spot/I dropkick rhymes n beat you down/Like I am "The Don" & so it's on!/Strong n bitter words indicate a weak cause/ You do admit you have a few flaws/Begin with my synapsis...for my mission or my next objective/Wanna be Bigger than Collasus/Wearing super-hero tights n galoshes/ Yo! I spit this verse/in order to serve..justice/as I floss to this/My job consists of reacting to a sniper get ready/I`m about to blow up this cypher/reacting to a chemical attack/got 9 seconds to put on my protective mask/before contact, establish radio communication/& request for a med-evac/hence..I must conduct some defense/conduct a security patrol over here/establish an observation post over there/conduct tactical movement/in case of ambush or attack/to create a diversion for insertion/of a deliberate relief in place & face/the enemy.. Must conduct troop leading procedures/report tactical information/also treat & evacuate casualties/then perform consolidation & reorganization for the fate of my men/relies in my hands/and this is where I stand./In command! This is where you/start to dread/codename:"DEAD"/is assigned to this mission/a one man killing machine/there`s no doubt/I`d take a whole platoon out.. You should fear/this Force Protector or Combat Engineer/I`m in the Army of One/gotta watch yo back/cuz of my gun/I rip through & start blastin`/criminals & terrorists/watch my fist/as it gets pissed/I clench them tight/I`ll do it right/you lay low and/stay outta sight/the pussy that you are/you just give up/without a fight. GrrRrR!! Get Some!! Stay alert!!! Stay alive!!! HOO-AH!? The realness of cultural shock collaberation is in a state/of its own debate/has the potential for others to relate about this syndicate...& who they affiliate with or come to hate/my rhymes start to make you indicate the weather or whether/my styles getting better/making more cheddar forever/aite watevers clever/chillin like a villain making millions of copies/damn you can't STOP me! Zenbi ,Perfection What, Should this word, Possibly, Mean. * I am not perfect, Always, Expecting what will, And will not happen. * I dispise, And, Yet, You still stand there. * Angelic wings, From your back, And, I hold a broken sword. * Nothing left to hold on, Imperfection, Is that all I have achieved, Much to your dismay. * So you, Love others, And, Look at me with pity. * But, What you won't realize, Is that I look upon you, With anger. When did it come to this? Where did my minutes turn to years? Thoughts turn to action, action to regret. My pain and suffering, hopes and dreams. Stretched over so much but are so thin. Where is my holyland, my freedom? It's here, here I will flow freely. Here I will see all, I will know all. The absense of light is darkness, two sides to my coin. Which side will turn up tomorrow? Just a blank page in the beginning but now it's my greatest story. We tore up the land, the sun smiling upon us.
__________________ Last edited by 4thseal; 21-11-2007 at 06:44 PM. |
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21-11-2007, 06:21 PM
| #2 |
| the Brown | Poetry Comp #2 Winners: 1st - Sarah, 2nd - Muskrat, 3rd - Fresh1 Judges: Ai, Yachiru, LONGTIME Topic: Animals Entries: I steal your rocks, And devour you whole. Invade your socks, To find your sole. My furry paws, Of much satirical delight, Lay down the laws, For your rp fights. Rawr. He is cursed with loneliness forever, Shunned by society forevermore, Created by a strange man’s endeavor, Lives his life alone and furthermore, No trust into the world, without knowledge, He does not no of love but only a sad truth, Lives through life without company, his edge, Is lost, his life, an empty, worthless booth, He is never belonging anywhere, Truth be told, he shall die a lonely death, Not deserving to breathe the rich, crisp air, Life is sucked from his unnatural breath. Hes on streets like yours but will never stay He is lone dog named by society as a stray Millennium upon millennium you survived. Living, breathing, hunting, mating, evolving, Trying to cement your existence on earth. But they came, the chosen ones. You fought the bravest one, and he easily lost. But they came back. You fought them, took them all down, even had the wounds to prove it! But still, they came back They formed their tools, their plans, and you became a trophy, And now they wouldn’t stay away More deadly tools, more detailed plans, and your family joined you on the wall. Now they won’t leave. They stole the land you hunted on, existed on. They built their houses, their towns You thought you could just move on But there’s nowhere left to go. You thought you’d fade from the earth, A good run and dieing proud But they showed you a cruel mercy. They broke nature’s law! Your shameful life behind steel bars. Being fed dead beasts, and letting sloth destroy instinct. They even steal your young, and raise them without a soul. Keep them as pets, train them to jump hoops. You have no more tearless cries or mournful wails left. So live the rest of your days in sorrow, with no hope. You! The mighty king, knocked down to the lowliest of slaves. Koala -Sitting --In a -tree ----eating --a leaf
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21-11-2007, 06:42 PM
| #3 |
| the Brown | Short Story Comp #1 Winners: 1st - Enishi, 2nd - Sarah, 3rd - Frostbitex Judges: Yachiru, LONGTIME, Bara Topic: Freestyle Entries: Something to Wake Up to. The old engine grumbled to a stop in the closest lot we could find. I quickly whispered a thankful prayer that it hadn’t given out on us and threw in a less thankful ending concerning a dad too cheap to replace it. As I stepped out into freedom my mind flashed back to the curious and creative myriad of excuses that were given to get out of this trip. Richard had yard work to do, Mary suddenly was overwhelmed by an interest in knitting and begged Grandma to teach her everything, Sammy became enlightened to the fact that she should actually do her homework and Sunny was inflicted by a headache worthy only of Hollywood. As it stood, only I and my crippled father would be carrying anything because mom insisted it was a job for the “young and testosterone-enhanced.” In an effort to distract myself from the ever-nearing march that was to come, I drew in the surroundings I would call home for the next two semesters. Beyond the crumbling parking lot stood a towering building, a relic of at least thirty years back. Across the street was the same building stacked onto itself about three times. Both featured brown bricks near the base and a sickly green and aluminum construction above that. I couldn’t help but contemplate whether this would really be worth the pay increase a university degree would give me. My musings were interrupted by the sound of stubborn metal joints being forced open. Plentiful awkward noises sprang from the trunk as my father rummaged around for something he could carry without any danger of accidents. After he hauled a microwave from the abyss I went in and produced a large container of inevitably wrinkled clothes. With a nod, we began our trek towards the smaller of painfully gaudy buildings. We made it to my floor with the help of an elevator that threatened more tragedy than our car and were greeted with a flourishing pink monotone. The look on my face must have been tell-tale of my willingness to forego school entirely rather than wake up to this everyday as my father grunted forward before I could vocalize my feelings. We stopped about halfway down the hall in front of a room almost directly across from the foreboding public water closet. There was a slight pause, and then I rested my burden on the floor and jammed the room key in. I took a deep breath, silently hoping I was the first of my roommates to get there. None of us really knew how to say goodbye to family, so we decided to eat lunch together before they departed. Mom wanted to go somewhere classy for our last meal, but dad firmly insisted that Wendy’s was just as good and a good deal faster to boot. We ate our bacon cheeseburgers in silence and paraded back to the car in a similar fashion. Dad didn’t say a word when they dropped me off although I wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway over mom’s tearful adieus. They had already driven out of sight by the time I reached the entrance. I opened the door as if I were walking into my room back home but stopped short at the sight of someone kneeling on the floor. We exchanged my awkward stare for her startled one, and then she stumbled to her feet with a gasp. She snatched a sheet of paper from her desk and handed it to me, motioning for me to flip it over. The front was printed with Mapquest directions from my house to a street I didn’t recognize, and the back was littered with a hurriedly scrawled note. She was still standing in front of me, a pale, slender girl with the largest and most timid eyes I had ever encountered. She was leaning forward slightly and her mouth was slightly open, as if her livelihood rested on my response. Her light brown hair was done up in a bun and she wore a dress that reluctantly stopped at her ankles. “Are you mute?” I ventured bluntly, to which she responded by shaking her head passionately…wholly unaware of the irony. I returned my attention to the note, this time trying to make out the writings. It began with a recap of my childhood, skipped to the events of this last summer, and ended apologetically with my father’s own version of a tear-stained goodbye. After assuring my roommate that my father hadn’t died, evidenced by him writing the note, I pinned it onto the shelves above my desk. Perhaps…I might just be able to get past the pink. Spring romance I walk from the forest to the meadow. And there he is. He is standing on the hill, his tall dark hair is flowing in the wind. His strong hand holds delicate wild flower surprisingly gently. It is same kind of flower his dream girl had held on that special night not too long ago. He can feel my eyes on him. And he turns around, but don’t move. He waits patiently for me to reach him. And his intense gaze makes my face flush. He seems to know what is going on in my mind. He smiles to me so gently. That smile makes me dizzy. He is undoubtedly the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Beautiful and so manly. He is so strong, loving and caring. And he is there, waiting for me. I can’t believe this is true. That someone like him could care for someone like me. I stop walking, I have to. I pretend to put some order in my hair. I have to ignore his presence for a moment. Otherwise this moment will be too much for me to bear. But now he gets inpatient. He steps forward with long steps. Greets me with a frank smile and gives me that flower. We can’t take our eyes out each other. And after a long silence he takes gently my hand to his. ”This place is desperately lonely. So do you mind if I protect you and escort you to safety, fair maiden?” I can’t get even sound out of my mouth so I just nod. We walk in silence. His hand holds mine. We walk back to the forest on the other side of the meadow. Under the elms is so peaceful and yet, I can’t help it, but my body is trembling for the excitement. He must think it’s because I’m freezing since he makes us stop and wraps his cloak around me. When he buckles it, his hands get lost. One holds my chin and other is somewhere in my long hair. He smiles to me gently and his blue eyes look deeply in mine. Look in his eyes changes and it makes me blush. I can feel warmth of his breath on my skin. I feel stunned and have to close my eyes. ”You look tired and breathless. Just around there is a stream. We should go there and get you some water for refreshment.” He puts his strong arm around me to support me till we get to the stream. I wash my face and drink some water. He helps me up again. And I can feel strong arms around me. And this time his is not going to let me go. Not for any reason. He kisses me. Passionately. I feel frightened and same time better than ever. It fills me with joy. After a moment. We start to walk again. I’m bewildered. All this is bit too much for me. Again he seems to know what is going in my mind. ”I assure you, my fair maiden. My intentions to you are honest and serious.” His deep voice calms me. He feels encouraged and holds me again. City of Hell It was forever. Literally....honestly...completely...it was forever and now it was over. The universe was at its finale and I had front row seats. I watched as the Lord God himself created the pit of hell, and the palace of heaven. I stood for my judgement and my sins before the almighty, and no you cannot hear them for they are mine to keep not your's on request, and was cast aside. I spent almost 6,000 years in hell...before.. Before something strang happened. A man trying to end the tourture clawed his throat open. His blood cooled the ground a bit, just a tiny bit...and of course he kept bleeding but couldn't die. Others begain to do the same Bleeding and bleeding until there was a small area to stand. As the ground kooled and harded those few had an idea. Gathering up others they begain to make tiles out of cooled lava and blood. Before long they had a large basis of land created. The City grew and grew and grew, countless Trillions made the city fluourish. Although we cannot escape hell, at least we were able to make a life of sorts for ourselves here. Few people remember there past, most were driven semi-insane from the torture. Over the next few centuries the city grew, it was learned how to take metal from the lava and soon, skyscrapers and weapons and tools were everywhere. Fallen Angels came and lived with us, there magics provided us with clothes and a few other conviences. It wasnt for centuries that I met one of those poor souls, without memory, he was Alan "Blue Jeans". And this is his story. It's not all that uncommon, although rather infrequient now. For souls to wash up on our shores. They were swept farthest out or down and it took them centuries to float into sight of the city. Alan was one of those, I remeber working on the metal docks. Oh, yeah your still new here...I was working on these docks, we have these cords made of some kind of magical super metal the fallen angels made for us. Liquid metal sticks to them. All around the city we constently dredge for metal. To make anything we can to take our minds off this boring continuious existance. Alan was one of those, that washed up. I was working at the docks at the time, I wasnt the one that rescued him, I didn't even rush over to help...since you cant really die here. I just continued my dredging. Just another soul to join the flock, just another day for me. A few weeks later, I heard from dock gossip that Alan was coming to work with our crew. Again not something that uncommon. Most people that are rescued usually come to help those that rescue them. Everyone, even those with no memory (or espically those with no memory) seek out any kind of connection to others that they can. Needless to say, considering the majority of the company that makes up the city...he was used badly. It didnt help that he had a trait others considered a sign of true perversion. He was blind....in a place where no injury was permenant, where all suffered equally, he was blind...and anywho those scum dredgers at the docks see it as a sign of weakness and took as much advantage of him as much as they could. I always used to wonder back then, what cause disabilities of the soul like that. Needless to say, we arn't really alive you know. We are souls; not true bodies...yet even his soul was blind...I can understand how that may have been scary to others. But how could they know, how could they have know his true beauty? Maybe they never will.... Beyond the Stars Emptiness, it was a universe of emptiness. Darkness filled all and all that was left was the sight of dead stars, a symbol of what had been and an omen of what was to come for the rest. This was a world soaked in eternal darkness, eternal despair. Suddenly, it looked as though something flickered far off in the horizon. It slowly became bigger and clearer. It was moving closer, and changing. Jagged white cuts seemed to come out of it and cut closer across the ever darkened world of a dieing reality. Without relent, they speed closer, ever closer. In their wake, it seemed as if that eternal void of nothingness was flaking. The white lightning came closer, finally speeding past. Slowly the darkness all around began to fall off. Piece by piece, shard by shard, that old singed world disintegrated into nothing, revealing a blinding white light. But, as the light faded it could be seen that what lied there was not a utopia, but more of another forsaken wasteland. The skies shone red, that of crimson. Screams of the masses filled the air, and rivers of blood filled the streets. It was much brighter then the darkness, but even that darkness was more inviting then this hell. Gray trails could be seen in the sky, and soon after two explosions followed. There was a young boy, comforting what looked to be his older sister at the feet of a woman of forty; her eyes, glazed over and her blond hair soaked red. Near the explosions a mother was running around, calling for her lost husband and children. Nearby a severed arm could be seen in the rubble, ring still on the finger. The people had wanted war, and they had gotten it…but at a price that they couldn't pay. There is no peace here, only war; no diplomacy, only chaos. A moment of rare silence breaks. Deep, haunting, absolute silence. Within that millisecond, a ray of white light shines through the crimson skies. In its glow is a young, crying boy. A hand of hope is extended to him, but as soon as it is the whole world seems to push it away. Its unrelenting force makes it so that we cannot stop. We can see that planet, crimson skies bright, we can see the sun as we shoot past it. Further and further, we are pushed. Pushed past solar systems, galaxies, and even the stars at the far reaches of the universe. One by one, even those most distant stars blink out of our vision, and we are left in darkness. A darkness that filled all, a symbol of what had been and an omen of what was to come. This was a universe soaked in eternal darkness, eternal despair. Slowly, one can see something flickering far off in the horizon. Would the next world be better then the last? Black Hood “When I stare into the distance all I can see is nothingness.” A man wearing a black hoody and black jeans sat in a psychologist’s style couch. “I can’t make sense of it. My future was set, but it feels like the cosmos has turned against me. What do you think?” The psychologist sat in his chair that had a Victorian feel to it with its arches and strangely colored yellow lining. He had a notepad in his lap and had notes scribbled across the paper. “Sounds like you have a deep depression. Maybe you should take a vacation once in awhile.” “I wish I could.” “Why can’t you take a vacation?” “I’ve been working twenty four seven since starting and my job demands that I can’t have vacation.” “Is that so? Sounds like you need to renegotiate your contract.” “Contract?” The man in the hoody raised his head up at what the psychologist. “You don’t have a contract? No wonder your employers are working you to death. Talk to your employers and have one made up. Get conditions that suit you and not just them.” “I never thought of that. Thanks.” The man moved himself so his legs now touched the ground. “Hope that helps you.” The psychologist pulled himself out of his chair and walked over to the man; who had just gotten up himself. “Thanks again.” “No problem. If you have anymore issues, just come back.” “Thanks. However, I won’t be able to come back here anymore.” “Why?” The psychologist looked concerned at his patient’s comments. “I do appreciate the session, but you need to cross over.” The man points over to the psychologist’s desk and the body of the psychologist lay slumped over. “What?” The psychologist looked horrified as he saw his body at his desk. “How is this possible?!” “You died of a heart attack shortly before I got here. A bit early I must admit.” “What do you mean a bit early?” The psychologist stared back at the patient. “Who are you?” “Isn’t it obvious? Death.” The psychologist’s face turned white. “Don’t worry. You had a painless death. Besides, I’ll put in a good word for you since you did a session for free.” Death laid his right arm on the Psychologist’s shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge. The Psychologist soon disappeared from sight. “Contract? I knew I should have demanded more at the beginning.” Slaughterhouse I'm surround by a fence of hate. One in which my very soul is shackled to, clamoring for it's freedom. But it does not come. Not until it is too late for your mortal coil. the thought teases you while you wait to die. I have no more hope left, I haven't for a long time now. Since I've lost it time seens to go by so much faster. I refuse to care about my death and the anticipation that comes along with it. I await my slaughter with prideful apathy. There are others around me in the dark. I spend my time watching them all. Most have not accepted their fate yet. Not come to the same grim realization as I. Some even attempt to raise the spirits of out more downtrodden. I hate them. They hand out false hopes like candy to the gluttons. they make the wait for them all the worse. The sad ones are ones I despise as well. they are just as bad. They pity themselves and the ones around them. they ask the same question which is impossible to ask, "why me?". During the night it's worse. They wail away, stirring me awake. Do they not know? I never want to wake up. The more I am concsious about where I am, the better the chance is that I break. And become one of them. The ones that hold us imagine themselves as nice people when they let us out of the cold steel room where they hold us all. I believe they do it just to tease us more. Nothing changes during these times outside during the day. The cage is still around us, it is just more spread out than before. The free space disappears when we all dash to the edges of our captive spaces and cry for freedom. We yell harshly, and even louder when we see a car come by to pass by. They just point and stare. Children laught at us, at our misery. Our totrure is nothing to laugh at. The other change we have during these grazing sessions is the daylight itself. Perhaps it is nice for the first few minutes while we adjust to the warmth and brightness of the sun, but after that time many of us would wish to be in the dark again. The difference comes when you are able to see your friends in the light. Their hideous skin is tattered and scabbed. The faces are in twisted horror. This disgusting visage is normally hidden, wrapped in the darkness. But it becomes all to clear in the daylight. It doesn't take long to figure out why they are avoiding your gaze the same way you are avoiding theirs, you look the exact same. That's one reason I do not go outside any longer. The people who hold us call me lazy or depressed when they pass me by. But I'm not. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the clear sight the light gives me. And now the day is here. One woman and one man determine everyone's fate. As they enter we all rush the caged door. We trample some by accident, but I look at them and wish sometimes. All of us as individuals try to get their attention. It's all useless though. They already know who and how many they are going to pick. It doesn't stop us from trying though, desparately trying. I have my own screech, since I have not learned speech. Have not learned their tongue besides one word. They say it constantly while they are with us. ..."Pig" They slide more fences around us, to divide us all. They are dividing the ones they want and the ones that are still too young. My eyes watches in anticipation. My disregard for everything is lifted and thrown away always at this point. This time I'm not disappointed though. I'm picked. I'm one of the chosen ones who will go and leave this place forever. More than twenty of us are being taken through a strange maze with walls to high to jump. There won't be many more confinement now though. I trod along, happy for the first time since I was born, sucking on the teat of my mother with my brothers and sisters. They were taken before me. I hope I see them where I am headed. I'm hung upsidedown by my legs. I begin to struggle. Not because I want to though. It's from the shock of being hoisted through a rope. I wonder what happens next until I see a human walking next to me. His gloves are holding onto a thick sheen of metal wrapped in itself. Almost a pipe if it were hollow. There is no question what the intention is and I wonder whether my wishes for this to happen sooner were ill-conceived. This time I struggle for struggle's sake and moan. The first hit to my head is like a lightning bolt. I almost enter a seizsure immediately from the pain. Thank God for the second hit. It knocks me out. I'll never be able to wake up again. I never want to wake up. The more I am concsious about where I am, the better the chance is that I break. And become one of them... A God in the Making Little hands shaped the wet sand into perfect little mounds and placed them in a large flat sand covered plastic bin. The searing sun high in the sky seemed to dry them hard before the digits could fully form the next one. The little girl hunched over in the dirt wiped her brow. It was hard work, but it was necessary in order to finish the creation. After five little hills protruded proudly from the sandy base, she slapped her palms down on her knees in satisfaction. With the first part finished, she sifted through a half-eaten lunch and produced a few sweet crumbs from her snack cake. The girl scattered them around the ground, stood up and left. The sun had sunk close to the horizon by the time the girl returned. She looked where she had dropped the food and squealed in delight at the couple of dozen ants gather in a clump around the morsels. She scooped them up quickly, dropped them in the bin, and watched. Deciding quickly that observing a ball of ants was boring, she separated each one from the collective. Some ants on hilltops some down in the valleys others were placed in groups and a few left alone. As the little insect bodies began to move hurriedly across the grainy dirt in confusion, the she finally enclosed them into their tiny little world. Tomorrow she would come again. The sun was just peeking up from the distant hills and the girl was already hovered above the little world. She brought more food today, but instead of the snack cake from the day before she only offered dried bread crusts. The insects didn’t flock as eagerly and yet refused to stay in the perfect little places she had put them the day before. Frustrated she enclosed them again and decided she wouldn’t bring food tomorrow. Days passed and the child became more restless with the tiny universe she created. The bugs didn’t appreciate her efforts and she kept finding them stuck to the walls of the bin as if trying to escape. She huffed an angry breath before squashing the last few escapees into the hard plastic. There would be no food tomorrow either. The girl walked slowly to the bin, kicked the top off, and noticed a few more ants stuck to the sides again. She screamed in frustration before fixing her brow in a scowl. Enough was enough. With a one final sigh she turned placed the nozzle of the hose in the bin and watched solemnly as it quickly washed over the hills she spent so much time building days before. She couldn’t help the ‘I told you so’ look as she watched the small ant bodies float to the top as they struggled to swim. When the bin was full, she shut off the water. She watched them all until the last one ceased moving, and with one hard tug tipped the bin over and emptied all its contents. Tomorrow she would create a better world. Second Chance Amnesia? How cliche can things get? That only happens in those gay, cheap, chick flicks where the guy forgets who he is and falls in love with some random woman in the end. I remember partying hard the other night and enjoying the pleasures of a virile prostitute, but before that, absolutely nothing. Since I woke up three hours ago I've been walking. It's all I could think of since then. Take a walk and clear my head. As I started to walk, though, little did I know that my route to clarity had already been plotted. At five in the evening it was unusually dark, overcast as if the sky with it's full glory was cowering from what was to come. Not knowing where I should be going I begin to pass through a dank, dirty alleyway between two dilapidated buildings. It was rife with the smell of rotting wood, food and human waste. On one side lay trash and shoddily made shacks constructed out of cardboard boxes strewn along the length of the alley. On the other, the same. A pair of eyes peered out of one of the shacks with a look of hopelessness and grief embedded within them. "Kill yourself", I thought. "Take the sharpest thing you can find and slit your throat. End your misery and join in the sweetness of freedom. There is no heaven, no hell, nothing to lose, no Go...". Before I could finish my thought the eyes turned quickly into the face of a young man. A glint caught me unaware as his hand lifted up to his jugular and with one uninterrupted motion pulled across his dirty neck without hesitation. He knelt before me, blood gushing from the wound. As he stared at me I turned and walked away. I couldn't help but smirk and think, "You fool." I continued on my journey. Journey to where? I didn't know. I thought about the young man and how he lived. Homeless, cold, hungry. What sort of world is this? Whoever thought it would be funny to give people a chance to live like that must have a weird sense of humor. I was now in what could only be described as a bustling, human traffic hub. Pedestrian traffic was thick on the pavements and cars whizzed by on the streets. Electronic advertisements beamed their subliminal messages of "Buy me!" into my brain with scenes of scantily clothed women. Nice. The neon signs of porn shops buzzed with every illumination as the perverted customers inside attempted to avoid eye contact with each other. All of a sudden a young girl scampering up the pavement collided with my legs. She was a puny little thing, couldn't be more than fifteen years old, but she was dressed like a grown woman. Makeup, black skirt and white blouse, both smaller than should be and showing more cleavage than anything I have previously witnessed. It brought up thoughts that no man should think. It made me feel dirty, guilty, pleased. It could not be helped. "Get outta my way you asshole!", she yelled with an accent befitting her attitude. "You pervert. Wanna have sex with me don't you?". I chuckled to myself. "I'm sure I can take your soul before you can scream for help.", I threw back. "Piss off!", she yelled as she hurried off down the road. Children these days have no respect for anyone. I continued on my way. Some time later I passed some random guy buying hot dogs from a roadside vendor. As he whipped out his wallet I remembered something. I have a wallet too! I may have identification in it. Finally, my memory is coming back. I reached into my back pant pocket...empty. Right pocket...empty. Left pocket...the same. That girl....the little bitch stole my wallet. I finally get some hope and it's snuffed out. Damn! I need a drink. I turn to my left and I spot a sign that read, "Lucifer's Pub". Interesting name. I decided to check it out and see if I could get myself a beer or something. The entrance to the pub was a staircase leading down into the floor. Possibly a basement. It wa all dark and smelled like rusted iron. A lone bouncer guarded the front door with a steely look on his face. "The Lord be with you.", he spat out. "The Lord doesn't care about me.". I replied like a smart ass. "Go on in.", the bouncer whispered as he opened the door for me. Apparently I unwittingly guessed the password to enter this place. I was quite pleased at my luck. First stop, the bar. Into my fifth shot of tequila and I was now enjoying myself. The ambience of the pub was sort of predominantly rock with a heavy metal, head banging kind of ambience. On stage there was a deformed looking man wiping a concrete slab that was laid across two wooden horse stands. Looked like he was preparing the table structure for some sort of performance. After five minutes of him setting up the structure all music stopped. Everyone proceeded to the front of the stage. Everyone except me. The music started back. The DJ was playing one of Nine Inch Nails' songs, 'You Know What You Are?'. How ironic since I didn't know who I was. How the hell do I know the band and song when I can't even remember my own name? As the song progressed and the tempo rose the deformed man reappeared leading a young girl dressed in all black. During the first chorus he laid her across the table he prepared not to long ago. The crowd then began mumbling something in audible. I glance at the bartender who was keenly observing the performance. When I took my attention back to the stage a sight unlike anything was waiting for me. The girl was strapped down to the table and completely naked. The deformed man was also undressed and in his right hand he held a slim blade. He grabbed her by the legs and proceeded to mount the little figure. Her body moved violently against his. She looked like she was enjoying it. With my ears tuned to the music I looked on at the scene. Gradually I began to hears small screams. I left my seat and moved closer to the stage. The closer I got the louder the screaming. I squeezed my way through the crowd until I was directly in front. It was then I realized that the young girl was gagged and it was her screams I heard. She was being raped. I stood there. Nothing. No emotions. Liquid was rolling off the table onto the stage and gradually off onto the floor. It smelled of iron. The deformed man had been slicing the young figure randomly as he thrust himself into and out of the girls body. After two minutes of this he tensed and climaxed and as he did so he plunged the blade up to the handle into her stomach. She screamed and twisted and as she did so I saw her face. It was that of the girl from on the streets. The one who stole my wallet. The rapist after his brief satisfaction proceeded center stage and announced, "In the name of our saviour who is here with I sacrifice this lamb so that he shall be pleased." He walked back to the table and promptly slashed the girls throat. Blood sprayed and spattered onto my face. I felt a burning sensation in my head as flashes of past memories flooded me. A battle, a loss, fire, death, choirs, angels, betrayal, suicide, greed. A flood of sensation all over. The "Master of Ceremonies" alighted the stage and walked up to me. Bowing he greeted me. "Welcome back my Lord. You are reborn. This is it. Your second chance.". With that the final chorus rang out loud. It was then that I understood. I did not suffer from amnesia. I had no memories to lose. I was reborn. It was my second chance to do what I had failed to do before. My father cast me out of my home because I wanted everyone to rule a small portion of his empire. It's my second chance to bring my home to this earth. My hell, my empire. This is my second chance and I plan to succeed.
__________________ Last edited by 4thseal; 21-11-2007 at 06:44 PM. |
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21-11-2007, 07:08 PM
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| the Brown | Short Story Comp #2 Winners: 1st - zoeygirl, 2nd - Sarah, 3rd - Insin Judges: Yachiru, LONGTIME, 4thseal Topic: Freestyle Entries: The Poison Curse (PG-13) One night, on August 13th, there was a war. A massive one. Many lives were lost, many maidens weeped, but there was one soldier who survived. The man's name was Eltador. He was a brave, and valiant man. He fought bravely, till the night he died. He died of a cursed poison, that only one man can retrieve. Or should I say one GOD. The God of Poison has felt wrath on him. And at every 100 years on August 13 at 9:00 sharp, poison strikes any random person who has lived over the age of 20. Then havoc arose, onto a man named Juan. It has been 100 years since Eltador had died, and it was August 13th. Juan was a young 21 year old man, finished college and lived a healthy life. When he got back to his apartment a spirit came up to him and said, "You will be poisoned tonight by a God and die." Juan came up to the spirit and said to him, "How the devil do you know?!" "Because 100 years ago..." And the spirit told Juan the story of Eltador. Juan took this as a challenge. He decides that he will try to escape his death. It was 8:59 PM, Juan was trembling. When it struck 9:00 a spirit said a quick pace of words, but Juam dodged the spell. He ran out of his apartment, and ran as fast as he could. Then, a DEAD End. Juan unfortunately, faced his future and died. Slowly and painfully on the ground. When he was at the Gates of Heaven God gave him a chance. To take down the curse of the poison once and for all. God gave him God-like powers for a limeted time. Juan had 24 hours to take down the spirit. Juan rushed down. All the way down to the wretches of Hell. He had to kill many demons, survive wretched fire, and spirits. He had spent a long time searching for the Poison God, but no avail. Alas, he had 12 hours left, but time was running out. Then he saw the spirit. He had summoned the sword of Heaven, and slashed out. Though the sword had no effect on it, as it went through his body. As Juan dodged the Spirit's attack, he waited until the spirit lost all of it's energy, then Juan attacked with the spell of God. The spell finished it, and he went straight up into Heaven. He was greeted by many angels at the Gate, and God sent him back to Earth where he lay on the street. He lived a peaceful life. The End. Trifecta 1935-1950 My eyes are never soft. Over hard times, they have been become dense, black coals of misery. I was born at what seemed like the end of existence. Murdering my mother, as soon as I exited to womb, I was left in the care of a monster. My poor father hit the bottle hard—almost as hard as he hit me. A brutal man, he rarely bathed so, when his rigged hand would strike my small frame, I would not only feel pain but smell his reeking soul for days on end. Of course, like any good daemon, daddy painted me in pain all over my body. His nightly ritual consisted of drinking whatever poison he could muster up; barking my name, penetrating every dark corner of our house, eventually discovery his gold—me shivering, pretending I was nothing more than a shadow. He called himself an artist; he said I was a canvass. Watching me slowly strip naked, his stone, blue eyes would absorb whatever courage remained in my battered being. Then, as quick as a breath, he would start creating, start splattering bruises and cuts all over his innocent, clean canvass. Tears, sweet, blood would all mix into one creating a pastel the color of misery. But, I would never shout out—that was daddy’s one rule. Even a peep, would turn his bitter torment into a shower in hell. And, I knew that any sound would mean a broken figure, which was worse than any form of mutilation. My skin and mind became hard as ice to a lash across the face or a burn on the legs, but my dreams were still soft, still liquid. And, my dreams lied in my hands. Since birth, I had the hands of an artist. It was as whatever I drew came not from me but directly from my soft and clean hands. It was as if those hands breathed their own creations. I used to think they were my mother—that she’d been transferred into them as I slid out of the womb—when I killed her. When I took her life, my hands were blessed with something beyond human, beyond pain and joy and suffering. What ever my hands breathed on turned green blossomed with life. Daddy never did hurt my hands. Perhaps, even his distorted eyes saw their potential, could feel the life within them. Maybe, he, like me, suspected that they were my mother, something he could never hurt. No, daddy did take away my hands, he took the life out every other part of me, but my hands were left intact—soft and beautiful like a rose resting on an ugly, thorny steam. By the time I was 15, my whole being was grey and scarred and gruesome sight, but my hands were so skilled that they shined like the wings of an angle. Big people began to take notice. Many men is fancy suits came to father, attempting to procure me from him. They called me genius, said I was a true artist, said they could take me away from him, put me in through the best schooling possible. For once, fortune had shined it’s warmth on me. Life slowly began to flow from my holy hands into the rest of me. For the first time in my life, I experienced the soft scent of happiness. Daddy, saw this of course—saw that even his torment could stop me from growing towards the sky. So, he decided to shut me up. He chased the men away and made me stay in the basement where it was so dark that I was nothing more than a shadow. It was a place of eternal twilit where even the shine of my hands could not save me. I think it’s been seven, no eight silent days now. Daddy hasn’t even made a sound. Maybe he’s gone to find mommy. I don’t really mind slowly starving to death, my body eating itself just to stay alive. I never minded the pain. What’s truly killing me is this lost dream of mine. All I want is to create, to embrace, to become art—to become more than grey, to swim in color and become my own canvass. 1950-1982 My hands are never clean. They pick up the foulest smells as I rummage in the cold and sticky trash cans scattered around the city. It’s amazing what you’ll eat after a few days of starvation. Stale meatloaf riddle with used coffee grounds becomes a gourmet dinner—keeps you up late too. Half-eaten, rotting tuna sandwiches with the bite marks still in them start looking like a four-star meal. I’ve had my fare share of beatings too; it’s better to get hit in the winter, the cold numbs the pain. I actually don’t know how I’ve lasted this long. I can’t explain where this need to survive in the face of death comes from. It’s gotten worse lately, feels like death is peaking into my window every lousy, god damn day. It’s gotten so bad, I don’t remember how long I've been on these cool, unforgiving streets. My memories have begun to dissolve into an ocean of pain. I’m an alcoholic—no point in hiding it. I’ve drunken so much fire, swallowed so much remorse. I’ve set myself aflame out of a gleam of the desperation that it might end the pain. Still, it’s hard to ignore life all day and all night. Glimpses of reality past quickly like stale light penetrating the windows of a secluded, dark train. I was, I am, an artist. The serene, madness of creation engulfed my essence. I road beautiful highs and tragic lows, chased after any muse I could find, steal, or ingest. I guess I got lost in thought for to long, downed the wrong rabbit hole, and found myself crawling through shattered dreams that cut right down to the bone. Not all of us are artist, though. Some dusty souls are philosophers, other business men, a few claim to be god. It’s silly to think god exist when your soiled in shit and piss. Ha-ha-ha--this is where art gets you. This is where you can really think of life without any distraction, except for your own pity and your own fears of course. I’ve fucked up for the last time—no point in denying it. I’ve forsaken all responsibility to climb any untouchable mountain, to sit in a rotten thrown. I’ve failed to succeed, and somewhere a long the way I lost the will to create. It is as if my hands have been dismembered; all that remains is a thin shell of creativity. To fail is not to loose. To fail is to gain. And, I’ve gained a lot. I’ve come to understand how liquid life can be, how waves of joy can carry you away to desolate, vile dreams. I’ve learned that passion and art only gives you so much. Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll learn from my mistakes—things will change. I’ll remember where I’ve been when, on some frostbitten night, I finally drift away. 1982-? My thoughts never dry. They’ve flowed through me like a great river tumbling down a mountain. I’ve never felt better, more content than now. It is as if everything I’ve ever experienced has led up to this page in time. And, like a pebble on the beach, I am still—I am patiently letting the waves of life come and wash over me. I blame the comforts of my life for my tranquil, unmoving passive self. My family was not poor or rich, just able to provide the basic needs and seldom some little extra joy. Yet, they where loving and good people like that you always read about but never manage to meet. At the same time, they were boring as the sky—always speaking in soft whispers like the soft, warm wind. Never showing there anger, nor the passion. The land I was born in was simple and sweet like a bee matting with a rose. Nothing ever moved or shrieked or screamed in pain. It was as if the sun always shined above us, and the sky was a giant peach, sweet and everlasting, and the fields and building alike glisten the sunset . I was thus a quite thing, never expressing my self verbally. Ever swimming in my mind, physical action was more frightening than death. Though I was acquired, I was loved for I was an artist. Even as a youth, my hands looked aged—wrinkled and spotted, long and thin. They were wise hands, capable of understanding the most complicated gestures—love enough to move with the motions of wisdom and patience. Though, those hands loved me, I could never love them. They carried to much weight—song only of the weariness of blue and the emptiness of shadows. At night the mourned like grieving widows tearing up in the moonlight. In the day, they were quieter than myself, resistant to participate in anything meaningful. Though, as they and I grew they’re creations become ever more brilliant—giving life to the creations making them breath the salty air. And, I, the hand’s steward, was awarded more and more comfort to the point where I had transgressed into luxury—to the point where I was silent as a shadow. It was not that I was upset, in fact, I was continually pleased but I was not content. The hands misery was a heavy stone to shove around. It was too much pain and too much guilt for my little soul to carry. I had no choice but to murder the hands. Not literary but mentally, I could not let them lead me up anymore mountains. So, I forsook all art, I forgot all movements of woe and sorrow. And, at the pinicle of my dreams, I simply stopped dreaming. I forsook a complex nightmare shouted as fame and whispered as fortune, for simple life. For once, I was what I will label as happy. For once, I was not driven by the lust of art, the addiction to creation. For once, I simply lived. Chess Affairs "I don't understand you." I set up the board; I put on the pieces and I got ready for our game. I watched her pink nail polish chipped at the points where she bit them last night. Pawn to A3; such a rookie move. "Make a point?" Pawn to D4. She must realize she’ll never beat me this way. "You know you mean everything to me and I think --" Pawn to B4; same defense as always, doesn’t she understand that those are her only sacrifices. "Do you honestly think I give a shit about waht you think about me, about school, about my life, about any --" Bishop to B4. She doesn’t even put up a real defense; it’s like she wants me to win. "about anything, cause I'm Jesus; I'm the world's greatest mind and they don't know it yet. Why don't you shut the fuck and listen to someone else besides your --" Knight to E3, that’s not like her. "self cause you should honestly grow up; blah blah blah. Why don't you listen to me? I think I know a little bit more about life than you." Pawn to H4. "You took a bullet in basic training and all of a sudden you think you've lived everyones lives. You haven't." Pawn to B4; she shook as she took my Bishop. Somethings up. “Oh, baby, you mean everything to me.” Knight to C3. “Fuck you.” Rook to A5. She’s attacking me. “Isn’t that what you always wanted to hear? It’s what you begged me to say as I pulled down your skirt the first night we met. “Tell me I mean everything to you.” You’ve always been so pathetic.” Rook to H5; I’m ending this game. “When it came to you, and only you. You’ve always meant the world to me and you treat me like I’m some worthless piece of trash you can just pick up and throw away as you’d like.” Pawn to D4. “you’re my fucking girlfriend; what more could you ask for? I take you to dinners, I go for walks with you, I watch your pathetic little shows on TV with you and I even stopped spoiling the endings of horror movies for you.” Bishop to A3. “I’m your girlfriend? Since when? Why don’t we ask that girl at the mall you talked to yesterday or maybe my cousin, you know, the one with the big breasts you love so much.” Knight to A4; another worthless sacrifice. “Courtney was all over me that day.” Rook to H4. “And you disguise yourself to take me to dinner or go walk around. And you never spoiled the endings for me; you just guessed them.” She didn’t move. “I fucking love you, okay, I just don’t know how to express myself. Also, your move.” I didn’t blink as she moved yet another pawn up to the line. More worthless sacrifices. “So what? Am I just supposed to suffer because your narcissistic? I give you everything I have and you act like I’ve barely even made a difference in your life.” “Would my life really be that different without you?” “Would you really want to live your life without me.” After a long silence and nothing but the noise of the chess pieces hitting the cardboard every ten seconds, she screamed, “Checkmate!” I looked at her blonde hair and blue eyes and whispered, “ I’m trying.” Reminisce Death and war is a reality to all of us. We do not and I repeat do not live in a happy, all smiles world, brought into this life by our bitch of mother’s warm love. That’s not how it worked. You know as well as I do, your mother…your father, they were eager, young stupid. Well, they could’ve wanted some child to nurse their sorry asses when they were back to mushy foods. Square one. Always back to square one. We start without teeth, we end without teeth. Ironic isn’t it? Resorting back to our most simplest form. I can’t hear anymore. Even now, the sound of heavy artillery burns my ears. I think I lost part of the left one. It hasn’t stopped bleeding for two hours. My body aches. There’s a broken rib somewhere. I just have to feel around. My knee cap, think it’s busted. Oh and that bastard, he stabbed me right clean through the shoulder. Not so bad. Not so bad when you’re alive. You know you’re alive when you feel pain. Pain is your friend, pain can be your lover. Your most instinctive knowledge of life. It let’s you know that you’re heart’s still fucking beating. Isn’t that poetic? No, No, No I got dragged into this damn war. I accepted it. Money. Money brings out the greed in people. I’m a greedy man let me tell you. I’d trade my own mother in if it meant a measly fucken grand. Doesn’t matter now. They couldn’t pay me enough to do this again. When you hear the enemy’s screams and confuse them for your comrade’s, then that’s always bad. I heard a guy wale like a banshee on a hot heavy Saturday night. He quit screaming. My bullet found its way to the back of his skull. He quit screaming alright. You know I had a dog. His name was Rickey. He’s over there somewhere. Bled out like a gut pig. I killed those son’s o’ bitches. Killed them for killing my closest friend. He was good to me. Always had my back. Never asked for anything. Gave his life. That, man, THAT was a hero. No, no now you see these guys both sides of the fence, running away, game of war has no rules so every victim, every child, every married man’s wife is up for grabs. It doesn’t matter what they are, where the hell they came from. German, Chinese, Canadian, Tai, Indian, Russian, that little island off of Senegal. I’ve had them all. I’m not a good man if that’s what you’re questioning. I’ve done horrible things. Great things to some. Depends how you look at it I guess. But Rickey, Rickey was loyal. I cried for him. Never cried for no one. I cried for him. Four legged and wagging his tail, devoted to serve and not to fail. Closest friend on this ride. Dogs or soldiers just the same. Pisses me off, if I’m to make it out of this alive; oldest cliché in the book right; try and forget, what war has done to these pets. Fucking rhymes. War’s nasty. War’s a sick thing. And I love every minute of it. I like to see them bleed out. I like to watch the panic in their eyes right before they quit breathing. It sends a chill down my spine to see them shake and convulse like some damn caterpillar. You think I’m twisted? I’m not twisted. Don’t blame me for what I became. It’s not my fault. Blame man. Blame your children. However the hell you think of them. They did it to themselves. They made me what I am. I was only 17 when this shit war started. It’s been 15 years. What did you think would happen after two more world wars? Hungary’s a polluted mine. Half of China’s dust. Africa’s a bigger mess then it started out in if you could believe it. The U.S. turned into a third world country. You don’t want to know what kind’ve hell started south of us. The other America. Heh, Europe? What Europe? It’s every country for themselves. Out here, you either play by your own rules or your working for someone. You become their bitch. So don’t blame me for what they made me. That isn’t fair. Fuck, I got a bullet in my ass. It’s Forest fucking Gump all over again. Where was I? Sorry I lost track. Excuse me but it’s hard when your two feet deep in mud and blood. We’re just missing the beer now. I could go for something strong. And a big steak. Cooked well done. I had too many things rare…still moving. I’d do anything for ketchup. Hot sauce. Give me some hot sauce. Hell took my nourishment away. I haven’t seen a bird in the sky for years. FOR YEARS. I forgot what chicken tastes like. KFC went out of business nine years ago. I guess that bird flu thing got around huh? Suppose it was before or after the former Soviet Union whatever they like to call themselves, now Russia leaked off that Smallpox virus. Only problem is, how do you control a virus right? Well them Russians weren’t too bright. Half their population went along with 1/3 of the world’s. Boom! So much for overpopulation right? That’s not a problem but recruiting soldiers is. The smaller nations have it hard. Unless you’re Britain you end up getting swallowed in by the larger more powerful countries. Africa got hit hard with that rule of thumb. Ghana, Uganda, Namibia they’re all someone’s bitch now. Enslaved countries is what we call them. It’s horrible. You never want to go there. The life expectancy is like eh fifteen or something. I’m hungry. If you’ve never faced death, you’ve never lived. Really lived. Heard that one before haven’t you? You’ve probably been there right? Well not mine. Not my death. He follows me everywhere. You can’t do jack shit about it either. He’s like a fucking plague. To imagine the whine of its path. Cries of hate, and anguish scream across this battlefield, fucking morgue is what it is. Yet, you know, the cry of eternally destined is the cry most of us fear the most. It’s easy to set aside our fear when facing an enemy that would cheer at the sight of a needle gouged through your eye and 20,000 watts coursing through your body like some living toaster. We do what we’re trained to do. Play with death, take the lives of those that seek to take ours. To celebrate the taking and saving lives. But, we never save lives. We forgot that concept a long time ago. Blood, it’s the life force of our bodies. It’s the life force of our enemies. Let me tell you now. You know this. You must. There is no hero in death. There was never a hero. Except Rickey. God I loved that dog. I can still feel. I have emotion. It’s warped. It’s old and gnarled. My heartbeat quickens only to the dying man’s voice. Tanks. What tanks? There isn’t any money for tanks anymore. There isn’t the man power, the skill, for tanks. Warheads took care of those. Problem when every major country possesses some of the most powerful shit you’d ever lay your eyes on. The world goes boom and there’s nothing left. Knocks you back to the bottom of the holy shit! I saw a fucking crow. No really. Was that a hallucination? Maybe, I’ve lost a lot of blood. I feel like I’m at an all day spa. That warm gooey shit they put on you? Never been to one but I imagine that’s how it’d feel. Out of this world. I’ve never been married and if I had, I probably would have killed her. Accident I assure you. It’s just, I don’t like being touched when I’m asleep. I keep a maserin tactical attack dagger under my pillow. It’s like a third hand to me. The last woman made the mistake of wanting seconds at 3 am in the morning. I said I was sorry but I guess scars stay with you for life. She shouldn’t be bitching. I have lots of them. So why do people hate war so much? Yet they’ll play games. All kinds of simulation games, board games, mimic types. Paintball. What’s more exciting then using your own body? A game of life or death, a chance to fuck up an entire country. No more fake paper money but real gold. No more ex points, but the chance for battle experience. I don’t understand. They say one thing and then they want another. If you don’t want to feel a bullet rip through your gut, keep your ass down and shut the fuck up. Kill them first before they kill you and then you get down. You stay down. As long as it takes. Ah crap something smells dammit, I think it’s me. Wait. Yes it’s me. Fucken great. I’m going to have a smelly death. I picked one hell of a place to leave my sorry ass to die. That’s just one more thing you got to get use to. Games are like that. Strategy. Use it. But all of them panic. We’ve turned our nations into tribes, our trusts into lies, our love into sadistic sexual want. That’s a fine way to see ourselves. We fucked up big time. Our meat’s rotten, our kids don’t last to the age of five, our houses look like swiss cheese, we sleep awake, we live in fear. This is life. This is a game. A constant, ongoing fun game. Are you not having fun yet? I am. But I lost. Us veterans burn out you know? I’m only 32. That’s what’s fucking sad. Oh jeez! My left butt cheek hurts like a flat backed camel. I need to get up. Get up… Yeah that’s not happening. The enemy’s here. But they can’t tell the dead from the living, so they throw random grenades everywhere until they’ve gotten their fill of flying limbs and torsos. And there goes my toe. I want to scream but I forgot how to scream. My body’s shutting down but the pain gun’s trigger happy. I’m still alive. I’m not dead yet. Not yet. War can be fun if you play your cards right. This game’s gone on too long though. I’ve been used as the pawn too often. I’m sick of it. I want out. It’s always so cloudy out here. Can I just for once see the fucking sun before my ass ships off to hell? I mean is that too much to ask? I guess so. That’s shit luck. It smells like gas too. This air isn’t even fit enough to breath. My last two mates got lung cancer before they hit 20. They never smoked a day in their life. Listen, I’ve done a lot of bad things. I don’t regret it, I’ve had fun. It was a lot of fun. It was horrible. It was torture every day every night, every hour, every minute, every breath. I don’t remember someone loving me. Rickey doesn’t count. Yes he does. He never judged me. He lay on my lap and slept. He still loved me. But no one else would. I fought wars for them, I saved the lives of men I didn’t know, I killed for men that were not my friends, but no one cared about me. I don’t want to go to hell. I don’t want to turn into nothing. I don’t want to say I had no purpose. I don’t want to call this my life. I had fun but I want to rest now. That’s not- I can’t see anymore God. That’s a good sign right? I can’t hear. That was a given though. I can’t feel. I never felt. I felt nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I felt everything. I felt- Compass Standing on a hill, a man with blond hair and green eyes stared down on a valley below. The valley split off in two directions; one path was green and lush and the other was harsh and devoid of life. Next to the man was an Oak tree with green leaves with flowers blooming at its base. The man looked ordinary besides the compass that he carried. It was gold encrusted with rubies pointing in four directions and in the center was a needle with a emerald at its end. The light glistened off the compass in multitudes of brilliant color and was that light was visible from afar. As the man continued to stand there, a traveler with a pack full of goods on his back. The traveler seemed tired as he made it over the hill and wiped some sweat from his face. He glanced at the valley below and saw the easy green half. With a glee in his eye, he yearned for the easy and beautiful path. As he was about to continue toward the valley, the light off of the compass struck his eye and he looked toward the man who stood on the hill. The traveler tilted his head and headed toward the man. “Hello traveler.” The man with the compass spoke as he continued to look at the valley below. “You seemed tired, have a rest.” Rubbing his chin, the traveler thought about it and pulled off his pack allowing the heavy pack to gently hit the ground. Straightening out his back, the traveler heard a crack and then leaned forward to make himself feel better. “I needed that.” He was about to sit down on the ground, but the light from the compass taught his eye. Walking over to the man, the traveler couldn't help but look at the beautiful compass. “That's beautiful. Is it a family heirloom?” “Thanks, and yes it is.” The man continued to look at the valley as responded to the traveler's question. The traveler shook his head a little bit as the compass' spell worn off on him. He then saw that the man with compass didn't turn to him to speak; only looking toward the valley. Shifting his eyes around, the traveler didn't see where this man lived or what he did for a living. “What is it exactly that you do?” “I'm the watcher of this valley.” “Watcher?” “I give directions through this valley, so that they may pass safely.” The traveler looked at the valley and raised his eyebrow. “There isn't anything dangerous down there... that I see anyway.” The compass jerked in the man's hand and he looked down at it. “I see...” The traveler continued to raise his eyebrow. “You see what?” “Do you plan on traveling through this valley?” “Yeah.” “Take the rocky path. That is the safest route.” The traveler looked at the rock path in the valley. “What? Are you mad? The other path is much shorter and a lot easier to cross.” “Danger lies on the path you spoke of. Use the rocky path and you will traverse safely.” Before the traveler could speak again, another man walked over the hill. This man didn't carry a pack, but wore dark clothing with a mask on. The newcomer chuckled at the sight of the two men standing there, and walked over. “Lovely day isn't it?” “Very beautiful.” The man with the compass spoke as he looked back onto the valley. Seeing the gold encrusted compass, the newcomer's eyes shot open as if he found the pot of gold. This man with the dark clothes pulled out a knife and pointed it straight at the watcher's throat. “Give up that treasure.” “No. Please put that down.” Holding the knife firm, the man chuckled. “Please? Ha! Quit with the jokes and hand over the treasure.” The man holding the compass looked at his assaulter while the traveler took several steps back from this scene. “I asked kindly.” With a look of serenity, the man continued. “However, it appears your heart is black and you care not for your fellow man.” Reaching out for the compass, the thief scoffed at the man's words. “Don't try to lecture me... give me that compass. Now!” Taking a swipe at the man, the thief tore part of the man's clothing and missed the compass. Looking back at the compass, the man had a look of sadness on his face. “My friend isn't happy with you.” “Friend?” The thief scoffed again as he looked at the traveler. “He is only a merchant. How am I suppose to be afraid of him?” “Not him.” The man pointed straight at the thief. “The one behind you.” The traveler looked behind the thief and saw only the Oak tree. Which amazed the traveler more with the thief reaction to looking in that direction. The thief was scared shitless and ran off toward the valley. He was simply speechless as he watched the thief run into the valley. As he continued to watch the thief run in the valley, the traveler saw that the thief was taking the lush path. Looking toward the watcher, “I thought you said the green path was dangerous.” “It is.” The traveler looked toward where the thief had run off to, however the thief wasn't in view anymore. Puzzled, he looked at the valley seeing if the thief changed direction. Two dragon wings protruded from the floor of the lush path and the dragon's head appeared above the floor of the valley. It had something black in its mouth. Bucking its head back, the dragon threw it into the air and swallowed it. The wings and the head of the dragon lowered back into the valley. “A dragon...” The traveler was astonished at the sight of a real dragon. “How is that possible? What's going on here?” “Calm down.” The man looked toward the traveler and smiled. “That man was evil, and judgment was passed on him. All he had to do was listen, however he wanted this compass more than my knowledge.” The traveler slowly walked back toward his pack. “What do you mean judgment and wanting?” “The judgment is this compass. It will bring out the true self. You did the same thing, but your soul wasn't dark like his.” Picking up the heavy pack, the traveler slowly made his way from the man on the hill. “Remember, the rocky path is the safe path.” Warm rain is falling on my face drop by drop. But the individuality of each drop is lost, because countless scores of them have soaked my body to the core. I am alone and the pain is almost too much to bear. I have been sick for some time now, and it has become steadily worse. I feel that this moment may be the climax. It started a little over a year ago, when I began to become disoriented and dizzy from time to time. As time progressed, the symptoms became more intense and frequent. I also began to feel a tightening sensation in my chest. Four months ago, that sensation traveled up into the back of my throat, causing me to cough up blood. I’ve been able to hide the symptoms for a while now, because the initial disorientation allows me enough time to distance myself from people before the coughing starts. I was able to hide it for the longest time from almost everyone, but it’s probably on the tip of everyone’s tongue now. I ask myself why this is happening to me and why I am alone here, but the clouds never give me an answer. It’s not my health that I wish to recover, it is my life. It was exactly four months ago that my life started to slowly dissolve. Four months ago, I was a prostitute. They called me Scarlet, but my real name is Jade. I guess red is a prettier color than green. Looking at me, you would never have guessed that I am so diseased on the inside. I have long dark hair that wraps around my shoulder and a cute face. Often times, other women would tell me that I look as innocent as the day they first met me. It’s a kind of aesthetic beauty that some men find appealing, and they treat me delicately like a rose. But I know in the end, they don’t really care for me at all. People always wondered why someone like me could end up as a prostitute. I’m cheerful and very polite, and I like to read. I guess the reason why I did what I did was because I wanted to help Lisa. She was the woman who found me on the street and gave me a place to live. She’s an older blond, but I still think she’s beautiful in a refined sort of way. I would do anything for her. I don’t remember much from my past, at least nothing I can visually recall. It’s funny how you can remember how you felt when something happened, but have no clue where or when it happened. I remember my abusive and drug addicted parents and how they made me feel worthless. I remember how hungry I was on the street after I left, and how scared I was at night. But most of all, I remember how happy I was when Lisa found me. I can acknowledge now that Lisa was never really a good person. Her life had been difficult and she used me to be her aide. I was young and willing to work all the time for only food and a place to sleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I always knew that she might throw me out one day if I proved to be no longer useful. And the times she said she loved me, were just lies she said because she wanted me to do something for her. It was manipulative and cruel to prey off the loneliness of a child, but I have no regrets about it. My entire life, people have been telling me that I was no good or worthless. Maybe it is because they are jealous of how I look, or maybe it’s the truth. But it was just so good to hear Lisa say that she needed and loved me, even if it was a lie. If a truth and a lie both make you feel that same way, than why should you bother to worry about the technicalities? It was when she was losing prostitutes and needed a hand that I became one myself. I gave Lisa 100% of my daily earnings. All the other girls told me I was too innocent to be a prostitute, but the men never seemed to mind. They would come in devilish looks on their faces and leave with a minor sense of guilt. It was very strange to see the transition at first, but I got used to it. Sometimes I would hug them and pretend that they loved me, but all of them were too caught up in their own experience and just assumed I was getting more intimate. I suppose in a way that is true, just not in the way they expected. I never looked down on the men, even the rowdiest of them. I think in our hearts we all want to be loved, just not in the same way. Nevertheless, I think it stems from the same source. We’re all just lonely people. But once my symptoms became stronger, I started to have problems. One time, I passed out when I was with a client. Client sounds like such feigned attempt at civility, but I cannot really say anything bad about the man. He helped me and brought me to Lisa without asking for a refund. I guess he was just a lonely and kind man. About two days later, I started coughing up blood. The only person I told was Lisa. For some reason, I thought she would offer her sympathy to me but she offered none. The blood was dribbling down the side of my mouth and the room was quiet. In a very ominous sort of way, she looked me into the eyes and sighed. The only thing she could say was, “What have you done to yourself?” I haven’t been to the hospital and I wouldn’t dare ask Lisa to go. There isn’t enough money for that sort of thing. I knew that if I stopped being a prostitute my life would be over. Lisa would get rid of me for good. So I continued to sell my body but even though my life depended on it, I felt like I was doing it more for Lisa’s sake than my own. None of the other girls knew but perhaps suspected. Lisa became extremely cold to me. No longer did false words of praise fall from her lips, and no longer did she tell me she needed me. Yet despite this, my platonic love for her never wavered. From what I’ve seen in life, people often shift blame unto others and distort reality until they become the solution and not the problem. However, when your perception of the world fails to match reality, than only pain will ensue. Sometimes you have to accept that fact that you are useless. The coughing fits became almost too much to bear. For at least 30 minutes afterwards, I would be unable to move. Luckily, there is a small tree in the back of our complex. Whenever I felt a tightening feeling in my chest, I would go there and wait until the ordeal was over. While the gentle breeze soothed me, I would count the clouds and dream about a new life with Lisa and all the other women. Sometimes I would even dream about being healthy so I could help Lisa again. I’m not sure how I did it, but for the longest time I was able to suppress the symptoms. Men would make love to me without knowing that I was decaying flower. With a beautiful exterior, it was impossible for them to see that I was dying in the inside. Sex was a painful thing to me every time. It heightened my nervous system, increased my heart rate, and raised my blood pressure among other things. All these effects acted as catalysts for my illness, and although I could suppress the coughing I would often become disoriented. I would start breathing heavily and collapse on top or underneath the men. In a false sense of pride, they all looked at the situation as their male fortuities exhausting my feminine reserves. In reality, my body was just exhausted from the strain. I wonder if all people live life like they are the center of the universe. Whenever I handed money to Lisa, she never made eye contact. I’m not sure if it was because she was disappointed in me, or because I spent some of the money I earned. I did not buy useless things. I bought methods of protection for my customers. It wasn’t for my sake, but for theirs. I’m almost positive that whatever disease inside me in not communicable, but I feel like I could never take that chance with someone’s life, no matter how corrupt. I also buy throat drops to rinse the taste of blood out of my mouth. I know it’s incredibly selfish for Lisa to complain about my spending, but I’ll accept her disapproval for the sake of those around me. For a brief time, it looked as if things would change for us. A local and very wealthy man came into our house one day. He offered to pay a substantial amount of money if he could spend the night with a woman to his likely. Lisa lined us up as cattle and made sure that I was the very last person at the end of the line. I think her hope was that he’d find someone before he got to me. But without a moment’s hesitation, he told Lisa he wanted me. He did not even inspect all the girls. I felt a shiver travel down my spine and tightening in my stomach. It wasn’t the tightening feeling I was accustomed to, it was fear. I expected Lisa to vehemently refuse, but she stared into my green eyes and said I would be ready the next evening. For the next 24 hours, Lisa loved me again. She told me how beautiful I was and how much she loved me. After being neglected for months these words hurt more than made me feel good. But I decided to give into the lie once more. I realized that this was finally a chance for my useless self to atone. Lisa seemed to think so too. She gave me food and medicine to help with my symptoms. From the bottom of her desperation, she asked me to not give in to my symptoms. The next evening was one I dreaded the night before. I was restless and couldn’t sleep. Before I left to see the man, I tried to force myself to cough blood. I got a little to come out, and thought that I would be okay. When I finally arrived at his place, he was very cordial and polite. He gave me champagne and talked to me about his busy life. He had sacrificed love for the sake of success. For a moment, I pitied how lonely he must feel. He seemed to display a sense of chivalry towards women. For a moment, I thought I could survive this evening. Initially, he was very frisky and energetic. But eventually he became more collected and loving. For a time, I almost felt like his wife. In a strange sort of way, I could see how a woman could love a man, even if he was neglectful and absorbed in money. But this feeling did not last long. During the climax of our encounter, I felt a familiar sensation in my chest. Desperately, I tried to subdue the sensation, but the metallic taste kept climbing up my throat. I used my strength to roll us over so that I was on top, because his weight had been crushing my chest. But the sensation was harder and harder to suppress. He asked me if I was having a hard time holding it in and I nodded. I wish I had not. This spurred him on and excited him and he began to become more physical. The fourth or fifth time he told me to let it go, I spewed blood all over his chest. Immediately, all his vibrant motion ceased and he looked up at me. I didn’t have much time to look into his eyes and apologize when he struck me in the cheek with his fist. The ring on his finger cut a gash across my face as I tumbled off the bed onto the floor. I felt a wave of disorientation and I passed out. When I awoke, the man was fully dressed. He noticed that I was awake and told me to leave immediately. And yet here I was, a naked person on the floor with blood coming out of her mouth and bloody crimson tears falling down her face. He did not seem angry, but he did move with a sense of intensity. I was ushered out before I could collect all my belongings. When I reached the bottom of the building, Lisa was standing there. I must have looked terrible. I could hardly stand, and sunk to my knees. But Lisa helped me up and we went into her car. We drove for a while and I felt like someone was actually caring for me. I started to smile a little. Suddenly, Lisa stopped the car right next to a deserted alleyway. The rain had begun to fall and tapped on the roof of the car. Before I could ask Lisa why we stopped she said, “This is the last time you stupid whore. Get out.” The look of her face is of utmost hated and intolerance. No lie in the world could erase the anger on her face. The one person who has even pretended to love me now hates me more than anything. I cannot help but feel stunned as I stumble out of the car. Lisa drives off and I am left alone in a disgusting alley. My body is incredibly weak and another coughing fit starts. That is where I am now. I am alone and abandoned in a dirty alley in some part of town that I have never seen. And this coughing fit is the most intense that I have ever experienced. I can only wonder what will happen to Lisa. I hope she will be alright. I know that I owe her nothing at this point, but it does not matter to me. She is the only person who has ever told me that they loved or needed me. At this point in my life, a lie is all I have left. It is what I will clutch as I feel this pain in my chest. The voluminous amount of blood that I have expelled is being washed away into the gutter by rainwater. But still, there is a long lingering trail of red pain and red sorrow. All I ever did was try to feel loved by people who saw me only as a tool. Lisa and all the men never saw me as a person, but as an object. I might as well be a tool or a toy because I am used without any regard to my being |






