Thursday, July 25, 2013

Diary of Dispair

day 1

I hate this place. I hate the way it smells and the sounds that I hear when I am trying to sleep at night. I hate it for many reasons that I cannot talk about too. I hate this place.

day 2

I still hate this place but I hate it more than yesterday. But something has crept into the hate and shares a room with it, so to speak. I hate that I hate this place because it is just a place without real reason at all, just a place.

I heard the phone ring and I ignored it. I knew it was you and I didnt want to tell you that everything would be okay, for the fiftenth time.

It wasn't my fault, after all. I just did what was right and you dont know it was me. I know it was me...and it makes me hate this place more.

I hate my toothbrush in the little white canister sitting upon the sink. I hate it because if it had eyes, it would stare at me and accuse me of something I didnt do.

day 3

I heard a knock at the door and I thought it was you so I didnt answer. I could smell men's cologne but I still thought it could be you, so I didnt answer.
I turned on the television too and watched an episode of something. For some reason, I cannot even remember what was on television today. I know that everyone was looking at the cameras like they could see me watching them. There was one girl that looked like you and so I turned the televison off again.

I just sat here for hours and thought about a book I used to read on the War. But then I thought about my war inside, that led me to you. I hate this place.

day 4

I did it again. I checked into my fake account to see if you had left anymore messages but you hadnt. I had this feeling that you had wrote a message to my fake persona and then you erased it. I decided to stay offline for a while. I need to pay my bill so that I can stay online. If I close my account, you will think I am avoiding you and you might call. I really dont want you to call because I wouldnt know what to say to you.

I am sorry, but I hate saying I am sorry. When I say I am sorry, they can see the real me. I cant let them see the real me. I cannot let you see the real me. This place feels like it is shrinking and swallowing me whole. I hate being here but I cannot leave. If I leave, I might see you. I dont want to see you...because I am sorry.

day 5

I didnt get out of bed today because it was raining. I know how much you love the rain adn I thought you might be out and about. I thought for some crazy reason that you might come see me. I cant see you because then I would cry

..because it really is my fault.

day 6

I am sorry that you are there and I am here and I do not see your face anymore. I hope you are well but I cannot call you because I just cant. I have no reason to give you for not calling except that I am a coward. I look aroudn and this place reminds me of you because it is without you. I am without you and probably will forever be without you.

The phone rings again and I hate this place more. I stand and i pace, I stand and I scream. But then I panic because maybe you heard me. Maybe you know that it was my fault. Maybe you will come.
I am scared that you will come and so I climb in the bed adn pull the covers over my head. I head the refrigerator and the noises it sometimes makes. I know you can hear them matter how far away.

I feel your voodoo eye and I start to cry.

please forgive me

day 7

I havent eaten since you left. I hate food. I hate this place. I hate my toothbrush. I hate the phone.

I hate me.

I hate me

I hate me

I am not hungry. I am not thirsty. I try to eat a peice of bread but the noise is so loud that I stop. I think you can hear me. I know it hurts you and so I throw the bread away.

I panic when the bread hits the garbage can and it makes so much noise.

The phone rings and I throw it against the wall. Maybe you were calling. Maybe you heard me break the phone. I hate that phone. I hate this place

I hate you

I am sorry

day 8

I am tired.

I am sleepy

But I cannot go to sleep because then you would come. YOu would knock on my door, ring my phone and then you would scream and cry your torment through the door. I would let you in and I would tell you that I am sorry and then you would forgive me.

But I cannot do that.

Because I am not sorry

I did it

I had to

because I was a coward

day 9

I am sorry

I wish I could take it back

but I cannot do that

but then if I could, I dont think I would

because you would know I care.

but i dont care

i hate you

i hate you

I hate this place

your eyes are in the walls, your eyes are in the mirrors, in my coffee

your blood is running down the walls

I hear you knocking on my door

i hear you ringing my phone

I hear you calling my name

I see you everywhere

I hate my eyes

I hate my ears


I am tormented

I am sorry

day 10

I am sorry

Sunday, July 21, 2013

The horror

It had been more than two weeks inside the cell. I felt the hands that werent really there, I felt them. I knew that beyond the wall on the left was your cell and the one on the right was empty. I heard them talking too, every night I heard them discussing what they were going to do to me when the time came to bring me from the cell. I didn't really care anymore because time in the cell had dried my reserve and taken hope from my basket. But I lie, I do care. I do not wish to suffer, I wish to die.

My hands were tarnished from digging. My nails were broken from scrapping with a broken hair pin that I found in the corner. I dont know which is more broken, the pin or my will. The blood on
my wrists had dried and crumbled in places where the wounds had healed. I felt defeated. Yet, I heard you whimpering next to me through the stone of the wall. And so I whispered to you

"shhh my dear, I will tell them it was me...all me. I will insist they let you go in exchange for my information...I promise."

And you responded with nothing because you hated me. I could feel your hatred as sure and sharp as a knife. I wanted to explain the reasons for my harsh words but I could not. They were just
too complicated. There was just too many wounds to heal and I would soon meet my fate.

"Listen, they will come for me but I will be gone. I have sent them a message that you shall serve as their reason to break these walls. They will come too late, you see. They will come too
late for me."

The tears I should have, I have none. I cried the first 4 nights because you had abandoned me. Then when they found you, I sat by the wall to your cell and just listened. I heard your your family, to your god. I heard your weeping and it seemed distant. And then your weeping coaxed my own tears to come again and I then forgave you for deserting me. How many
times did I forgive you for deserting me. When I was sick, you did not come. When I was lonely, I remained alone in the forest, crying by the old oak next to the cemetary gates. And finally,
when they came to take me away, I saw you put your hand to your face and watch in horror....but you did not help me.

I should be grateful. They say death is a gift for those who live in hell on earth. Maybe this time, when they come for me, there will be death that awaits and not more torture.

I look down at my torn wrists and wish that the stone had been sharper and the earth had been colder. Maybe if death had taken me sooner, I would not feel the hate in my heart, I would not
feel the love in my heart and I would not sit by the wall and try to convince you to take my salvation. But I do this because I have no hope but the hope to save you.

They are coming now. I hear their hard heels hitting the stones and their breath against the cold air. I hear the lock turning and their advancement. I hear them coming for me.

"Hey, stay away from the north wall. They will be here soon, be ready to flee."
She was there beside me, on the rack. They had done to her what they would soon do to me. She turned with a bloody face and her lips quivered.

"I know what you are thinking." she mumbled. She spoke with all her strength because to her, it was important for me. She felt my inner turmoil which was more powerful than my will to live.

I spoke to her softly as to keep the others from hearing. "what do you mean?"

she smiled a grim and horrible smile. "The other one..the one in the cell beside you. He has forgotten who you are. You arent even a fleetig thought. He weeps and weeps...for himself."

The hurt was enormous but she knew it was all I needed to welcome the pain that was ahead. My will to live was gone. I nodded my head and watched the soldiers walk up to me with their
instruments of torture. I smiled.

The pain would be welcoming to the thing I had inside. The thing that had become nothing.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

The condition (the dying process)

And then there was nothing. After I had chosen my words rashly, there was nothing left. I cried the night through without Stephen. It was as any other weekday night that I had endured without him...except this night, he was supposed to be here.  I imaged Stephen roaming some dark street somewhere with his cigar dwindling in his hand. His mind must have been a mess with things; things such as why the world was always at its own throat and why its self destruction was ignored by mindless pleasure seekers. I knew he thought about this because night after night, we thought it together. The words that I shouted at him were killing me now. I could not believe that I had commanded him to go away. In my own mind, I thought I had good reasons but it was driving me insane to be away from him. My love did not stop had a section of its own, a part of my brain it inhabited and governed with no remorse for my logic. And my logic waged war as well...telling me that Stephen did not care at all and that I was just there for his entertainment. Maybe I was and maybe I had kid myself all along that he was different, that he stood out from the crowd. Maybe he was just like the others...just a different flavor.

So, I knew he could read my thoughts and that he had come to me before as simply as my thoughts wavered to him. Many times, he had stood outside my window smiling and motioning for me to let him inside. I would run to the door, swing wide tis opening and run outside to greet my lover. He was always warm whether it was summer or winter, rainging or snowing..he was comforting. I found myself feeling the most hollow pain in my chest as the hours passed by and he never came. Then I realized that he had taken my words as the gospel. I told him that I wanted him to go and so he did. When he did not come for me, I walked outside and up the ladder on the side of my little apartment. When I reached the roof, I sat down upon the ledge.


I turned to the voice that had become so familiar over the past months. It was such a voice that my body responded at the tone. I found comfort here and a strange home within his words. I could not explain why he comforted me so but it was something amazing and intriguing. "Stephen, you came."
The man came to stand beside me and then flicked his cigar out and into the street below. I could smell his cologne and it made me feel warm and soft inside....almost pliable. "I wasn't going to come but I could feel you tugging at my mind. I thought that you might seriously need me for something and so I came."

looking up, I motioned for him to join me. He accepted and plopped down upon the ledge right beside me. His hair was a mess and he just couldnt keep his hands out of the mess. I chuckled lightly at the sight of his unkempt head. "I like your hair."

"Ha ha, very funny...I just don't give a shit anymore, Cynthia"

I looked back down at the street and the lights of the city in the distance. "Stephen, I don't like fighting with you. I know you have your ideas and I have mine. Basically, I miss you and I don't want to go for so long without seeing your face. I don't want to see memories of you only....I want to see you before me and I want to reach out and touch you. Even if I can only briefly touch you for a moment, I want this to be sane."

Stephen's blue eyes met mine as we both looked at each other. I saw their depth and many things which hovered there that were unexplainable. I saw my reflection and it was sad. Nothing could tame the beast within Stephen nor coudl it tame the beast within myself. We seemed to be at a stand still and it done no good for my heart. I wanted to weep in his arms and have him to understand me.
"I do understand you, Cynthia. I am just not capable of giving you what you want. I have already lived this sort of life once before and I cannot repeat this poison thing. I am not saying that you are bad or you are not good enough. I am saying that this is just something that is not possible for me to grant to you."

I felt no comfort in his words at all. I felt the lonliness bubble up and sit their congealing in its own ugliness. "Stephen, I don't know what to say. Can we just be friends tonight as before...before it all got so complicated? If you cannot truly love me as your mate, then can you truly love me"

I think Stephen was as confused as I and he rose from his sitting position. He scrunched his face and then dropped it into his hand. "I have to go...I have to leave here."

"Why...what's wrong?"

Stephen looked at me and he looked frightened. "I cannot be a party to what you are thinking, it is ridiculous."

I knew he had seen the picture in my head and I was ashamed. But mostly, I was tired and just wanted to stop feeling.

"I am alone, Stephen. Everything I have done has been a failure. These are things that I never had the chance to tell you. I am strong and they call me angry. I am fun and they call me a whore. Whatever I try to be is what they use to label me incompetent or disgusting. I am so very fucking tired of it all. Yes, it is true that you take me with you but I want to go away forever and you leave me here alone. Sometimes, I just want to talk or I just want to be silly and free but then you do not come. Those times, I am left with my own devices and ....sometimes, only the ring of my doorbell or the knock at the door, keeps me from putting a gun to my head. I am serious, Stephen."

Stephen's eyes were desperately holding back his tears, they shimmered in the light of the street lamps. "I try to make you feel loved, Cynthia. But, I have a life of my promises to him...I know you understand....and I am free..otherwise. I have enough responsibilities."

"I do..." I stood on the ledge and looked down at the parked car. I remembered things of the past and things of the present and my mind began to silently weigh living against dying.

Stephen grew angry. "You will not do things like that. I have heard so many things from others over and over again about how they are going to end it all. If you wanted to end your life, you wouldnt' have called to me. YOu would have just done the deed."


"yes, Cynthia"

" YOu are wrong...and.I am sorry" The gun was cool to my touch, it wasn't heavy and the trigger wasnt hard to pull... It was easier than my heartache.

Those were my last words and I heard his screaming. Then, in the waking world...the real world..I heard the loud bang and I remember the smell of the powder. And soul was no longer in the waking world.

In one instant, my dreams came true. I didn't have to do that stuff anymore. I didnt have to wonder what was in store for me because I wasnt an issue. I thought wrong, he felt me. I was everywhere. I would swoop down in the air and rest just above Stephen. He would look right up into me and speak.

"Hello Cynthia."

His eyes would fill with tears and he would throw something...he would scream and tear paper from the walls. He is writing this too because he cannot see me. My thoughts roam around and he reads them. He sits and writes what I say to him because he says he wants to put it down so that he can touch the that something of me is tangible. I am everywhere, all the time and forever. He reads the thoughts which flow through my mind. He writes the memories and other various things. He keeps part of me alive as he stuggles to maintain his sanity. This is what Stephen thinks because now, I can read his thoughts as well.

If I try hard enough, I can leave and go to some other far away place and give to him his space. I do this for him. But I return when he needs me.  I am free ...truly free...and when he calls to me...i am there.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

A letter to the Wolf

The Berghof
Eva Anna Braun

Dear one,
You will not like what I have to say. I know that even if I am correct, you would never admit to your weaknesses and defeat. I have heard so many rumors and they stiffle me. My heart is sick and I am so alone now.

I want to take the pills, all of them, because I have no hope left. You are always absent of me...playing with your war toys. There is no use calling to you, you shall come to me when you are ready. But I am lonely, rejection sits outside my doorway. OH,silly me, I know that you do not reject me but I have such a hollow space inside when you are gone. For when you are here, it is fleeting and filled with laughter of strange men. There are friends who come to dinner, bringing their ridiculous wives and girlfriends but there is little time for us to speak of the intimacy. Do not misunderstand me, my love...I have my girls which keep me company, they play songs and read poetry to me nightly when they are here...but tis not the same and you know this. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, how much longer do you have to wage this goes on and on with no end in sight.

Something strange is happening. I know you do not tell me the things of your business..Oh, please forgive me. I know that you do not live as the great Furer, the wolf... when you are with me. I see soldiers...just outside the borders of the shrubbery and you pretend as though they are not even there. I saw the captain speaking to you just outside my bedroom and you pushed him away angrily. You will not come in to me either, You wait outside my chamber for moments then you just retire to the library again. Is there something wrong with me?  Things used to be different and you used to come to me. Now, we only entertain or we run off to the Obersalzberg for holiday. I love it there but it is always filled with your plans for Russia or your plans for Britain. I feel trapped in my obsession of my dark and handsome suitor. I know you know what,s best for me and so I wait.

I have been punished. Some strange men have come and taken things from my room and things from the Berghoff. I do not know these men and I do not understand. I did pray...I have been praying for so long now and wishing for a way out of this madness...this lonliness. My mood grows unstable again, my love. I am frightened.

I asked God for a way out of my entrapment, a remedy to my illness and he is just in his answer. I do not understand the severity of what he had in store for me but it was just. Of course I feel numb, lost at the moment and in the moment. Tomorrow will be harder, I am sure. Tomorrow there will be responsibilities to face. I will face them. I wonder how I will face them because they seem so daunting. The thing is, I wanted this...I must have. I was stubborn in the face of God and I knew not how to listen...nor I wouldn't listen. I guess that is more of an acurate statement. But I wanted everything...not just a portion, but all of it and God said no.

I felt invincible and I believe that the lesson learned by this is that I am no more invincible than each moment on the face of the clock. Time will pass and this too shall pass, I said. I know I have heard that before but not sure if it is a biblical statement or something from a song. I attribute statements and quotes to many things which have fallen on my ears from various mediums. But no matter where I have heard the sage words of wisdom; time and circumstance devours them all equally.
So I sit here...fighting sleep and wishing for that time machine again. It is the one that I always wish for when I have gone too far. It's that moment in time that I wish that I could redo. But it will never pass over me again in the same place nor at the same time. It is done. The loss of reason and importance weighs heavily upon me. My heart is heavy, my brain is tired..this only mirrored by my aging body. Now what? I ask myself...because I am lost. The thoughts invade my mind and they are many many thoughts which beg to be filed away properly.

And then I know... It is simple, actually. I move on. And it is in a cliche manner. It speaks to me as the rantings and ravings have done in the previous months and years. It is the same words but in different context. This time those thoughts prepare me to finality. It is like the awaited death of long suffering. It says...."one step at a time". Because, I am wounded...wounded. I cannot stop seeing your face as you had me sent away. I will not lie, it hurt like knives as you waved your hand at me and asked your little foot soldiers to escort me back to the Berghov. Perhaps, I will never understand your reasonings...doesn't matter, I still love you.
But the wound is open, fresh and throbbing...and it will heal. Together with the servants of time and change. I am not sure of past events over the course of the last 4 days but I have my speculations. As I have said, I heard rumors from the staff. There is something deeper to this maybe, or is it my paranoia which keeps pushing me onward? I feel a great betrayal which has sprung from the inability and the fears of a coward. There are thoughts which keep telling me that I have loved an enemy, that I have lain great boughs of flowers around the neck of a murderer. Ah, so many lyrics from songs come to mind as my mind dwells more and more on the probable. I am in remembrance of a saying that I saw just days ago. It said: "I have given to you, the bullets to the gun which has killed me." And this would bring to mind the touches which have injected the poison which in turn would cause my death.

Oh, but do I simply fantasize about such nonesence or is it ...curiously true. The beast which is tantalizing...has it truly made the coward run for help? The beast which knew not that it was a beast to begin with?

Burned at stake, those who are innocent or simply have fallen mistakenly with only the intent to pursue what was right. The fallen....was not the devil himself once an angel? Was not the wounded and inflicted....then the abandoned in their wounds....werent the abandoned seen as the beast which caused their own demise? An opportunity, I rid thyself of thy the cost of another's suffering. Had you not looked within at the demon which raged beyond the rib cage, Had you not swept clean thy own soul....then the root would have been revealed. Tis not my weed that grew; it was thine own. My sun may have shined upon the tangled rain may have fallen upon thy poison flowers and my earth may have cradled thy roots in a bed of my own making....but my hands did not plant the thing which grew.

This too shall return to you and you will know....and you will reclaim an even darker torment..if what they say is true...if what my heart says is true. Not for the sake of my hatred, for I have none for you nor could I ever have, there is only love...but for the sake of the little ones who could not fight for justice.

My Furer... I love thee. And I will die with you as you would die with me. But what you reap...shall you sow. I have seen the truth and it is ugly... it is dark. My love, your power has engulfed you into waters so unknown and I watch you grow more entrapt in the shadows of your obsessions. I watch your face darken and you have changed. Who are you?

24 pills remaining
I will wait until your word and your return. Do not stay away for long or shall leave without you.

Your hidden love,

Eva Anna Braun

Sunday, July 7, 2013


The condition (The suffering)

There were no more trips to the AA sessions for me. In fact it really didn't cross my mind much at all anymore that we were flawed. Drink after drink, we paraded across roofs, danced the night away in strange ballrooms and drove recklessly down lonely desert roads at midday. We were something else then. Stephen carried me home after weekends of wild excursions around the city. There at my doorstep, he smiled at me and told me not to think on such things as I was thinking. He said that everything would be alright and there was no reason to worry about the other part of the world. I think he made appearances at the AA just to appease his wife. But that was how Stephen was, not necessarily a liar, per say; but he was not going to give something up if he could help it. Yes, he would make it appear like he was giving those things up but he was really just painting a picture for someone else in order to have his freedom and have time with his child as well. For me, it was different; I had no one to answer to but myself and my job. As long as my sobriety made an appearance at work, I was doing okay.  It was the world of my day job and the world of the other people who lived on the norm. I had to face them every week when Stephen would leave me. I did not know where he went but he disappeared for days. I might recieve a strange call where Stephen would start talking about something and he would never start with hello. It was as if we had never parted and the conversation was going on and on with no end. At first I felt irritated by his lack of responsibility and his dis-regard of time; but then his voice would captivate me and hold me hostage with its kaledoscope of various information that most of society found to be irrelevant. Most people that I worked with would never find the information that flowed from Stephen's mouth to serve any purpose at all. I was balancing things it seemed. I had to keep my job. But by Friday I found myself growing anxious and waiting for my mysterious friend to appear and whisk me away to some unknown destination so that we could continue our debates and colorful rants.

We were like the characters that most dreamt about. The free ones, the ones who ran ahead of the others in search of divination. I saw the world in different ways and with different eyes. The colors of existence were prisms and hues that couldnt have been explained by the most learned of artists. With Stephen, there was no time nor space that we did not belong but yet, we did not belong to anything or anyone. It was pure, it was. It was untainted in its brokeness.

But we rarely even touched. A pat here and a hug there and that was all. We were curiously intimate and yet, we still were not lovers...not at first. It was odd to say the least. You would think by now we would have fallen into the trance of tangled bodies and eager lips; but it was not true. We were as innocent babies with the minds of the aged wisemen.

 But it changed. I found myself wanting more as humans are want to do. I don't know why it happened or how. But at some point, I saw him differently. I started to notice the way his hair was a mess when he was angry. I started to notice how his face flushed when his passionate rants got the better of him. I started to notice vulnerability and he let me into his innermost sanctuary of thought. I cannot catalog the exactness of what happened but i remember when my thoughts shifted and I started to welcome the butterflies into my chest. It was like a raging monster and yet it was simple and comforting. And then, within my mind,the finality of it became so true and stark.

One day while waiting on Stephen to come for me, I started to contemplate what it would be like to kiss him. Before the great window in my apartment, I watched my reflection as I run my fingers across my lips. I imagined Stephen's lips against mine with thier taint of Whiskey or Tequila. I imagined the scent of him and his skin hot with passion from his rantings and ravings. I discovered then that I wanted him.

 When he came to my home that night, he didn't come to my door. He appeared through the shrubbery and walked right up to the great window and starred at me. His blue eyes were leathal and unknown. I almost did not recognize him anymore as Stephen. He did not smile and he did not speak...he stood there on the other side of my window and let the rain drench his black hair plastering it against his forehead. I felt him...and I cannot explain it more than that but I felt his intensity. I ran to the door and swung it open. The rain pelted my hair and my skin as I ran to where he stood. Stephen turned and smiled at me.

"So...are you sure?"

I was slightly confused but not much. After all this time, I had learned to read him with my eyes. I coudl not yet read his mind but we had developed a code of eye movements, nods of the head and shrugs that made our words sometimes completely unnecissary. I looked into his eyes and my breathing grew rapid. My heart raced and then I smiled. This time I wanted to speak. I wanted to hear my own voice to be sure of my decision.


Stephen took my face in his hand and kissed me. He kissed me softly and tasted every part of my mouth. In the downpour of rain, in the front of the great window of my apartment and in front of the night creatures....STephen made love to me for the first time. Then he left with no more words spoken.

It was understood that there was nothing to talk about and that he would be back when I was ready. Because...even if I didn't know it yet, things were different.


"You lied to me, Stephen." I spoke to him when he appeared outside my door.

Stephen stepped inside and looked around. "What did I lie about, exactly, Cynthia?"

"You said we were different. You said that we did not think like they do and that is not true." I fell into the chair by the door and he just kept standing. His frustration was a thick cloud.

Stephen did not speak for a while. He just stood and looked around my apartment. Then with trepidation, he spoke.

"I asked if you were ready and I guess you were not. I cannot give you what you want and I thought we were clear on these things. We have talked and talked the night through and you know I cannot stay here all the time. I cannot hold you every night like the others can."

I grew angry at his ability to read everything about me. Suddenly, my admiration changed to a hideous hurt that I could not conceal for the life of me. "Stop doing that. For one moment, stop reading me. It really isn't fair."

But I knew it was fair enough. Why should I have the ability to lie to him? He knew every emotion and every frustration that grew within me before it was there. His eyes starred into mine as I struggled not to cry.

"Don't do that! Do not cry! That is the thing that is not fair. I give you every stimulation that your mind needs. I gave you every part of my physical being when you crave it. I am here whenever you call to why is it so hard to accept the fact that you cannot own me, you cannot contain me? I am not something in which you can hold down with your thumb, Cynthia. I sometimes wish that ugly part of you would just die. It grows like weeds among the beautiful flowers of your soul, Cynthia." Stephen turned and punched the wall and then kicked at it as well. "I hate them for what they have instilled in you at such a young age. Cynthia, you do not need me to justify who or what you are! Just as I do not need you in order to have the order in my existence. I do not need you....but I want you."
His face grew soft again and he came to stand before me. I felt a strength that no other man had ever shown me. He clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. I would not look up at him. I was angry and hurting for what I knew that I could not have. A part of me wanted him to go away while a part of me wanted him to never leave. I was conflicted and he felt the conflict coursing through every part of my being. I knew this because he then squatted down before me. With a shaking hand, he reached and brushed the hair from my face.

"Cynthia, you are giving me mixed signals. It has never been this hard to read you."

I looked up and into his beautiful blue eyes. They were horrible and beautiful. I saw his deadly gift and I saw what he really was. He was free. It was something that I had longed to be for years but never truly knew what it meant. It was a wild freedom. It was pure in its cruelty.

"Cynthia, what is happening? I cannot read your thoughts." Stephen suddenly looked sad.

I glared at him in hatred and spoke through my clenched teeth..."Good! Now get out!"

Saturday, July 6, 2013

The Condition (contracting the disease)

The condition wasn't really rare at all; it was something that many of us suffer with. The human population struggles daily with different conditions including this condition that I speak of openly. There are those who hide their sickness of heart with smiles and play faces; but there are those who struggle openly with the problem making them look like raving lunatics. I guess I fall somewhere inbetween in the scope of things. I guess I am one of the few who develop others to fight the condition. I know how difficult my language must be to understand but it is the truth. This is how I deal with the pain of my heart. This is how I kill that which has infected me.

I always thought that to love was something great, something monumental in thinking and feeling but love is not all that simple nor is it so great. I find love to be the most complicated feeling in all of existence. When there is love eminating then there is none returning to me. But when there is no love eminating, then there is too much loved baraging me...driving me inward. It is never consistent and it is never reciprocated in its strenth and intensity. I hate love, actually. Love has caused more pain for me than a hot knife or a blinding blow to the head. I should know for I have experienced them both and woke reeling much less than when love wounded me.

So, did I come to such a negative perception of this 'loveable' emotion?

 I did nothing....nothing but stand there and watch him approach me. I did nothing but smile into his face and listen to his words. I did nothing but hold him in my arms and let his disease soak into me like moisturizer. I was open and inviting to love and I did not wage war with the substance.

"Hello" the stranger spoke to me in a soft but masculine voice. His smile seemed friendly enough and very genuine.

I smiled back at him and tilted my head because...that is just what I do when meeting someone and sizing them up. "Hello."

"My name is Stephen, I have an alcohol addiction." The man looked ashamed and dropped his face.
He was staring at his hands which wrung together like worms trying to get back under the earth. He exhaled deeply and then faced me once more. He pursed his lips.

I smiled bigger and then reached out my hand for a handshake. "My name is Cynthia, I also have an alcohol addiction."

Chuckling, I shifted in my seat and leaned in to see his face more clearly. "I think that none of us should be ashamed of what we are or what we have been through. It's okay, you are new will get better."

Stephen seemed relieved and so he smiled again and reached into his pocket. "gum?" He handed me a small red packet of Big Red and flipped open the flap. I declined sweetly and turned to face the speaker that had just walked into the room. Before she started to speak, I turned to Stephen and noticed that he was looking at me. He smiled and put his packet of gum back into his pocket.

 He never stopped looking at me until I said "What??"

He then told me that I was very beautiful and  he turned away again. He didn't speak another word the rest of the session and then left through the side door with no more words. I didn't think much about it that day; but when Stephen missed the next three appointments, I assumed he had quit the AA group. But I knew that was just the way of it and so I didn't think much more beyond that.

A week later, Stephen came back and he looked pretty rough. I assumed that he had fallen off the wagon and he was coming back for help. I decided to walk up to him and welcome him back to the group.

"Hey are you?" I spoke in a very cheerful voice. I even held a hand out for Stephen but he did not return the jesture. But he did speak back to me.

"Hey beautiful, I am know...I didn't do so well these past weeks." Stephen looked ashamed of his faltering. He dropped his head again and looked off to the side at some of the others in the room. "Something is very very wrong with me...that is what they say, anyhow."

I looked up and under at his face and offered him another genuine smile. So much smiling...surely it could help with something. " happens, you know. We all have our weaknesses...that is why we are here....right? Let me tell you something, an addiction can be many things...drugs, alcohol....people. It is called an addiction because of the fact that it digs its claws into you and pulls you, binds you to it and makes you something that you are not."

Stephen frowned and starred into my eyes. His eyes were beautiful but they were also very strange and intimidating. "I do not think that the addiction makes you into something that you are not, Cynthia. I think the addiction makes us what we really are and we are coming into being as the thing takes hold of us. I know my ideas are weird and strange but I see things in a different way. I think we are all such self destructive beings that our addictions are the vehicles in which we will annialate ourselves. Only when we are completely destroyed can the real ones be born beyond the addiction, inside the addiction....masters of our thinking...completely."

"oooooh...I see..." I noticed that I was backing away from him as if he was batshit crazy and so I stopped myself. " I just never saw it that way. I never saw it as an addiction at all when I was drinking. I saw it as an escape from reality...a way to forget about how screwed up my family was. I didn't think about the abuse, I didn't think about the neglect and I didn't feel those things at all for a moment.

"Exactly, my dear. You were destroying who you used to be and becoming something better...something invincible." Stephen laughed and then his eyes grew saddened. "I guess you must think I am a horrible person and you wonder why I am here...since, I believe differently than these people. Thing is...I was forced to come here...coerced maybe. If i don't show ex wife...she gets my kid."

I was no longer impressed with Stephen and I wanted to walk away. I saw him differently suddenly....a dead beat, a drunken father who never spent time with his children, neglected his probably sweet wife and someone who drowned his responsibilities in the bottle. He, all of a sudden, didnt' seem like the perfect guy with the nice eyes. I wanted an excuse to severe the aquaintance. "Well, Stephen...I have go and talk to a friend of mine in the back. She and I have some plans to make concrete for the weekend. I will talk to you later then, huh?"

Stephen nodded his head and looked away again. "yeah...I gotta go do something...uh, over to some guys...and stuff." He put his hands in his pockets and clicked his teeth together. "It was nice meeting you, Cynthia, I hope everything works out for ya." And then he walked away.


He came to some of the sessions and I wondered what it really meant to him. At first I pretended not to care so much because I didn't have to make a fake conversation to seem like I was being nice. I will be honest, it was never my thing to  think beyond what I thought was morally right. In the past, I had seen those who shirked their responsibilities and it seemed that STephen was only attending his sessions to put on face. AFter all, he didn't believe any of the things that were said in the meetings...he told me so. AFter entertaining this thought for a while, my mind began to pick at the lesser known corners of my consiousness. Was I playing the devil's advocate now or was I just trying to be fair. I think the most appropriate cliche statement for this instance was the little quote about 'thinking outside the box or something...hell, I don't really know. I was just winging it. If Stephen was really shirking his responsibilities then why did he go to the trouble of coming to the meetings. Obviously he loved his kid because he did as his ex wife had requested. So what now...had he failed in his attempts to do the right thing? Was he drinking again?

After many sessions, I decided to speak with Stephen again and see if there was more than meets the eye to this stranger. Little did I know...I should have left well enough alone. But I didn't and I walked right up to him as the last speaker left the podium.

"Hey there..long time no speak to." I smiled down at him and thought about how tired I was getting of flashing a fake smile. This time, Stephen didn't smile.

"Aren't you getting a little tired of flashing that fake smile, Cynthia?" Stephen then flashed a genuine smile and offered for me to take the seat next to him which had recently been vacated. I sat down and wondered if I was going crazy considering the fact that he had just apparently read my mind.

"I am very tired, Stephen. I am tired of being fake and tired of struggling for control...actually, I am tired of flashing that fake smile." I pushed the tendril of auburn hair from my eyes and licked my lips. I had no more words though and so I sat there looking at my perfectly manicured toes in my sandals. I realized that not one thing was out of place...I was prim, propper and all put together. I was plastic. I felt so judgemental suddenly and so I turned to Stephen in hopes that he would read my soul again.

 "Stephen, what am I thinking?"

He was caught off guard suddenly but rebounded nicely enough. His eyes dilated. With one of his thick rough hands, he patted my knee lovingly and let out a long tired breath. "You hate what you always have. Right now, you do not feel real and you want to feel something...something incredible and real. You are so very tired of being fake...putting on faces for them." Stephen motioned toward the crowd in the AA hall. Some of them were talking loudly, laughing and it seemed that life was some wonderful thing. Some of them were sitting alone playing on phones and ipads. Some seats were empty, their inhabitants long gone back to their homes.

"They are oblivious to the end that is coming for them. They say they know..but they do not understand the whole of what is coming for them. They never knew and they will never ever know. When it happens, they will cry like babies and they will rage against the finality of the beast. But for now, they will pretend that in their little groups....they are safe from the monster. Little do they is so close that it is already eating away at us. You are not immune to this and neither am I...but you see do not close your eyes to its have potential."

I didn't understand what he meant but I loved the lyrical quality of his voice. I loved the smooth lilt that made his words seem logical. I just listened and sometimes during the conversation, I lost the meaning of what he was saying but I knew....I knew in my heart...that something was happening to me. I did not see love then...I saw confusion. But it was already happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

So we drank again and we left them behind. The ones who said they sought to help us were now our enemies. Although we drank our poisons, we attended the meetings to make face for society and for Stephen's kid. On the rooftop of the Kennedy building, we sat for hours and discussed the universe and the scale of what we thought it was. He read my mind and answered every question that I kept sheltered in my soul. Each and every time he told me what I was thinking, I would get quiet and I would devour his words...his interrpretation of what I was feeling and what troubled me. Stephen would light up his cigar, run his fingers through his short black hair and then he would gaze into the starry sky. There in that dark and beautiful place something would fly down into his shell and animate him.
"You know what really confuses me...I mean, what really drives me beyond your 'norms' would call it?" Stephen let the smoke billow from his lips as he squinched his beautiful blue eyes. "If we are all the same thing...then why the fuck are so many of us so damned incompetent? I mean, do we have lame it a weak muscle in our body that will somehow betray us? YES! that is it...those who have not found their conciousness will betray us...much like judas betrayed the Christ...true?" Stephen then took another long draw from his cigar and looked at me. For a moment, Stephen appeared to be the child who hadn't found any eggs on Easter. He seemed wounded and betrayed by the older child that laughed and brandished his loot.  "But, Cynthia...Judas was no fool. I think the ones who seem lame...maybe they are the best actors. Maybe they lie in wait for us to let our guards down so that they can steal the throne for themselves. Doesn't it frighten you to think that they may be smarter than we are? OH, dread the thought. We must plan for this!!! I tell you, we must sleep with one eye open!!!" Stephen would then jump from the ledge of the building and run across the roof brandishing his whiskey and taking huge swallows of his poison. His rantings grew louder as he drank even more. I sat nursing my bottle of wine as thought fought one another for the limelight. Just as they surfaced, Stephen would pluck them from my mind and create great stories of their substance. "Oh, and by the dear Cynthia...I always found the most eggs on Easter...what a silly thought you had."
I was growing to love Stephen. Something was horribly wrong with him, he was broken and he was something that could never be explained. But one thing was certain...he had tapped into something that many others would never experience. I didn't understnad how he read my thoughts but one thing was certain...There was nothing I could hide from him.

Monday, July 1, 2013

family secrets

It was the first time that he told me he loved me and I hated him for it.

Peter was my first cousin on my father’s side of the family. We grew up on a farm in northern Mississippi and hung out together almost everyday. Peter was mean to me sometimes but I learned to understand his strange ways…well kind of. Peter caught snakes and would put them down the back of my dress just to hear me squeal. Of course that sick little smile to crack across his face. I remember the horror that I went through and the joy that the incident filled him with. He often got thrills when he would hold me down and watching me wiggle, screaming for mercy. I didn’t get thrills at all from that. Peter was mean to me some times but I loved him because sometimes he would gaze into my eyes…and say that  he loved me too. But father seemed pleased that I had some one to play with since I never wanted to do my chores.

My father was a farmer and a very devoted one at that. It was early September and my daddy was bringing in the last of the crops we had planted. I, of course, was his servant for the day. I picked peas, tomatoes and squash until I thought I would turn into a vegetable ,myself. My father ranted on and on about the importance of raising our own food. I hated gardening. It was not something that I planned to do on my weekends. As I bent to pull a rather large fruit from its stalk, I saw him. It was Peter, my cousin. Peter came strolling down the little path in the woods that led to our field. I loved to watch Peter when he was whistling. Somehow getting beat up by a cute cousin seemed nice compared to the work my dad had for me. I pondered for a moment watching his tight brown slightly muscular bare chest. It glistened and I smiled.

“Hey Petey!” I yelled in a girly voice waving my hand. “Whatcha doing?”

Peter smiled with mischief in his eyes. “Hey jerk!”

“Daddy, can i go play with Peter; the weekend is almost over and…” I no more than started my excuses when he exhaled hard and looked around at me with stern eyes.

“I swoney Jen, I really need your help; we cant let this stuff go to waste hunny.” Daddy look  frustrated and sad but even though her needed me,  I really didn’t want to do this anymore.
Giving my father the puppy dog eyes, I begged once more. “Please daddy, I promise I will help you tomorrow.”

And that was all it took. I had found out at the age of 9 that I had already received my charms  as a lady and even my father couldn’t resist it. Setting down my bucket, I ran off for an adventure with Petey…I loved Peter.

“Go on girl, get over yonder and do whatever it is that young folks do now-a-days.” Shaking his head father commensed to pulling up weeds and picking vegetables.

Peter tilted his head and smiled as he saw me skipping toward him in my worn out converse sneakers.”Hey jerk, you wanna go ride our bikes to the Indian mound? I think I found some arrowheads down there about a week ago.” Peter had a strange gleam in his eye as he looked up into my face. I couldn’t resist and could not possibly tell him no.

I nodded my head quickly making my little  pigtails bob. “Yeah, that would be fun; is Mickey going?”

Mickey was Peter’s younger brother. Mickey was totally different from Peter. Where Peter was sometimes just a big bully and very open with his intentions; Mickey was very sneaky and always the one to tell on me and Petey when we would do things that we shouldn’t.

“No, he is in trouble; he got caught looking at dad’s dirty magazines. In fact, dad got in a lot of trouble too.” Peter laughed and shoved me real hard causing me to stumble.

“That’s not funny Petey…your poor mom.” I shook my head and thought about Petey’s mom yelling at his dad.

“Or maybe…my poor dad.” Petey chuckled.

I followed close behind Petey in my little blue sundress and sneakers. My smile widened as I watched his stride in his baggy jeans. “Nice.” I thought.

After we reached the mounds we plopped down on an old log and swiped the sweat from our foreheads. It was a very hot day and even walking through the shaded trails couldn’t provide enough breeze. I sat still taking in the beauty of the surrounding trees and the mound of earth which loomed high above us.

“Wow Peter…that mound is always so beautiful.” I smiled and sat contemplating.

Peter shoved me  hard knocking me completely off the log and stood up dusting  his jeans. “Come on moron; let’s climb the mound and go over to the pond.”

Peter turned to walk away but stopped abruptly. As his head turned, I could see the regret in his eyes. He watched me as I scrambled to get onto my feet. Our eyes met and his evil expression disappeared. Something strange replaced his maniacal grin and he bent thrusting out his hand. “Here…get up. We have to get going.”

“Why do you have to be so mean Petey? You are always so mean to me.” I  asked as I dusted pine needles and pulled leaves from my hair.


We shambled along playfully pushing each other and chuckling. Peter would watch me from the corner of his eyes and he didn’t know I could see him. I love Peter.

The other side of the mound was eerily peaceful and quiet. The muddy water rippled and lulled with the light breeze that blew across the surface. For some strange reason there were no birds singing or any animal sounds whatsoever. Petey sat across from me on a mound of dirt ripping grass from the ground.

“Now what?” Peter looked up  into my eyes. A shiver passed through me as his blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight. His dark hair fell into his face obscuring his intent gaze.

“I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed by the way he was looking at me. I loved Peter.

Peter stopped moving and licked his lips. “You want to go skinny dipping retard?”

I blushed at his question and started to giggle. My hand went up to try and stop the laughter from erupting from my lips. “We cant do that, we’re family. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

Lifting one eyebrow he replied.”NO, I dont think that it is weird at all. Tell me something, do you think that it is weird that I watched you take your clothes off a couple of days ago when you were getting ready for church?”

Shocked I slapped my cousin very hard across his cheek. Immediately it began to turn red. “How dare you do that to me. I am your cousin Petey.

“So, what’s wrong with a little forbidden love.” Petey lurched for me pushing me onto the hard  ground behind me. Holding me down he laughed  in my face. “What you gonna do now…pussy?” Peter grabbed my pigtails and pinned me to the ground.

“You shit!! Let me up!” I screamed between sobs and welling tears. I didn’t love Petey right now. I was afraid and this time Mickey wasn’t here to tell mom and dad. We were all alone in the deep dark woods and no one could hear me. “Please…please stop Peter!”

And he did stop and he looked into my eyes with confusion. “What’s wrong; don’t you love me? I love you.” Peter caressed my face and bent to kiss me. He worked his hand up and under my dress as he placed his other hand on my cheek caressing it slowly. I just couldn’t resist his taboo touch.  After an initial resistance, I stopped fighting him and started to help him out of his jeans. Just as I had freed him , a strange sound came from the nearby brush. I could have sworn that I had heard a giggle but I wasn’t sure.

“Shhhhh stop Peter. I heard something.” Pushing him from me, I pulled my dress down and peered over at  the brush surrounding the pond. “Peter, there is someone out here with us.”

Peter stared at me with a mix of fading lust and confusion. “I didn’t hear anything dummy.”

“Would you stop calling me that! I have had enough of the name calling.”

Another abrupt sound erupted from the bushes and someone exclaimed, “OUCH!”

Peter straightened his back and furrowed his brow. “I heard that Jen, shhh. I will go around behind the brush. You stay here.”

Peter walked slowly to the other side of the bushes and yelled. “You little shit! get the hell outta there!” Reaching in Peter grabbed the peeping tom and drug him out by his collar. It was Mickey and he was spying on us. Peter threw him upon the ground and started to kick him.

“Stop Peter! Don’t hurt him!” I was at the verge of tears as Peter kicked and punched his little brother. After all he was only 10.

“I am gonna tell mom and dad what you both were doing. That is gross.” Mickey laughed and scrambled away from Peter’s thrusting leg.

“The hell you are. You little asshole.” Peter continued to kick his brother and landed a sharp blow to the side of Mickey’s head. Screaming, I ran and pulled Peter’s t-shirt trying to drag him away from his hurt brother but Peter continued to  beat him and pushed me to the ground again.

Mickey began to cry and beg his brother to stop but it was too late. Peter landed one more blow to Mickey’s temple and Mickey stopped moving. The dust obscured my vision as I  squinted to see what was happening. Peter continued to kick his limp brother and shout obscenities.  As I turned to run home, I saw Peter’s expression of regret but it was too late this time.

Mickey’s death was tragic and very un-called for. Peter came stumbling down the old dirt road the next morning covered in brown dust and his hair was full of weeds. I watched him through the screen door as he shambled home. I never spoke to anyone of what happened when his mom and dad asked me where he and Mickey were , in fact I never spoke for years afterwards. Someone took Peter away  and my parents had me admitted to a hospital for awhile. It was several years later that I finally finished school and started a normal life. Nothing much happened to me throughout my adulthood. My twenties went by in a flash and my thirties had just started. I never married or had any kids of my own.
 I was 32 when I recieved the strange phone call. It was Peter and you know what, he still loves me and I hate him for it.

Pretty picture painted perfectly for Penny

She liked the lies he told…they soothed her, even in the darkness he created.

“Please don’t put me in the closet again. I promise to be a good girl this time.” Penny cried every time he put her in there. He would just shove her in without saying as much as one word. Then he slammed the door and locked it. Penny would sob for hours. The next day, he might let her out and feed her, maybe give her a hug and they would talk. Penny was happy again, as if nothing ever happened.

 She used to get angry at him but he acted like he didn’t  understood her anger.  Penny would refuse to eat and she would sit in the corner crying. He would simply reply with…”Penny, is something wrong dear?”  After several times of showing her displeasure; Penny simply gave up and allowed him to do as he wished with her. After all, she trusted him.

Then, as he usually did, he would take her in his arms and show her special love. Penny had grown to enjoy the special love.  It was the times that he held her and whispered the lies into her ear that she enjoyed the most. Lie after lie after lie he poured into her little ear and she told herself it was the truth. She believed him and accepted what he said to be the gospel. After all, she told him about the  past and all the horrible things that had happened to her. He listened to her stories and comforted her. Then he instructed her on how to fix her broken life. . But all this you see, were details whispered into her ear.  He told her things that made the blackness go away, things that chased the ghosts from her hollow hurting soul and then, when she was so full of joy…he would lock her in the closet and leave her to scream. But even though he had to do this she knew he would never hurt her…oh no, never.

Penny refused to believe the truth. One time, when he put her in the closet, she found the truth. As she stared at its shiney brightness, it hurt her and so she closed her eyes.  Penny wished it away and away it went. A beautiful lie replaced that ugly truth and Penny felt warmth again. Hours later, her keeper opened the door and helped her out. He smiled and kissed her cheek…but only as he described he would. He told her that she was the best and that she could tell him anything. “Thank you Penny.” he spoke softly in a language much like the written word…kind of like silence but Penny could hear him.

Penny smiled back and followed him once more to the scenario they had created.


Ask anyone who knows me. I never really liked to use an umbrella. I always loved the feel of the rain on my skin and the trickles which streamed down between my breasts. I love the cool sensation of wet droplets as they joined the sweat from a hard day. Yes, the rain was nice. Sometimes, without direction at all, I would walk out into the storm and sit upon the grass. I was oblivious to the threat of danger from stray lightning bolts. I was oblivious just the same of other's feelings sometimes. I could sit and compare the rain to the tears of others, the realism of their being and the reason why I dared the great heavens to strike me down.

All the umbrellas that were stacked by my doorway, got thrown into the goodwill bin several months ago when I decided that I couldn't feel. That every fiber of my being was a script for a play. I needed to make a symbolic attempt to feel empathy. My heart was a flaccid balloon which desperately tried to revive itself every time a sweet word was spoken into my ear. A heart that required so much but punished with so little. Guilty until proven innocent was the manical whisper I could hear as I slammed my fists down on my desk. The rain fell harder. Then I rushed outside to feel it.

I sat there for hours letting the water wash away my ugliness and try to give me reason to go on. A disease had spread within me and I knew just where it came from. He walked outside the door and looked at me. I forced a smile and glanced at my scars of self hatred. I wondered how normal it was to have flashbacks at the appearance of a loved one. I wondered how normal it was to cringe when someone appeared.

I wished that everyone I saw was not the same person with the same intentions for me. The rain fell harder. The tears that fell were virtually unnoticeable. But the warmth was a nice contrast that I could feel.

The good wife

It is exciting, wonderous to be a good wife.  I am used to being stuck in time with nothing for show for my life’s work but a meatloaf. I am a servant to those who find true happiness. Advice I give in hopes that they will improve their current situations. Advice I give to help those in which I love. But when they are gone on their personal quests–I am alone in my thoughts again. But it is okay because I should appreciate what ‘God’ has given me. I should be a good wife. It is despicable to take blessings for granted. Like a roof over my head and clothes on my back, those are the important things in life. They are the blessings which make us so happy. I smile as a rain drop hits my face falling from my ceiling. I shiver in the coldness of it. I am warm enough and it would not be fair to spend his money on warm clothes anyway. We must save for more bullets. Yes, someday the zombies will come and we must be prepared. Good wives prepare for anything, right? And sacrifices must be made to keep the guns loaded.

And everybody loves a good husband now don’t they. I have my own. A husband who puts me to bed on a regular basis. I folllow him as he tugs my arm toward the bedroom. I have this, yes I do. I have the errands to run to make our life ‘happier’. I have this, yes I do. And as the strangers pass by and smile at the happy couple, I can smile back. I have  become quite accustomed to acting. Besides, I am an artist. I can do all kinds of things–tricks. But in reality–I am a good wife.

There are things in which I cannot deny are great joys to me. Three things to be exact. Children who do give me unconditional love and admiration. But I have not figured out yet what they are admiring. Maybe it is the ability to put the knife down or the ability to mind their father. I haven’t figured out which ‘gift’ it is. But they are the reason I stop crying and continue to cook their dinner…in silence. Besides too much silliness is unbecoming of me. I think he would beat me for the times I play in secret.  Their father hates that. I should be a good wife… A quiet one.
Sometimes I attend church and while the preacher speaks I think pornographic thoughts. I feel the stares of the others. I know they can hear me thinking and so I grip my pen tightly. I am alone now with my God. I do not desire to go to their establishments but as a good wife I do. As a good wife, I ask for forgiveness for that thought I just had. The elders are wise. I always listen to them when they tell me that a good wife prays and stays. Yes, a good wife does that doesn’t she?
And I turn my cheek when things should not be seen. When those bad bad people come to tell me things that i shouldn’t know. Those estranged husbands who lie about my husband. I am a good wife. As long as he comes home at night, his whereabouts are no conern of mine. I have a household to run. I have to have dinner done and his tea made. It wouldn’t be nice if I thought about things too much–I might decide to be a bad wife, and that just wouldn’t do.

I-Man cometh...

“So you came, huh?” I ask as I move up to face the angry girl.  She folds her arms across her chest and widens her stance. Rani is beautiful. Her hair splays across her shoulders and shines in the moonlight.

“I told you I would be here. You lied to me, Lei.”  She points at Darren’s untouched gravestone and neatly arranged flowers. “I thought that vandals had broken his stone. You lied…why?” Rani smirked and shook her head slowly. I see the confusion set in the lines of her face. Her gray eyes bore into my brown ones.

“I knew you wouldn’t come unless I told you that story, Rani. It was the only way I could convince you to come.” I shift my weight from one side of my body to the other and clasp my hands together. Looking at her, I pull my bag to the front of my body defensively. As I turn to face Darren’s grave, Rani sighs and bites her nails. She looks down in silence.

“Why did you really ask me to meet you here, Lei? You know this is hard for me.”

Pushing my red hair from my face, I step toward her and clasp her shoulder softly. “Rani…he would have wanted you to come…sometimes. Dont you think?” The sounds of my forced fake conversation seemed to lodge itself in my throat and I swallow to loosen it. Impatience keeps me shifting and biting my lip. “Rani-i have a confession to make.”

At the sound of my voice she turns. I can see the tears poised upon her cheek awaiting their descent. They startle me with their realism. Her lips are trembling and her eyes are innocent as they question me. “Why- do you do this to me, Lei? I can not bear this pain you know.”

Clearing my throat, I reach into my messenger bag and grip the dagger. It is cool to my palm and sends shivers through my nipples. I freeze, watching her still face. “I have other reasons for you being here, Rani.” I press my body close to hers and slip my free hand underneath her hair. It is warm and inviting;making me hesitate momentarily.

She smiles sadly and turns her hips toward mine. “I know the truth, Lei.”

My mind thought process of murder stops abruptly and is filled with alarm. “What!?”

As she presses her body against mine, she leans into my ear and whispers. “You want me, dont you…It was never really about Darren was it? You want me all to yourself and always have.”

My grip loosens of the dagger and I feel my pelvis tingle. She is captivating and weakness holds me tightly. “Rani…I…”

“Shhh…dont talk. I know why you brought me here.” she coos as she slips her hand between our bodies and grasps the front of my jeans. “Is this what you want?”

A small sound escapes my lips as I begin to abandon my mission. She has me and I do not want to end this. Bringing my other hand free of the messneger bag, I grasp her face and devour her lips with mine. I shall kill her another day.


The masculine voice brings me to reality as the cold blade enters my abdomen. My breath catches and every muscle in my body tenses. I am hurt, Im hurt bad. “What?!” I question looking her in the depths of gray hatred. “why?” Realization and the blade bring me swiftly back to the mission at hand but it have been aborted…rather reversed.

“You Bitch! You thought you would kill me–did you?” Rani seethes as she grits her teeth. Holding firm to the dagger’s handle my hands cup hers. It is simple a fierce tug of war. The cold steel introduces itself to my intestines, pushing deeper into me. The pain is just beginning to deepen.
With one hard push and a foot to my chest, Rani rips the knife from me and shoves it in once more. Then shoving me to the ground, she drags me to the earth covering her dead lover. Lurching, I puke upon the grass beside Darren’s grave.

“You are an idiot, you know that, Lei? Did you honestly believe he wanted you?” She laughed maniacally as she licked the crimson stained blade of my knife. Pacing back and forth, she chuckled in unbridled anger. “You always tried to take him from me and then you were always trying to seduce me as well. You are paying now, arent you.” She stopped suddenly and stared down hard at me. I could almost see pity in her darkened eyes. I writhed in horrendous pain and she tilted her head and rolled her eyes into her head. “You will pay a life for a life.” She said, turning away.

“Rani…you dont understand.. I”

The blow comes so quickly that I cannot block it. Her foot hits my cheek and I hear the bells start to ring. “Shut up! Bitch!!”

Rani freezes and tilts her head. Looking toward the headstone she nods, and then speaks in the same direction. “Yes, my love, It is time.”


She turns back toward me snarling. “Not you!!! I am not talking to you! Shut up!” She quickly  slings her face back toward the stone and her expression softens. “I am ready my sweet I-man.”

“The shock hurts me more than my bleeding gut, and everytime I try to crawl away, a spasm of pain racks my body. Blood covers most of the mound of earth above Darren and has begun to seep into the ground. I can not stop the bleeding and I begin to cry. I am surely dying.

Rani’s body is suddenly racked with shaking and trembling as her eyes roll into her head. She begins to chant.


 Rani raised her hands to the sky and began to cry; my blood smeared upon her cheek.
In horror, I look on, barely hanging onto conciousness. The pain turns dull and dizziness overcomes me. I watch Rani chant and sing praises to I-Man as the wind picks up mementum. It trashes her blonde hair erratically as her gray eyes peirce the heavens.

“I-Man ARISE!” She screams once more and pushes upward with her claw-like hands.

A rumble resounds throughout the cemetary and the ground shakes beneathe me. I feel a strong pushing under my shoulder as I desperately claw as the surrounding grass. The earth begins to bubble up around my body. Blood soaked clods of dirt roll away from the center of Darren’s mound of earth, and it happens. My breaht catches in my throat as hands burst through the soil and grasp for the air. The tattered dead hands open and close like a newborn learning its first motor skills. I laugh sickeningly at the thought. Before my vision turns to black, I see his face. But I can not hear his voice.

Rani’s chanting continues as Darren pulls himself from his earthen home and turns his rotting face towards me. Even through the gore, I can see his smile and my love remains true.

—My love only surpassed by her devotion–Rani’s devotion…and I-Man’s deliverance.