The neon signs were no constellations, yet we navigated by them just the same.
And from that rain soaked ground came such life, the plants that grew so strong in the bountiful rays. The water was liquid magic and the Earth was the richness and nurture for the flower-given seeds. Without the rain it is only mud, without the earth it is only water; together they are a sort of cozy joy, a tingle of hope and of good things to come.
Give me that dawn declared by the cockerel's calling, give me the moments that stretch out with each stirring of leaf and grassy wand. For then on that farm, cozy with dreams that fly through the rafters to the sky above, I can awake and keep my dreams with me until the stars return once more.
I'm in love with him.
He never leaves my mind, he's always there; mentally if not physically. It's just incomprehensible. He's my one stable force, my one stability in a world filled with chaos and I so desperately need that in my life. I love him so much for that. I’m in love with him and I can’t believe I’ve only just realised it.
This feeling is so strange; it stretches throughout my whole body. It’s overwhelming, yet makes me feel complete. It has no bound nor length nor depth; it’s just absolute. It feels as though I’m in a dangerous fire, yet I’m completely safe at the same time. It feels as though someone’s given me peace. It feels as though my heart is dancing around my chest; and a hole, I was never aware was there, has been filled. I feel so light, like I’m on top of the world yet my heart is constricting and it feels as if there’s no oxygen in my lungs.
It’s strange – frightening even – how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know we’re only young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naïve, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos.
I will tear down your empire of money and filth. I will take down every last brick, remove every strand of barbed wire and melt the whips from your callused hands. For you create a world of misery for your pleasure, so that you may be masters of this hell when we can do so much better. While thousands of children die of malnutrition related disease daily, food production is suppressed to protect monetary interests. And so, should you feel unable to control your greed and create a world fit for humanity, one humane and loving, I will. Believe me. This is a rebel with a cause.
The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive.
The watering can had an antique look to it, not polished or posh, but as if it had been fashioned from the husks of olden days cars.
That morning, the woods were filled with an ominous brittle silence. There was a shriek from the trees that Henry said was a branch twisting under the sheer weight of ice. I had opened the curtain to the blue dawn, but I hastily closed it against the cold diffusing across the window glass. In our unheated room, our breath was vapor, and the floorboards cold to the pads of our feet. Henry's nose was red, and the tip of mine was numb.
The paralyzing hurt spread through my body like icy, liquid metal. I clenched my fists as I hesitantly took each step. I noticed my feet tremble. My legs twitched, fighting the impulse to whirl around and sprint down that damp, shadowed corridor; my throat closed in threat of screaming at the underpaid, overworked staff who called Dad's case hopeless, and my jaw became tight. Fire in the form of water stung my nut brown eyes, threatening their attack. I crunched my teeth over my lip harder than I ever had. Salty blood filled my mouth. Slowly, my brain picked up my feet in an unbalanced gait, carelessly dropping the lead weights to the ground with each harrowing step. Reality tried to tap its way into my marching brain's rhythm. Dad was dying. I was helpless. That was all.
I can name all the colors of rainbow before you can finish counting to seven. I can name all thirty-two colors of Nate's striped dirty blanket. I know the names of all shades of orange, each faded differently from washing.
I can tell what the color of the slide was when Nate and I played there the last time as normal elementary school kids. I remember what color I was wearing when I was first stripped down, or when Nate first showed up covered in blood. I can even name all the shades of red there was on my pants, on his shirt.
When I shoot up a firecracker, colors become just a conception, not a real thing. Even the sky looses the name for its color. I wish I knew what those colors were called. The only thing I know is it will not fade away, but it will spread into infinity, each tiny bit taking a part of me, flying me through different galaxies.
But then, those little firecrackers don't go far before falling back to the ground.
You tell me you're a genius, well, honey, welcome to arguing with a savant. I'll beat you every damn day and twice on Sunday. So bring me that cocky boy attitude and I will own every last word that comes from your mouth before you even utter them. I am a warrior. I am the weapon. I am the army of one that will slay anyone in my path. So either help me create a world of love and peace or I will leave you to rot in those ill-gotten boots.
Against the dark night sky all Steve could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived there and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready.
Vividly he could picture his childhood. The walls didn’t seem so grey when he was only a boy, nor did they seem so small. In his mind he pictured this place as though it were a castle where he and his brother were the Princes. His mother and father would glide through the once pristine halls, the King and Queen of their kingdom. He felt like no time had passed since he moved from this house, yet as he gazed upon the overgrown bushes and the shattered windows it was evident just how wrong he was.