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Dead People

A scarlet liquid had drenched his white shirt, the light had left his eyes as the colour from his rosy cheeks vanished as if ice had struck him. Alongside him had been a woman’s body, lying limply, her soul departed. Their screams and shrieks echo in my ears to this day. The sadistic grin I flashed to the officers as I was dragged away, my heels digging into the concrete, is a memory. Yet I can’t help but think, "I don’t regret a thing."


The acrid smell of stale gunpowder envelops my nasal cavities. The war has grudged on for two years now. My sanity is on the verge of extinction. Perhaps that is a good thing. At the very least, I'd be allowed to leave this nightmarish dystopia. As I look around, all I can see is stray limbs and dead creatures - once fine young men, who now are no longer recognizable as human. Then the gunfire starts.

They said that it would be over by Christmas, but now Christmas is a long lost dream. Each body that plunges to the ground is a lost child, father, brother, friend, husband. They are - or were - suitcases for the only thing that really mattered in the world - li ...

abandoned house

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.


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.


I could write a million letters, each one the same as the last in sentiment and cadence. They stay the same, only the word arrangement changes. It boils down to one thing, I miss you. You should be here. Ultimately, no one knows if that is selfish or not and even if it is, to hell with the rest of the world and their opinions. You should be here. I miss you. Your pretty blue eyes, beautiful smile, wily heart, torn mind, and kind, tortured soul. My heart is missing an integral piece, a part that keeps it from working correctly. When will I let go?


The eerie darkness of that night would never escape my memory. I clearly remember the pitch-black curtain draped over the sky, and the twisted, warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness. The milky speckles twirled and danced along the sky in various patterns, tugging at the corners of my lips in a way that almost made me smile. It was hard to shove aside the worries corrupting my mind, but eventually, I stopped walking over the soft sand below my feet and just... stopped thinking. I was alone. Nothing from my life could touch me. Not a single thing could harm me. I stared up at the sky and studied the silver glow of the moon. She smiled down at me with love so intense it warmed my soul like a fireplace on a cold winter's night. And there I was, standing on the shore at midnight to escape my life at home, not wanting to do anything but cry. But the look that the moon gave me didn't cause the storm to go on inside of me. Instead, a hot blue fire flickered in my heart and soon started to grow, eating at all of the dark emotions in its path. My worries burned away, and the tears that were starting to form at the corners of my eyes melted down my cold face with a rush of relief.

Crying felt good, especially when they were tears that I didn't want to push away. They weren't drops of sadness, no. They were more like the feelings of joy, relief, happiness and freedom streaming away from my hurt eyes. They were temporary cleaners to wash away the pain. I never cried, it just wasn't me. But that night, under the protection of millions of stars and the beautiful moon, I felt like I could let the floodgates open with a single snap of my fingers. I stared up at the sky and continued to let my pain run away for the moment. The cold midnight waves rolled in and tickled my feet as I stood on the beach, not ever wanting to leave.

Brown eyes

My memories of his youthful, deceitful, mahogany eyes will forever be remembered. His eyes always reminded me of seasons changing, a little bit of everything, but none the less beautiful.


With tears streaming down my face, I could do nothing but sit cross-legged on the sandy shore and stare at the horizon in front of me. Waves of a deep royal blue crept towards me before running away, only to repeat the process in a cycle that caused droplets of salty water to spray onto my bare, sand-encrusted feet. But beyond those magical waves was something even more amazing and breath-taking: The sunset. Beautiful smudges of coral, lavender, turquoise, and a fiery orange blended together to create a sight so astounding it swept me away from all of my worries, just like the waves creeping over seashells and stealing them in a matter of seconds. My last teardrop fell and hit the soft white sand, and a warm feeling of safety and security overwhelmed me as the sun dipped down below the horizon. The vast ocean in front of me was my home, where I belonged, a place to escape from my life away from the waves. Nothing could ever take that feeling away.

broken hearted

I can't stop loving you. You betray my affections and leave my heart in shattered disarray of pieces. Every single time you steal a part of me, and you make it impossible for me to put myself together. And yet, I always come back around to you. Why is that? Perhaps I hope that you return what you've stolen. You never do. You just take more. And for you, more is never enough. You can take me, you can take my heart, you can take the hearts of a million and it would never be enough for you. Your blood is cold. Your heart can't love anything but itself. You smile, and it's intoxicating. Your fingers brush through my hair, and it's addicting. You laugh, and it's contagious. You and your flirtatious self. You know what you do to me. You don't mind the company, but you know that you could never, would never return the love I shared with you.


Bottle in the Sea

To Whomever Receives This Bottle:

I never expected that I'd be lost and forgotten to the world. I suppose I write this hoping that perhaps you will remember this note sometime after you finish reading it, and in that way my memory lives on. Somehow that's enough. Now listen closely, if you've found this bottle it means that even though it has been tossed to and fro by the waves, perhaps pulled by the undertow and cracked against the rocky reef, it still found you. With that being said, life may break you, but know you are too strong to shatter. Your journey is your own. Do not be afraid if it's perilous. Take heart. Face your worries for they will be too afraid to face you. Ride the currents, do not let them control you. Listen to your heart for it is more than just a beat. The one you seek will find you when you least expect it, and they will give back what your journey has taken away. Your boat, your guide: you chart your course, not anyone else. Take responsibility for your faults, but do not apologize for them: they are what make you human. Dwell not on your mistakes, because your mistakes will sail you on the greatest adventures.


There are days my head just doesn't work. I try so hard to focus and it's like trying to run through water. My brain fogs up and thoughts go nowhere at all. Sometimes I think its natures anaesthesia, anything to numb the pain, to wipe out the trauma. Then there are the times of clarity, sudden moments when I can see every detail and feel every feeling. The trigger can be something like sports on TV, a turn of phrase, a smell. At the start I hoped it was a process to wipe out the bad memories, to stop me reliving them to well meaning askers. Now I know it's not so simple. It provides some protection, but the price is the flashbacks and the times of confusion; the stronger the blocks become the more intense the flashbacks are - as if the neurones are fighting for their lives, anything not to wither away.

Yet, as my love said one day on a train with the countryside flying by, "There will be a future, there will be a future." And so that keeps me living, breathing, loving. I walk, each day another step onward, always hoping to arrive in that future, in a meadow for our souls, at peace. Should I ever find the end of a rainbow, it'll be him sitting there with a cheeky grin. He's my gold; I'm his angel, always.


Goodbye, my friend. That I have loved you means I always will, no matter the harsh words or the failings of the moment. I have tried to ice over your memory, to hate, anything to stop the pain of your loss. I have tried to tell myself you never meant that much, or that over time my heart left yours. The truth is that you are still in my soul, all those times you laughed, smiled, were irreverent and silly. I honestly don't know what kind of parting this is. Perhaps we will walk on diverging paths forever, onwards to new adventures. Perhaps we come back together after a time. All I know is that this pain is too much and parting is the only way to stem the emotional bleeding. Know that my door is always open, that I would still move heaven and earth for you. I am both near and far. You are both forgiven and eternal. We are forever, yet finite within each span - each incarnation with only so many days to bask in the shared love. Perhaps we've had our run this time, maybe not - it could be just a siesta with a warm afternoon just ahead.


"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I'll burn to ashes,
And so will you."


One sheep, two sheep, why do we count sheep? Why not cats or... mice? Why are mice afraid of cats? Is it because cats are bigger than mice? Then why are elephants afraid of mice, when elephants are so much bigger than both cats and mice? Does Elain know that she forgets to turn the lights off in the attic?
“Now, now, Eduardo, I need time to process all that intelligence of yours.” Lately the voices have been awfully chatty, chattier than on the regular. Over a period of time you start to notice that mental soundness isn't the top priority of people here in the Kingstown slums. Alcoholics, prostitutes, thieves, beggars, people who really should be in a mental institution – you name them and we've surely got them, but they are usually never as bad as the posh ones say, apart from the murderers and the rapists, they are pretty much bad whether rich or poor. Seven, eight, nine, ten.
“Huh? What's that Margaret dearest? I know “They” watch us. “They” can be anywhere and anyone, keep you wits about yourselves my friends.” I've known “They” were after me for a while now, it's why I wear this mask everywhere and paint the lower half of my face, and it's also why I erased myself from the system, which is surprisingly not that hard to do in all honesty.
“Hm? No, Lucille, you can't erase yourself from the system, because you weren't on it in the first place. Are you stupid? Of course you are.” Sometimes I miss the stern faces of those nice young men in the clean white coats who once came to take me to “heal,” somehow Lucille wasn't around back then, and I remember... I remember a voice. There were little flowers too. I'm only twenty-six and I'm already running a business here in the slums, can you believe it? I can't either. There's also an illegal deal happening in the slums and I promised to resolve it, but it always seems to slip my mind, much like a lot of things. Seven, eight, nine, ten.
“I'm normal. I'm fine! Why are you looking at me like that? I like your hair.


I'm sorry; we can't take you. If a person isn't noble under extreme pressure, they aren't noble at all. We seek those of lion-heart, not ones who would burn the world to save themselves - those who whimper at the slightest personal hurt whilst ignoring the catastrophic wounds of others. Nobility comes out in spite of the self. It is the will to do right by others at personal cost. It took some time to be sure of your spirit and to give you every opportunity to turn around. I regret to say that you failed each opportunity and we can't take you. You get to live out your life here on this planet, but no more. For you, death is the end.


Lover, this is a journey; I want to discover who you are. If I try to make you into some ideal given by others, I will never know your heart and soul. That would be a loneliness for us both. So let us drink from the same cup of life yet remain our true selves - two souls joined yet forever unique.

emotional pain

There is a point in trauma when empathy from others has healed all it can and the rest is up to you. Then it is a time to release the hands that held you when you were in free-fall. This part takes courage; leaving dependance is hard, even when the desire for recovery is strong. It takes a lion-heart to walk past fear as if were a simple ghostly vapour. Yet how do you know when to walk alone?

Once the smallest warmth reaches your heart unaided, when you can sense the light, feel the dawn, my love, it is time. Even then, your first moves will be backwards toward the abyss - trust yourself, this time is different, you will make it. Though every footfall feels like a funeral, and the world carries on like a movie without a script, and the birdsong feels as if it comes from another place and time - hold on to your own soul, to your own self.

I know there are days when the brain feels naked, like a wintry wind blusters in icy chaos. I know there are days when it would be a blessing not to feel at all. I know there are days when the need to curl up in strong arms is greater than the need to breathe. Yet I can say with honesty, that this is the time to believe in yourself. Love those who have supported you and still do; be thankful for the help they have given - for it is a form of love; keep these bonds strong.

To walk alone means to gain your independence, true freedom, a rare gift - isolation is something different, wrong and imposed by others, a cruelty. When the choice is truly yours the mind and body are ready to heal, to find true and full recovery. Believe. Be brave. You can.


When I managed to get close enough to see her face I froze. Her eyes were more wild than a deer caught in a trap. There was nothing beautiful about her. Her feet were 3 inches off the ground, and blood trickled down her neck and into her jump suit. The only thing stopping her from plummeting face down on the ground was a spear. Around the hilt of the weapon the blood was dry and hard, but still the red liquid drizzled down the girl’s face like rain on a window.


As I glance up at the sky, snowflakes fall on my face - colorless confetti in a wintry ballroom. Yet I wasn’t just dancing with the snowflakes; I was flying.


The sky plunged into an ominous darkness, awakening predatory creatures out of their lair. I jumped as a distant bloodcurdling howl made my hair stand on end. I watched anxiously as the forest slowly transformed into a lethal playground. Tree branches stretched out in front of me, forming a cavern of distorted limbs that seemed to reach out and grab my flesh. A vile pain spread throughout my chest like a deadly infection and my lungs beseeched me to stop walking. My knees felt like rubber after running constantly for hours and now I gulped selfish breaths of air. Helpless, I walked on, my feet dragging noisily on the carpet of lifeless leaves, each step triggering a rush of pain in my chest. In spite of my feeble condition, my lips curled into a smile as the realization that I had escaped finally struck me.

I felt smug at my little victory, I had really made it. I was free from the filthy clutches of the cruel government. I was finally going home, a home whose wings had not yet been torn by the evil federal government. A home still thriving, still breathing without restrictions, or so I hoped. The leaders of my village have managed to keep the village hidden from the federal government's radar for years. However, the fear of everything being forcefully taken away from them still resided deep in their hearts. The brutal federal government toyed with the lives of innocent people for the sake of ruling a land that is not theirs. Their objective was to assemble hundreds of laboratories that carried out unnatural experiments on humans and animals to modify their genetic makeup in order to create an army of invincible mutants that would help them conquer the world. The prisoners that resisted or attempted to escape were tortured and some even killed. The leader of the federal government was blinded by her lust for power. She was ruthless and merciless. I had been lucky to escape.