inner most being. A written representation
of the world that surrounds me. The revelations of private contemplations.
The unveiling of demons. Unstable musings, and my disquiet wrestlings
I’ll start to write a piece, stop, and think don’t write that. Don’t give voice to that thought. Once its in writing thats it, its out in the open. You’ve exposed it to the light, and now you have to face that part of yourself that you’ve buried down deep. So I erase my words hoping to erase my demons. Hoping if I remain silent, they will remain dormant. All they do though is rot away my center, and eat away at my core, but no matter how hard I try I can’t let them go.
I can tell you about grief.
The emotion is bittersweet.
A type of pain that cuts deep.
With scars that still bleed.
It can drain your heart while keeping the beat.
It hides in the dark and refuses to leave.
Waiting for sunny days to strike with it’s blade.
It never carves you out whole
because it would loose its home.
So it waits for the inopportune times
to invade your mind.
A festering seed that sprouts
a choking weed that never fully goes away
They were like two satellites
orbiting one another.
Their gravitational pull was colossal.
It would have ripped
them apart except the
black hole they were circling
had prevented them from moving.
Teetering just along it’s
rim on the brink of imploding.
Forever longing to crash
into one another and
go super nova.
The day had been grueling, nearly unbearable, but it was ending soon. This was the last hour before lights out. She still hadn’t found a way off the hunk of rock, but she wasn’t about to give up. If she didn’t find a way out today, then she would find one the next day, or the day after that.
One of the worse things about the camp she discovered was the sick games that the guards liked to play with the prisoners. One such game was forcing a prisoner to mingle with the inhabitance of the planet. The inhabitance were notoriously ill tempered, and enjoyed nothing better than to make a prisoners existence miserable. They were rude in their treatment, demanding in their nature, and often impossible to please. Of course there was nothing a prisoner could do except stand there and take it. Discipline was swift in the camps, even the smallest infraction could have you reprimanded, or worse placed in front of the firing committee. Its even worse then it sounds, they literally set you on fire. Another torturous game the guards played with the prisoners was placing them in front of large viewing screens depicting scenes of the outside world, teasing the prisoners with all the things they were missing out on. Some went insane unable to handle it and broke out only to regret it later when they lost their time stamp, and couldn’t get their hands on any food.
When lights out finally rolled around our gal was ushered up to a device and forced to place the hand embedded with the time stamp inside the machine. The lights indeed went out, in her head. One minute she was standing in front of the machine the next she was flat on her back not knowing what hit her. Her husband came in and asked her when she planned on getting out of bed. She sat up and blinked at him uncomprehendingly. She was home, the realization that she was home slowly dawned on her. It had all been a dream. The capture, the forced labor, all of it was just a bad dream. She reached up to rub the sleep out of her eyes and felt something tugging at her skin. Turning her hand over she found the time stamp embedded into the back of her hand. She looked up at her husband bewildered, something made her look down. There on the back of his hand was a square of cellophane embedded into the back of his hand. Gripped with fear the reality of the situation finally sunk in. They were both prisoners, and she would be forced to go back to the camp again tomorrow.
Ok, I have to tell you my cat is kinda of a dork. She doesn’t do normal cat things, like playing with cat toys or chase string. She’s afraid of jingle balls. She even turns her nose up at Tuna. I recently brought home some dried catnip in hopes of getting her stoned and making her more playful. She ate a little then wandered off never going near the stuff again. Tonight I brought home a live catnip plant. A friend told me that some cats prefer the live plant over the dried leaves. She sniffed at it for about 3 mins, and is now sitting in front of it just staring at it.
To say Joe was a jerk would be an understatement. The word prick comes to mind, but even that didn’t fully express the level of rudeness Joe aspired to. Joe was a delivery driver for the great city of New York, New York. If anyone fit the stereotypical rude New Yorker it was Joe. He flipped off pedestrians, held up traffic to curse out cabbies, and cut off other drivers on a daily bases. When he wasn’t displaying his socially incorrect behaviour behind the wheel he showed it off to the other occupants of the five burrows like he was performing on Broadway. The only person he wasn’t ill mannered to was his Mama. A man didn’t sass his Mother in his book. Everyone else’s Mother was fair game though. Joe leaned on his horn and shouted out his window at an elderly woman crossing in front of him to move her ass. The woman gave him a dirty look and bustled off. A block later Joe double parked his delivery truck and hopped out to grab a hot dog from a street vendor. Cars began quickly piling up behind him unable to go around. Frustrated drivers blew their horns and shouted for him to move. Joe retorted in his Bronx accent for them to do several impossiable things with their private parts and ordered a hot dog. Caught in the maylay was an ambulance on its way to an emergency. The paramedic shouted over his PA for the owner of the truck to move his vehicle. Joe just flipped him off and continued to place his hot dog order.
“Hey, buddy your blocking the emergency van.” Joe thumbed his nose at the vender and squirted mustard onto his dog. The ambulance driver laid on the horn desperate to get to its emergency call while Joe took his time getting back into his truck. The hot dog vendor shook his head in disgust.
“Your going to get yours someday pal.” He shouted over his shoulder. Joe shouted back, and peeled out heading to his Mama’s house. He was surprised when he pulled up infront of his Mama’s building and the ambulance van pulled up behind him. If he had been less of a jerk he might have, had a twinge of guilt for holding them up, but he didn’t. All that changed however when he watched them carry his Mama out on a stretcher. As the paramedics loaded her corpse into the van Joe overheard one say to the other. “If it wasn’t for that jerk blocking the street we could have gotten here in time”
Time ticks by more slowly for the prisoners in the labor camp than it does for the rest of the planets inhabitants. When we last left our girl, she had just arrived to Planet Work, and sent to processing. That is where prisoners are time stamped and given a list of instructions on how to conduct themsleves. A time stamp is a square of cellophane embedded into the skin with a miniature clock on it. Once embedded the stamp determines how much energy you expend as well as the amont of rations you receive. Most newcomers are under the misguided belief that the more energy they expend the larger their portion of rations will be, but the truth is all the stamp does is register your exsistence to the guards. The clock itself is just there to mess with you psychologically. A prisoners entire existence centers around that stamp, the guards at the camp are rather redundant, what really keeps the prisoners from leaving is that peice of cellophane. Without it you can’t receive the pittance of rations doled out by the captors. Your free to leave anytime, but the catch is your faced with a desolate wasteland on the outside. Not only will none will none of the inhabitance help you, but the stamp quickly runs down to zero, and your left without a way to receive food. Don’t expect to be re-admitted into the camp either, that ship has sailed sweetheart. Once you clock out there’s no going back. Where does that leave our heroine though? She didn’t ask to be carted off to this lump of a rock in the first place. Well she was determined to get home. regardless the consequenses.
I’m a firm believer in live, and let live. Unless your personal freedom infringes on my health, and safety I say have at it. Hey, if you want to twist yourself into something your not to be more appealing to society that’s your decision. I may think you look like a fool sporting that cloned pretzleded look, but I’ll respect that its your choice. After all who am I to judge what shape you decide to mold yourself into? I’ve noticed though that its different when you look at who I’ve shaped myself into. Then all of a sudden my personal freedom to be myself becomes nill, and void. Is it because I don’t fit into your mold I wonder, or is it because your jealous that I refuse to pour myself into one. Sure you can place lables on me and call me names if it makes the confines you’ve placed on yourself more bearable. Your free to look your nose down at me, after all it is your right, just as its my right not to care.
Choices in life are never as black, or white as people make them out to be, or even shades of gray for that matter. There a kaleidoscope of shifting colors, and changing angles. Depending on your color spectrum you either except all the colors, or you don’t. So many cast their color wheel of choices aside in favor of the blackness of indecision only to look back with regret. The worse thing I feel is to stand, and do nothing out of fear than. To do something, and suffer the consequences. At least when you do something you can say you tried. What can you say when you do nothing? Life ia a series of choices, whether you choose for yourself, or the choice is made for you. Even doing nothing is a choice. People like to believe that circumstances are beyond their control to justify their inability to decide, but besides death, and taxes in regards to personal life we are all masters of our Universes.
Our intrepid heroine having been torn, ripped away from her dreams, her senses jarred harshly by the sound of what can only be described as shrill screams, was taken against her will from the safety, and warmth of her home land, and carried off to a hellish place. A most diabolical place, a place so heinous that to speak of the atrocities performed on its prisoners would make you the reader weep in pain for their plight. Even now as this is being written our plucky girl is enduring the cruelty of both physical, and psychological tortures. Rest assured dear reader this does not mark the end of her, for no indeed our damsel in distress is no shrinking violet. As we speak the resourceful, and resilient girl is planning her escape. I the nebulous narrator feels that it is my duty to report all that befalls her, and to help expose the crimes against the inhabitance of those inprisoned at, the labor camps of Planet Laundry.
Its funny how you can be surrounded by people and still be alone. You look around and realize your just another cog in the wheel churning through the mundane. You wonder sometimes while your sitting there being ignored what would happen if you suddenly threw yourself on the floor, and started thrashing about. Would any one offer to help? Many would just back away no doubt, not wanting to catch what you got. A few though perhaps would ask if you were alright, but more out of curiosity or pity. While the rest would watch the spectacle with glee hoping to see you bleed.
Its funny how those closest to you are often the most distant. Standing right in front of you but hardly noticing your existence. You wonder sometimes how they would feel if you were suddenly gone? Not dead per say just no where to be found. How long would it be until they gave up? A week, a year, a few months? How long do you suppose until they moved on all together, found another, and tossed your crap out with the litter?
Sometimes I would like to find out.
He dragged her from the bed pain rippling through her as she landed on the hard floor. She struck out blindly twisting away from his roaming hands. The floor scraped against her bare skin as she tried to scramble to the door. He grabbed her like she was little more then a rag doll and dragged her by her feet across the room. He was on top of her again pinning her down his weight constricted her lungs crushing her breast to the floor.
She struggled beneath him fear numbing her mind slicking her skin with cool sweat. Moonlight streamed through the window illuminating the silent battle. No longer able to fight she turned her head and looked up at the moon while she waited for the pain to come. She could sense the blade cold razor sharp posed above her. In front of her the wall vanished melting away and the floor beneath her disappeared. Fear evaporated like mist clearing her mind. Calmness flowed through her. She could still feel the weight of him pressing her down except now it no longer mattered.
This is what she had longed for even if it was only a dream. The scent of decaying leaves and the rich dark smell of earth filled her nostrils. Drinking it in she looked out onto the forest. Movement caught her attention and she focused on the dark shape. He moved silently swiftly through the trees his powerful legs closing the distance between them. Her blood raced and her heart beat with each pounding step he took. He broke through the trees wildly his dark lips peeled back into an angry snarl. Her heart leaped at the sight of him. His dark silhouette crouched and he stared out at her from eyes made silver in the moonlight. He vibrated with an intensity that she could feel from a distance.
It stirred her blood made her heart beat faster so that all she could hear now was a loud rushing sound in her ears. She watched in awe as he leaped his hind legs digging deeply into the earth. The sound of glass breaking shattered the vision. Pain, white hot burning pain ripped its way through her like fire stealing her breath, drowning her senses. Warmth spread over her spilled out of her and the metallic sent of blood filled the air. Pieces of glass rained down clinking like wind chimes as they fell. They both watched the dark shape as it sailed through the opening. His dark muzzle curled back ferociously he snapped and snarled wildly.
A guttural primal sound escaped his throat and he landed on top of the man throwing him off. Unable to move she heard the quick shock of breath and the beginning of a cry before it was abruptly silenced. Her vision dimmed and the darkness slowly engulfed her dragging her under. The black wolf nuzzled her whimpering softly in her ear urging her to stay. Throwing his head back he cried in anguish the last sound she heard as she slid into darkness
