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Within the Woods, Ch 1My footsteps echoed through the cobblestone hall and bounced off the stone walls as I made my way down to the third level of the villages old prison. The torches lining the walls gave the place an unwelcoming glow as the flames tongues licked at the stones.
"Hey Bruce" I said to the lump in the corner of the cell. I put down the tray and slid it into the small opening. There was movement in the corner as Bruce shifted and reached towards the tray with a grime covered hand.
"Thank you dear" Bruce replied in his thick, raspy voice. I remember my first year as caretaker, when Bruce's voice had scared me. Now, aged twice as fast in his cell, I only felt sad for the guy.
"I'll see if I can get you a wash cloth." I said, standing up from my crouched position. I knew Bruce wouldn't say more as he nibbled on a piece of stale bread. My footsteps echoed back up the stairway and down again as I returned with a small pale of water and cloth.
"Thank you dear" Bruce replied again as he so
Bloodlines.Amber eyes stared back at me through the mirror as I pulled my hair - an angry red mass- back into a high ponytail. Wisps of wavy hair tickled the back of my neck and I sighed heavily. Today is the first day back to school, but for me it's my first day at Charleston High.
Fact: I'm the new kid, again.
I'm in grade ten and have been to eleven different schools. Sometimes I get to stay for a couple years, sometimes a semester or even a week.
Fact: My mom and I move around a lot.
Tammy, also known as the woman who gave birth to me yells from the bottom landing of the stairs, telling me she doesn't want me to be late on the first day of school. Every clock in the house is set five minutes fast so that the household consisting of my mom, my younger sister, and myself are somehow early for things. Yet we all know its fast, so all we do is subtract five minutes constantly. The only people it tricks are house guests that don't come often.
I know this may just be totally surprising t
Gone AwayFirst, is the little things. Yes, the cheesy little saying throughout every cheesy tail. The little things in life that manage to be beautiful. That cause you to take a moment and think about. Things such as the way the sun hits the trees before sunset, basking the edge of each leaf. The look of rocks under water when the summer sun hits the glassy surface, and when you look closer you can see smudges of colours. The sweet smell that wafts through the house when mom bakes cookies. The warm, cozy feeling that spreads through your veins as you drink hot chocolate on the coldest of days. The refreshing, awakening glass of ice tea on a boiling summers afternoon. The laugh of a child. The call of a bird. The wind through your hair. The crunch of autumn leaves. The feeling of home when your wrapped up in your favourite blanket. The taste of chocolate. The chomp of the first bite of an apple.
There are all sorts of little things that make me regret my recent decision.
ABOVE: Chapter fifteen"We'll head back to the camp and check out how things are." Damon says, explaining the simple plan.
"What if there's still raiders." Mia argues, leaning against the wall groggily.
"The raids usually only last a night." Damon says with a yawn.
I stand leaning against the door, not wanting to make an effort to get back to my spot only to have to leave the tree house.
Patrick scratches his head in thought. "But that wasn't a normal raid."
This catches me attention and the words slip from my lips. "It wasn't?"
There heads nearly turn to me in unison, acknowledging my existence for once in this conversation. "Uh, no. They usually just come in, steal stuff, record stuff, and shoot a couple people. Maybe set something on fire within a half hour." Damon says with a shrug despite the anger laced through his words.
"But this lasted longer, and was different." Mia says.
"Different?" I echo.
"Different." They all nod in agreement.
"Longer." Patrick says.
"More shots." Damon says.
"And they did one
Break AwayHeart beat
pound pound pounding,
rythem like a drum.
flow flow flowing,
smooth as a stream.
beat beat beating,
quick against this cage.
But the key won't
click click click,
because it just doesnt
Body keeps on
thrash thrash thrashing,
against these metal bars.
Lungs keep on
breathe breathe breathing,
this poision laced air.
And the girl continues
scream scream screaming,
but no savior comes.
I don't want to die,
but I don't want to exist either.
ABOVE: Chapter FourteenBoth Tyson and I jump, the gun shots exploding through the night. A distant scream comes down the road and through the walls. I stand up, pain throbbing in my legs as I do so, Tyson stands to, grabbing my hand with his warm one.
"Tyson?" I whisper, wanting to hear his reassuring voice.
"We have to hide. Climb under your bed!" He demands, blowing out the candle on the bedside table.
I drop to the floor and begin scrambling under the bed. Tyson does the same, groaning as he fits into the small space. We stay quiet, apart from my breathing that feels loud in the silent room. Gun shots, screams, and running feet surround us before the door creaks open.
I stop breathing. Heavy footsteps move across the floor, uneven footsteps made of a group of three people. Light glides over the bed tops and I can see Tyson's unmade bed.
I look at him to find him looking at me. He's hardly visible from under the bed, but I can see him begin to mouth the words as one of the invaders speaks, "check it."
ABOVE: Chapter ThirteenNight settles in slowly, the light and heat drawing away secretly as we hang out in the old abandoned barn after the tour. Mia throws a knife, an airy sound slicing through our silence as we watch it lodge itself in the center of the target. She laughs as Patrick's knife plants itself somewhere in the middle of his target, but still an inch or so away from the goal.
Damon steps up, his coppery hair falling in front of his grey eyes. His arm comes back skillfully before he hurdles the knife towards his matching target, a large circle with a number of red and white painted rings on it. The paint's peeling off a bit in some parts, the wood revealing many battle scars. He hits it dead center like Mia and is rewarded with shouts and howls from the other refugees watching.
"That's what, five to four?" Damon says, winking at Mia.
Patrick tosses his knife in the air and catches it, repeating the process as he speaks. "Hey, I'm still in the game with an entire score of two, guys." He puts on a
Shut.Up.Shall I scream,
Or shall I shout?
Heart hammering to its own beat.
Blood boiling, enriched with angry heat.
You don't know me,
I don't know you.
Now stop spitting words like you do.
Thoughts pounding against my skull.
This argument has become utterly dull.
Accuse me of arrogance,
Do what you please.
I'm not what you label,
I'm not an enemy.
Let it go,
You narrow minded idiot.
ABOVE: Chapter Twelve"Get up." An irritated voice says. My entire upper body gets suddenly cold and I shiver, hugging my arms around my chest. "Ugh. I don't know why I signed up for welcoming committee. Oh, right, Patty signed me up. Yet I have to do all the work." Mia mumbles as she pulls the remainder of the sheets wrapped around my legs off and drops the comforter to the floor. "Up. Now."
I groan and sit up, immediately noticing Tyson's absence. "Where's Ty?" I ask. It's odd saying his nickname, but that seems to be what he's telling people to call him around here. My mind draws back to the day he told me his name yet I knew the real version. Then my mind flips forward to yesterday and our kiss, his words echoing in my mind. 'I thought I lost you.'
"Making out with some chick in the forest, rather scandalous." she says with a sinister smile.
"Ha, ha. He wouldn't do that." Even as I say it, the picture of him and some other girl dances around my head and yanks at my heart. "Where is he?" I've pulled my k
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
MuteKept away from the dreams,
a wondering shell just looking for true meaning.
How does one know,
whats up and whats down,
when they've lost their solid ground?
How does one try,
when they cant find reason?
How does one speak,
through the strangling silence?
bruised and torn.
salty tears welling.
no words seem to be coming.
I'll keep my silence,
thats apparently what I do.
I'll stay silent,
I'll save you.
how do I speak,
when nobody cares to listen?
How do I explain,
what I dont even seem to know?
I'm not falling,
I'm way past that.
I've smashed to the earth,
sudden shock in the truth of reality.
My excapes all lead to the same place;
trapped in a corner with the shadows looming over me.
so much screaming.
Screaming utter silence.
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