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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
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
surgeryi promised not to scar
my skin. so i cut out my
brain and hurled it into
just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
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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