I shivered as the cold night reminded me of my nakedness. I clung to my furless mocha colored skin. That’s when I noticed it. My hand skimmed across my stomach and I gasped softly.
The blood, the injury all vanished into thin air. There wasn’t even a scar.
The stranger looked down to where I traced the wound that wasn’t there, but instead of lingering his gaze shot right back into mine, determined almost to get straight to the point.
I licked my lips, then asked, “What do you want from me?”
That damn smile was still on his face as he took a seat on the brick steps right at the entrance of the too gorgeous to believe church. He patted a spot next to him which I hesitantly took. Silence sat between us as comfortable as a blanket full of bed bugs. Until his voice disturbed it.
“I don’t want anything from you,” He said, “except answers.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Answers?”
“Yes, I want to know how you became a shape-shifter.” His eyes pierced mine with such intensity that I looked away.
I contemplated for some time then asked, “Aren’t you a shape-shifter? Wouldn’t you already know?”
His laugh came out bitter and bleak. “If I knew how to control my shifts and the history behind it, I wouldn’t be chasing you, now would I?”
I thought that made sense. Only, how would I make sense of how I changed? How I became something I didn’t even know existed until mere moments ago? I looked at him, wanting answers, so many answers, none appropriate or right, but all the same, I wanted them.
So I explained. I weaved him a tale that would permanently damage both of our lives. Forever.
English Major Dues
Analyze, analyze, analyze
they say
Pick it apart
Tear it into
shreds
You look up tearfully and
prick your finger
and mesh it with the
author’s.
You become one.
You produce an essay.
“Prick again, prick again
my intelligent angel.
You have the natural gift.”
Tear it into pieces
Symbolism holds the bleak key.
No stone goes unturned.
Prick, tickle, wiggle
and out pours the blood
onto the page
You splash it and cover it
with your metallic scent
covering every inch of
the author’s work
They beg,
they plead
No more
No more
the author whispers
But the teacher’s cry
Yes, yes, yes
You are gifted
You are good
Show us your soul
You take out a needle
Your blood’s turning pink
You’ve lost your appetite
a long time ago
and your hunger for excellence,
for praise, for graduation
Lingers.
Onward
and downward into a bloody spiral
You hesitate for the big finale:
Senior Thesis
You know what they want
You know what they need
Everybody is crying
Screaming
Taunting you, for more
You take the axe and
cut your heart out
and lay it on the table
Part of you is relieved from
the constant guilt that your
heart gives about what is
right and what is wrong
The other side, the dark
greedy side
decides there’s something
else you can add to get
the A+ and the degree
you’ve been waiting 4 years for.
Your hands
your precious, lovely hands
who have felt and wrote
through the whole process
Your advisor agrees with
your decision
so off to the slaughterhouse
Down Knockturn Alley
with the scar across your forehead
The mark of need shows
in your bloodshot eyes
and constant twitching
You lick your dry lips
and put your hands
over the counter.
“Chop them off!”
You don’t care what the pain is
Just
Get
It
Done.
Off your hands flop to the floor
and there, you’ve got the
A+ and the magna cum laude
title. However, you have
no hands to grasp the diploma.
Everybody laughs.
You look into the crowd
desperate for support
love
anything
But it’s far, far too late.
Your Rescuer has left.
Wrinkle
The pale goddess emerged, the blood rivulets sliding down her neck, breasts, stomach and thick thighs. She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her midsection and emptied out the blood tub with a simple pop.
She tisked. The beautiful white tub that once was is now a dusky romantic rose color. “Gretal!”
The maid came instantly. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Clean this tub thoroughly.”
“Of course.” Gretal started looking under the cabinets for the rough sponge.
The women took one look in the mirror and hissed, then looked closer. Dammit, another wrinkle. She pulled out the organic scrub and took a blood stained sheet and mixed it together. She knew it was the only sheet left, but that damned spot . . .
A smile slowly formed across her luscious pink lips. What was she afraid of? New freshman were coming to Vathory High. Perfect opportunity for more.
A small trickle of blood was on her finger, and she licked it off, cleanly. Delicious. Perfect. Metallic. Soon there will be more. If only those poor little dears knew . . . A bitter laugh escaped her wide mouth. She didn’t know and she turned out fine. Well, almost.
Bills, Bills, Bills
Bills, bills, bills
raining down
freedom
life
apartment
career
I thought I had
my golden ticket
to freedom and prestige
but all I got were
bills, bills, bills
piles upon piles
sitting
waiting
cornering
taking
greedy
filth
all part of a maniacal
scheme to take
my hard
blood
sweat
tears
money
green and cold
filled the need
hole
instead it’s being taken
away into
electricity
water
for just breathing
being
independent
free
clamped down
by the government machine
student loans
to success
What a way to make a living.
Forget-Me-Nots
Jia gripped the forget-me-nots in her tiny hands, as she stared down at the grave marking where her dad laid in pieces. She will never forget the date he died: December 23, 2004. It was the date imprinted on her memory, imprinted through the vision that she saw when she was just a little girl. Ruining her innocence. Recognizing death and its messenger then and there.
She laid the flowers over his grave and stared at her husband, just a few markers down from her. When his eyes met hers, he nodded. She looked back at the grave, never wanting to forget, never
wanting to remember all at the same time. Erik understood that she needed closure before moving on with their family. How could she start a new family when she still couldn’t get over the past? Couldn’t get over the hurt that left a permanent ache in her chest?
Jia rubbed the spot on her chest where it thumped to life, brought it all back. She suppressed it for so long. Twenty long years. The funeral came rushing back. His cold pale form laying in the casket. She tried to touch his cheek, tried to bring that once rosy cheek back to life. But she knew that once the grim reaper showed up, the end was near. He hovered around her father, until it happened.
He gripped his chest and fell onto the floor, his eyes glazed over and then he was dumped right into the casket. All of the beautiful goodbyes and the mourning songs poured out of that poetically beautiful Catholic church became one big blur of sadness hanging over the entire congregation. Some people tried to act like dying was a happy thing, that his life being snatched away at such a young age was a great thing. He didn’t have to suffer the after effects of a heart attack, but she knew that things were different. Jia even wished for the longest time that he would turn into a ghost. However, her wish came true in such a different way it surprised her.
Once a loved one was taken away, never to return for another entertaining breakfast or one of his chuckling laughs that filled an empty household, another one filled her life with love. He taught her how to love and trust again but it was a long journey from ghost to human form. Yet she loved him all the same, and now it was time for them to start a family. The news surprised her at first, but as the months came along, she started to actually look forward to filling her house with joy. Not to mention the screaming . . .
Jia looked back on the grave, imprinting the last time she remembered him. The ride on his wide shoulders around the big back yard. His laughter and joy filled her whole memory of him and that’s what she wanted to pass her children. But she would never return back to Chesapeake, Virginia. Too many ghosts laying around, waiting for her to solve the mystery of their lives. She had better things to do now. She has a family.
In Death, You Speak
In Death, we speak
in life, we walk
yet nothing comes to mind.
A zombie becomes your heart
your feelings have disappeared
yet your arms we still hold out
as if a mummy rising from the dead
The night speaks to us
whispering of soft songs
of paranormal
of romance
of the sacred trance
The power of darkness
can swallow you whole
yet despite the sweet night song
you prolong
You fight off the death
you fight off the night
you still hold your arms out
of the mummy of the night.
Your limbs become heavy
and the darkness swells
inside you as reason and brain
drain out like
the blood drains out of
your mouth
Your mouth becomes stiff
your body becomes rigid
your heart instantly stops
and your mind becomes
food for your fellow nightly
friends
The zombie inside you
becomes one with you
you embrace the darkness
the night becomes loud
wickedly, dreadfully loud
Despite your lovely funeral
you couldn’t be happier
since in death you speak
and in life you were dead
Now that you have the
darkness of death ahead
of you,
death has become yours
eternally
forever
and ever more.
Transcend
I was not there, yet I was there. I felt trapped between the two worlds. Everything was changing, constantly shifting. I felt my fingers pry out of the cold flesh into a transparent substance, then my legs floated out. Before I realized it, I was starring down at my dead body, nobody surrounding it. I looked at myself, my new body, my new method of transport. It was official. I was no longer bleeding or breathing. I was the undead, a ghost amongst the living.
My rifle still laid in its hidden place among the green bushes under the tall pine trees. The place froze the rainfall of bullets but they came streaming back once my hearing came back with such stunning clarity I covered my ears. I looked around the thick forest, the scent of blood and lost filled the air. My comrades were shouting out instructions, hiding behind the trees that offered us their shade. Yet I was no longer a part of that group. Not that I ever was, I was only playing a pretend game with the Allies. I am always between the fence, ratting one out to the other. Hiding under the uniform as a soldier yet at my heart I was no man’s land. I was an individual, and now I’m nothing.
I drifted away from the macabre scene. Nothing could hold me back or make me return to the blood-filled land. However, something was pulling me towards, yanking me forward, driving me to a place that I’ve never known: Chesapeake, Virginia, United States of America.
Jesse
I cry for moments we never had
for those days that never happened
but somehow we connected
Shared a secret past
of moments never shared
but happened all the same.
I cry for the kiss we never shared
I cry for the laughs we never had
I cry for those sparks that became fire
and grew forever more
I cry for more time that
I wish we could share
I cry for the time that your hand
squeezed mine, releasing the oxygen
that I had within.
I cry for harsh words never spoken
of regret
of anger
of pain
I cry for when your skin sizzled against mine
I cry for the time you smiled at me
such a knowing smile that
it made me blush
I cry for everything we had
and for everything we didn’t.
I cry for the time I drowned,
melted in your arms
I never wanted to resurface
I cry for that devilish look in your eye
I cry, I cry, I cry
for second chances
for another meeting
for another time or place
where all of our potential memories or
even just our one world to exist in a second
one split second where the rules change
and life becomes fair
and where the world makes sense
about why I would meet you
in the first place.
God I cry for that wish, that second
that one split second where everything
Changes
I cry forever for that
love
that time
more time
for you, always for the unattainable you.
God how I wish wishes would come true
or even just this one,
since I know even without those
moments
I still fall for you
every casual glance
where in our world it seems the same
instead
it Shifts.
I love you more
than either of us will ever know
but it still beats
throbs
for a chance to live
I cry for that throb
these crazy thoughts
that will never be
for writing a Cinderella ending
in a world where that doesn’t exist
I cry, I cry, I cry damn I cry for you
and our world so mu
ch it kills me
I’m still out there drowned
dead, dead, dead
Wishing you were here with me.
Black and White
“It’s not that I don’t want a baby with you, sweetheart,” Brian said, with that charismatic grin of his. “I just don’t want a black baby.”
Savannah stood there, her bright yellow dress billowing behind her as she leaned against the railing. As the cruise ship tipped over, she tightened her grip, fighting against tears and the threat of sea sickness. It was always the same fight.
Ever since they’ve been together, race has been the core issue. Her creamy dark chocolate colored skin has always stood in their way. He never mentioned it by name until after five years of dating and her urging him to reconsider the marriage topic that he specifically stated that he didn’t envision himself marrying a black woman.
She thought love conquered all and somewhere, somehow someone has answered all of her prayers and deepest desires. And now that it had happened, the perfect life she couldn’t dream for more, he brought up the baby issue. Again.
He even did the research this time, printing off sheet after sheet of egg donors that would be perfect, accompanied with pictures of what their baby could be like. Blonde haired, blue eyed. Those pictures laid on the bed, spread out like a map dictating where their path should lead.
Although, she should have known. She should have known that he would want more. He always wanted more. He always wanted to put her into this white picket-fence American-ideal dream box and she could never fit it. She has always been different.
The way she dressed, thought and acted had always been disrespectful to the strict rules of modern society. Including her yearn for the exotic, the mystery of the white man, but this didn’t fall into what she dreamed it would be. Fake. Phony. Picture perfect came at a hefty price. It came with the acceptance that she would always fight to keep up with his standards.
However, her path was split down the middle. She knew one day it would all come to this, to an end, to a head that would ultimately seal her fate with either accepting his modest proposal or denying it outright. She wished she could rewind time and be born into whatever he wished her to be, to please him with her outer layer of skin. To shed another layer and to look right into his eyes and know that he truly loved her for being her.
Savannah turned to face him. “Brian?”
He turned, his grin still plastered on his face. “Yes dear?”
This was her choice, her body, and her life. The decision has been made.
WSV #3
reason
season
change
crisp
air
inhale
cough
sharp
shiver
spell
reverse
flip flops
tank tops
shorty shorts
sandals
laughter
music
volume
noise
children
playing
hot
desolate
sun
Everblossom: A Short Story and Poetry Anthology Page 4