Soldier

That siren has been going off for a while now...
Red. Loud. It screams,

Something is Coming.                                    

When are you going to wake up?
Your room is the brightest of oranges and yet your eyes are still glazed over.
When will you WAKE UP?

Come now, the fog is getting thicker, and thicker, and darker.

Blackened ceilings crumbling,

Ground beneath you rumbling,

Sky above you burning,

Just how long will you take to wake up?
Listen, you don't have the time to lie there.
You don't have the time to wait.
Soon enough, if you don't move, this room will be your grave.
Soon enough, that siren will be silenced
...and you may be too.

Wake up, Wake up.
Smoke is slowly descending upon you, and here you lie, still asleep.
Wake up.
You need to wake up.
...Please, wake up...

Wake up, its time to Breathe
Wake up, it's time to Dream,
Wake up, its time to Leave.

I'm tired of going Home

I'm tired of going home.

Back to tired and exasperated "Yes mother"s and "okay"s. 

Back to anger, back to fear, back to pain and paranoia. 

Back to "You're so stupid", "You're clueless", "Why are you so rude?", "You're lazy and a pig and it's a wonder you have any friends." Back to doubt. 

Back to worthlessness, because I can't manage the same ease and grace in pulling good grades as I did in elementary school, when everything was based on whether or not you did the assignment, not how well you did. 

Back to being nothing more than a trophy in a glass case, silver and tarnishing, slowly, slowly. 

"..." - In which reality ceases to make sense, and time refuses to exist, at least coherently.

I have a need for answers. 

Mists

Things grow ever stranger. 

With each twisting breath, each twirling wisp of insanity curling towards oblivion, I can help but... Wonder. 

And change. 

And shift just as my surroundings do, a second vision playing itself out just behind my eyes, and sometimes I see it better than what is actually in front of me. 

I live through dreaming. 

My heart no longer a regularity, just a hectic drum of chaos, too loud, too quiet, too fast, too slow. 

It can't possibly be healthy to have an extremely hard, slow heartbeat. 

And yet. 

And yet, as the mists of my mind's eye close in over me, a quick check reveals just this, as if me, as I exist, is fading away ever so slowly, melding into this other universe I so easily touch. 

I'm simply stuck wondering, when it will end. 

When one side finally dominates the other, when life conquers dream or dream conquers reality. 

Not for the Faint of Heart

Stage One

Admiration, a difference between, small glances & daydreams with or without accuracy in character. 

Stage Two

First contact, giddy anticipation, anxiety and light obsession.

Stage Three

Tactical Subterfuge, long stares and distance among closeness. Utterly confusing the victim. 

Stage Four 

Distancing, loss of interest, branching off either to cease contact altogether or form a coherent, functioning bond of friendship. 

Stage Five

We understand. 

WE. DON'T. KNOW. 

Comrade

There's something in the air today. 

I might just be paranoid,
or utterly drained from a weekend of anemia, but...

I can't stop thinking

Its a normal human process, I know. But that's not the problem.

It's that I keep thinking like a lost cause rather than a human being. 

I waste time
and time wastes me in return

Spaces between the lines

Meet me at the park, under the cherry tree.
Meet me by the creek, lets have a moment by the old bridge.
Meet me... somewhere, anywhere, just not here.

I am a prisoner. 
A captive. 
I've spent too many seasons at the mercy of a malevolent demon.
I've watched too many looming ends to myself pass right on by, apocalypses that dawned but never came.
I've got a black box against my head and its finger is always teasing the trigger.
Not just that, but this Russian roulette it plays doesn't help for sanity.

So meet me by the creek side, let's sit awhile on those rocks and watch the water run by.
Because heaven knows I need a shoulder to cry on.
Heaven knows I'm a crumbling relic at seventeen, when it seems everyone else was just barely built.
The hurricane is just on the horizon, and I don't know if I'll make it through this one.

So please.
Meet me in the park.
By the creek.
On the old bridge.
Maybe on the swings or someplace in the trees.

Meet me there. 
And maybe just maybe I might make it this time like I always have, even with chains around my neck and ice cold claws gracing the inner reaches of my mind.
Maybe. Just maybe, I can make it through the tempest with you.

Do Not Be Afraid of the Dark

Do not be afraid of the dark

She looms, but she means no harm

Do not be afraid of the dark

Your enemy is the cold

The stars

The barren nest that welcomes you

Absence overwhelming

Shadows consuming

Do not be afraid of the dark

She was only ever a hostage to evil

Four broken eggshells. One egg missing entirely. Eaten? Either way, Gone. 

Wings, gone. 

Mate, gone. 

Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere. Her underdeveloped young unprotected. vulnerable. Dead. 

Weakness. She was weakness. 

Worthless as well. 

Orchids clutched in trembling hands covered in red cuts, mirrors shattered, her room in disarray. 

Only a few living left. 

They couldn't take care of it all. 

They couldn't possibly take care of the ruins of a once grand now somber castle. 

Even if it wasn't even in ruins.  

Even if it was untouched by the raiders, who only came for one thing. 

Her passion. Her pride. Her joy. 

All of it. Gone. 

Why did she live, when they all died?

Why just her wings, why not her life?

Where was her last child, the missing soul?

Clutching the flowers close to her chest, she tilted her head skyward delicate iron balcony filigree ceiling curling around stars, and soft clouds up above...

A silent prayer, for someone to come. Anyone. Anyone who could end her misery. 

Fingers uncurling, the breeze took the flowers away, her eyes opening again as lanterns, soft like embers, floated upon the sky above. The survivor's mourning. 

House

Your HOUSE is a PRISON

Maybe you don't realize this

Maybe you do

But either way, it is in SHAMBLES. 

You may wonder how many LESIONS in the BEATEN DOWN WALLS are your own, or your CAPTORS. How you came to fear the OUTSIDE just as much as you desire it. 

You wonder when the RATS will stop existing within your HOUSE, those vile, genius things that know just how to torture you. DOUBTS. FEAR. Your SWORN ENEMIES. 

You don't think to wonder how many of them are ILLUSIONS that you've made up in your ALMOST ISOLATION.

Perhaps it is the DUST that gathers upon everything you used to CARE about. Perhaps it is the FEAR of ELECTRIC SHOCK that you expect to come as soon as you take one STEP out onto your own PORCH.

Perhaps it is the COLLAR around your throat that you can't seem to remove, because even if you have the KEY, you can't quite get it to fit into the SMALL LOCK on your own. You just aren't that FLEXIBLE. 

And you, you stand in your DOORWAY. 

Begging, pleading with your TIRED EYES because you don't dare say anything in case the RATS come for you. 

Hoping that SOMEONE, ANYONE, would come in. 

And when they do, you don't know what to do. 

It's CLEAR. They'd rather invite you to THEIR HOUSE but you can't just... LEAVE. 

Or maybe you're just PARANOID. 

Home Again

It had been so long. 

The trees, they were taller, thicker... The flowers were ever so abundant, and the hint of a small puddle had bloomed into a beautiful oasis kept safe by towering willows and a set of rocky pillars surrounding it, slowly overtaken by moss and vines.

Break

"Had I known you were with him, I would have warned you..."

He shifted, just as uncomfortable as I was, keeping us back to back and at least with /some/ support other than the slimy, wet walls, and the rain slipping in from cracks and crevices above us. I merely hummed a soft response, not very interested in what he had to say /now./

"My apologies..."

Abduction

So bright.

Everything was so, so bright. 

Flames danced and curled within their casings, brilliant and radiant, illuminating the entire expanse of the great hall we had just been led into. 

Of course, only to be greeted by whom I could only assume to be the presiding 'noble' over the place. Either a king, a prince, an heir of some sort, or some gaudy rich boy who built himself a palace and declared himself king over it and the surrounding area. Surprisingly enough, the latter was a lot more common than one would expect. 

Naturally, he ignores me, goes straight for Merc, and only casts a sideways glance at Maelo and Casian. 

It's nothing but routine for me. 

What you don't know can't hurt you...

I see things
I see... I see scenarios
I see my best friend, struck by a dark, shadowy car, I see that friend covered in blood
I see myself, and for a moment out in the field walking home, it's as if I'm not actually there
It's as if
As if I'm standing in a dark, cellar room
Cold sweat dripping onto my toes
I can feel the hilt of a knife in my fingers
I've stopped walking.
I'm quivering.
I see it so vividly, layered just behind... Above... Below... I don't know but it's there.
Is almost as real as the grass under my shoes.
The voice is real, the sense of powerlessness is real, the command comes, and the scene dissipates quietly, leaving the cold of a knife buried in my chest just a sensation that wears away, a sensation I must put a hand over to prove its not real.
It's just a dream
A nightmare
A terror sent to grip me in the daylight

Perhaps, were I not so imaginative, I would not see these demonic visions.
Perhaps, had I nipped my creative streak in the bud early on, I wouldn't have seen my newest friend in a garish car accident at the crosswalk, and never seen the blood dripping down their face, stuck in their car.

It's always the ones I care about, too.
If I care, even the slightest inkling of care...
It latches onto it.
I see the floor collapsing under us, sending us flying towards rows and rows of hard plastic and cushion seats that would surely snap our necks at the bottom.

They can't see it, but I do, and I'm desperately pushing that image awa
But the more I touch it, the more it mutates
and suddenly the world is a horrific masterpiece of shadows and death.


No one else sees what I see when my mind touches the abyss.
They don't know.
And that, that is the good thing.
They'll never know, and likely won't experience what I saw.
There wasn't ever a moment when their blood stained the pavement
Nor ever a moment when I begged them to live, trying so hard but failing so hard, walking, and then stopping, in the middle of that field.
They won't ever know.

And that won't hurt them at all.

Blackbird

Light filtered through the water, illuminating her hair, the wisps of rose red flushed bright as the light touched them, suspended and swaying gently as they were in the soft underwater current.

She had sat like this for quite some time, her eyes glazed over, fixated upon the aquarium ceiling far above, with circles for lights and the occasional sprout of hanging moss, reaching and straining to reach the water down below, where she resided, shining fiery scales and fins alike, gills functioning perfectly, like clockwork, her body a machine to give her life under the surface.
This place, however, could not compare to the world beyond it.
No matter how beautiful it was kept, it's islets made for camping on, the deep water colony she was a part of down below her...
It wasn't quite home.
It wasn't freedom.

It wasn't the wide expanse of territory the seas or even a lake could offer...
Even if the man who had built it was kind, nursing each colony member to full health before introducing them to the group.

She was his favorite.
Claire, he called her, Claire like the piano song he played over a small speaker, always accompanying him, where he calmed her and kept her from panicking with each gentle touch, unwraveling the fishing net and wires from her, the bleeding scars being terrifying for her, especially as the ocean left her abandoned on the beach after high tide.
His favorite, the Scarlet beauty... The scarred beauty.
One of few who refused to do as most siren would do.
Manipulate her appearance. Trick some unsuspecting mortal into believing she was a beautiful maiden injured and needing assistance.
Refusing to lure someone to draw life force and strength from.
She was done. Dead.

And then he was there.
Compassionate, Merciful... Unlike any humanoid creature she had encountered, approaching unafraid, with hands outstretched and open, not hiding anything.
No weapons, no spears or machetes to cut her up with...
Just bare hands and a pocketknife.
And later, a similar looking... Brother appeared, his hair a startling black when compared to her savior's sunny blonde.

Time proved to be on her side, as did these two boys.
They took care of her, waiting for her injuries to heal before letting her graduate from a small body of water to her own little ecosystem to recover with, small fish flitting about her nervously, a budding reef her companion, and she took care of it well, just as those brothers took care of her.

It was a long while before she spoke back to them, their words ignored until she wished to communicate, And that was only months ago.
Since then she had grown accustomed to her new home, however small it and it's community was.
And by now, when she heard the soft whistling that accompanied the blonde's arrival, she floated eagerly to the surface for even a brief moment of conversation upon the edge of a miniature pier, her arms folded under her chin as she greeted him, just as old times, by playfully calling for him.
"Is that the blackbird I hear, singing his heart away once again? Best not to get those wings of yours wet, though do come to take a drink and stay awhile..."

Blood-Drunk

"Sweetheart, slow down, would you?"

Moonlight streamed through the mists, the crack of snapping twigs and rustling of brush echoing through the air, a leap and staggered breaths for a brief moment before the beat of footsteps returned to an equal pace, until the final moments, where the crash of leaves and a shrill shriek slid into the air.

He had caught her. Finally. The running had been rough on him, and scratches oozed blood and his breath came heavily, rough, but not nearly as fast and strained as hers.
Her struggle lasted mere seconds, seconds before he had her pinned down, sweat and blood mixing as he examined his catch.
Young, yes, but capable of safely yielding enough for him to thrive...
He wasn't hungry enough to drain her... Not yet.
He would have been, had his hunt lasted another few days...

He looked away from her terrified face, a face that clearly showed what she /thought/ was about to happen... Which wasn't.
His thumb caressed her wrist, seeking, his pupils widening with hunger as his sharp nail caught, and the smell of fresh blood filled the air, untainted by dirt, untainted by sweat...
His other hand pressed against her chest, keeping her pinned while he brought her wrist forward, cradling it to his lips as he let the sweet, sweet serenade of blood drip down his throat, all before he sunk his teeth deep, letting the serenade cascade, drowning him as her feeble cries for help became naught but a mere distraction. Fading away, and further away...

Until he was lost in the bliss of it all, the mess and glorious flavor...
Until her cries quieted, and the blood flow slower, stemmed, drying...
He withdrew, letting her hand fall as he stood, licking his lips and fingers clean, his fine dress now ruined, no longer good for formalities...
But no one would see him come back, alongside change...
Neither would they notice the absence of this fair young lady, whom he'd seduced and led away, away into the forest.
Carrying her now was the easiest part, her limp form almost weightless in his strengthened form, the run back to the palace so simple, just... A breeze in the wind.
And climbing the walls, to his guest room balcony...
Well.
That was simply... Cake.

It was where he took care to bandage her wound well, alongside slip into clean garments, washing himself clean of the remainder of the blood, his desire sated easily for now.
In a few days time, perhaps not as much, but... He'd had enough to sustain himself as he was now.

Slipping her back into her room was easy enough, and sleep came easily once he returned to his resting place, the stupor clouding his mind, the effects slipping deep into his limbs, blood-drunk.

Years

Only Eleven when she first was left on her own, staring down a beast with palms full of red and tears stained pink as she faced death.

Eleven, when swords flashed in front of her eyes and downy feathers fluttered around her, a skilled guardian coming to her aid.

Eleven, when emerald eyes glittered with confidence as the guardian spoke, crouching in front of her and laying blood stained swords in the snow, reaching out with ever so calm words and the promise of soft, silky down, and feathers to keep her warm, a new home, her new home.