Warning: most of the stuff that I may post here, that isn't a excerpt from a story, is probably going to be depressing. Actually, the story stuff might be depressing, too. Surprisingly, though, most of it was written for various themes and challenges for the writing club I go to, rather than just out of angst.
Doll
He gave her to me as a gift when I was little. It wasn't my birthday or Christmas or any other occasion, just a regular day in summer. Maybe that's why she stuck with me for so long. He didn't give her to me because he had to, but simply because it was nice. She wasn't anything fancy, the plaid dress she wore was the only outfit she came with. Her hair couldn't be brushed or styled, her painted on face didn't blink or change and her soft cloth body wasn't the least bit poseable. In an age of gimmicky Barbies and and baby dolls, she was more than plain, she should have been boring.
But while I might have lost her dress and drew on her face with glittery, black crayon, I loved her and she remained when all my other childhood toys were thrown away. She kept her place on the shelf, never even going into storage. I thought I would keep her forever, that she'd be something I would show to my own kids.
That was before your dog tore into her, leaving nothing, but her cotton stuffing and few strands of yarn. I tried to be angry, I certainly made a show of it with how I cursed and yelled, I even blamed you for leaving the door open. Yet all I wanted to do was undo it, start over so I could go into the room just a few minutes earlier and take her away. Anything that would have stopped the growing panic that she was gone, that I would forget her face, that I would never see her again, with not so much as a scrap left to prove she was ever there.
With nothing left to remember him by.
Slipping
When I was thirteen,
I slipped through the cracks.
I stopped caring about ev
eryt
I got through high school, hing.
by the grace of my teachers.
I tried to scrape my way back up,
higher,
sometimes climbing
sometimes slipping
further.
Now I've found a ledge.
crack above me
The is no longer a thin distance.
trail of light in the
I can see faces peering down at me.
Voices shouting, “C'mon! Keep trying!”
But my ledge is wearing a w a y,
my hands are br o ken and bleeding.
I plead, “Help me!”
But they don't search for rope,
or even reach out to me,
before they say they can't.
I can't keep climbing.
But please,
don't
let
me
fall
again.
No Fear
You've carried this a long time.
Your earliest memory is sitting in the bathroom,
crying your eyes out, thinking no one could hear you.
You barely knew the meaning of the words you said,
but you whispered, “I wish I'd never been born.”
Only years later did you ever hear the word 'depression',
But no one believed that it was more than a phase.
So, when your grades dropped,
you were called lazy.
Depression wasn't a reason, it was an excuse.
You withdrew.
You didn't care when they tried to punish you.
Or when they finally said they were worried.
You didn't just lose your mind,
You threw it away.
Was it any surprise when you thought about killing yourself?
Later, you said,
It was strength that stopped you.
but like many things you say,
that was a lie.
The only thing that stopped you,
Was an icy fear that gripped your heart
and stopped your breath.
You couldn't reconcile with death.
You wouldn't.
For years you were proud,
that you never succumbed to the numbness.
But you didn't know what it was like to be numb.
It was sadness that made you to cry in the bathroom,
rage that drove your mind to its limit.
Only years later,
did you feel absolutely nothing.
No one to be angry at,
nothing to be sad about.
You should have been happy.
Happy that life was a little easier,
Happy that everyone now understood you,
That they didn't condemn you.
But you didn't even feel content.
It was only then,
when not even fear penetrated your heart,
That you realized how bad it had gotten.
How long the shadow had grown unchecked.
And you didn't care.
Because at least you could find some peace,
in knowing death didn't scare you anymore.
The Prince and the Rogue
In the days before kings and their bloodshed, I remember sun-filled days in a garden of wonder. Where you wore a garland of flowers that poisoned your mind, as the fey whispered of a carefree eternity. I broke their spell on you, and brought you home to a war torn kingdom. You ran from duty to be swallowed in shadow, while I took the crown and bore its weight. They tell me now that greatness is not achieved, by strength and valor alone. They named me a paragon of justice, For I banished the darkness that plagued my kingdom. My words didn't reach you, when I asked you to repent. Betrayal poisoned you now, For I refused to make exception. But, brother, the day you died, so did I. And I wonder, had I let the fey steal you away, would both our hearts be beating now?
The Light
The stones beneath my feet were still wet with rain, making the parapets slick, but I didn't miss a step. I've walked along these walls since I was a boy and I wasn't about to slip and fall by accident. I hoisted myself up onto the wall and sat its edge, like I'd done hundreds of times, even by night. The sun had barely risen and its light was only a misty gray through the clouds. I don't remember when I last saw the daylight like this. I've slept almost every day away since then, until the days blurred together and I forgot how many passed. Maybe its been only days, but it feels like forever and yesterday all in one. I can't stop thinking about it, every waking moment is spent remembering every second of your last breath. It's like I'm stuck there, never able to leave that room or stop what's happening. Watching you fight back, watching the blade pierce through your body, as if you were nothing more than paper. You stumbled back, against the table. You braced yourself and I tried to go to you, but someone grabbed my arms and slammed me against the ground. I watch you slump against the ground, again and again in my memory, your eyes fierce as if you'd get up and keep fighting if only your legs would hold you. When they slide over to me, I know its over. I was screaming then, I know, but I don't hear it in my memory. I just see your eyes, the life ebbing out of them as your chest rises and falls, each breath more ragged and shallow than the last.
I sleep to forget that last breath. To forget everything, but even waking to realize, morning after morning, that you're gone is too much. Sometimes I just can't help, but go straight back to sleep. I try to pick up my dreams where they left off and pretend none of it ever happened. Most of them are full of people I've never met and places I've never been. Other times, I don't dream at all and I wake without knowing whether I'd really been asleep. But the worst is when I dream of you, because then I remember more than just your death. I remember the way you'd laugh at me when I said something silly, the secret smiles, the way your eyes flooded over me behind closed doors, the sound of your voice, sly and seductive.
I dreaded those dreams so much, I would wake the instant I saw it wasn't real. But not last time. We were together, walking home after a date. You never liked holding hands, but you knew I did and you took mine in yours with a rakish grin. When I grinned back, it hit me. I faltered, but I didn't wake. I just clutched you as if they were about to come storming down the street to kill you all over again. It was all too vivid, when you leaned your mouth close to my ear, hugging me as if you were really there, and whispered, “We'll be alright.”
I woke with tears streaming down my face. I haven't slept since then. I tried and all I heard in the back of my mind is you. We'll be alright. I want to look in your eyes and hear you say that. I want to see your smile and hear you laugh. I want to be able to touch you. Without you, nothing seems to matter now.
I hear a shout as I stand, but all I hear is you, saying, We'll be alright. I need to be with you in more than spirit. I'm gonna trust you. Someone's hand reaches out for mine, but I twist my wrist out of their grip as the world rushes by and everything comes tumbling down. All I need is right here, beside me.
Aaaand, just for a change of pace, here's a more lighthearted story.
Note: It contains some sexual themes, including BDSM. That said, it's not really hardcore or anything.
Lemon
I stood back to watch my handiwork. I had him on his knees, back against the headboard, hands tied to the bed posts on either side of him. A network of ropes and knots ensnared him, taming his every move and dishing up a most pleasant view. He watched me intently, waiting to see what I would do first. He was eager to be mine and his willingness only increased as I advanced upon him, my step slow and seductive.
“Wait, shit,” he cursed, straining against the rope with a look of discomfort. “What was our safe word again?”
“Lemon,” I told him, breaking character with a sigh.
“Lemon? I thought that was our yellow flag,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.
“No, that's lime.”
“Why would you make the green thing our yellow flag instead of the yellow thing?”
“Because, it's a reference to this fan fiction- you know what, never mind, it's not important. What is it?”
“My left wrist, it's too tight.”
“Going numb?” I asked, kneeling onto the bed.
“Beginning to. I just don't want to break the mood later, you know?”
“I get it, don't worry.” I scooted up onto the bed in front of him and untied his hand. He waited quietly while I re-tied it, testing the firmness of the rope afterward. “Better?” I asked, leaning back.
“Yeah, a lot better,” he answered, opening and closing his hand.
“What about the collar?”
He stretched his neck from one side to the other. “Yeah, I think so.”
I traced my fingers over the ropes crisscrossing his chest, following them down to his thighs. “And all these? Good?”
He grinned at me. “Perfect.”
I kissed him, lingering just long enough to make him want more before I slipped away, off the bed. He bit his lip, following me with his eyes as I opened the bottom dresser drawer.
I pushed aside lingerie, accessories and toys. Where is it? I stopped, staring at the drawer before digging deeper through the clutter. “What happened to the crop?” I finally said.
He made a scoffing laugh. “It broke last week. Remember? You left a mark so bad I couldn't sit down.”
“Oh, shit, right,” I said, easing the drawer closed. Then, getting back into character, I tossed him a smirk from over my shoulder. “Well, we have plenty else to make do with, don't we?”
I'd use my teeth, maybe my nails, instead. I knew he wouldn't mind, regardless. Sometimes he liked it better that way. His excitement showed as I crawled back onto the bed, running a hand up his thigh. Still, something tugged at the back of my mind. Something else that should have been in that drawer, but wasn't. I couldn't place what. I played the game anyway, stopping until he begged for more and starting just when he lowered his guard. Then suddenly, it hit me.
“...Did you buy more condoms?” I asked, pushing back to look at him.
“What?” he said, his face still hazy with both pain and pleasure.
“Did you buy more condoms?” I asked more insistently.
His eyebrows raised in question. “I thought you got them.”
“No, I told you I didn't have time, remember?”
His face slowly dropped in realization and disappointment. “Oh. Fuck.”
I groaned, resting my forehead on his shoulder. “Not anymore, we're not.”
