music

Beware of the graphic scenes and cult-like characters portrayed in this horror book, for this marvelous, sentimental book provides most of the abnormal ideas that I receive whenever I feel rejected from society, rediscovering me as my best friend of self-reliance. Personally, for me, the preplanned ideas in this devastating story came directly from my solitude and numerous wrapped emotions for the ones that acted superior, and intended to take advantage of me by sometimes being demanding, focusing on their enormous egos. Every page of this magnificent book is not to influence self-hate, to hate any individual, or to hate an assembly of people, but for entertainment purposes and cathartic experiences. I fairly encourage my readers’ to discover new ways of escaping their cruel intentions of thoughts on gratuitous violence of irreparable damage with activities that they are or may not know that they are interested in, for example: engaging in physical training and sports, drawing, writing, singing, dancing, acting, and/or other objectives. For my readers’, caution should be taken of the material provided by the heartfelt words of these pages, for it is not my intention to baffle people with sheer hatred. I hope that this spine-tingling book is an acceptable one for curious minds and pumping hearts to even possibly receive new ideas for the upcoming talented people of the future. To the lovely ones that honestly accepted this creative book as the exact way I wanted, thank you for appreciating and comprehending. I encourage my readers to treat every innocent lover of my story as a friendly family member making us reach nirvana as a whole.

Acknowledgements
I would love to first thank God, who protected me throughout the labyrinths of danger. I give my thanks to the rejected and victimized ones from society, including the readers, and the writers of the horror genre. Without you, this book would fail to exist, so you have my appreciation.

Table of Contents

Part 1: Good Diane
Part 2: Nosy One
Part 3: Usage of the Mind
Part 4: Lovely Fear
Part 5: Obsession
Part 6: Raquel’s Visitors
Short Stories:
Stalked Grounds
Kind Stalker
Buried Wonders
The Left Haven
My Beloved Me
Mouth Lair Club
The Left Wife
Diane’s Lyrics
Help Me Find My Mind
Funeral souls
Disguised Threat
Proserpine Guiding
Majestic Doll’s
Kissed Philophobia
Breaking Cord
Turning Numb
The Third Gift
Lips of Hail
Burnin’ Swastikas
Forceful Desire
Kill This Fable

Kissable Poetry
Part 1
Where is?
Handles of Candles
Rigid Bones
Identity Astray
Cane with Name
Blind in Heaven
Apart and Numb
Deathbed in Kansas
Why Selfish?
Last of Paradise
Mother’s Seeds
Karalee
In the Sky
Uncool Loner
Goodbye from a Tub
Robbed Truth?
Part 2
Lady of Tears
Must I Speak?
Fighting Overseas
Very Well
The Ice is Mine
U.F.O Awareness
It’s No Fantasy
Hope on a Vessel
Angel Beyond Laws
Wingless Nest
Lover’s Lifespan
Options of nature
Haul dreams
Armando?
Satanic Schizophrenic
Hate in the Dungeon
Body that Walked
Wide Puddle
Blessed Scheme
Part 3
Mansion of Labyrinths
Hearken to My Ukulele
Unreal Murder
Farther than the Sky
Cursed her Backbone
Wild Birthday
Us Help
Extending pages
Flail in a Chamber
Beg with a Cry
Auburn Eyes
Maple Bones
Views from a Coffin
Longest Thoughts of Hope
This Could Be Solace
Pain Week

Part 1
Good Diane

In the four seasons, for eighteen years, a woman named Diane Sane has dwelled in Venice, Italy with detestable, divorced parents. They have no interest in giving her attention, spying on her with the usage of surveillance cameras hidden in the household. It is her birthday, Christmas, and she entered her parent’s room at 2:14 P.M. while they were gone, shocked to not only see old disks of her, but recent tapes of her in her bedroom. After inserting multiple disks in their black, flat screen television, she got even more shocked to see the heart-stopping events that they had been observing when she was in her room. For example, the disks were revealing personal moments of her: masturbating on her soft mattress with the wooden end of a hairbrush at midnight in solitude, kissing her stuffed animal of a tarantula every morning, screaming with a pillow wrapped tightly around her mouth whenever she was furious, and making graffiti on her wall that revealed deceased, lacerated people. The sight of this memorable moment shall haunt her endlessly, and she was a silent person, sobbing from the activities that were observed by her nosy parents.
Two days later, she called the police on her parents, thus, they were sentenced only five years in prison, and she ran away from their house as a penniless woman in sheer rage, stopping around the corner of fruit and vegetable stalls, gasping for fresh oxygen with a black, leather purse. She noticed that her zipped up black, cotton jacket, dark, purple jeans, and black shoes could possibly get soaked from an expecting ubiquitous rainstorm. The clouds turned dark, and she wept, watching various people carry their umbrellas of various colors. She was clueless of where she was, for she had never left two blocks from her mom and dad’s house alone before. While she stood in one location, many people were bypassing her, and they were even behaving in a rude manner by jolting her, just to get pass her. She refrained from assaulting someone or yelling, but instead, she sighed, heading in the direction of a tall building that she failed to recognize. From a bird’s-eye view, she could clearly see an anonymous woman alone, asleep on a motionless gondola below a bridge that was arched over a canal, between fascinating hotels, restaurants, and cafes. The first thought that registered in her mind is to rob the innocent woman of her money out of desperation in order to eat an enjoyable meal and possibly afford plenty of money to at least rent a room in a hotel for the night. Then, when she received a second thought about robbing the woman, she did not feel comfortable about currently robbing her, so she ran back toward the fruit stalls, secretly stuffing several apples, peaches, plums, pears, and grapes in her purse before the salesperson could spot her.
After performing a crime that Diane never once performed in her life, she headed the direction of the sleeping woman in a gondola, sitting on a nearby bench, gorging on the fruits from her purse. At this moment the woman awoke, darting her head around her, gawking at her, but it failed to bother her. Diane then wiped the tears from her sad face with a dry tissue in her purse, but the tissue felt useless, for she could have wept for days or even longer. The woman sitting on the gondola grows curious of why Diane was weeping, but she attempted to ignore her by rowing the gondola with her oars. She took one last glimpse at the anonymous woman in the gondola, and she noticed the woman had a red, bob cut hairstyle, a puffy, white, cotton coat, black jeans with three rows of snowflake designs vertically on the sides, and leather, black boots. For approximately ten minutes, she spent her time on the bench gorging on the various fruits while staring at her reflection from the clear water, actually seeing her watery eyes, feeling ashamed of the person that she is.
Is it mendacious news if she is going to be happy one day, Diane wondered as she rose up from the bench. Already, she was done eating, and she could not cease thinking about how disturbing her birthday was, two days ago. The thought that she was being watched for eighteen years by someone besides herself made her believe that she was paranoid. Because of that event, forces much more powerful than anyone on Earth feels like it could do more than just traumatize her, but indeed, it only traumatized her, at least for the moment. Trying to forget about the unforgettable memory that occurred not too long ago, she walked toward the cold water, squatted down, positioned the both of her hands together in it, and splashed it in her face, twice. Not only did she feel like an insignificant, little runt, but she failed to feel the element of what she desired—beauty. As if though the water could cleanse her misery, she splashed it on her four more times, rose up, and walked toward the fruit stalls once again, frightened about what she could do for the rest of her life.
A couple of minutes pass by, and a large suite of songbirds are flying pass the bridge catching her attention, temporarily by causing her to glimpse at them, but by the time she turns her head away from the birds, looking the opposite direction, with a hood over her head, the same female that she saw sleeping on the gondola has a concerned look etched on her face behind a group of pedestrians crossing the street. Instead of following the female, she walks around the corner, heading inside of a cathedral, walking innocently down the corridors, just to head down the aisle of the vacant room, and sit in the midst of the front row seat on the right side. Blood leaks from her right nostril, her body feels very weak, harder to move by every second, and she is confused of why this is occurring inside of the cathedral, wondering if anybody can help her. The blood causes her purple jeans to get dirty, and she falls from the bench, trying to crawl out of the place that is torturing her, for she is screaming in agony as blood is now oozing from her reeking mouth. The closer she gets to the doors to exit the place, the happier she feels, giving her the strength to rise to her feet as the blood from her face fades. By the time the blood fades, the same female that she saw earlier opens the door, and approaches her as if she has experience with what is occurring.
Diane frowns and yells, “Who are you!”
“It’s not nice to yell. I’m Evelyn. I’m from Saudi Arabia, and I lived in Iran for ten years. Listen, it’s not safe here.”
“Why,” she asks out of curiosity, “What the hell is going on?”
“You were a test subject like me. It transpired when you were born. Doctors injected an untested fluid inside of you with a needle. Your parents even knew about this. They know that you’re abnormal. You’re a monster waiting for a living organism to kill. But, whenever you enter a church, you’re doomed, and I can’t help you.”
“How did you know that I have the same problem you do? Why would they allow this to happen to me?”
“I … I can feel your energy. Look, it’s too complicated to explain right now. You’ll feel my energy when you begin killing. I just get more intelligent every day. There are only three people like us in the world, and the third … third person I cannot find. Money. … Your parents agreed to invest in the fluid for money. They signed a contract just like my parents did. … And now, we must murder to keep our hearts pumping every six hours, or we will grow weak, dying from eternal bleeding. The reason why we were believed to be living healthy was because they drugged us with special fluid to be absorbed in our daily foods keeping us from harming anyone. They want to know more about us, and that’s not safe either, because we can … can die. They want to keep us locked in numerous rooms and cages like animals. We need to hide from them.”
She turns into an irate person, “I think you should just stay away from me. Keep your distance.”
“Where are you going to go,” Evelyn says with sarcasm, “My last name is Banshee. I know a place where we can stay. Trust me. What other hope do you have?”
Diane sighs, turns around, and thinks about trusting a stranger that she recently met. It does not take her long to decide on rather or not she wants to trust her. After approximately two seconds, she agrees to live with her in order to be safe, saying that she will at least try to trust her. Of course, she feels weird deciding to live with her, especially after the painful happening that she underwent, before seeing her. Then, Diane wonders if she will treasure her memories staying at her place, or if she will simply automatically hate her memories, just after several horrid days.

One Hour Later

Evelyn takes her coat off, tosses it on a round, glass table, lies down on her bed, and speaks “If we’re going to spend a lot of time with one another, I encourage you to express yourself. Tell me about you, and I’ll do the same in return. I’ll start first. Every St. Patrick’s Day, I have a strange ritual of kissing every picture I have of myself, and my birthday is on the first of April.”
“Okay. That’s just odd. I hate people. I’m an introvert, so I hate talking a lot. And what else? I hate being told what to do, especially if you fail to know what to do.”
“Well, that’s a good start. I suffer from narcissistic personality disorder. So, I’m saying this now, if I appear to be bragging about myself, appearing as if I’m careless or anything of that sort, I’m sorry.
“I think we can be friends.”
“I really hope so. That would be fantastic. If you’re ever asleep and hear the faucet running at night, it’s just me. Don’t worry. I know that it’s a bad habit, but I eat more than I should at night in hopes to overcome my jealousy of what people have. I get jealous of many people, and I can’t help myself.”
“I know what you mean. Not that I eat at midnight. So, who are the ones searching for us?”
“Scientists, doctors, agents, and more people that I can think of. Right now, I just know that they will trap us some place that we don’t belong, that they will collect specimens … specimens of our blood, and dissect us for their own knowledge. They strive to torture us anyway they want for drivel of true morality.”
“Creepy. Since I live here, I’m going to also need keys to the house. I’m not sure if I want to leave the house anymore though.”
“If … if you stay here, they’ll find us anyway, committing unprecedented crimes. Don’t get me wrong, this is a safe place, but if you remain in the same spot for too long, they are bound to capture us both. Well, you know where the house is located now. That’s the good part about today. I … I don’t know what’s good about tomorrow. Hey, what do you say we get something to eat?”
“I’m up for it.”

Restaurant

As Evelyn is sitting in the driver’s seat of the vehicle smirking, Diane is sitting beside her, eager to attend a restaurant to eat something that will pleasure her. The car starts moving, and she receives a vibe that she has less than 5 hours to commit a diabolical murder, causing her to immediately lose her appetite. She is afraid of saying a word to Evelyn about how she currently feels, but her face of disgust is obvious. The images that are flowing in her mind are nothing less than deceased body parts placed on a long, white cloth over a glass table. It is indeed a sickening feeling, but disturbingly, the more she thinks about the body parts, the more she intends on murdering someone. So, she slowly licks her lips as if though they are covered with her victim’s fresh blood as Evelyn turns around to see her unusual behavior.
“I guess your killer instincts are coming alive. Pretty soon, you’ll experience additional desires like drinking blood and balancing yourself from the pleasure that you receive from heights. We can climb anything, and whatever we stare at can become a poisonous element. That is unless we stare at people with the same ability as us but like I said, there is only one more person that I know of that has the same ability as us.”
Glancing out of the window, she says, “So, you’re telling me that I can kill anyone if I stare at them?”
“Yes. Don’t go around killing random people. I would use my ability as if it is a gift. I don’t know what my ability is, but random people don’t deserve death. Let it be someone you hate the most.”
Eager to receive her power, Diane says, “This is going to be great.”
“You say that now. Try killing over seven hundred and thirty two people. I loss count though. It becomes a real … real pain trying to decide who the next victim will be.”
“I guess there’s a disadvantage to everything.”
“Obviously,” she says with sarcasm, “And we’re here. Eat whatever you like. I’m paying.”
Once the car stops, Diane opens up the side door, closing it after stepping out, reluctant to step inside the restaurant without Evelyn. From where she is standing, she can already smell a mixture of seasoned sausages and cheese, making her want to rush inside but instead, she waits for Evelyn to lock the car doors with her car keys. By the time she enters the restaurant, she notices two males gazing at her beauty, being warned by Evelyn in a soft voice to never gaze back. Before she even sits down to stare at the menu, she already knew exactly what was on the menu, and exactly what they want to eat. Specifically, they want to eat spinach and goat cheese lasagna with a zest of lemon peels, blue-colored pizza and goat cheese, a slaughtered octopus, crab meat and spaghetti with a zest of orange, and almond covered brownies. Trying to avoid the males gazing at them from a parallel table, she tells the waiter exactly what she wants to eat as he jots the various foods down on a small note, hiding her innocent face.
The curious waiter gives her an odd look, thinking that something is seriously odd about her and the female she is sitting with, simply because she never once took the slightest glance at him, but he pretends as if nothing is wrong, saying before he walks away, “Your food shall be served at your table shortly.”
Evelyn smirks with her head lowered and says, “You’ll get use to it. Pretty soon, you’ll feel invisible because everyone will choose to ignore you. But, you can’t let that keep you down. I didn’t. Just ignore those horny teens.”
“Was I made to love?”
Someone from the table parallel from theirs rises from his seat, walks toward them, and introduces himself, “May you excuse me, ladies? Hello, my name is Shawn Boise. My friend, Trey Cross keeps staring at you, and he thinks that he knows you from somewhere.”
“Well, tell your friend to speak for himself,” Diane says, “I’m sure he meant every word that he said.”
Immediately, Trey rises from his seat with latent fear, walking toward their table, behaving as if he is not interested in a relationship, making a tentative expression, “I’m sorry ladies, I believe my best friend here had a little too much to drink today. I’m so embarrassed, and I’m so disappointed to say the least.”
Without taking a look at him, Evelyn says, “You should be.”
Trey attempts to make the situation better with just a brief sentence, “I’m … I’m terribly sorry.”
“Quit saying that. By the way, my name is Diane Sane. This is my friend, Evelyn Banshee. If you ever want to talk to me, feel free to,” she takes out a pen from her pocket, writes her cell phone number on a small, yellow, blank paper, hands him the paper, and says, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you, Trey.”
“Thank you,” Shawn says, “You won’t be disappointed.”
Trey feels lucky that his friend failed to faint, which would cause him to physically carry him out of the restaurant. That would be an embarrassing thing for him to do, especially in front of the fine-looking woman that caught his utter attention, sitting with her friend. He gets nervous just by even walking out of the door wondering if she is looking at him, so he looks back, failing to feel like she is honestly interested in him. She is not even looking at him, and he feels like an entity, but maybe she is afraid to look his direction, he fantasizes, attempting to block his worries from his mind. Since he may have been unable to satisfy her, the only thing that he can do perfectly now is leave, hoping that he does not trip from his friend wobbling with his arm around his shoulder, making inappropriate jokes. Thus, he realizes that there is absolutely no way that he can even exit perfectly, and it is not because nobody is staring at them, but it is because of his friend.
He was beguiled into easily gaining her cell phone number, and she obviously knows that he has no clue of her true intentions. She does not want to have an intimate relationship, but she does want to utilize his body as an edible existence after finally gazing in his eyes. The symptoms of experiencing her stare are: muscles in the body turning stiff, veins wandering around the skin, a growing hole gradually leading the eyes to sheer blindness, internal bleeding from the eyes, and also internal bleeding from the heart. She feels guilty for wanting to commit a murder, but she simply cannot control her thoughts. So, she intends on murdering him at a later time. Every problem that ails her is soon to be alleviated by the energy and knowledge that she receives from his permanent death.

Part 2
Nosy One

At 3:50 P.M., Diane’s cell phone is vibrating, ringing from her right pocket, and she is currently sitting down in a living room chair, feeling the sensation that joins her vagina. Hesitating to pick up the device, she temporarily shuts her eyes as if a strong gust of wind is blowing at them. Then, she turns around, and poses with her hand on her bosoms, slowly opening her eyes for Evelyn to see. Her friend makes a disturbed face causing her to giggle from her reaction. Afterwards, she moans, leaving her seat, stepping in front of the silver, flat-screen television, she drops to her knees, pretending as if she is performing sexual intercourse with a stranger.
“Just pick up the damn phone,” Evelyn yells.
Diane hearkens to her, and she answers the phone, “Hello Trey.”
“Hello. Maybe we should’ve met up again just so that I can have someone to stare at.”
“Cute, but try getting to know me first before skipping to the ‘say and grab’. You know, the only reason that I gave you my number is because I know that you’re not a bad person. Let’s just say that my eyes were not aimed the wrong direction when you left your house.”
“That’s fair, I guess. What type of a woman are you?”
She chuckles, “I’m a self-centered, party animal. I’m the woman perpetually wondering about being proud. I’m not that much different from others. Naw, I’m just kiddin’. I’m the type that was shy until I met you. I saw your drunk friend earlier leaving the restaurant.”
“I didn’t think you were looking,” he laughs, “That’s not right. He’s feeling better now. I tried to keep my image, but anyone could fall back when their friend’s with him. Thank you for noticing my humiliation.”
“Why do you spend time with him?”
“He saved my life. A year ago, he fought off two bullies, who were planning to stab me.”
“I see how that works now. How about an hour from now, me and my friend pick you up from your house, and we can go some place special.”
“I love the sound of that.”

1 Hour Later

Above a church, Diane and Evelyn are peering at Trey exiting his house at 4:50 P.M. with his best friend Shawn, but that does not cease an unexpected occurrence from existing when a male with the same ability as the two women approach them, “How are you, ladies?”
Diane darts her head around startled, and she says, “Who are you Mister?”
“Relax,” he smiles, “I should be a part of the family. My name’s Jose Frinafé. I’m just like you all. I had to track the both of you down by earning my energy. It’s now Diane’s turn to earn her energy. I’m from the ‘Tribe of Dan,’ and I would be honored to be a part of the family. We’re inhaling trustful death, so let’s make the best of our time. If internal thoughts lurk from the external knowledge, thou shall depart from the group, not by torture, but by what is beyond it.”
“Nice timing. And since you call this a group, what’s the group name,” Evelyn says in sarcasm, “Since you made it to our mission, maybe it wouldn’t be such a pain to help us on the way.
He responds, “Hells Clouds. You should be familiar with that name.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Silence grows as the group members watch the two intended victims waiting for Diane’s arrival, but silence does not remain, for Evelyn speaks, “I guess we’ll catch up with you later.”
Diane makes a flirtatious face and says, “See ya, Jose.”
He speaks as soon as they make a sudden move, “No problem.”

8 Minutes After

In Evelyn’s car, Diane, Shawn, and Trey are quiet, listening to Evelyn speak, “I really hope that you treat my Diane good. Because if you don’t, someone won’t like what I’ll do to them.”
Trey and Diane laughs in the backseat of the vehicle after Shawn laughs in the front believing that she was attempting to be funny, but as Shawn stares at her serious expression, he believes what she said, saying in return, “You aren’t serious, are you?”
Smiling at his face of confusion, she says, “No. Don’t get paranoid. I’m really a nice person until you fuck with me. Just don’t fuck with me or my friend, and you’ll be happy.”
“That’s terrific. I think me and Diane want to spend some time to talk—alone. You’re speaking like a total creep.”
“Your boyfriend’s got a head,” Evelyn laughs saying to Diane.
The humiliation that she feels causes her to react in a way that will force it to fade by saying, “Stop being such a bitch.”
At the same time, Diane and her boyfriend steps out of the car, closing the doors, walking toward one another, but she speaks first, “I’m sorry about my friend. She is having a bad night, and insisted on coming. Our hearts merge together and to no other. If you can somehow get through this moment with me, I’ll give you something in return.”
“Sounds interesting. You don’t have to be the giver. I enjoy the time we’re spending together, and I respect your friend for who she is.”
As she sits on the trunk, he leans against it, gazing in her lovely eyes as she turns her face, “I want to be a giver. Let me be one.”
Growing suspicious, he says, “What’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?”
“If I didn’t like you at all, I wouldn’t have ever accepted you. I’m not feeling well. Please don’t look at me.”
“I can help. You can talk to me.”
“If you knew that you could die from staring at me, what would you do,” she said while shivering from and sniffing the fresh air, “I want you to be protected. You can’t see me.”
Evelyn rushes out of the car and yells, “What the hell is going on?”
At this moment, Diane’s heart nearly stops, and she hopes that Trey believes everything that she told him. Frankly, he does not believe her completely, and he denies the thought that she wants him to never see her again. He feels like a jilted man by the eyes of pure fate. Every bone in his body turns weaker as a few seconds pass by, and he is unsure if she even notices how nervous he is, simply because her face is the opposite direction of his. He stops himself from speaking at her, and he turns silent, hesitating to make a movement. Finally, he moves, taking an upsetting look at Evelyn and Shawn as he walks across the street, quickly becoming unseen due to many pedestrians that passes him.
Of course, Trey’s best friend, Shawn worries about the situation and approaches Diane, but she fails to have a sign of guiltiness on her face, “What’s your problem?”
“My problem,” she says in exasperation failing to look at him in his eyes with her own eyes directed at her knees, “You and your friend are pathetic. You love attention don’t you. You and your damn friend thought that you could jump tables to unzip my pants.”
He deliberately attempts to strangle her around her neck, but she glares in his damn eyes, causing him to suffer the five symptoms of her eye stare. First, his muscles turn weak, giving her the utter strength to push him to the concrete ground. Second, his veins wander, causing him to vomit, suffering worse than most victim that received this mistreatment. Third, he then grows a hole in his eyes as if a burning cigarette will not stop burning from his sensitive eyes. Fourth, he suffers internal bleeding from his eyes as she remains seated on the trunk of the car with a numb face. And fifth, he also suffered internal bleeding from his heart.
The victim screams, crying, and covering his bloody eyes with his lingering hands. Agony cannot completely express the amount of torture he is currently undergoing, but waking up on burning glass as an immobile, mangled person has temporary torture compared to the agony he is undergoing. He loses control of his breathing puking blood from his mouth. At least he cannot see what else she is bound to do to him, but he in afraid of the mystery what she may do. He simply cannot see a thing, her friend unlocks the car truck with the car keys, lifts it, and Diane then places his motionless body inside of it. Afterwards, she smirks, feeling a sensational energy flowing through her entire body as she thinks about the pain she gave her victim.

Home

Jose Frinafé is lying on the couch seizing a glass beer bottle as he chats with Evelyn, “Of course I have a girlfriend. Her name’s Fatima…”
“And her last name?”
“You’re right. I’m not the friendly type.”
Smiling, Diane walks out of the kitchen, saying, “Before this day, I deplored violence. On this day, I acknowledge violence. I relish the moments. And who is Fatima exactly, Mister?”
He responds in a serious manner that can be imagined, “The first name that I could think of. An attractive woman that I stared at in my Freshman year of high school. She died the next morning, but her death was mistaken for another type. I guess because I made the mistake to stare at her in public, nobody can see my faults. They thought she died from a bad car accident, but I knew the truth. One time, I was relaxed, sitting down ironing my clothes in my room, and seven bullets flew through my window, all above my head. It made me hate people. A similar moment occurred when I was brushing my teeth in the washroom. One time, I was standing on a stool, and although I was afraid of rats, I didn’t fall off, that was until my pet German Shepherd ran out of my room, jumping on me. After that, I dislocated my right shoulder, and nearly broke my neck in three places. So, killed that dog without getting the chance to name it.”
The expression on Diane’s face is joined by a mixture of sadness as she says, “That dog didn’t still didn’t deserve to die. Why do you think we have bad luck?”
He smiles trying to hide his visceral anger and says, “Honestly? Because God almighty.”
She looks at Evelyn and asks her out of curiosity, “I choose not to believe that, but to believe that it was faith. We must murder certain people for problems to suddenly reduce. Who was your first victim?”
Hesitation comes before she speaks, “Some woman named Allegra Hanistra. She was a loudmouth bitch that I would spot three blocks from my house flirting with paying customers for her sexual acts. They said she had a nervous breakdown after her husband wanted a divorce. She couldn’t control her temper. The next thing that occurred was her turning on a plugged in device after placing it in a bathtub full of water electrocuting herself.”
“We can’t look at anybody,” she nearly grows a tear after saying.
“We were flustered on our first kill. How do you think it was like? We can learn to live this way. It just takes time,” Jose says, “We’re the reasons why people die around our area. Besides, it’s not like we purposely do these things. Like stabbing a female while she’s sleeping in the bed, and wrapping her up with the bed sheets, before stuffing her in a black garbage bag. Pretty soon, if we continue living, the more powerful we’ll get. And that leads to us receiving the utter ability to kill people with a glance of an eye, so I would be very careful of the ones I glance at.”
“Thanks, I needed that. You don’t have to be a serious person to be a thug and vice-versa. I just want to get out of this stupid predicament. I didn’t ask to be born like this and the sad part is, I’m starting to like it. What are we going to do with Shawn?”
Evelyn laughs, “You know. That’s your meat. Trey is the next one on the list. He’s not important anyway. We need two more victims for the sixth hour for me and Jose. By the sixth hour, our choice will be made.”
For the first time in Shawn’s life, he feels like he may be coerced into having sex with someone after overhearing Jose speak to Diane, “You can do anything with his body. Your virginity does not have to stand out.”
Diane is insulted by the disrespectful joke that Jose made. Controlling herself from harming anyone, she nods her head horizontally, and automatically leaves the room. For a strange reason, she feels like she is skulking around the house, and that feeling causes her to suffer from rage. The victim is in the bathroom with a lacerated face, and her attention is caught by it after sniffing his pleasurable blood. Making no hesitation, she jumps over a box of Styrofoam, then heads in the bathroom. After closing the door shut, she immediately observes his paralyzed body lying in a tub. As she observes the body, she receives awful thoughts like filling the tub with gasoline, lighting a fire, stripping him naked, and chopping each of his body parts off at different times.
Jose enters the bathroom with a malicious smile on his face and speaks, “When I was six, I had an uncle that use to touch on my sister while I was forced to watch. It took me a year to tell the police, they believed me, and he had been sentenced time in federal prison. In just seven days, Sam Gaubry escaped from federal prison after being perceived to have committed over five hundred murders that lead to his guiltiness with a scheduled death sentence of one month. So, if I ever see my uncle, I know that I can just stare at him. But, if I see my sister, I can’t stare. I can’t return to my damn family, and it’s an abnormal feeling that I sometimes wish that I can share it with.”
“That’s terrible. You’re always welcome to share your problems. I have problems too. Long-standing problems. Usually, I am misunderstood, even when I attempt to explain myself. Metaphorically, like open doors, people or should I say “leaches” had fled from my deathbed before achieving the sheer knowledge that they know of. So, I lie motionlessly, at least imagining that I am on my knees. … But, know that I am begging the higher power beyond myself to shower my knowledge on them, and I shall forever be remembered. I just got to this damn house, and I need a ride to College in six days.”
“You know what’s hilarious and almost unreal? There’s a group of cold-hearted serial killers that meet up after school. Do you realize that together, our group can be much stronger? I know people.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She accepts a keen knife from him, thus, she lunges it at her enemy as if she is preparing supper. The enemy cries in agony, and it gets her horny from hearing the wonderful sound of it. The sound of his agony causes her to moan as if she participating in a successful sexual activity. Three times, she lunges the knife in his body. Specifically, she lunges the knife at the right side of his upper chest twice, and in the midst of his abs once. The refreshing smell of blood flows in her nose, and she drops the knife, having loving the thrill that she receives from the first murder.

Monday Morning

Evelyn left the house to take a trip to the grocery store while Diane and Jose remain alone in her house. Although Evelyn is an intelligent individual, she fails to know that her friends are doing something that she is not aware of. If she would have taken her laptop with her, she would not have anyone discovering her login password, but her friends indeed discovered the password by the energy that they gained from murdering. After entering the brief password “Gorgeous One,” they laughed at their accomplishment to login.
The laptop is placed on Evelyn’s bed, and on the screen, they carefully read the words in a document that says “Hells Clouds,” and they both grow curious minds, deciding to click on the document, reading what they see, “Could she have an inflatable wing? Did she see my trouble when she blinked? Could her poisonous tail grow and sting? Have she followed me and winked? A cloth is attached to her like leaves.”
They proceed reading the poem that she wrote, “Her bloody feet walks, but it’s stony. Her eyes show first for one who believes. Her ankles reverse—it’s unholy. Death symbolizes the trails she walked. Air borrows the pain she underwent. North is her friend, but she barely talked. Her desire lives where she never spent.”
It occurs to Diane that Evelyn showed nobody the story out of abject fear that they would laugh at whatever she wrote, believing that they would not comprehend her creativity as a great writer. But, Diane is willing to be the judge of it after she finishes reading what is not only a poem but an actual story. She gives Jose an odd look of surprise as he chews on cherry flavored gum that has been in his dehydrated mouth for two hours. She ignores him getting up to get a drink of water just to return and make a phone call to an old friend of his. Her full focus is now on the story that Evelyn has never told her about, and hopefully, she can discover what the entire story is about before she even reads it.

Hells Clouds

“Brothers and sisters, let us unite as one, for we are the difference makers and not divided, being differently born,” she says in the midst of seven twelve-year-olds dressed in all dark attire with their heads lowered, and their eyes shut as they are holding one anothers hands, forming a circle, “For now and so forth, our group name is known and forever known as ‘Mocked Scars’; if you prefer, call us ‘Hells Clouds’. If you are not ready to dedicate your life to this group, mocking us as you amble out the door. The symbol of our group is the ying-yang. Ying is the bearer of death and yang is the bearer of life. No one shall have a wise mind without good and evil, for there are even learning experiences from our ideas, thoughts, and actions that we may utilize in our daily lives. I allow my next member to speak. For now on, my name is Hazebeth, and I prefer no middle or last name.”
As a reticent girl takes shallow breaths in the dark hideout, with a numb face, she opens hers eyes, raises her head, replaces the position of Hazebeth, and says, “My name is Arlene J. Gibson. My background is not important for me to talk about. I am here today for protection, peace, and happiness in my life. I intend on gaining new friends that will last a lifetime. And I am really here to have fun. Since I must share something interesting, I have a favorite quote from my best friend. ‘When the deliverance of truth switches the habits of guiltiness, they shall spew scorching blood as if they have stolen unlimited time.’ My Best friend, Megan Woodcraft would like to recite a poem in front of you all.”
Wearing a robe made out of sendal, Megan rises her head, opens her eyes, replaces the position of Arlene, and says, “’Beautiful one, forsooth, you’re so amazing. With you, the air races words that one may speak. Beside your big adhesive heart, I’m gazing. Gazing beyond each particle I may seek. Divine one, this must be the phase of a dream. Before I wake, can I take the slightest peek? Will the next dream allow me to redeem? Or will the dream wake me until I’m weak?’ I call that poem ‘Amazing One,’ I engage in writing a lot of fictional stories on my free time, and people call me a poetic freak. I am currently here because I am culpable for metaphorically murdering someone in my past. Not literally but emotionally. I am honored to say that I love the thrill that I received out of it, and I am willing to literally kill in order to remain in the Mocked Scars.”
Once she replaces positions with the next group member, this time, a male stands in the midst of the circle, communicating in a dour attitude, “Hello. I am Nick Star, and I am proud of my real name. When I committed my first murder, my blood burned like the sun, but the bones under my unharmed flesh remained. I am an honest and serious person. I have a record for attempting to set my mother and baby brother on fire. Sometimes, I feel as if people like me are dwelling in life for the existence of plants without anything in return for me except for oxygen. Breathing, I simply learned to despise, knowing only me as my very own enemy, performing nefarious actions. All that I want to say right now is that I am here to let my name be worth something here on Earth. Thank you for allowing me to speak.”
Nick replaces the spot of another male and the male has a disfigured face, speaking in a timid voice, “Call me Slit. I am a ghost appearing where trouble is without. The mouths of death has never even begun to shout. I enjoy life. Why shouldn’t I? I get the best out of it by doing what I want. What I hope to get out of Mocked Scars is the opportunity to advance my creative mind. I’m searching for love, and obviously, I don’t believe that any normal people outside of here would want to dedicate the rest of their pathetic life with a creep like me. I mean, look at me. Who would?”
“Hello everyone. I’m Helly Sin,’ she utters as she walks in the midst of the circle at the same time Hazebeth and Ghost Trail chuckles, “I had a boyfriend… and he was the nicest person I’d ever met. He would buy me whatever I wanted, compliment my looks and actions, communicate to me about our future, take me out to dinner, and all those great things. But, three weeks into are relationship, he discovered drugs, which changed him into a different person. One night, when I was coming from my car, the rogue harmed me, robbed me of my bags of newly purchased clothing, my wallet, my cellphone, and my house keys. That’s just an example of why I’m upset, so I came here to defend myself whenever I feel it’s necessary. You’re all wonderful people. Really—and I mean that and deep down inside, I hope that you all know that…”
A male replaces her spot and says, “People call me Strap, and I can freestyle. I’ll make money come like your pussy. And I’ll make it pop like a balloon. Hop from dreams into reality. Then, I’ll make her high notes reach the moon. And I’ve been to many cities. Bob my head to the sound they make. Squirt in three holes and squirt in trees. I’m in, how much can you take? Increase the light, there’s a spider bite. No, it’s just my large fluid, goodnight. I’ll wake up and hold your ass real tight. Make your tits stick like a wedding ring. Love it, and I’ll puke in your eyesight. Jump on your pussy like a bed spring. When you see me, bitch pray. You’re bitch prey. When you hear me, bitch pray. You’re bitch prey. When you see me, bitch stay. You bitch, stay. When you hear me, bitch stay. You bitch, stay…”
He continues to freestyle, “No need to brag, I got pockets on my tag. I’ll burn you if it’s my concern to—don’t panic. I don’t care about lives, so call me Mr. Volcanic. I’ll set the time, set my mind, and you’re in a ditch where nobody can find. It’s no crime, I control time, rewind. I’ll do it again, believe the actions of a real motherfuckin’ psychopath. I’ll take you home and gut you until I praise the bath. Laugh, and I’ll take all that you have like that. Because you’re the crashing plane that goes splat. So, don’t assume or bloody click boom. It’s your fuckin’ head to your tomb. Motherly born in a coven, quit lyrically shovin’ or your end’s in the preheated oven.”
Remaining in the midst of the circle, he proceeds to utter, “It’s so tragic, I make the magic come true. Like every movie coming to a theater near you. I jumped off of more than you can measure, so you’re my biggest pleasure. Unleash what is not spoken, ain’t no jokin’ bitch chokin’. Who gives a damn when the value of your life is worth a token.”
Once he finishes revealing his talent, a confident male enters the midst of the circle as the final group member, “My name is Aim. Call me aim because of my ability to spy and harm people. The reflection reveals unborn love from three places: the heart, the eyes, and the mind. Being serious does not necessarily make a person tough, but it could be a thin rope to hell. Privacy does not signify abandonment of a living organism. I enjoy being random. It’s my way of having fun when I am bored. And sometimes, when I am bored, I seem to do very bad things. Things that I cannot control myself from no matter how hard it is for me to prevent it from occurring. Crystal light. … You’ve followed me, and I’ve borrowed your ways. And you’ve yelled at me, and I’ve wept for days. Days, I will not weep, for I’ll follow your every command. … All of us as vampires shall meet up in this cabin. It’s what we all have in common, plus we are lucky to be immune to the light and given the gift of immortality at such an innocent age.”

Ten Minutes Later

In an abandoned cabin, passing by an opened bathroom door, Helly Sin ambles toward Arlene J. Gibson forming a happy smile on her face wearing a nifty, ocean-blue, cotton sweatshirt with the design of a golden crown attached to an ominous doll, white, tight, denim shorts, and ocean-blue, comfortable shoes. Then, she hearkens to the chirping birds that she overhears from outside as she positions part of her frizzy, red hair from her shoulder to her back, leaning against a wooden wall with a painting of a keen knife through a vivid moon. She fails to care about the fact that in the uncanny painting, the moon is leaking with excessive blood, but as a nosy person that she is, she then observes Arlene gazing at Nick Star leaning against a parallel wall with the knowledge that she is fantasizing about dating him and sharing sentimental moments with mutual feelings for one another. From her perception, she has a tranquil gaze aiming at him as if though she is not capable of even putting a temporary smile on his face, and she takes a glimpse at her. From her eyesight, she sees her having a black, wool newsboy cap, black long, curly hair hanging inches below her shoulders, tinted, black glasses positioned above her rosy cheeks, a diamond necklace with a knife as a pendant that constantly twirls horizontally as if though by the remarkable process of great magic, a black wool jacket around a pink tank top revealing the design of a ying-yang, dark, pink jeans with pocket chains, and black shoes. Although she desires to nudge on her shoulder to chat to her, she refrains from doing so, knowing that she is too busy fantasizing about Nick.
She notices Hazebeth walking pass her saying, “Next time, can you do us the courtesy of arriving on time like everybody else?”
She responds in sarcasm and an angry voice, “Sure. I won’t allow it to slip my mind next time. There is no excuse for my actions, and it will not happen again, girl.”
“If you can’t handle the rules, stay at home with your parents. As you know, this group is not for everyone. If you dislike the group, get out now. On the third day, your joining will be permanent, so I suggest you make a full decision on rather or not you intend on remaining here. If you intend on escaping after the third day, there will be dire consequences.”
Again, in sarcasm, she says, “I comprehend the rules. What are you going to do if I don’t? Place me in a madhouse? Clouds form and function like thoughts; they lurk until they are visible, and they strike, depending on how much they detest someone or something. I know my rules, and I’m pretty damn sure that every member does, too!”
“Just remember them because you, and everybody else will be accountable for forgetting them. I wouldn’t want anyone to have firsthand knowledge in the unpredictable predicaments you may undergo.”
As Hazebeth walks out the backdoor pouting, Aim approaches her, “Don’t worry about her. I’ve known her for two long years, and she fails to harm a person in sight. Just act polite, and the members will appreciate you. We were distant friends. … After I ran away, I just somehow discovered a place with her. A place where I am not harmed. We’re all harmed. Everyone that is in here is harmed.”
“Thank you for the speech. Look, you seem like a really great person, but I’m not like them.”
“In this group, we are one. Allow the youth to prepare for a day when they can speak for tomorrow. I’m sorry if you dislike me. Nobody drugged me or anything, which gives me the courage to speak to you.”
“Great advise. I’ll try very, very hard to do everything that everybody tells me to do. I lack the same personality as you,” she imitates her belief of happy people by hugging herself as she creates a fake smile that can nearly deceive someone, and she says, “Maybe if I wake up feeling different, we can finally be best friends, hugging, and kissing. I know you love the sound of that. Well, do you, big boy?”
Helly decides to sit down slumping against the wall while glowering at Slit striking the parallel wall consecutive times, which is beside Nick, gorging a seasoned, baked potato and garlic bread from a plastic plate. She notices that he struggles to reduce his anger with his physical ability, but she is also too frustrated to currently approach someone in the cabin, for she just desires to be in solitude. Black, hoary furniture from her sight vanishes, and she sees black, opulent furniture around his surroundings, which startles her. Bending her knees slightly up makes her feel even more uncomfortable, but she then temporarily turns her attention to Arlene, glowering at her as she is unaware. Jealousy grows within her, and she despises the horrible feeling that Arlene may date Nick one day, which would result in her never having a charming date. The jealousy bothers her to the extent to where she determines that she will certainly prevent her from even dating him, so that she can receive the opportunity to successfully date him.
Arlene turns around finally aware of Helly’s existence, and she says, “Nick is amazing. I’m thinking about the perfect time to ask him out, but it frightens me like my deepest fear—rejection.”
“I can predict how this one will go. When you date him, and you do breakup, remember that no relationship has a good breakup. It just means that you are capable of dating him again. If you breakup, do it like it should be done—permanently.”
Arlene brims with anger and says, “What’s your problem? Jealous? Well, if I was like you, I would start off by informing my partner about my past breakups, but I wouldn’t inform him about them anymore. My past is nothing interesting, and my partner is the only thing interesting to me. Please, don’t do that because I didn’t ask for an attitude.”
“Whatever,” she turns into an irate girl saying, “If I want a man, I will take him like money.”
“I hope it’s not too much to fit in your little pockets. Watch out, young one.”
Afterwards, Arlene walks toward Nick as Strap approaches her speaking about a random topic, causing her to receive a creepy feeling, “Can you imagine the perfect family multiplying having sheer control over everything in this world? They would have innocent faces reproducing babies that are perceived to be innocent for generations as countless role models; they would be the role models dwelling on Earth robbing our dreams daily with the ability to do whatever they may strive to do. And that is without striving as hard as someone unrelated, for they would also be an avaricious family. Some members of their family would become cops, doctors, and lawyers. Some members may invest in owning lucrative businesses receiving success with ease, later squandering their money on expensive items that they don’t need. Other members of their family would strive to be famous becoming actors, athletes, writers, supermodels, singers, and additional appreciated things with rising talent that is literally unstopped by unrelated people.”
From this point, Helly ignores Strap, walking toward Megan behind her, who is staring at the front door, and she hears her speak to herself, “A flame to a rose is one mistake. The smell to a nose is to retake.”
Quivering as if though a cold gust of wind is blowing at her direction, Megan does, but it is actually a caressing wind. She twirls around wearing a golden medallion of a ying-yang; part of the medallion is gold and the other part of the medallion is pure black as if though the blackness could be made out of leather attached to metal. The wind does not bother her, but she does seem as if she is an overexcited girl, behaving in a strange manner. Causing everyone in the cabin to stare, she does cartwheels around Helly as her eye-catching clothing comes to her awareness. Megan is wearing a black tank top, an expensive, golden watch, golden trousers designed like a tiger’s skin, and golden sandals, inhaling and exhaling with ease in as the caressing wind that is blowing pass her direction.
“The sun glares at us out of fear that we may not need him on one dark day,” Megan says, “One compelled to remain wide-awake thinks that dreams are an imaginary thing. Invisible creatures circle around us like your blood does from your insides every day and night. I’m talking a lot because I want to know about you and everyone else. We are a group, and this group is one.”
“Is everyone around here so random? Don’t answer that. I’ll be random. How do you feel about marriage? People renewing their vows?”
“I wouldn’t renew my vows simply because vows are unrepeated with no rehearsals to even prepare for the sudden reaction of the utter truth. Spoken nuptial vows are intended success in its final breath of the last word.”
“Tell me about yourself,” she says with sarcasm, “Express yourself. Give me a story. I don’t care if it’s real or not. Not that I don’t care.”
“As a dark shadow behind optional walls, there dwells an elderly woman, observing every tangible breath, every detectable movement, and even every thinkable thought that registers in your mundane mind. The walls shall shift angles gradually changing into a terrifying painting of primarily dark colors. The timid woman shall be recognized as only their victims’ fear when the ubiquitous rain shall pour from down her wet, black braids. Then, while she remains as an adhesive artwork to the wall, she shall cause the rest of every painting of the raindrops to hover above her vivid, red eyes, which were originally black. Every wall from a blocking area shall form to cement, which rapidly forms to solid, black concrete. Once a victim touches the doorknobs, it shall form to nothing else but a scorching object, which can literally cause the utter process of a severe fire in any area where there is a room. Due to the high temperature of the room, the painting shall then bleed from the walls as the victim grows confused about what is transpiring. Finally, the door shall open on its own, and in a soft voice, she shall whisper in their victims mind, being known as the name Jane Daisy and also being known as a childless widow of a loyal male named Deuce Wince.”
“I so was not expecting that, but okay. You really seem to like stories. You know, in my opinion, there is a possibility that someone can be perfect, but the consequence is that it is not easy. I realize that I can never be everything that I want. Because what I want is obviously perfection. So, now, I don’t want people to see my mistakes. I only want God to see them.”
“When I’m alone, my eyes soar like the wind, but nobody can see them except me. I would replace a dying population of everyone on Earth just to see my mother’s death. But, that was until I met you. You’re an understandable person. Sometimes, when there is no evidence of where it came from, I awake, and there is blood on my pillow. I replaced them literally over a thousand times, and my mother kept thinking that I was a cutter. No, I was not, and I tried to tell her. … She would not listen.”
From this point, Helly turns silent, slowly walking out of the backdoor of the cabin. There is a forest in front of her eyes, and Hazebeth is climbing up a dead tree with the intentions to balance herself on a branch by sitting on it, alone. She feels guilty for acting mean to Hazebeth, feeling as though the reason she may want to climb the tree is to harm herself. Also, she grows nervous running toward the tree as if though she is about to rescue a lost kitten that has not tasted a thing in several days. By the time she stops running, she is inches away from her to say her weeping above, which makes her grow more concerned about the situation that she is now confused about.
“I don’t need to love,” Hazebeth whispers after sighing.
“Why are you crying?”
Being aware that Helly is curious of her behavior, she responds like she is not upset with her, “Sometimes, I cry when I’m happy, only because I remember that I could die at any moment, and if I’m lucky, it would be old age. Sometimes, I cry because I’m upset or even angry, and I’m sure you know how that feels. Maybe. To be bullied is not something that everyone can relate to, for it’s a constant thing. I’m crying because I realize that this group will kill anyone we hate, and I wanted peace in the world. I want the madness to stop.”
“We have to destroy the ones we hate. They’re the bullies. The ones that think that their always right and better. We’re the ones striving to carry our ideas and opinions out to the useless world. Remember, this is different, so don’t give up. This is Mocked Scars.”

Seven Minutes Later

Inside of the cabin, Helly returns in the cabin to see Strap speaking, laughing and saying to Megan, “I bet that I could beat you in a rap battle.”
She sighs and says, “Why? You think you’re the best, right? That’s not exactly where my talent comes into greatness. I’ll just listen to you rap.”
“When I see your body, I’ll treat it like a potty. Because I’ll open your legs and urinate green. No concerns, I won’t miss if you’re feelin’ so naughty. Straight from my seeds until I see you’re really clean. You’ll see white, and I won’t be polite to hesitate. Taste every bit, and tell me how you like it, girly. Give my potty a name—I’m sorry I arrived so late. Her name’s Megan, and I’ll give her boyfriend a swirly.”
She says with a miserable frown on her face, “You didn’t have to disrespect me.”
Arlene walks by the area, smirks, and says, “We have ten minutes until it’s our first mission.”
“We’ll be ready,” she responds to her best friend, “Thanks.”
Strap raps for the second time, “I avoid bullshit like I destroy entities. I’ll tame you—you’re dead for back to back centuries. Hatch from an egg, I’m crazy, I’ll burn you alive. Cut your eyes out and feed them to a dog of five. Rather you’re real or funny, I don’t care, beware. This punch line is not meant to scare, or make you swear. Drown, no bleed you fuckin’ bitch ‘cuz this is true. Even if you kill me, I’m one step over you. Fuck the laws, fuck you too—I’ll change them and smile. Make your girl suck my dick droolin’ and say wow!”
“He’s been rapping ever since he came here. If he proffered his heart, would you accept it,” Arlene whispers to Megan, which causes her to laugh in front of his face.
He continues to speak, “It’s uneasy, so uneasy to say a way. It’s so painful, so painful to say today. I hate you like a nightmare dwelling from my mind. I’ll cut you, and I’ll burn your fuckin’ embryo. Whatever transpires today makes you so blind. The demented mind of mine makes you want to go. Prepare for no action until you’re alone, bitch. Eat the stitches from a boy then speak. Let me change my mind, and you’re dead anywhere, switch. Fear the tears that you cause from even ceilings that leak. Spread your legs, I’ll make another delivery. Watch out, I could bury you. I know that you lack so much fuckin’ energy. Scream until the babies name reach where you do.”
When she looks at Megan, it seems as if though her hatred culminates, and that nothing could alleviate the stress that she is currently undergoing. Instead of getting involved in their problem, she decides to refrain from getting involved, pretending as if though she fails to hearken to them by walking away. While she has her head turned away from them, she can then hear her laughing in a playful manner. This is a fantastic moment for them, but for her, she is nervous about the thought that they either may have noticed, or that they may have already notice her concern. She feels weird looking back at them as they look at her, so she darts her head around wondering about what will be Mocked Scars first mission.
In a humorous voice, Nick says, “There are patterns in the fire, and playing fields surrounding her. A funeral place for the liar, and her little sister. The founder of Mocked Scars shall come to us, and we will begin our journey. When you see a black vehicle pull up, you’ll know it’s her. There is a reason why we all turned to her, and it is not as a disappointment.”
“Smart one. I say in a sublime manner, what subgroup are we bound to kill? Or is it just various entities?”
“It’s up to her. Hazebeth is the only one to communicate to her. In veneration of group, this rule must not be broken.”
“Can you tell me why,” she asks him in a curious manner.
“I’m sorry. That information is prohibited. That’s not my job to give you that type of information.”
“Well, make it your job,” she says in sarcasm, “If this group is one, we as one should know everything about one another.”
“The founder tells the leader who to kill. Nobody ever saw the founder though. Her name is Rosetta Shawl.
The sound of a ticking clock echoes from the inside of the cabin, and Helly is confused of where the disturbing sound is coming from. She jumps up startled by the event, but realizes that the sound of the ticking clock betokened the exact time for the group to begin their clandestine mission. Of course, she is nervous, but she is also excited about the mystery that she is soon to find. As Nick darts his head around the area trying to find out where the sound is coming from, she refrains from searching for the sound of the ticking clock, believing that it is an act of arcane magic. Although she fails to possess magical powers, she believes that a magical force is either within the intelligent group or within the founder of the group, which makes her confused once again.
While the group members inside and in the backyard head in front of the cabin, creating numerous trails in the slushy snow, Nick says, “We’ll be there in a minute!”
Megan sneaks from behind Helly and says, “You two can’t be left alone for too long, now can you?”
“We’ll be there,” Helly says in fear and speaks to Nick, “I thought she just left.”
“You’re correct,” he smiles with his fangs showing and says, “There are vampires much older than us not too far from here. They support us with blood, and we support them with the same. … Megan’s really good at being poetic. Even when she’s random. Watch this. Megan, can you show us again why you’re the poetic freak?”
Randomly, she says, “Near the buttresses of a castle, she ran. She left her lei, and she surely left her man. Then, she fled the forest, gingerly weeping. Olivia was immune to joy, sleeping. She is frightened by culminating love, why? Mostly on a December, she makes me cry. Many questions shake my mind—an eye, I heave. They flow like blood beyond eyes I believe.”
She continues to say her poem, “Her kissable lips leaves a trail in my mind. Her honesty speaks through the wind from behind. The ground moves like her hips, and I balance it. Her ways awake me—I cannot sleep or sit. My pain is very lazy, and I am sane. I have no name and worse, for there is no best. I aim my messages, but it always rain. I swallow rain but nearly choke on the rest.”
Remaining in the same position as they stare at her amazing talent, she continues to say, “A sudden force from the ground is where I frown. Invisible flames reminds me of her crown. It is torture, I will not see her again. I will not see her face, and then touch her skin. The snow melts like my eyes and freezes like thoughts. But, beneath her, flames dwell, and do what they ought. I never harmed her, but I harmed myself bad. My eyes never open, which is what I add.”
A few seconds later, once she arrives outside, she sees a snowflake falling in the pure, white snow, changing into the color of burgundy like blood. Out of all of the other areas, the only sight of blood is beside Hazebeth and the founder of Mocked Scars, Rosetta Shawl. It seems as if she is the only person capable of seeing the drop of blood that fell from the sky until Rosetta glances at it, and glances at her with a brave face. The cold, tangible wind blows pass her face, causing her to get more nervous, nearly mistaking reality for a daydream. But, she is not daydreaming, and she can literally see the drop of blood, wanting to drink it, unsure if it is an offer. If it is an offer for her to drink the slightest delicious taste of blood, indeed, the offer is a tempting one, and she attempts to maintain control over her body by ignoring the smell and sight of it.
Rosetta speaks, “I’ve been planning this group for two-hundred and fifty years searching for the right people that I can work with. Starting now, somebody in this group will die as the energy to us. Then, our bullies shall suffer more throughout unimaginable moments. At some point in our lives, we all have an inexorable smile. After the members the, we shall all smile.”
“You mean, like a sacrifice,” Slit says in a worried manner.
“Yes,” she responds.
Most of the group members react in a shock manner by mumbling in fear with words, such as, “Why are we going to be sacrificed? I knew this was bad. Ladies first. I’m not doing it. I’m a girl, you can go if you’d like.”
“I’m just joking,” she says, “We’re going to spend this moment to grasp the information on the mission. It’s simple, someone tell me who you despise, and we start from there. Tell me that whenever you’re ready. Anyway, sometimes, I choose not to speak not because I fear, but because of my undecided decision. I adopt partly the emotions of hatred as an addition to my reasons for having severe upsets.”
Hazebeth says, “Interesting, my founder. One day, I received an incredible idea about exactly what I want to occur after my death. One day, when I die, I want to be cremated, being buried in absolutely no casket to rot in like a useless statue, whispering to the living to dig up my filthy remains. By being cremated, I have the full knowledge that I will not awake in a closed casket with no air available, attempting to escape like I am dwelling in a spine-chilling horror film. Prepared for my wonderful visitors, there would be multiple copies of published obituaries of me; the obituary would also be a novel with multiple pictures to fascinate them on my special day. In the end result of life, my fetid corpse will turn into ashes regardless if I am cremated or buried by people, failing to give me my wish. Not that I have anything against people being buried, but I have some things against myself being buried, which is why I would be cremated.”
Rosetta looks at Megan and says, “I know what each and every one of you did before you came here. ‘Irremediable actions was all she knew. Death expanded as the darkness crossed around. She’s a blameless child, and she swore it was true. Innocence was her lie, but she made no sound.’”
She continues to speak as Megan grows a shocked face of disbelief, “She discovered the smell of blood wafting her nose. Memories of the one that she will never kiss. Leaves and feathers wandering like loud burning crows. She discovered a precipice above the abyss. She was kissed by the rain and was pushed by the flames. Hiding from the ground and striving to reach the top. Lost from air and seeking corners like forgotten names. Sobbing in agony but the pain wouldn’t stop.”

Part 3
Usage of the Mind

The sound of keys coming from the living room comes to her awareness, and she rushes to shut down the computer. She was not even done reading Evelyn’s story, but she dislikes the magical scenes and the profanity that was involved in it. Besides the magic and the profanity, she believes that the story is something that she is willing to continue reading to grasp a better understanding of what it is about. She is now even curious if the story relates to her life somehow and where she received her idea from, but she is afraid to ask her. As the computer shuts down, she grows nervous that Evelyn is bound to discover what she was doing, so she rises from the bed, heading to the living room as if nothing occurred. If anyone is bound to appear suspicious in logging on Evelyn’s computer, it is the one male sleeping on the same bed as hers, and Diane nearly giggles to that thought.
With five grocery bags in Evelyn’s hand, she slightly closes the door, saying, “Hey girl! Help me with these groceries. There’s more in the trunk and a special gift down there if you know what I mean. Where’s Jose?”
“Oh, he just slept through the night like a baby, but he got drunk. He got really drunk making over a dozen inappropriate phone calls while I was hypnotized by the video game.”
“Can you wake him up?”
“Sure.”
She walks back in the room she exited and literally jumps on the bed with words that easily erupted from her mouth, “Wake your ass up! It’s almost the sixth hour!”
Frightened by the yelling that she made, he wakes up disturbed, saying, “How much time do we have?”
“Eight minutes. Naw, I’m kidding. Three hours. Put some underwear on and help Evelyn with the grocery bags.”
“You’re an ass for that. We need time to prepare for our victims,” he said as he rushes off the bed to slip on his clothing, which was chucked on the floor, “I sleep in the nude.”
In sarcasm, she says, “I think I know that. And you smell like raw fish and petroleum. Make sure you take a good shower before you meet anyone where we’re goin’.”
“It’s not that bad. Smell me, “he raises his arms as if he just won a competition of some sort with a smile, “You were in the same room as me!”
After opening that unlocked front door, she heads downstairs and can see Trey Cross outside walking out of a parked black vehicle. She can feel a vibration through her vein of love whenever she thinks of him; her heart pumps at the rate of her breaths, and she can no longer doubt that she always desire to cry without the charming man in her sight. Pretending as if she fails to notice him, she decides to seize five grocery bags until she reaches her destination—the living room. What was asked for her to do was not entirely done, for there are still groceries remaining in the trunk of Evelyn’s car. She fails to care about the rest of the groceries and swiftly approaches Jose.
“Trey’s downstairs. I need you to get the rest of the groceries.”
“It seems like you ask me for help once you get tangles with an octopus. I’ll help you. One day, you have to kill him though. He would not accept you if he knew the person you truly are.”
She receives a vibe that he is jealous of the emotions that she has for Trey, but she does not care as she sits down on the couch, fantasizing about him. In her mind, after dipping her hands in the bathtub full of bubbly water, she placed strawberry smelling soap on her soft bosoms, and her round nipples could be mistaken for real gold. Jose was amazed at her ability to please him whenever she desired, and he stood frozen in one spot, hesitating to make a move. The blood in his body felt like it was completely capable of stopping, and his mind functioned by only his true desires. He could not believe that he even took all of his clothes off, and he stepped in the same bathtub as me, knowing that he was also afraid of my noticeable beauty, but he did, and he pleasured me to the best of his ability like she did him from the second that he laid eyes on her. Her voice expressed more than he had to offer her in life, and he felt that she would not deceived, having sex with her instead of having a fully committed relationship.
She opens her eyes and looks out the window to see her friends standing over Trey’s bloody corpse and she rushes outside to speak in anger, “Why did you kill him!”
“There’s no love in this group,” Evelyn says, “I’m tired of being raped by the cops. I know no bad in what I do, so will this group. Your boyfriend was a damn cop. You didn’t have to see his pathetic death. One of his cop partners can appear right now to come to his fucking rescue and guess what, they won’t see what we are currently seeing. You have nobody to trust but this damn group.”
“You’re wrong for what you did.”
She laughs and says, “Am I? If I didn’t kill him, he would’ve turned you in and once again, you would be reintroduced to multiple scientists’ tests subjects. We don’t need to lose you by irrational love and hatred. Like it or not, we admit that we don’t fit in with society. We benefit from our enemies pain just as well as our loved ones. These people are nonexistent to us until we make them die and by then, it’s too late. We do what we have to do. Just go upstairs, cry, or do whatever you have to do…”
Jose interrupts Evelyn, “What’s more important than if a person committed a crime is actually why the person did it. I know it’s complicated to listen, especially after how you feel…”
Tears brim from her eyes as she yells, “You know nothing about love!”

Five Days Later

The day is Sunday, at 1:00 P.M., and Diane is sitting down in a chair at a long, white, wooden desk in her Woodcraft Class, traumatized by the death of Trey Cross. The only person that she knows in her classroom is Jose Frinafé, and he is sitting beside her, observing the instructor, Mr. Waltz telling people exactly how to cut the wood in order to create a chair. She rises up from her seat, seizes an electric chainsaw, and reduces the size of a thick block of wood. Seizing the chainsaw makes her want to aim it directly at her heart, but even she is unsure if she may actually do it, for her focus is again on the horrible death of Trey. Seeing the sight of Jose then causes her to have a nervous breakdown; she screams in the classroom alarming every one of her odd behavior, and it causes everyone to turn silent with terrified expressions on their faces as she drops the object to the floor, running out of her classroom. After that unforgettable moment, Jose automatically places down a chisel that he is seizing, and he exits by walking out in a fast manner following her with the intentions of alleviating her stress.
Evidently, she will not be attending this college again due to her misbehavior in the classroom, but that does not cease her from erupting words from her mouth once she leaves the premises with Jose in a red car, which was stolen just yesterday, “What I am about to say does not include the class that I was just in. Sometimes, it feels like I attend school just so students and teachers can lecture about many things that are unnecessary for my future, and so they mock me at what I struggle by, failing to comprehend their mistake, which is wasting my time. But, oh, I still get good grades, and I aim for a future where majority of the school teachings are not necessary to utilize. Not anymore do I get good grades, and I sadly sorry to admit my failure at that. But, my accomplishment comes from the progress that I make out of that damn failure.”
“You make both, the ground and the sky hide from you,” he say in sarcasm, “You’re gonna walk backwards with inverted eyes. Should I be afraid of you? Do you realize the dumb mistake that you just made? What the hell is your goal in life!”
“I don’t fucking know anymore! Remember, we’re in the damn group. Don’t let me inject a lobster up your ass, and use your future girlfriend’s tongue as your tail! I had the utmost respect for this group. You walk around here like you were once an ossifragrant, athletic prodigy and transformed into a goddess that knows every damn thing. And it frustrates the living crap out of me. You didn’t have to kill Trey.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Partly. I don’t want to be mocked anymore. I don’t want to be weird. I don’t want to be human. I don’t even want to live. I don’t want to see the afterlife. I don’t want to even think if there isn’t an afterlife. I don’t know. I want to stay murklins peeking for my own eyes of justice,” she laughs, “I just hate life!”
“Relax. Just relax. Below the foggy sea, there existed a town of extinct creatures of forgotten times. Why do you hide from the creatures that includes one of our type? This is us, and we have to accept it.”
65 miles per hour down a roadway, she drives, swerving pass several vehicles with a mind focused on her rage. She wants to crash into an olive tree and suffer a sudden death due to her terrible thoughts about not the road ahead, but her current life. In the damn driver’s seat of the vehicle, she is slumped down wearing a black, pashmina hijab, a black abaya, black jeans, and black sandals that honestly causes her to feel unsatisfied when she thinks about how she could not always what she is wearing. She hates her childhood, but that does not make her want to torture others, for she wants to not feel the torture of being an unknown creature. Although she feels rejected from goodness, she keeps her eyes directed on the road.
The vehicles avoid her, and they make her feel like she is having an impromptu gathering with legions of members in her own group, attempting to hide from her uncontrollable rage. Countless people are honking their horns as she blocks the annoying sound from her demented mind. They are making abrupt turns just so that she may speed down the road at 65 miles per hour, and she even fails to notice that she there is a loud police siren flashing behind her, meaning she is being followed by the police. Jose tells her to stop the car, but she gives him a smirking glance, driving the car faster than before.
“Aren’t you going to stop the car,” he questions her.
“Dominance lacks the system and unlucky are the ones absorbing the laws, being brainwashed by servants.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with stopping the car! Just stop the damn car, and we’ll talk about this later. I didn’t ask to hearken to the principles.”
In sarcasm, he say, “I’d avoid provocative statements.”
To the right side of the road, Diane drives, trying to be imperturbable, taking her friends advice to stop the vehicle. The police car stops behind her, and she gets more nervous than a conceiving a child with a stranger, darting her head back. The officer looks familiar; she notices that he looks like a male that she rejected when she was a freshman in high school. She wishes that she can slam her head against the steering wheel for the moment in order to calm down, but he is already opening up the door to his car, walking toward her. It is true once she gets a full glimpse at his face; indeed, she can remember the male she rejected in high school, and she feels guilty by seeing Officer Shard’s face.
“Good afternoon, Sam.”
“That’s officer Sam. I haven’t seen you in years and it’s an ironic thing how we meet again. You rejected me in high school, I aged a little, and became someone of authority. Speeding from the cops is illegal, Diane.”
“You know this creep,” Jose yells.
“Shut it,” Officer Shard yells at Diane, “I’m going to need you to step outside the car.”
She sighs and does what she is told, but is offended by what transpires. Her head is slammed against the car with force, and she can feel him squeezing on her buttocks. Due to her life altering ability, help is not necessary, so she turns around and stares at him as he pulls a gun from his holster. Before he can even aim the gun, the muscle in his body stops, and she laughs, knowing that he is bound to die for his misbehavior. Being put in mirth, the longer she stares at him, blood oozes from his eyes, his nose, and his widened mouth. After she returns in the driver’s seat, her victim drops the weapon falling directly to the concrete.
“Let’s just go home,” as she continues to speak, he can literally imagine what she says, “Fire dances on gasoline circling this car. How do we get out?”

Home

“The only person who questions me is me. My name should not even be uttered until given permission. That guy was trying to take advantage of me, and he surely got what he deserved,” Diane says with sarcasm, “Maybe I was given this ability to give people what they gave me in return—bullshit.”
Juggling three keen knives, Jose mentions something, “That guy was a creep. I guess, there is an advantage to this disease. We can be like superheroes or something.”
Evelyn smiles as if an idea just popped in her intelligent mind, “That is true. My childhood dream can be reality. But, I’m tired of being the nice girl.”
“Think about it,” he says, “Would you want somebody to rescue you?”
While laughing, she responds, sitting down on her bed, “Every six hours, someone must die. How are we bound to find everyone that’s guilty within that time limit? Explain that. So, we shall not be guilty of sloth.”
“Good point.”
“I’m kind of tired,” Diane says as she ambles toward a guestroom closing the door shut, “I’m gonna take a nap. Can you prepare the next victims for me? Pretty please? Thank you.”
After shutting the door, she spreads her arms in silence, and falls on the bed, causing her face to land on the midst of the comfy pillow. While she rests on the bed, she wonders if she should close the opened blinds to keep anybody from staring at her beautiful face, even the paucity of gnats that are visible past the clear window. With her focused eyes, she glares at the blinds, imagining it is closing. After nearly ten minutes, it does close. She is utterly shocked at her new talent, fearing if something is seriously wrong with her mind, for she has simply experienced psychokinesis. Nothing is wrong with her mind, she questions herself, deciding to rest before adding assumptions.
In her dream, she has her eyes open on a bed, attempting to move her numb body from a mattress but her it is impossible. A male stands above her wearing a black mask, rubbing on the back of her pants pockets, and she receives the thought that it is her father, being the only person seeing her. The next thing she knows, she has her hand tied behind her back with a thick, white rope. As he slowly removes some of her clothing, he can see her wearing a red and black bra, and tight, blue jeans that gives him an erection. Thus, he lowers his pants, masturbates in front of his daughter, and ejaculates directly on her face, pretending that she had countless orgasms just by the slightest thought of him.
She wakes up from that disturbing nightmare with a scream, darting her head toward the alarm clock, overhearing a stranger from outside speak, “Untouched love has thorns trespassing thoughts, but heavenly steps can stop my fall!”
Her two friends rush into the room she is lying in, and she feels paranoid, saying, “I just had an awful nightmare. That’s all. A polar bear was yelling at a squirrel, and she said, ‘Unfocused money is the stool to a fool.’ The squirrel ran away from home. Have you ever listened to people’s phone conversations, and made odd facial expressions for every time you heard something that sounded sexual? Like, I just dreamt someone saying, ‘Oh, Cameron would tear the fuck out of that chicken. With the tightening bread and the spicy rice that mixes in to create a special taste. It could give her face an orgasm.’ Have you ever watched television shows or commercials, then freed your anger out at the television screen by saying two phrases over and over again? Like, ‘Your momma’ or ‘Shut the fuck up,’ constantly turning the channels with the remote, simply because you’re too lazy to get up.”
Chuckling, Jose says, “You did not.”
Evelyn just gives her friend a worried look and says, “When you feel better, I would like to know what really happened.”
“Thank you,” she says.
This day is the strangest that she has ever experienced. Even after a terrible nightmare, she remembers that she has telekinetic powers, but she is afraid to mention anything about it. Her intelligence even increases to the point where she has more knowledge about Jose. As a young boy, she knows that he was wrongfully castrated because of his homosexuality, feeling ostracized by society. After Jose and Evelyn leave the room, she hesitates to open the blinds with the power of her mind, but it gives her a severe migraine. She sighs and positions her face back in the midst of the comfy pillow.
In her demented mind, she thinks about deleting her depressing memories of being raped, so it happens with another thought. Curiosity grows within her as she thinks about what else could Evelyn be hiding from her on the laptop. Already, she receives a vibe about her secret, but she fails to know why. On the laptop, she has twelve short stories combined into one about a lonely, independent, eighteen-year-old male observing a female by countless surveillance cameras in her home. The title of the short stories combined is “Slash Month.” By her thinking about the title, she desires to commit her second murder on Earth.
Thinking about how she could possibly murder her next victim is like her competing against gamers’ in a national tournament. She wants every experience she has to improve once she sees what she can do to the corpses’ of her victims’. First, she thinks about sewing the buttocks of her victims together, which are the opposite sex. They would wine like babies and nearly starve to death until she forces horse manure and rabbit urine in their tummies, and shoot one of her victims in the face with no remorse, leaving the breathing victim handcuffed in a dessert. The thought may sound unrealistic to a certain extent, but it makes her giggle, thinking that if that actually occurred, her wining victims’ shall be on a broadcasted television show, expressing themselves about the serial killer. The devilish event would cause her humiliation albeit they were tortured.
She is buried by the perils of love. Her heart undulates to the sound of Trey’s voice as she attempts to fall asleep with closing eyes of despair. Love keeps her awake, and she desires to avenge the murder of her loved one. She feels like she is kept away from him like the sun and the moon, thus, she desires to make the memories of their last breath unforgettable. It is as if his voice is speaking in her dreams, but it is just her constant worrying about his death.
The longer she remains on the bed, the more she believes that it is ailing her. The bed feels like she is resting in a hospital, and she is scared of hospitals. Also, she is scared that if she may fall asleep, a group of insensible people may walk in her room and perform rituals. As a seven-year-old child, she was warned at night by her parents that she is destined to amount to nothing in life. Finally, she shuts her eyes, temporarily forgetting about what she just thought about.
There is an exotic dancer walking two miles from where Diane lives, dressed in a red, silk poncho, blue jeans, and 4-inch, high, leather heels. For only two minutes, she was asleep, but she is awake with the utter urge of murdering this stranger in her demented mind. She has telepathy and the stranger is real; her name is Athena Morris, and she is severely frightened each and every night that someone can kidnap her, leaving her two-year old son without a breathing relative. What keeps her working is that for enough money to pay for whatever she desires, she gives people a spectacle, dancing adroitly. Athena would be drenched in the rain if it was not for her seizing her useful red umbrella at the appropriate occasion. Diane can literally see the steps she takes, and smell the strawberry fragrance she wears from the distance that she is. This secret is something that she does not want to inform anyone. She even knows that Athena is lactose intolerant. With this captivating secret, she intends on gaining more energy that shall please her, so she decides that Athena shall suffer an orgasm before she dies.
Jose opens the door curious if she is awake and says, “If you fail to murder someone within six hours, you lose energy and may die. That’s the part that we forgot to tell you. That’s why others death feels so necessary. But, if you kill multiple people within six hours, you’ll have additional time to not worry about.”
From the mind of Athena, she hearkens, “Life hates me so much that I’m hated by mammals at a petting zoo. I have to stay positive, and support my son by any means necessary. I must dance for the pleasure of another even when I sometimes feel like safety smiles at danger. I have performed so many shows that I want to rob people of their guilty eyes, and toss them in the toilet for staring at me… I want to shoot people at their funerals, but I must not, knowing that I have to one day be better than I am now. I have to support my son, and he shall be a better person than I am.”
With a void of water in her dehydrated mouth, urine in her vagina, and feces inside her buttocks, she rushes to the bathroom, seeing eerie things that she never saw before. It is uncontrollable to her; the six light bulbs above the clear mirror are twisting slowly to the right loosening to the point where they can fall and easily break at any moment. Although there is no powerful wind, the shower curtain ascends, remaining to the ceiling like an adhesive thing. Hot water wanders up from the drain of the tub slowly, and she then feels like the energy can be controlled, but she simply cannot focus on her ability. Her thoughts are constantly about Trey and again, it angers her, making her having more of a desire to focus her ability.

Part 4
Lovely Fear

Athena is her name, but everyone calls her Lilly Pop. She is quite popular around the neighborhood due to her occupation of stripping while dancing confidently. Many people visit her while her two-year-old son is left alone at the house in a crib, sometimes crying until he falls asleep. Sometimes, in order for her to make extra cash on late nights, she has strangers pay her for sex before safely driving her home to take care of her son. It does not occur to Athena of how dangerous the act of getting in cars with strangers really are. Until something terribly wrong actually occurs, she fails to think about the consequences of her actions, so she proceeds to make money the only quick way that she knows.
Her qualms haunt her repeatedly as she heads in the back of a stripper house, getting claustrophobic from the crowded area pass the bouncers. In a sexual manner, people are staring at her, flirting at her by almost every step she makes toward her dressing room, but she remains calm. She feels like she is standing in an outhouse due to people blocking the hall socializing, so she then panics, squeezing through them, failing to apologize. The feeling of her tangible skin on total strangers makes her feel loved, but at the same time, she fears being raped. She has faith that nobody will harm her mentally or physically, but some of the strangers’ sexual faces tell her differently.
As if a providential event will never occur, she enters a dark room, approaching her manager with an expression that could have been warned daily by death. A flashing light shines through the window from outside presaging a storm, but her face appears even more dangerous than the outside weather. She stares at the manager as he lifts a cigar from his mouth, slumped down in a black, comfy chair. From sniffing the smoke that he exhales, it is difficult to notice that she desires to throw the desk directly at his sweaty forehead with no regrets. Instead of throwing any objects, she stands in front of her manager, expecting to be treated as a sexual object.
The manager says, “Lilly, the morning seems to be the worst abuse until I see your body. Feed me love, which is best served from the mouth. We can communicate and kiss. Later, we can fuck.”
“What else do you need me for? To wax your pubic hair? I’m not your material possession.”
“You’re all I have. How can you afford to give your son food and clothes. Tell me that before you start acting up. I may not be the nicest, but you will respect me as Boss Mike. What are you gonna do,” he says with sarcasm, “Replace my eyes with testicles? If you don’t like me, go somewhere else to make a resume. Since you won’t, I have a job for you. And your job is to love me.”
Thirty minutes later, instead of stepping in a car with a stranger, she takes a cab home, receiving a vibe that something awfully wrong is destined to take place soon. It is an abnormal feeling; her legs wobble to the fear, but she pays the cab driver money, stepping out of the car to walk toward her house. As soon as the cab makes a left turn at an intersection, the sound of her baby boy cries, without a doubt causing her to worry. She rushes toward the house, realizing that the front door lock is broken, so she then rushes inside, darting her head around the living room as her alarm clock in her upstairs bedroom turns on, joining the sound of the microwave in the kitchen, adjacent to the area where she is currently standing. As she tries to listen to the sounds, she can no longer hear her baby, for the baby is kidnapped. By the time she heads upstairs, reality frightens her, for someone stole her baby and ripped some of the pages out of her personal diary, leaving them on her bed.

Torn Diary Pages

Love is the strongest emotion that any living organism can possibly feel. I do not have to be in love to realize that there is nothing else like it. Love cannot fade but magnify, so, in my belief, if someone claimed that they “loved” another, it was never true love. Regardless if people make such a comment about ephemeral love or long lasting love, it is considered false love. People may love living organisms, objects, events, and many other things, but a loving couple in a seriously committed relationship overshadows any other emotion. Personally, I do not believe in a love triangle, but I recognize that some people do share their partners. Metaphorically, if a couple were together beyond 300 years, if a couple is gnawing one anothers hearts, or if a dying couple is not in a seriously committed relationship, the relationship is bound to fail.
Mostly, when people say that they love someone, it is true in their mind, but false in reality. Most people really possess “feelings” of care and concern for their partner. It would be a tough decision for many people to accept it as a fact, knowing that it can permanently damage their relationships if they do decide to express. Love is a miracle and to discover it is almost impossible. Love can even be in a faithful relationship of the same sex, but if they only possess feelings for one another, rushing to get married is definitely a desperate action to advance a relationship that is not even complete on a friendship level.
The thoughts of conformity will not even temporarily exist within me, for I have strong beliefs that many people claim that they love because of their partners are either already in their lives or have been in their lives. Regardless if people are influenced by their role models on broadcasted television about misleading advice on love, they will react to it, believing that it is righteous or cool. Currently, in my personal belief, majority of people say that they love others so that they can be and/or feel cared for, failing to feel lonely in the present and/or the future. Most people fear lack of love, which is why they overuse the word. They use the word out of hope that it will lead them to a successful relationship. Not only can the word turn cliché but many people will eventually turn unhappy and later discover ephemeral relationships or relationships appearing as if it can be permanent. Because many people are in a rush to seek love (which is happiness), they might be vulnerable to almost anyone around their surroundings, who can even mentally and physically abuse them, or just take advantage of them for the pleasure of their appearance, money, and/ or enjoyment of receiving sexual intercourse. Everybody in the world is not meant to accomplish the goal of love, but anyone can accomplish it.
In a relationship, love does not fade. When a couple loves, they do not cheat, wonder about having affairs, or date other people, for they are loyal and in a seriously committed relationship, destined by the honor of true love. Without a doubt, when a coupe is in love, they are devoted to one another, and willing to do anything for one another. A healthy relationship should always have communication, so the couple should indeed express themselves to one another. It is completely necessary for them to show their devotion by the actions, and words that they say. Also, it is also necessary for them to express every everything about them that is good or bad, including their deepest secrets. By people spending time with the one person they truly love, they will be happy, forever.
Regardless of who the person is, when a person is in love, they do not judge the person that they believe that they love in horrible ways. If a person judges someone for what they possess or how they look, they will not be in a successful relationship. When choosing a partner, it does not matter about a person’s height, size, weight, or looks, for the real beauty is who the person is. If someone quickly judges another for what they own, how they look, how they communicate, how they talk, or how they have the same interests, they are possible robbers of a lover that can be with them in a permanent relationship. Some people intentionally take advantage of others; they act out on what they want, or at least what is closest to what they want. Once they achieve what they want, there is a great chance that they are not truly happy about their relationship.

Three Days Later

For three days, Athena has been worrying about someone discovering that her son is possibly dead. Without eating or sleeping at least once, alone, she made the complete size of a keen knife out of nothing but paperclips. She imagined the gruesome crime scene over and over again in her head like a female spirit repeating her steps of where she last existed when she died. She is at the local police department being investigated out of suspicion, but because she refuses to eat or drink a thing, she is thought to be suicidal, so she is temporary placed in a mental institute before she could even make the action of cutting her flesh. Although she seems highly concerned about how her baby is missing, the investigators do not personally view her as an innocent woman, for she claims that she left her baby unwatched while she was working, when the authorities believe that she returned home just to intentionally murder the baby without further having to investigate the crime scene.

Back at Home

“My mind tosses the fear of my victims, for I choose their fear as the mastermind, like an iceberg blocking a vessel of humans in a whirlpool,” Diane says, “The rejected ones are hated the most, for a society would toss us in a volcano if they could, but we unite like they do as murderous groups, striving not to overexpose themselves as the guilty ones in imminent danger.”
Evelyn laughs and says, “You’re understanding what the group’s about. Good. We are the masterminds capable of harming anyone like yesterdays wake up and tomorrows unknown. In everyone’s eyes, we have reprehensible behavior. We should resonate deeply to society, but we are the victims by others, simply due to subjective gradings on how we live our lives.”
“They are the strings I pull separated by yarn balls—some hearkening as sheep and some hearkening as cats. Either way, they are under my command, “Jose says, “It’s okay for women to get an abortion, but not completely okay for them to prostitute. Why?”
With a smirk, Diane says, “Because Earth is our mental prison of shame.”
Outside, the three friends of Mocked Scars are behaving like children before taking the opportunity to commit their next murder. Jose puts on black sunglasses, but Evelyn kisses the right side of them, causing her red lipstick partly block his vision. Before he decides to take the sunglasses off his face, she kisses the left side of them. He grows frustrated, refraining from yelling while Diane sits on the front of the car with her feet resting above. Instantly, the horn to the car honks while nobody is inside, and they realize that Diane’s powers are magnifying to a huge extent as she laughs at their startled reaction. Then, while they stand across the street, they watch Diane use telekinesis to ring the doorbell to Athena’s house, knowing that she is on house arrest.
“Where did you get that power from,” Jose asks.
Avoiding the question, she says, “Is it better to live stupid or die stupid?”
“Can you answer the question,” Evelyn then asks.
“I’m kiddin’. My emotions.”
Noticing eight brick colonnades to the right and left side of the garden in front of the victim’s house, Jose says, “Maybe we should take her garden also. Our child will learn to appreciate it.”
“Why would we do that,” Diane says as she forces the doorbell to ring again with the power of her mind, “We don’t need her trash. I hate her more than the smell of burning horse manure mixed with laughing gas. If I could rewind time, and if she was a crying baby, I would somehow make it possible for her pacifier to electrocute her, completely doing its job. The ones that mocked me die like the thoughts of my past, for I have too many enemies.”
“Concentrate,” Evelyn says, “We must think about Athena now. Let’s hand-deliver her whatever could put a memorable smile on our faces.”
As the front door opens, Diane stares at her victim as a feisty woman, prepared for the group of police that she and her two friends may eradicate afterwards. As soon as the victim finds Diane and her friends to look very suspicious, she walks back in the eldritch house, closing the door for her own safety. Diane knows exactly where her victim is heading inside of the house; her victim is dialing the number to a distant friend’s house on a cell phone while rushing toward her bedroom, but startling her, the bedroom door slams in front of her face. She gasps for air, hearing the loud sound of the front door breaking off of its hinges. The shaggy, black rug that she is standing on levitates, causing her to suddenly fall to the hard, wooden floor, breaking her cell phone as Diane and her two friends then enter the house before slamming the front door with the power of their minds.
By the time Athena exits the back doors, the area is foggy and the loom of twirling leaves ascends the direction of her waist, but she dodges them. Realizing that she has no phone, she rushes across the street, nearly passing a womanizer, whom she knows. The womanizers name is Derek Brittles, her ex-boyfriend, having the hobby of stalking her daily without her awareness. Although he has sexual interest with various women galore, he wonders why she was running across the street, but she tries to convince Derek to allow her to borrow his cell phone by briefly informing him of her predicament. He fails to believe her at first as if it is a joke, but her face is frozen, making him handover the electrical device as she dials the number “911” beside him.
Although she seizes a cell phone, she feels like she was ushered into danger, but fails to know exactly why as she says, “There are three people trying to kill me…”

The Next Day
“From the corner of a smile, it fathers and from the whole, it mothers a child, Evelyn says, “That was the last thing I heard my mother say before she died. I guess she meant that a child needs a mother and father figure as positive role models. The mother brings the caring, concern, trust, and love while the father brings the protection and support, always observing what you’re doing. When they are together, they own more knowledge, capable of fully teaching and helping a child with the process of life. Here I am living with intelligence, but not how people would accept to live as an intelligent lifestyle. Well, they’re wrong if they label me as wrong, for I view no wrong, treating people how they treat me.”
Jose Frinafé says, “I broke six vertebras’ from the back of neck when I was six, which is probably why I’m mentally unstable. I fell down the stairs, but I’m lucky to be alive. Athena is scared. She has company, but that won’t protect her for what’s bound to happen. Torture is a fun gift, my sisters.”
From the edge of a cathedral, Diane balances herself on the roof, chewing pink bubblegum, saying, “I feel like a cockatrice. I’m not sure if I want to glance at anyone.”
“You’re not alone,” Evelyn says, “Is it our fault that we are sinners, now opposing what we once believed in? Let’s just do what we want because we sure as hell have no other choice. I feel like dumping a bucket of crawling spiders in opened caskets, which is the new homes of my enemies.”
Seeing Athena walk near the cathedral with a black hood over her head, Diane says, “She’s near. The fair-haired woman of misery. The minx is here.”
Jose says, “With her ex of course. Are you sure you want to murder her? We could try others more deserving.”
Evelyn and Diane respond together, “Murder her.”
“We could’ve just waited until she slept in her nightclothes,” he says as they follow him inside the cathedral toward the corridors, “May confessions serve questions and may questions serve confessions? May we have latent halos visible solely if we pray, and not determining our prey?”
While Athena is paranoid about being seen by the members of Mocked Scars, they have no worries, for they are joyful people with childlike behavior. With the usage of Diane’s mouth, she physically blows air in her bubblegum until it turns into the size of a balloon, popping on to her soft lips. Evelyn then kisses Diane as if they are bound to exchange tongues, but it results in the bubblegum being transferred. Jose exits the cathedral, turning around to make a face of jealousy, just staring at the two women as he hearkens to the sound of Athena and Derek’s breathing. While smiling, they then exit the cathedral, wrapping their arms around him as they disturbingly follow Athena and Derek from behind.
“May your tangible lips soothingly burn me till I fit in an ossuary, or may I exist risking death for love,” Evelyn says.
“Cute. I am now receiving newer feelings. I’m more advanced than what I was a couple of days ago. I can never sleep, for when I close my eyes at daytime, I am the sun, seeing the world. And when I close my eyes at nighttime, I am the moon seeing the world. I’m like a telescope though, which is really odd.”
Jose says, “The only thing odd are you two. You’re like animals escaping a feedlot, but using it against others. I’m normal until proven guilty. Being around you two feels like I’m repeatedly diving in a whirlpool of porcupines confidently convincing me to die.”
Many pedestrians pass them as they cross the street, keeping their eyes directly on their target. Diane uses her telekinetic ability to cause a stranger to fall forward on Athena’s back. Derek gets annoyed and pushes the stranger off of Athena threatening him, but failing to spot the killers targeting him. Athena panics as she spots them informing Derek to run as soon as he gets curious enough to see what she is screaming about. Derek attempts to run with Athena, but his black jacket slips off of him, and his body automatically stops.
The victims disturbed find it an inequity that they are innocent, but are getting chased. The members of Mocked Scars travel closer and closer to their victims as they swiftly make their way to a vacant park with a Ferris wheel approximately a mile away. The sky turns dark, lightning flashes, and thunder erupts from the clouds, disturbing their victims. Even more disturbing, their victims hesitate to run by seeing the sight of the Ferris wheel break, falling down with dirt and fire surrounding it. The wind blows the fire and dirt toward their direction, and their victims run toward them, seeing a nearby thrift store also burn down.
Athena and Derek eventually lose control of their muscles. They strive to move, but the intellectual group of Mocked Scars opposes them, robbing them of their physical ability. As Athena screams for help that is not found, the group walks closer, laughing at Derek’s innocent crier. They then gaze in to both of their eyes; Athena and Derek’s eyes bleed. The last thing they feel is a stab wound in their heart as they scream in agony to their unnatural death.
Evelyn then says, “There’s fog around our hearts, but will we search what we’re looking for? The nuns are next on our list, for they hate us. After them, it’s the ones that’ll hate us for killing the nuns. People like the nuns mock us. They may even say they have no problem in how we live, but they tell us what to do. Maybe we should attack when there are noctilucent clouds.”
“That’s not really true. Why do you oppose nuns,” Jose asks.
“Nuns and I have history. Let’s just say I hate my past. And let’s leave it at that for now.”
“The Mocked Scars are meant to express themselves to one another, but okay,” Diane says, “Okay Evelyn. Three months from now, promise me that we’ll seek fame. We’ll be infamous or something. Haha. I won’t touch their blood though. Germs form like the eyes of an infant.”
Jose says, “Would you rather impregnate a beast or impregnate a cheater? We’ll eventually get to all that.”

Thirty Minutes Later

At Evelyn’s house, while she is stabbing a strapped deceased person on a treadmill, Diane and Jose are reading a story that she wrote one month ago, “Bruce Gutter, a young male at the age of thirteen-years-old, who suffered from gigantism ever since he was born. In school, students bullied him by his height of being 6’5”, his weight of 250 pounds, and his monstrous face. Absolutely nobody wanted to be his friend because majority of the people in his sight were too afraid to accept him as a human being. Females avoided him, turning the opposite direction, and mocking him when he was not around. The rumors of his existence angered the giant, so in order to ameliorate the painful thoughts, he exercised faithfully to obtain a muscular body. By exercising not only his physical limits, he exercised his mental limits with the usage of the library and the internet in order to learn some the following things: bodybuilding, psychology, interview skills, and mammal facts. He hoped that he could receive the perfect plan to control the world since the world would not accept him for his kind personality.”
They proceed to read, “At the age of eighteen, he was 7’1”, 361 pounds, having the face of a gargoyle, and an athletic body of a bodybuilder. He was an independent man with the occupation of an entrepreneur, living in an eldritch mansion in Atlanta Georgia with his own majestic car that he can successfully fit in comfortably. Although he was wealthy at a young age, nobody attempted to rob him, or made the utter desire to communicate with him. The only thing that he failed to have was love, so he acted out in anger by secretively tranquilizing random victims nightly, effortlessly carrying them in his mansion, and torturing them mentally and physically. The men suffered from the power of his massive fists and a flail that he would aim below their horrified faces with a smirk. He would then cut their penises off and have them eat it like an edible food with the substance of his filthy urine mixed with 6 teaspoons his saliva. Then, he would physically break their limbs before crushing their windpipes with the dangerous flail. Afterwards, one by one, he would treat the women as if they were his dates, but when they rejected him, he would murder them instantly while literally making the sound of a lions roar.”

Part 5
Obsession

“Raquel Gush. The woman everyone wants to marry, but even more important, the woman that I want to marry, dedicating my soul purpose on this Earth with. I see her broadcasted on television daily as the world’s most popular celebrity transcending the entertainment business. Raquel personifies the increasing thought of beauty every second she’s captured on camera as a mega, sensational actress. Her eighteenth birthday is tomorrow, and she already has a boyfriend the size of a bodybuilder. Well, nothing’s gonna’ stop me from eventually attracting my queen, Raquel.”
Jose mocks him with laughter, “Are you serious? You’ll never get Raquel by being a creep.”
“I don’t want any gifts from anyone tomorrow. The only gift I want is Raquel.”
“You’re being overdramatic. Raquel doesn’t even know you. Who is Jose? Get yourself noticed before you jump in front of an unprecedented crowd of ten thousand people at one party, facing massive bodyguards that are going to be thinking you’re crazy.”
“She doesn’t live far from here either. No wonder I’m uninvited to her mansion. I’m not worried about her measly bodyguards. I’m just the person with the right mind to get pass them. We’re going to meet tomorrow like I planned and hide the cameras in the areas spoken about. You saw the blueprint, I saw the blueprint. I once snuck in her mansion, so I know where to go.”
“What if we get caught? I wasn’t even there to save you last time, and you nearly got caught. We won’t. Think positive, Evelyn. … Think positive.”
In a dark room full of advanced technology that Jose nearly went bankrupt over, he sits on his bed, wiping his tears with a white handkerchief. The single thought jumping in his curious mind is if he will even personally see Raquel, the woman that mesmerized him from a distance on television ever since she was ten, starring in a reality television show “Raquel’s Life,” where her weird life would be recorded for entertainment. Undoubtedly, she has won every award that she has been nominated for, but Jose hates the fact that Raquel was forced to grow up with her parents as bikers, and her twelve year old brother as a womanizer, irritating her around the house by stealing her clean clothes and dry towel once she exits the shower, dumping a fish tank full of water on her while asleep, and turning on the lawn mower when she is trying to communicate with him outside. Over thirty two successful romance films she starred in and three prerecorded television shows just before her eighteenth birthday, Christmas. $700,000,250 is the overall money kept safely in her bank, and her money fascinates him to a huge extent, but not as much as her personality does. With his technology, he hopes to capture the footage of her personality, learning the secrets of her life, possibly by even meeting her, and building an effective conversation that could determine a rising relationship every time they meet.
“Without her, I am a fiend, despising all till I know that she touched it, for only then I would know that the objects, substances, or living organisms are lucky to exist here on Earth. For one thing, water is necessary, but shall I drink my own tears? I hope this party is her favorite because I’m going to meet her. I’m going to give her an unforgettable memory, Evelyn.”
Evelyn attempts to juggle three apples as she says, “I hope she accepts you. Somebody has to get rid of her folly boyfriend.”
“Toss me an apple.”
Evelyn tosses him one apple, and places two of them under her bra, making her bosoms appear larger than usual. With the apples on her bosoms, she feels normal, without believing that someone shall have the impression that she is unattractive. Although she may smile as if she is just being a silly person, at the same time, she feels joy—until she removes the dainty apples. For over seven years, she has had strong feelings for Jose, refusing to tell him, only because he always would express his love for Raquel Gush. Of course, she is jealous of Raquel’s fame, money, and beauty, desiring to have what she believes she is missing in order to obtain a relationship with Jose.
Because Jose has a blueprint of Raquel’s mansion, Evelyn strongly believes that Jose is obsessed. Indeed, he does have a blueprint of Raquel, having knowledge about every area in her mansion. Without a specific day, once every week, he would head inside her 500,000 square foot mansion without even his best friend knowing. Beside him, on the black, shaggy floor is the blueprint, showing specifically where the locations of her mansion are. Near the entrance of the two sizable, silver, metal doors, she has three expensive convertible cars and two powerfully built security guards, carefully watching the area. North of the entrance to the mansion, there is the living room, further north, there is the kitchen, beside the spiral stairway to the second floor, but to the east side of the living room, it leads to the dining room, north from there, there is an indoor swimming pool surrounded by a trampoline, providing a doorway to the basement, which has a secret hallway with access to every room. On the second floor, there is a guestroom, near a triangular-shaped, secret chamber east, toward the first noticeable bedroom. North from the guestroom, there is a large theater, to the east, there is the second bedroom, leading to a bathroom, near the spiral stairs, and to the west is an eldritch maze, north is the third bedroom, east of the bedroom is the second bathroom, leading to a secret room, providing access to the attic, which has a balcony.
As soon as he turns on the television, he sees Raquel wearing a silver crown with a beautiful, purple gown and high, expensive, silver heels. At this point, his eyes are stuck on the big, black, flat-screen, television hung on the wall. His best friend wants to just turn the television off, but he comprehends that she is curious of what Raquel has accomplished next in the entertainment business. To his awareness, she will be making her singing debut live on television tomorrow at the party him and his best friend is not even invited at. After hearing that news, his best friend turns off the television, but he is drooling on his pants with his eyes remaining in the same position. Out of total disgust, she rushes to the bathroom, returning with a roll of toilet paper to throw at his priceless expression.
“Gross,” she says, “If you want to get with Raquel, you need to stop doing things weird. And I mean things like that.”
He wipes off the saliva and says, “I can’t control myself when I see her. She’s the whole reason why I moved to Italy. How could I meet her in Baton Rouge if she is in Atlanta, Georgia? So, I discovered that she moved here, and I made my big move. I have to see her new song live. If I don’t, I can’t live to see other smiling, asinine people, talking about how they saw her first live performance. They would need to die. I said it, and I’ll say it again, I must see Raquel. I wish I could be watching her live right now. I wish that she had mutual feelings for me. We’d be perfect like the gravity to the ground.”
“Just don’t fall. You think about this stranger more than you think about me.”
“She’s no stranger. Let’s talk about your ex-boyfriends. They were mentioned countless times, and I had to help you get over them. You hate them now. One day, me and Raquel are going to have a family. Until it happens, I’ll be dreaming of our conjugal bliss.”
With a vulpine face, Evelyn looks at him and says, “But I love you.”
“Really?”
“Not like Raquel. I have a challenge. Pretend that I’m the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with. This will help you for tomorrow.”
“That’s very complicated. I don’t want to squander my opportunities, so here it goes. Need a hand. I will be delighted to hand deliver my heart.”
After hearing that comment, she smacks him in the face and says, “I just put our baby asleep, so you can’t raise your voice. We’re going to be broadcasted on television. If you embarrass yourself, you embarrass me. I won’t let this happen. Right now, you’re just trying to be her friend, not get her pregnant or perhaps dead, missing due to a mysterious crime scene.”
Never has her best friend ever smack him before. Not even when he would disrespect her with humorous comments about her abnormal personality. How sometimes she would collect fisheyes and place them under a stone in a manhole as a traditional ritual for her own good luck. She believes that by covering the fisheyes under the stone, the fish is saved from dominant creatures living in water, giving her their memory. Other than her ritual, she is a psychosocial person, trusting only Jose as her friend, but fantasizes about engaging in sexual activities with him.
“If people fail to think about her, they’re indolent people. Anyway, I’m starving. I could eat a manatee.”
Music known as the Flamenco is playing in his mind, and Raquel is dancing perfectly to the rhythm. She walks toward him like a model would, twirling her hair with the usage of her clean hands. He is nervous and speechless, darting his head around to see if he exists in the same place. Thus, he does exist in the same place, proudly smiling, gazing in her eyes, realizing that he is alone with Raquel. He shuts his eyes, puckering his lips for a kiss, receiving a slap to the face by Evelyn in reality.
“What do you think you’re doing? I keep a vigil for the weird ones call.”
As Diane sits beside him on the couch staring at his miserable expression, he opens up a folded note that he wrote about his life, reading it, “Would you take back yesterday? Bug me till the sun runs down? Be the friend, but never play? Fake a smile and then you frown? I’m talking about all days. Bugger, you block my path. This maze surrounding always. The bug ignoring my wrath.”
He continues to read, “Could it be heavenly rain? I rejoice now to survive. Why do I lie in this lane? Movement makes me feel alive. The falling rainbow is you. Are you really innocent? Respect me, and what I do. Without me, how’s your life spent?”
Diane says, “I was watching your Raquel. Your girlfriend was on television. She placed snake venom up an officer’s buttocks, and didn’t get arrested because of her beauty. Hearing that makes me want to place a mousetrap on a males testicles. I should be beautiful enough to be stared at.”
“I yearn her love deeper than favors from the underground. I’m like no other, so she can’t glimpse at my eyes. I could take a straw and circle her body, absorbing nothing but nutrients. Her dazzling eyes make me yearn to look, but she’d be in utter danger from the disadvantage of my ability. Someway, I must ask her of love, proving that we can still be together.”
Randomly, Evelyn says, “You want to know bullies? Bullies are people hogging video games from other children causing it to lower their self-esteem. Bullies are forcing you to work constantly in order to achieve money that’s necessary to survive. Bullies forcing you to pay for everything necessary for wants and desires. Bullies controlling if you get married, if you purchase a home, if you give birth to a child or a healthy child, if you’re going to prison or the crazy house, and if you’re going to die soon. If you’re the legal age to do anything, and if you should attend court. Those are bullies.”
With a peculiar look of courage, smirking, Diane does not hesitate to look in Jose’s eyes, saying, “If you ever murder Raquel and get caught, just say, ‘All she did was laugh at me, and I murdered her. It’s not the fact that I murdered her that bothers the world, but how I did it. I take pride in what I do. I’m exhausted. Tired of ones born to mock.’ I’m telling you, murder her, and it is the faster that you can get on with your sad life. I hate day and night. The worst ritual in the world is waking up and telling everyone good morning when you sure as hell don’t mean it. The second worst is telling everyone goodnight because by the time you get done, you’re asleep.”

6:00 P.M

A defenseless, ghetto mother of one unfortunate daughter, lacking a lot of food, money, and love is asleep after being hypnotized by the powerful eyes of Diane. The mother is being hoisted in the house by her two faithful group members. Lola Wells is her name, and as soon as she wakes up, her blood pressure is increasing by every second. She worries about where her children are. On the ground, they drop her just before slamming the door close. Without touching the door, the lock turns, and Lola knows that she is destined to die, leaving her child in dangers way.
Numbness is all Lola can feel as she struggles to rise, but Evelyn stabs her directly in the back of the neck, causing her to bleed. Jose then drags Lola by her two shivering legs in the kitchen and throws a metal pan with three flapjacks at her tangible face. Beyond her sensitive ears from the sound of the thrown object, she feels agony, believing that the skin ripped off from her disoriented face, but she really suffers from brain damage. That does not stop Jose from frowning and immediately taking a dead garfish from the hot oven, stuffing it in her mouth. After carefully searching for black tape in the bottom drawer underneath the counter, he wraps it around her lips, then successfully finds a rigid hammer, swinging it at her left elbow as she lies defenseless on the tiled floor, struggling to scream.
From her double ponytail, Jose pulls with laughter, before sniffing her hair, simply because she is a brunette. He moves her beautiful face closer to his zipper sexually rubbing her rosy cheeks with his cold hands as if it is a wonderful massage of appreciation. All Lola can think about at the moment is how her child of three years of age, Gina will exist on Earth without her. Although she is undergoing a lot of agony, she remembers that her daughter never had an actual home, dwelling in a black car and driving down the town every day to provide her with useful items. A mini refrigerator that plugs to an outlet was in the trunk of her car ready for items at the nearest grocery store to be stuffed in. Clean clothes that she would iron at public parks were nicely folded above and a dry towel utilized after showering in the property of peoples sprinklers nightly, or a nearby lake if she could afford enough money to buy fresh soap that would not get her musty.
“Fuck you,” Lola screams nearly choking on her own saliva as she strives to kick the brute in the groin, but is unsuccessful when he catches her right foot.
In the eyes, he stares at her with a powerful yell increasing in volume from his opened mouth that puts excruciating pain specifically in her Achilles’ tendons. The veins beneath her flesh shows, and her eyes close suddenly. From his deadly ability, he allows blood to ooze from her eyelids, her nostrils, and the center of her lower back. Swiftly, he then makes a grin as he observes her final breath.
Lola never had an evasive tactic, for she could see no way out of this unpredictable, horrific act. Jose knows that she was in fear, but he also knows that by murdering her, he would receive more knowledge about life. Now, he knows about a disturbing secret that exists in Raquel’s mansion because of his actions. He knows that beyond thirty two cadavers in Raquel’s extravagant mansion are many clean, transparent, glass walls from the murky basement. From the walls, anyone can see the immobile cadavers, posing like sculptures from the person owning true artistry. Like an odd museum, anyone taking a step inside would be put in awe, but hearing a sound recorded tape of when her victims last died or actually seeing the footage on a nearby flat screen television. The only question that Jose is unsure about after successfully murdering Lola is why did she commit the diabolical murders.
By shutting his eyes, he can fully see Raquel as if she is on camera. Ever since she was seventeen, she committed many murders on her fans. It occurs to him, it is the fans that only love her for her beauty, wealth, and fame, which is why she did not hesitate to inflict pain on them. For years, she has been overworking in the entertainment business, making people smile, when it was hard enough for her to fake a smile. So, she could not control her mind from her sensitive thoughts and murdered by putting toxic on her innocent victims faces, trapping them in rooms with a thousand venomous snakes, trapping them in a cage with deadly spiders, stabbing them with keen knives, trapping them in a room full of noxious gas, and torturing them for hours, using various objects as weapons. Sometimes, she would utilize sledge hammers, flails, spears, glass bottles, needles, and rocks to stone them.
Sipping from a levitating glass smoothie, Evelyn passes the kitchen area, ignoring the ghastly scene as she talks to Diane, “Did you know that male seahorses can give become pregnant?”
“No. I don’t think I knew that. I have been having resentment on Raquel for so long. Or you can call it jealousy. Everyone is as far as I know these days. She takes all the credit for everything she does and doesn’t even thank fans. I am not hypnotized, so I won’t cease until they fantasize me.”
As a vital part of his life, he single-handedly strips the deceased female with the intentions of having sexual intercourse with her. For a slight second, he thinks of hoisting her up, just to penetrate her inside a place where nobody can see him, near the carport door. Instead, he spreads her legs, unzips his dark, black jeans, and focuses on her immobile body as he penetrates her. Although she is deceased, he imagines that she is having an orgasm. The continuous tactile sensation he feels rubbing against his penis causes him to moan while reiterating the words, “Harder.” Afterwards, he zips his pants back, rubs her nipples, then stands above her as if she is a prepared meal for the night.
After taking a deep breath, Jose says with a stressed voice, “I breathe above you a biped beast. You’re a brigand taunting others in your path. Choosy dimwit making the option of harming the innocent.”

Part 6
Raquel’s Visitors

The day of Raquel’s birthday party arrives, and members of Mocked Scars engage in a ritual of snapping their fingers together with their eyes shut. They form a triangle imagining peace within the world after they destroy people unworthy of life. They imagine peace simply because everyone should be equal, but not if it is possible that others can ruin the future of important people with positive objectives. Most importantly, they imagine that anyone disrespecting Mocked Scars are a victim of death, and even if the victim doubts it, he or she will die just when least expected. The members hum as they feel fully capable of bringing bliss to the mundane Earth with their optional actions of committing more murders.
Diane hears the voice of a male college student, Sam Rouge, in her memory that saying, “Yada yada… Do you believe in God?”
In a timid voice, she says, “That’s none of your business. Am I gonna tell you if I want children next?”
“You should believe.”
She specifically remembers staring at this twenty-year-old male wanting him to suffer insurmountable pain just for having a controlling conversation with her. It is highly noticeable solely to her that if she did wanted children of her own, maybe her future boyfriend could have erectile dysfunction, or if she simply answered the correct question, he would judge her worse. Keeping her calm, she says not another word, pretending that she is an insignificant person as a tradition to people judging her. Although she struggles to remain calm, after minutes of sitting up in her wooden, black chair, she gets very nervous to the point where she cannot fully maintain control of her shaking body. The classmates turn silent observing her reaction as if she is a test subject, but she struggles to hide her enraged face, slowly staring at him while he faces the female instructor’s sad expression.
She swiftly walks out of the classroom as soon as she hears the instructor say, “This class is dismissed.”
Remembering that moment certainly angered her to a permanent, unforgiving extent where she can possibly have a grudge on him beyond the age of eighty. Just by imagining what his face looks like, she can shut her eyes, enter her own mind, creating her own reality, forcing him to believe that she is actually staring at him. Sam is currently sitting on a bench at the park watching his pet German Shepherd running around the yellow monkey bars, and is hypnotized by Diane’s eyes as she stands in front of him, causing the sky to darken like a candle being successfully blown out. He screams for help struggling to fight the power of her ability, thus, he cannot after seconds pass. With great anger, she strongly imagines thirty two sharp nails flopping from the both of his bloody eyes, eleven speeding bullets going directly through his blood pumping heart, and two bullets going through his forehead slightly after. The victim simply lacks the ability to remove the forced items causing him excruciating pain. The sight of his face makes her want to vomit, but at the same time, she is satisfied with her magical accomplishment as she opens her eyes with a smile of revenge.
“Tell me why I feel numb, Evelyn,” Diane says.
She replies, “Ask me when you tell me, but you don’t need to. You’re numb because your violent behavior is repeated in time. You’re just used to a lot. You shouldn’t make things cliché. I’m joking. That’s how Jose felt before he received higher power.”
With an unknown frown on his face, Jose says, “You’re correct. Tell these shadows to walk astray and I’ll spot no dead-end. We have to avoid others in order to capture Raquel and her masculine boyfriend.”
“Or we could just stare at everyone like they did us. Why should they deserve to live? They mock us all the damn time. They can even say ‘hi,’ and I won’t want to respond, “Diane says, “Everyone is in danger. Even people outside of this wild party at a later time is in danger. I swear.”
Smiles are etched on their faces as the Mocked Scars walk outside. With absolutely nobody driving, the car moves on a vacant street, then levitates in front of them at approximately six feet in the air by the usage of their magical power. Fuel to the car then leaks from the back nearly hitting the pavement and the car sets on fire. It explodes, but the explosion fails to head far enough to physically harm them, for they are controlling the chemicals existing on Earth. The fire then transfers to the eyes on their demented faces causing it to drop, but somehow looking as if it is newly bought.
A loud giggle comes from Diane as she seizes the leather, black driver’s wheel, driving the car down the street at 55 miles per hour, “This is gonna be fun!”
“I’m so living a fantasy right now,” Jose says before he lowers the side window, sitting on it with his body out, yelling out of fun.
Evelyn wraps her arms around Diane as she drives and says, “I want to fully eradicate people, take out their inner meat, blood, and brittle bones, then replace it with stuffing. Yummy. I’m hungry, my friend.”
“Calm down Evelyn. We’ll get there when we do.”
“You’re telling me to calm down? Look at how you drive!”
“I drive perfectly. Thank you. Who’s gonna stop me?”
“Tell ‘em Evelyn. We’re gallivanting and no one’s stopping us,” he says while drinking a full bottle of liquor as he is three inches away from hitting a truck driving the opposite direction on the right.
Tailgating the vehicle Diane is currently driving is a well-paid judge in a white van, sitting beside a female heart surgeon of the opposite sex. The judge, Leslie Vahn is twenty-eight-years-old, hoping that her twenty-one-year-old friend, Sarah Sulini is capable of injecting a deadly needle into their bodies. The needle can instantly kill a normal human being instantly, but because the members of the Mocked Scars have supernatural powers, they can resist the poisonous chemicals, temporarily entering a trance for thirty minutes. Leslie knows that they are determined to murder their next victims, but he is terrified of injecting a needle in their skin and not even look at one of their deadly eyes. If he or his friend looks at their eyes, permanently, he realizes that he and his friend will forever be gone from Earth. Wanting absolutely no excuses for not completing his objective, he then drives the car into the back of theirs, brightening his headlights and honking his horn on the foggy road.
As Jose rushes back in his seat, Diane screams, “What the fuck is going on? Jose, you’re such a lush.”
Evelyn says, “The authorities. People of power are now coming for us. We have a choice. Hide from them and murder Raquel later or start murdering them now. If we don’t ever murder them, they’ll kill us all.”
“You motherfucker,” Jose yells out the window, then calmly says, “Stop the car.”
With no hesitation, Diane stops the car by placing her foot on the pedal as the car speeding behind them crashes. The impact of the crash causes Jose to hit his head against the side door simply because he failed to wear a seat belt. Diane and Evelyn are the first ones to step out of the car, and Jose exits, limping their direction toward their target. While she looks at her victim’s resting their lacerated foreheads down in a motionless way, Evelyn eagerly opens the left side door, needing no car key. Diane opens the right side door with ease, then honks the horn to the car, awaking them.
Leslie groans as Diane gives him a deadly glare. Her eyes turn pure black as the skin on his face instantly bleeds by invisible claws going horizontally down his frightened face. The groaning catches the attention of Sarah. Sarah then takes a glimpse at Diane without being aware of Evelyn standing near her. Out of protection, Sarah hides her eyes and turns around, but only notices Evelyn. Sarah refuses to stare at their eyes crying in agony, but Evelyn furthers her pain by strangling her against her sore, tangible neck. Although Sarah is the victim being strangled, she keeps her eyes closed, knowing that Diane is entering the car to purposely pulling the hair from her head with complete physical strength, twice with both hands. Then, Diane giggles as she uses her fingers to open Sarah’s eye lids, which certainly causes her to be stared at. The tears running down Sarah’s rosy cheeks turn black looking like acid is melting in her as she screams with pure black eyes, shivering while coughing up blood.
It rains and Evelyn gazes at Diane’s black eyes only to say, “What’s for dinner?”
She responds, “I just want to have fun. You know you have an insatiable appetite. My tummy’s full.”
“I was told by the higher power that we can stare at people without murdering them if we just think positive,” Jose says with concern in his voice.
“I had that same voice tell me the exact same thing, Jose,” Diane says, “Let’s just get out of here before more people come for us. Okay?”
“Where are we gonna go,” Evelyn says, “I never anticipated on having such good friends, but when I think of it, we’re always gonna be chased. When will it end?”
Jose walks back to the car, but this time sits in the driver’s seat and yells, “Just get in the vehicle or I’m driving off!”
As Diane sits in the midst of the back seat, Evelyn sits in the front beside Jose, following his order without hesitation. The car speeds at 55 miles per hour and Evelyn makes a scream of joy as if she is on a rollercoaster. The swift turns that the car makes around corners makes Evelyn bob her head as if music is playing, and indeed, music starts playing. Death Metal plays, and Diane lowers her window, just to balance herself above the car as if she is riding a surfboard, extending her slightly bent arms in the opposite direction as it rains. Then, Evelyn and Jose join her above the car, pretending that they are surfing as the steering wheel to the car is still in motion by the usage of their highly intelligent minds.
“I say we go to the mall,” Diane says.
Out of concern, Evelyn disagrees with her choice of where to go and says, “No way. Let’s go to Raquel’s party. We have to finish what we were going to do.”
“If I see her boyfriend, I’m going to have him strapped to chains in a dark, cold room for seven days. Pictures of his deceased grandmother’s naked body are the only things that he can masturbate to.”
“Gross,” Evelyn says, “You can make him actually do his grandma.”

The Party
“Beauty sheds the most tears making ripples for irate sharks,” Raquel says on a broadcasted television, “Sometimes, we must be aware of where we go for help.”
Diane sighs with her arms slightly bent hanging downward and says, “That scandalous, mendacious, spellbinding lass of a murderous dimwit has a substantial amount of money, saying that she is a generous and influential person, striving to advance the world to a healthier place, physically and mentally for everyone. She cares nothing about others. What she wants is money, fame, and material items while others have lugubrious faces, fooled by her natural beauty, just worshipping her, daily. That bastardly woman has no soul and should be viewed truly as the enemy. Tell me how she is helping us, for she splurges her weekly paycheck on unnecessary items.”
“She angers me so much that she can snatch a wardrobe from a gorilla’s ass and mix fish juice as a new fragrance. I could care less. This prig says she’s no different from anyone. Call her Madame Gush, Sister Gush, or perhaps Mighty Gush. Jose, regardless of what you call her, she’s destined to fall victim to the Mocked Scars.”
“The Scars are more important than any entity, for we are our own family,” Jose says with a deep voice, “We are superior than the living organisms. Our traditional rituals are sacred, and the death of others shall advance our rituals to a higher level. If killing trees are a must, we will chop them to sawdust. Our psyche shall dwell forever at places of our option. Extrinsic entities shall die in the paths of our labyrinths if they have no intrinsic purpose.”
In her mansion, Raquel is lip locking with her masculine boyfriend as the lights flicker on and off, providing a beautiful red light. Her rosy cheeks are irresistible for him not to kiss. Passionately he hugs her, wandering his hands around her wet, black hair as he puckers his lips for hers to connect like a magnet. This sentimental moment advances his feelings for her. The only problem about the situation is that Raquel is not even in love with him. She is dating him only to be talked about more and be a lovable person to the public eye. Thus, she exits the basement while he lies down on the leather, black couch cherishing the moment that altered his life when she kissed him.
The basement door shuts close and the black, flat-screen, television that he attempts to turn on with the remote falls from the wall, breaking to the concrete floor. He worries while refraining from cussing at the air, rushing up from the couch in a nervous manner. The first thought that is in his mind is to run upstairs and tell his girlfriend about the incident, so he decides to do so. Before he could even make three steps up, a loud sound comes from under the steps, startling him to a great extent, causing his to dart his head around. From the top of the wooden steps, it easily breaks by itself as if a heavy object landed on it, leading to the rest of the steps breaking from highest to lowest. He hesitates to run up or off the steps from the eerie event, so he falls, hitting the left side of his head on the concrete floor, resulting in him receiving a gashed head.
While screaming and crying for help, he can hear the sound of six fingers snapping at once six times, then as the light stops flickering, he can see dark figures slowly walking toward him, dressed in all dark attire as the essence of evil that can bring forth goodness. He feels extremely cold for an unknown reason and the tears in his eyes itch, but he cannot move his limbs, for he is too harmed to move. The sight of them is not clear until he sees the first member of the Mocked Scars angry face lowering to her chest as the light then flickers again. She smirks as Jose squats down to rub the cheeks of the victim. Then, Diane glares at the victim’s right elbow, and it twists by itself. He screams even louder wishing that his body is numb, but in fact, it is not, for they position his head against the concrete wall and whip him with their black, leather belts, giving him multiple welts to exist on his unforgiving face.
They then strike him in the face, and stomp on him with no remorse, mocking him by repeating his name to the sound of the shoes that hit his face, sounding like a beat to a soundtrack, “Jeremy!”
Jeremy Lumbell can hardly breathe, but Evelyn kicks him in the jaw, watching his face get covered in more blood as it runs down to the icky floor like the beginning of a diabolical crime scene. His adhesive blood is on the floor, and he panics by the sight of it, for he is severely squeamish. The smell makes him want to faint, but he simply cannot due to the extent of worrying that he has by being in grave danger. The nostrils of his are magically sewed together, so he breathes nervously from his mouth. And from his jugular, she strikes it with her right fist, laughing at the pain she caused him.
Like he is a buffoon of the universe, Diane then stomps on his testicles as if they are rodents that can spew out blood. Five more times, she stomps on the same area, caring absolutely nothing about him. He begs for her to stop her actions, but she covers his mouth as if it is necessary for him to remain in silent moment, just crying. She stomps directly on his right ear, thus, because of her violent behavior, he automatically loses 30 percent of his hearing on that side of his ear. By just glaring at the blood on the concrete floor, she causes it to levitate, entering his forced opened mouth. With no hesitation, she strips him naked by the usage of her mind, keeping him wondering if she has telepathic powers.
“Nobody cares if you scream. Your girlfriend seldom cares about you,” Jose says, “After you die, I’m gonna penetrate your girlfriend multiple times and upload the video on a website created solely by me. Her body parts will never be found, but will be discussed continuously over the news. And why we do these things? We are free. We should never be scorned. For too long, people without are power have been humiliated. Now, people like you will suffer, for you are not are helper, but mocker, flaunting your money as you glare at not the bullies. … You glare at the victims bullied.”
“It’s time you see how it feels. For now on, your name is Useless,” Diane says, “Useless, we’re going to make you smile.”
Jose takes out a folded piece of paper from the right side of her pocket. It is a typed letter that he wrote just for Jeremy. Instead of handing Jeremy the letter, Jose now desires to read it to him in a calm voice. Only if Jeremy did not lose any of his hearing, what he says would be easier to hear, he thinks. The good part of Jeremy hearing is that he can further frustrate him with what he feels he is deserving of, so he reads the letter. Jose knows that Jeremy can mentally receive disturbing, realistic images from every word he literally describes.
Making a quirky statement, he says, “Dear Bitch, It was just yesterday I saw your fucking son standing near the local gas station, parallel to a convenience store, specifically at 8:00 P.M. with his meek ex-girlfriend. Clueless was his folly mind, for I saw them the same night he broke her frail heart, simply because he desires to live the machismo lifestyle that his high school buddy use to talk about in a sexual manner. He used to bully me whenever my mother would allow him to visit for sexual pleasures. He physically pushed me off the couch and bed, slapped me, whipped me with his black, leather belt for no logical reason, and yelled at me as if I was a damn mutt. But yesterday, I murdered people at the gas station, burnt the surveillance tapes, then caught him, and his bitch with a weapon used to put people to sleep. I quickly stuffed them in my trunk with the intentions on just suffocating them. That was not good enough for me to allow them to live by just worrying about the damn afterlife, for I am traumatized too far to allow insane intentions remain as a dominant power over me. Oh, I hid their naked bodies under my bed for three days without food or useful water. After that period, instead of food and water, they ate my shit and drank my saliva with a smile because I threatened them to do so. I then cut the outer skin to his penis, made his girlfriend eat it with a smile after boiling it.”
Jose proceeds to make his statement, “He screamed like he wanted to beg someone for forgiveness, but I could not even see that person, for I couldn’t see myself. With a sledge hammer, I aimed at him thirteen times in the face as his crying ex watched. I told her to laugh, or I’d cut off her finger, but the whore didn’t follow my commands. I did exactly what I said I was going to do with no hesitation. I raped her twice with an unforgettable smile and a third time in her sleep like an incubus. I made her eat his entire deceased body in just one busy day without cooking it. Oh, I should’ve just cooked him like a delicious pig on a horizontal rotisserie, slice him up into thin, separate pieces, then eagerly eat him. After I did eat him though, I cut out the tongue of his miserable ex, for she is undeserving of making sounds in my presence.”
Evelyn says, “Useless, you shouldn’t indulge in false love. There is an indefinitely large amount of love exposed on my face, but in my mind, you and I truly know that it is hate. I distinguish love and hate like I do you and me, for I am the love murdering you by the temporary actions of hate. I vow to murder you, but the reason, I never say. Remember me after our distance reaches a limit and you turn to despair.”
Jeremy struggles to breathe, and his physical pain is still defying his movement as Diane says, “You provide transparent actions like the library of fears. The greatest thing you ever did for your girlfriend was rub a sour lemon on the one place in the same shape of her lips. Your girlfriend’s pretty okay once I think about it. Nobody should touch her, but she’s just a collectables item.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Jeremy says while gasping for necessary air.
Diane glares at his eyes, thus, he pukes blood from his mouth, suffering from the fatal symptoms at the same time. Her victim is finally dead, and she feels happiness within herself by committing the murder with her powerful ability. As he is motionless on the floor, she rests on his tummy and kisses him passionately as if he is still alive. Raquel’s lips are not the only lips that touched his now, and she is glad about what she is doing, but she cannot maintain control of her hormones. The disrespectful act makes her want to do more to her dead victim, so she has sexual intercourse by using his penis to get an erection although her victim’s mind is not even functioning.
As Diane moans from the sensation that she is receiving, Jose says, “He’s dead. When you finish, we’ll be upstairs. You should open him up with a lancet while you’re at it.”
Evelyn nods her head to the right and left with a smile etched on her face. She loves watching her two friends behave like ruthless people, for she does not feel like she is the only person with similar thoughts about torturing others. She kisses Diane on her forehead out of respect as Jose stares at her. It seems as if Jose wants to kiss her, but she walks up the stairs, giving a smirk. She then exits the basement as he follows her leaving Diane alone to her moment of pleasure.
Evelyn walks in the unruly crowd as she uses her telepathic powers to communicate, “We drag what is chased if the goals do not follow. That is why we plan, train, and hope for no sorrow.”
Communicating back with his mind, he says, “I hear you. She’s in her bedroom getting dressed for her next appearance. This music playing is unhealthy for people because it’s unhealthy for me. I dislike it, so people shall suffer. And I dislike every lyric simply because I dislike her. Luckily, I know how to block out any sound that tries to attack my mind.”
“That’s my Ev’. Liking what she wants. You stay behind me. I’ll give you the signals. She has two security guards with her, but they will give me no trouble. If anyone comes our direction, kill them.”
“Make her wheeze from keen knives, harm her legs, then amputate them. She’s lucky she won’t be impregnated.”
The security guards dart their heads around as the red, fluorescent lights burst, causing the room to get dark. Fingers are snapping by the door as the crowd standing below the black curtains on the stage are screaming for her to make Raquel to make her next appearance. One of the guards rush out the door to check on the situation while aiming his gun at wherever he believes danger is located, but the gun fails to function once he pulls the trigger at Jose. Jose is slumped against the plaster wall below a blue, fluorescent light, snapping his fingers as he levitates a keen knife, just 3 inches above of his face at a 7 inch distance. The security guard’s first thought is to run, but Jose rises up feeling a powerful rage within him.
“Stay where you are,” the security guard yells.
With one glance by Jose, the guard drops to his knees, nearly breaking them from the impact of the fall, and he loses sight of his vision. Jose refrains from laughing more and decides to glare at the next security guard waiting fearfully in the room with his gun aimed at the exit. After his gun drops, the victim levitates in the air moving his body as if he is suffering from a seizure as the disgusting sight of blood leaks from his eyes. Three nails come out from each of his palms, and as Raquel screams for impossible help, Jose uses his telekinetic powers to descend the security guard just to torture him as Evelyn enters the room, locking the door close. He strikes him in the face over sixty-two times, in the abs over thirty-five times, kicks him in the testicles nineteen times, and on the arms ten times. As a result, the victim suffers from thirteen broken teeth, a broken nose, broken rib cage on the right side, a fractured left wrist, dislocated right elbow, and a testicular rupture.
The deceased victim balances on the floor like a bleeding scarecrow, then falls suddenly, just before Evelyn steps over him and says, “What do you say we fry her face, and see if she’s still good-looking.”
Raquel wonders of why they are not even glancing at her as she desperately screams for someone to rush to her rescue. She shivers silently as the area turns dark with a rapid thought to flee the room. In reality, the thought seems impossible, for the Mocked Scars are a seriously powerful group, prepared to finish what was intended to do. So, Raquel continues to panic, slowly sidling to the left for a slight second as she tries to take a glimpse at their eyes. Instead of her seeing how they look, she sees their eyes shut, for the Mocked Scars control how she dies if they take the slightest glance at her.
Jealously, Evelyn stares at Raquel’s expensive clothing, remembering how much she hates her opulent lifestyle. First, she stares at her beige, leather trench coat, unzipped, revealing a white, cotton tank top that says the words in orange, fiery letters, “Crazy When I Sleepwalk.” The trench coat has beige diamonds circling on the end of each sleeve in a row of three, and it is almost entirely covering her stainless, silver watch that she is wearing on her right wrist, reminding Evelyn of Raquel’s selfish personality. From what Evelyn can see, Raquel’s silver, studded, leather beige belt is holding her white, denim jeans. Her jeans have beige diamonds surrounding the linings of the pockets while her high, black, leather heels are so new that no one else in the world has them yet.
Jose immediately walks toward her direction, and traps her in the corner, near a rectangular, wooden table, saying, “She’s a robot rebooted daily magically by herself. So, she sleeps as a sign of weakness, believing that webs under the mist is paradise.”
The innocent celebrity struggles to move her motionless body, but she cannot do what she desires, having frantic thoughts of running and not successfully escaping this appalling predicament. Her arms extend and hits the plaster walls behind her without her actually forcing herself to do so. Then, at a hard impact, her back hits the wall as if someone pushed her, causing her spinal cord to nearly break. A deadly needle feels like it is injected in her head as she hears the soothing voice of a woman intoning every vowel like her mother would when she would lie in her crib prepared to fall asleep. She desires to cry, and her tears just will not fall, but what does fall down is her eyelids, covering her terrified eyes. Unsure if her brain can still function at a later time, she automatically goes into an unconscious state, immediately falling to the tiled floor, lying on her back as if she is dead.
It is 2:00P.M., fans of Raquel all over the world are extremely worried about her body missing, and the menace of murderers certainly frighten her once she awakes hearing one of the members of the Mocked scars, Diane, mocking her by saying, “Her husband’s a semi-literate lad. Murder brims behind restricted laws; it is a prompt action of society and sometimes, a daze of what is virtue.”
On the floor, she rises up from her back, seeing Evelyn with her eyes closed, holding a black, metal bucket full of the Mocked Scars cold urine from the curved handle. Diane grabs the exhausted victim’s hair and threatens her to drink it in order to feel healthier. So, before the victim drinks the disgusting liquid that is in the reeking bucket by sitting on her knees, she realizes that she is completely naked, simply because her mind starts working properly again. After she finishes drinking every ounce of liquid in the bucket, Diane grabs her bosoms from behind her, then lightly rubs them, positioning her head around her neck. The victim sobs as Jose enters the kitchen putting a broom against the corner of a wall, which is behind a black, plastic garbage bag.
Randomly speaking, Jose whispers in her ear, getting louder by every word with a tinge of anger as a sad baby cries from Evelyn’s bedroom, “When you start believing, will love be deceiving? My life is leaving; can you endure grieving? Will you have abject love; will you not run from me? Will you remember; then, wait for me patiently?”
Obviously, she is a vulnerable person now, so Jose then pushes her on the wooden floor with his eyes shut, then sits on her waist, rubbing against her belly. He has an erection that fails to feel temporary. She struggles to scream and escape the disturbing act of him intending to have sexual intercourse with him by unzipping his pants, but he ignores her beautiful voice as if it is just a ticking clock. He penetrates her and threatens her to moan the word “stimulation.” In fact, she does what he tells her to do, forced to pretend as if this moment is absolutely gratifying. As soon as he ejaculates in her vagina, he tightens his pants, and Diane kicks her in the mouth. Thus, her upper lip leaks in icky blood and with a face of disgust, Evelyn stares at her blood as if it is tainted. Then, the whole group takes off their leather belts, swinging it directly at her writhing body for over 5 minutes, laughing at the welts she receives.
By her legs, Jose drags Raquel toward the living room couch with his eyes shut, for he eschews loving. She just screams trying to hold on to objects around the place like a round, glass table, a plant pot, and a black, rectangular lamp. Finally, Jose stares at her with his hands strangling her tightly around her sore neck as she pukes some urine from her mouth before blood mixes. Her fingers linger before she can even get the opportunity to defend herself. Although Jose is done murdering the beloved celebrity that he adored, he realizes that by being in this group, false love shall not dominate his mind, for she would never love him, but hate him in reality. The most difficult thing to have is love, for the challenges are the unloved, murdering and brainwashing victims from receiving love, he thinks. So, instead of being concerned about Raquel’s dead body, he is more concerned about loving the Mocked Scars as his own family before finding someone that can fully please him in an intimate relationship.

Stalked Grounds

Vickie Qencella is her remarkable name, but not because of her unparalleled beauty. When she leaves many people’s presence, people whom spot her forgets her race and culture, thus, they cannot even explain or remember her subculture. For over 300 years, rumors have said that she has eyelashes that looks like a black calyx to a flower, wrapped around black, glistening eyes. The primary characteristics that people can remember about this heavenly female are munificence, intelligence, courageousness, friendliness, truthfulness, faithfulness, respectfulness, and patience. She is an enthusiastic, optimistic, and considerate female, capable of forgiving anyone, even if they are not willing of forgiving their self. What everyone forgets is what she strives to be in life, how her personal life is, and her interests, except for one person.
By many people, because she is divine, profligate people feel like they are reincarnated, forgetting if her physical body actually exists. As a positive goal setter, she definitely exists in their subconscious thoughts, remotely communicating for the sole purpose of moral actions, sometimes, personally meeting people or communicating from the usage of another human’s body. Deleting the negative problems of a crier, it is his or her inviolable wish if they deeply want her to come and physically kiss him or her on their tangible flesh, metaphorically, making their myalgia cease to exist. Because she has soft flesh, exfoliating her flesh is a needless action, for her flesh is already comforting enough to make anyone automatically faint. The angelic female primarily symbolizes the version of an intriguing word; as a mistaken myth, she could be known not by any other word society could use to interact with. According to an anonymous person obsessed with knowing about her, there is a created word, which is stated that she is indeed the epitome of “Earth-smooching.” Earth-smooching signifies the state of entering the personal lives of anyone in the mundane world that calls for needed help with predicaments.
December 25th, on a wintry night, a male named Gray Belial is sitting in his bed, alone, brimming with tears. Although his tears drop far enough to touch his dinner, he is still hungry, but just refuses to eat the aroma of a mixture of garlic, onions, shredded cheese, pepperoni, rice, and chicken. The unforgettable memory of how he heard that his mother (Briana Belial) was gruesomely murdered yesterday is deeply angering him by every second; while quivering, he struggles to intentionally wipe his wet tears from his lugubrious face. As he can remember, his best friend, Samantha Juvana informed him that his mother was pushed on the train tracks by an armed, masked stranger, dressed in all dark attire. Unfortunately, he cannot forget how the depressing story deeply affected him, causing him to feel like he was actually watching the appalling event occur, seeing the speeding train collide into her tangible body. Knowing that the train actually existed at the same moment she was hit, he refuses to blame his best friend for watching his mother, but instead, he personally blames himself for not catching the murderer.
The last time he spoke with his mother, he can remember yelling at her for waking up from the rumpus that she was causing downstairs. Knowing that she had the habit of constantly yelling over the phone, wandering the house, talking faithfully to anonymous people, he grew annoyed enough to call her a slut. Thus, with a silk, blue and white muumuu, she rushed to his bedroom, smacking him on his right cheek without saying a word, then immediately left the house in an angry fashion. He imagined his tears as sullen rain that only fails to successfully drench him. Thus, he fell back asleep, suffering a nightmare from the past of someone in a tragic car accident, driving home from work. As he can remember, in three locations, the person’s maxilla, rib cage, and clavicle was fractured, but it looked exactly like his mother. The scene of his nightmare changed, and he could clearly see his mother being pushed on the train tracks, leading to the speeding train connecting to her physical body.
Now, he sits in his house, wondering why his mother died, and why she lived from his support in life. His frail heart shakes by the thought of his mother, so he eats hoping to at least temporarily calm himself, ignoring the agitating sound of his stomach growling. He remembers paying the bills on time, working as a police officer, and preparing daily meals for his mother, unsure if she actually appreciated his loving actions. Because he is unsure if his daily actions were appreciated, he forgets about his best friend, focusing on his mother’s death, believing that she did not continue to work because he is wealthy. Without further eating his food, he lowers his head, being disturbed by his black, flat-screen television automatically turning on by itself.
Then, after taking off his white, cotton tank top, black lion-designed pajamas, and black underwear, he walks in his bathroom, closing the door behind him, taking out a large, black box underneath the sink, saying the following words in a tub of hot water, “What is needing; am I coping? What is healing; am I living? What is bleeding; am I hoping? What is feeling; am I giving? There are plastic eyes—useful ears. There are tragic skies—thunder sees. And drastic floods, but useful gears. And crud in muds harming the trees.”
After cutting his black mustache off with a silver, battery-operated device, he actually thinks about slamming his head against the concrete wall, but instead, he opens up the box in his hands, taking out a keen knife. With the knife, he deeply cuts above his toned abs, in the area of his chest, screaming in excruciating pain, taking several minutes to gasp for necessary oxygen. He is surprised that he did not faint yet; the blood from his flesh travels across the water in the tub as he struggles to cut a large circle around the right and left area. Within thirty minutes, he fully cut the right area, decides to put an object from a slaughtered females breast on his wounded area, sewing the flesh of her right bosom on him within ninety minutes. The same thing, in order to receive his left bosom, he does, taking up another ninety minutes of time.
It is 4:00P.M., and after the sound of a nearby train speeding loudly on the train tracks, someone is rapping on television, “You’re road kill, but I don’t care what you feel, makin’ you squeal like your daughter lovin’ orgies for sex appeal. You’re dropped like a diploma; be in a coma, for I’ll strike you like reversed aroma. I’ll inject bomb fluid in ya girls pussy, wait till it grows, screwing her till she sees rainbows. Then, if it snows, I’ll force my dick in ya mouth as a savage one, like pubic hair for afros and spells bustin’ ya like weightless mangos. Call upon the spirits, but ya ain’t gotta’ fear to see the pits, being crowded by stuffed candles up around an ass that fits. I confess, I’m the don—the mortician. I’m straight from the ground about to take ya down on the mission, having you confused like superstition. Then, I’ll check ya from my list, make ya see reality, take ya whole salary, turn ya to an allergy, so no hoes can fuck a tragedy for free.”
Gray’s cell phone rings, and it takes a lot of his energy just to turn his head toward the closed bathroom door. Although he is exhausted and in agony, he rises, steps out of the bloody tub, opens up the door, then grabs his black cell phone from the right pocket of his pants. He sighs while watching his pet black cat cuddle against his right leg. When he holds the phone up to his right ears, the sound of his doorbell rings, and he panics. He places his phone down, rushes to put on his clothes, trying to hide his bosoms with a sleeveless, black, cotton sweatshirt above his tank top.
He then picks up the phone and answers it while swiftly walking to the door, “Samantha. Hey. You called me at the moment I had to rush my clothes on.”
Without peeking in the peephole, he opens the door, surprised to see Samantha Juvana smiling in his presence, spreading her arms out, intentionally for a hug, saying, “Hey.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he says while placing his cell phone in his right pocket.
Samantha is confused of why the area of his chest feels so soft, so she questions him about it, “What did you do to yourself?”
Afraid of answering the question, he closes the front door, locks it, then says, “I gave myself bosoms like I said I would.”
“You need to see a doctor. I kept telling you that a doctor has firsthand experience in that area.”
“I didn’t need the money. I have bosoms. I just need long hair, a vagina, and a softer voice.”
“Where did you get bosoms? This is crazy.”
“Look… My mother was a good person. Maybe not the best, but she had good intentions. I know that I can tell you anything, so I need you to sit down and keep a secret.”
“Okay, but I think I’ll stand up.”
“I performed an immoral action in order to receive bosoms,” he removes his sweatshirt and tank top, then says, “I hope you forgive me. I don’t want to know what someone allegedly or determinedly said about actions like this. I was infatuated with Karen until she died. I wanted to like her, but I saw someone else. I’m changing for you, and I strongly believe that the doctors should know not of my personal change.”
Another person on the loud television screen in his bedroom is rapping, “My tongue spits fire like dragon-defined spices. From my presence, I’ll make it ya midlife crisis. Don’t calm me down like born, hateful sacrifices. Make ya a limit like affordable prices. This ain’t a circus like hocus pocus from a locus, but I’ll break ya balls, and put ya in focus. I’m creepin’ through ya garage and unseen like camouflage. Fear not, but this is no massage. Creepiest on the mike that’ll pull ya bitch like sike. I’ll open ya eyes like a ritualistic book, but I’ll ascend like a crook, so ya betta’ watch where ya look. Believe that ya battlin’ nine worlds, nine ways, with nine plus nations, so congratulations. I’m a tsunami over anybody even if dead, for I bring pain like I’m naughty.”
Samantha covers her face from imaginary perspiration and says, “You didn’t have to do this. You need to see a doctor. You think this is a gift? You’re my best friend and all, but I told you that I found someone.”
It is so quiet that Gray can utterly hear the outside weather of the snow blowing against the window while someone on his television then speaks again, “I denounce majority of my own race as severely immoral, and with no regrets, I purposely admit that I hold no responsibility for negative actions of various races, as a whole. There are slothful, ambitious people blinded by their personal feelings, influenced or self-influenced with brimming thoughts in life. Regardless of the situation, people are bullied, traumatized, insane, or convinced to be insane. Being bullied is the process of constantly being physically touched and tantalized in any negative manner. Being traumatized can be chosen or forced opinions, theories, and beliefs and suffering from unforgettable memories. Insane people suffer from unfinished thoughts and spoken words faithfully misunderstood by the norm. People convinced to be insane may or may not see real things from their mind depending on their religious beliefs, usage of drugs, sleeping pattern, or bad environment where they may live, possibly affecting what they can easily imagine. Another way that people are convinced of being insane is by being misunderstood from the pattern of isolation and the refusal to hearken to others, and often, they suffer from hypocritical actions.”
Walking away from her in a disappointed manner, he sits in his living room chair, facing the opposite direction of her. He says absolutely nothing and temporarily blocks out the memory of what just occurred. He thinks about how much he hates police officers because of how they threatened him two weeks ago to step out his car, searching him, saying, “There’s critters in prison waiting for food like bitch ass people of your kind!” “Excuse me officer, but I don’t like threats, and I can feel your saliva,” he specifically remembers saying, resulting in him getting severely assaulted. Then, he got arrested for one day, without permission to make a phone call at Samantha’s house. Next time, if that same situation occurs, he will remain quiet, get in his car, then crash into the direction of the officer. Or, he could just harm him with a promise of his own torturous death, he thinks, which causes his saddened face to turn to blood pouring from his breakable skull.
The sound of the television angers him more when he hears someone say, “Can you imagine having a stepfather younger than you? Can you imagine me at an interview? It would have to be a dying company before they hire me. When a man gets on his knees, it shows respect with a little bit of begging, especially during a proposal. But, when a woman get on her knees, it’s always a different story, isn’t it? Be ladylike, they say. So, many give into peer pressure. People with certain careers affect their romantic relationships. It depends on if their partner or if your own psyche can endure the issues. Without naming the careers, if their career is considered an embarrassment to society, may their partner accept them for their career? If their career is time consuming or pays too little, that definitely affects people in relationships. Divorces occur, and there is no true healing from it.”
Gray speaks, “I put concern where blood is. Where there’s artwork in a cave. But, stones fall as hers or his. Their home of blood on arts grave.”
Samantha opens says, “Do you want me to leave?”
“No. Do as you feel around here. I never celebrated an actual holiday with another person, so this is a first. It’s a special feeling when I think about it. I’m just a depressed writer with my family replaced for you.”
“Have you ever heard of Vickie Qencella? Some people believe she’s a demonic witch, but some people say she’s an angel from heaven. She descends to block the pain from the ones she kisses. Most of the time, she kisses people while they’re asleep, so they would not be aware of why they actually forgive people and wonder about the safety of others before their life. When you sleep, and you possibly wake up from her kiss, may you be promised bliss and the ability change the daily struggles of people?”
“Just leave. This is my life! Do you hear me! Leave my house! I don’t care about imaginations or possible predictions of what may occur. What I cared about was you, but now, you can just leave. You knew everything about me. I have no job, but the worries of a killer. I lost faith in love and everything else, but money. I grew up with no dinner while others like you played with your food and asked for dessert. People like you played outside in the snow on Christmas day while I had to be the father of the house for my dying baby sister, Carol and mother addicted to useless drugs.”
“So, I’m categorized now? Fine, I’ll leave. I hope you get better really soon. Because you’re a sickness as you speak about your dead family. Come to me when you’re healed because I you can’t absorb my needful energy anymore.”

Kind Stalker

I am only eighteen-years-old, but I personally cannot think about anyone else, and hardly can anyone I know of. Everyone is obsessed with her life; her curvaceous, furry body is defined by more lovely vocabulary words that could ever be expressed in a book, and her personality can be compared to her sweet voice, causing half of the population to put their doubts aside, about one day being in a committed relationship with her. I am Long Mindoro, a male, imagining myself as a raccoon, deeply obsessed with North Cassara. While I metaphorically dwell in a cave from a forest, the beautiful squirrel, North dwells in the backyard of a wealthy family, in a hollow tree. When I sleep, I dream of her, but when I awake, I hate that I am too afraid to approach her, even when I stalk her from three miles away. Three miles away, I call my dark cave home, but not out of bliss, for North is not where my home is located.
Giving me a transparent face of utter fear, I can see her lovable, Afro-Brazilian face outside her welcoming home, so as a start, I actually say the few words that I struggled to say for five years, “Hello, North. How are you?”
“Hello. Peachy and thanks for asking. How are you?”
I stutter in her presence, “I… I’m swell. Knowing about epistemology… I mean, it helps me be a better person.”
“That sounds great. I see you come by here a lot when I’m around, but you never say a word. And when we’re at school, you seem to always be around the corner, staring at me, like a zombie. I attempted to communicate to you various times. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re stalking me?”
The unlimited words from the internal thoughts of what I should say blocks, “No. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Perspiration is on my face, and my jejunum literally feels like it could burst from jogging outside. I’m joking. If it takes many miles for me to jog in order to make you adore me, I hope that my gluteus maximus still functions.”
Smiling, she says, “Well, if you want me to feel comfortable, you can start by communicating, because you seem a lot more intelligent when you do that.”
“I came here to tell you something that I didn’t have the courage to say for a long time. ‘Your breaths of life seem so untrue. Time of heartache lingers away. Passion of love, I can’t undo. Seconds away, I long your stay. These insipid words never hide. My wet tears aren’t isolated. But, these knowledge of thoughts collide. Without you, I’m overhated.”
Finally, I read half of the poem I memorized, but I am extremely nervous of not only what North actually thinks of me, but the fact that five months ago, I murdered her cousin (Shy,) after her last overseas trip from Allahabad, India. Only two years younger than her, she was indeed shy before I continuously slammed the back of her breakable head o’re a stone in the woods; I remember her unforgettable scream, but on the day I hid her body. Stupidly enough, I was unaware of the beloved family member I made forever gone, but now, I know that I murdered a model, travel journalists, and professional photographer, just wanting to engage in family activities. I wish to look directly at North’s gorgeous eyes, but I am too afraid, for she could be glaring at me, believing that I am a dweeb. So, I quiver out of fear with perspiration surrounding my forehead. I attempt to imagine that this emotional moment is just a dream that I can successfully control. Then, I realize that it is not a dream, and I actually made the random decision of attempting to impress someone I deeply have great feelings for.
I continue to say my memorized poem, “’And you could make me genuflect. But, let the firmament cleanse me. I’m honored to show the respect. My option of the century. You’re like the stars to a black hole. The vivid light made for action. As always, I view what you stole. I have no numb satisfaction.’ I call that poem ‘Breaths Below.’ A mind of chosen actions is the soul folded from the seat of a heart. Today, I chose to tell you what directly came from my soul, folded in my heart, as written thoughts, made from actions of shyness.”
As soon as I gain enough courage to look at her eyes, I see her making a reverberating laugh, as if I fell in a puddle of cold water, from a balcony of a jam-packed audience, to a mesmerizing concert. I panic thinking that she could be laughing at not only the poem with a pathetic imagination, but my slicked-back, black hair, black, sequin-covered jacket, white tank top, black jeans, and black, leather dress shoes. If my facial expression has a current picture, I hope that it does not provide sexual imagery, for I am not always aware of how I look, even if it is not my intention. I wonder if she is willing to accept me as a husband one day, and be happy if I am a househusband or vise versa, but I also doubt that she wants to live a single day with me. If I am not bound to gain her love, I am sure to think that my face can automatically cause a hurly-burly. Shillyshally as a dimwit, I attempt to lower my head from the stare of her mesmerizing eyes.
“What’s funny,” I question her laughter.
“It’s just that you’d take the time out of your day to read me a poem directly from your noggin. That’s a bit romantic for someone I never spoke to, but I comprehend that you’re a cordial person. Let me try and make a poem. ‘Why does she possess effervescence at dawn? Evanescence of creatures begs her for trust. Cremains are from her mouth, but she just won’t yawn. Neglected ones, she heals, near sight of dust.”
“That’s beautiful. For a second, that felt like the cessation to time. What’s it called?”
“Yours is beautiful. The unfinished poem has no title yet. Hey, I’d enjoy to speak to you more. You’re more interesting than you think. Right about now, I have to be going, so I guess, I’ll talk to you some other day. Feel free to stop by when you have time. Bye.”
Afraid to ask for her cellphone number, I say something else, “Bye.”
Joy reaches me deeply with a tingling sensation, but I am confused if she actually likes me as a human being. I decide to walk away from her lovely presence knowing that I did not make her view me as an insignificant person. On this special day, I feel good about the fact that I was not chagrined in a way, where she hates the utter sound of my voice. Then, when I think about her more, maybe she did view me as an insignificant person, which is why she laughed at my poem. Maybe if I use my psyche more, I can be amazing and avoid being laughed at, like an unbroken vase that fell from a three-story building.
Reaching a condominium, I walk far enough for me not to see her, when I turn around, then I think of what poem I could had said instead, “Must we hearken to nary a voice? When could we thank time for living? Because love, thanks for loving my choice. I know your heart’s full, but it’s giving. You laugh with smiles o’re paradise. Brighten the day with what you utter. You have sounds upon love with no price. It’s beyond a pleasure; don’t shudder.”
I cross the street and step on the sidewalk to finish thinking about my poem, “There are catacombs in my body. Catacombs o’re unfound flames. So, your love can’t be shoddy. You simply can’t be lost—my heart claims.”
Like a pernicious disease, I challenge my voiceless thoughts from flooding my mind. I am not a Satanist, a gangster, a nerd, or any label that can bring authority justice. The entire truth is that I am me; a harmless individual unless threatened in serious ways by aggressive people, robbing me of love and pride in myself. How can I attend school and have enough time to seek love, especially when many people are gawking directly at what goes against the true idea of love, striving to introduce me to false realities on the same subject. Love is not funny, nor is love boring. Although I am nice, I tend to still want to give people twenty centuries worth of pain within the time limit of three seconds, leading to their annihilation. Why are people not made to help me, for I can help them in return, I ask myself. But, love is peacefully mine if I achieve it without others preventing my obstacle of success.
One can drive a mind to a crash, but never when a soul is empty. I am dead, but I can move with the voice of retaliation. Nobody can tell me if I can love North, for she is always on my mind, and if not, I surely have no soul. My definition of people are annoying agglomerations focused on dominating the undulating heart of eccentricity. The one I love is the bearer of my soul, for I see it within her, and I am below the average person. Strangely though, for every plight that people mistreat me, I feel like I am above all of them, dwelling in nary a city of picturesque places, except by the one I secretly love, North.
In my mind I think deeply, “I’d do anything for everything. But, everything’s you—love I sing. All I can do is more for your heart. If I’m accepted, this I start. You’re more than what I dream—a born plus. Accept, and these can be words of us. It’s the sign that you could be my Valentine. Underlined, divine words of design.”
I continue to think, “I can’t ignore the door to your face. If opened, will mine be one you chase? Just whip these lips lacking liquid sips. Fuss about crust of what’s dry and rips. The growth of wrinkles laughs at thinking. Nuzzle my face—would you love blinking? Your eyes are my mirror—they fear me. My walking mirrors of misery.”

Buried Wonders

My legal name is Isabella Nomed, I am a thirteen-years-old mulatto girl, I have the same birthday that Christmas exists, and I was born with special powers from God. I prefer my birthday to be on Halloween because I could receive treats galore on that special day, but when I think deeply about it, the amount of gifts I receive on my birthday cannot replace the sentimental moments. Sometimes, I question myself if it is weird if on every Halloween I cook a custom-made pizza, but once I see that it is my birthday, I will cook a seasoned turkey. Sadly, on those two favorite holidays of mine, I am still a teenager, not allowed to wear anything black, or exit the house without parental permission. I rejoice, then I sneak outside of the house to habitually play difficult, pleasurable video games with my twelve-year-old best friend, “Madison.” Sometimes, I playfully pray that she can advance to the second level. I am not a family-oriented person, but I do not consider myself an introvert, defined as completely bad either. I just want to have a lot of fun in life and be the bearer of others bliss. I am the only one in my family who was gifted with powers from God; I can heal mammals with the touch of my hands and positively speak through mammals as a way of guidance. My mother and dad are Claire and John; of black ancestry, my mother is a lawyer and of white ancestry, my father is a probation officer, which gives me a lot of time to escape boredom around the house. Christmas is now, so I am excited until the possible day where my workaholic parents worry enough to search for me.
Today, I am at Madison’s house, but I decide to rush outside, seeing the snow at approximately four feet deep. I am trying to make a sentimental moment for not me, but for Madison. Also, I feel like other people do not respect me enough for my personality, so I must brighten the moments with entertainment. After taking off my capricious hood, I throw my black coat in the air and do various flips down a large hill of clear snow, getting my green, knitted sweatshirt and dark, blue jeans wet. From the inside of the house, Madison is recording me on her new, advanced camera, but I cannot prevent my body from shivering. The moment amazes not only Madison, but me, for I hit the back of my head so hard against a snow-covered brick, that with a blurry vision, I glance at the snowflakes, temporarily believing they came directly from the sun.
As soon as I reached my feet, I no longer feel like a photogenic teenager, for blood is oozing from my head, reaching the snow. Part of the beautiful snow is ruined by the sticky liquid inside me. The video camera Madison is using to record me is not making this situation any better; I can see Madison with a shocked face, but she refuses to cease recording me. Even worse, the strong gust of wind carrying some elements of the snow hits the wound in the back of my head. So, I take my attention off of Madison recording me, touching my disturbing wound, reacting to the pain. As I look ahead, I am forced to cringe away from a loud, barking, black Siberian Husky, jumping pass me. To save myself from any more wounds, I fearfully run from Madison’s dog, Sheba, making my way back into the house, panting.
She laughs at my pain, then turns off the video camera, refusing to delete the evidence of what occurred. I care less about her keeping the memory in her device, but what ignited my anger is the obvious fact that my best friend was capable of laughing at me. Her laughter is just as worse as her yelling with the utter belief that she can dominate anyone. To make myself feel slightly better, I raise my palm in her face, attempting to make her to stop the noise. When I raised my palm, like a voluminous signal for caution, it actually works. Sadly, I feel the wetness coming from a blink that I make, regretting my random decision of raising the palm of my hand to her adorable face.
I then say in a depressing voice to her confused, innocent face, “I’m going to get a towel. Thanks for your help. You shouldn’t laugh because I failed to recover my equilibrium.”
Before I can head pass the bathroom door, she places her video camera on the glass table of the living room and says, “Oh, Isabella, what are you mad for? It was great footage. We’ll be talking about this day when we’re old. I dreamed that from a panoramic view, you forced me to eat meals with the hidden element of unwashed glass. You conjured up glass in pancakes, sausages, and cake. I’ll make you blush when I rub on your tush. I’ll make you hush when I lick on your bush.”
I sigh before coming out of the bathroom with a wet, white towel perfectly placed on the wound. My right hand shakes faster than any other body part currently visible, for it is literally touching the towel, connected to the wound. I strive to catch my shallow breaths with disbelief that Madison seems more concerned about what she records than my safety. Her cockamamie excuse for laughing at my pain deeply affects me to an extent that I have never felt before. As if she recently through paint on a spiffy, black dress of mine, easily, I frown. If she was not my best friend, I could purposely put a hole somewhere in her plaster wall with my swift fist. From this point, I glare at her face, seeing that she could not mean to cause me mental pain by the action of laughing, but my legs shake faster than my right hand.
My entire body turns numb, and I point my index finger at her face, like a deadly weapon. I make the gesture as if I am pulling the trigger to a gun. Thus, at 200 miles per hour, a bullet comes directly through the back of her head, and I witness the blood leaking from her forehead. Tears would have gone down her soft cheeks if there was enough time for her brain to allow her eyes to function, but I could care less. I think of taking her new video camera in order replace the footage of my humiliation with the footage of her dead body. What is the difference between a death and a funeral, I secretly ask myself. If you ask me, a death is not a death until no one remembers the person dead, which is what I hope to happen to Madison. A funeral is not a funeral until loved ones see the person’s body; the loved ones would have to see the bullet that may be still positioned in the flesh of the victim. But, as I think of the funeral, Madison’s dead body may not make it there.
While laughing, I say, “You’re not dead, Madison. I haven’t forgotten you yet. You can’t ruin me you doe-eyed hellion with the pointless trickery of being my friend. You pathetic female with a bulbous nose behaving as if you lack an occipital lobe.”
Nervously, I walk into the kitchen, struggling to think about something else. First, I struggle to think about my hobby for caricature, drawing multiple pictures of my imaginary, charming, muscular boyfriend, Byron Firvaco. Every picture I draw of Byron, he is smiling because he is thinking about me, instead of his fashionable clothing. He usually wears black not because he is in a subculture, but because it puts a full smile on my face, making me love the word I once hated—romance. Second, I think about just getting a drink of fresh, cold water, but before I can raise my hands to touch anything, my black cell phone makes a loud ring, scaring me. For a slight second, I actually believed that Madison woke up, so I slowly look out of the kitchen, seeing the disturbing sight of her dead body, eventually making the decision of answering my phone.
“Hello.”
My mother, Claire questions me with concern, “Isabella, where in the heavens are you?”
I cry like people are making accusations about my entire life that are not true. My tears feel so cold that the wind blowing from the front window causes it to worsen. I worry more with seconds of silence as my curious mother patiently waits for my honest response. Right now, I wish that I can contradict the theory to gravity, so that I can escape this aggravating moment. Instead, I sigh, walking to the black, living room, leather couch.
I decide to say, “I’m not coming home. Me and my best friend are moving out of the country, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Call the police if you will.”
As if I can visibly see my mother’s rage right now, with binaural hearing, I jump up, only when she yells, “What’s your problem young girl! You come back here this instant!”
I gain the courage to say what I wanted to always say to my mother, “Bye.”
Sadly, my best friend is dead, but I have to leave the country as a teenager. Maybe I could head to England and become a comedienne, but stay away from committing any more murders, I think. As I rethink about the option of leaving this country, I remember my baby sister, Gash, from two years ago. She was only seven-years old and died due to dancing mania, supposedly by an evil witch. That witch was Madison’s mother; I killed Madison not because she was related to the witch, but kept the secret from me, for six, long months. Because Madison’s mother Tori killed the only person I ever loved. I do not fathom why she committed such a disturbing crime, but I surely know that her daughter told me of her actions over the phone, yesterday. So, I panic, thinking about how I used my gifted ability to harm another human being, which can result in Tori striving to retaliate against me. This time, if Tori retaliates against me, I no longer can defend myself with my gifted ability, for it was wrongfully misused.
It was just a nightmare, but Christmas is actually here. I wake up in Madison’s room, weeping about my baby sister, Gash, wishing that Tori never remotely murdered her. The question is why would Madison’s mother intend to even murder Gash, but Tori is too busy visiting hot-blooded men to answer such a significant question. Madison’s workaholic father daily visits her for only an hour to pay the bills and give her a limit of $500 to pay for groceries, clothes, electronics, and etcetera. Madison can see me weeping on her soft bed; her visible depressed face shows she knows exactly why I am weeping with my back placed perfectly against a Dalmatian-spotted, sponge-like pillow. She enters the room with grief, sitting down to promise me that I will be okay. Although she is trying to make me feel better, I feel like I have become the last living victim of a deadly disease, which started a rampant growth.

In My Diary

I write to myself to calm my nerves, “Her soft, black stockings could cause me to experience friction with the usage of her pale legs. Her name was Isabella, the most beautiful woman on the planet, always wearing a certain item around her gorgeous ankles and wrists. Petals that she tore from roses are placed around her ankles, symbolizing her current emotion, depending on the color chosen. Nobody actually knows what the petals around her ankles symbolize, but her. It symbolizes the physical options that she may take depending on the colors of petals worn on her wrists, for example, she may wear white petals as a sign of saving someone from drowning. But, white could represent something else to her, if she lives in another region. The petals around her wrists represent the mental thoughts of how she personally feels, for example, brown could represent the love she has for her complexion.”

Two Minutes Later

Madison says, “The first time he breathed, everyone knew his daddy possessed testicular flaws. Could I still be accepting or am I on the road to laughter from what is a built lie? Byron, laugh with, but not against me. Byron, take the form of how you look in my dreams. I’m not asleep, for you’re no ghost to me. Walk in my soul, but don’t pass it. If you pass my soul, I hope your eyes weren’t closed, like a blinded vermin.”
“I know just how you feel,” Isabella says, “Don’t feel bad, girl. You’ll find happiness one day. Byron’s not real, but you make him seem real.”
Suffering from mercurial behavior, with a vitriolic voice, she says, “Somebody needs an off switch. When my little sister was murdered, I couldn’t leave the burial place. I saw her tombstone unexpectedly burn in the rain, and it’s your mothers fault. You show your concern, but I hate your mother. One day, I’ll watch her die.”
“You couldn’t mean that.”
“My sister begs me to avenge her death.”
“You need some more sleep,” Madison says as she leaves the room, “I hate my own mother, okay! I’m very sorry.”
Isabella punches a stack of three, soft pillows, positions a light, blue sheet across her body, then falls asleep. While comfortably on the bed, she suffers a nightmare of what she literally does every weekend at her baby sister’s gravesite. Isabella is deceived that Gash is contemplating suicide due to the feeling of being unloved. Every weekend, Isabella, brings a black plate of warm, homemade, chocolate cookies to her sister Gash’s grave, then she places it on the dirt. In a calm manner, she will relaxingly sit on her knees, then make an outburst, crying that she loves her. Afterwards, she will passionately hug the gravestone, then watch the plate sink into elements forming to mud. Thus, she will talk to the gravestone, like her sister exists, trying to persuade her that the family loves her, later leaving the gravesite.

The Left Haven

Will my words enlighten you if you hearken to me? Why are people converted in many ways when depressingly vulnerable? Why are people bullied because they are naturally or mentally different? How many more times will people kill the future of talent? Look no further for the savior, for I am bound to stop ubiquitous evil. Every environment will be safe unless everyone is considerably evil.
I dwell in the “Left Haven” (righteous place), and in the haven, I welcome my followers. Anyone opposing my words shall likely die, for I express peace. People opposing are evil with vitriolic voices. As I write my words, the scenes can be as real as imagined. Believe me, and great things shall occur, for I am only here to help the innocent, unless betrayed three times.
Are we meant to fraternize and sororize with the enemy? When bullied, is the significant fact of teachers seizing guns and knives considered safe? Is it even safer in the outdoors where guns are legalized even if it is illegal to murder outside of morals? The alarum of stupidity increases; most of the people seizing the weapons were the bullies from the get-go. How can I be myself in a lawful society of subtle danger?
Eyeing cloddish people daily, I try to avoid them, but there are no escapes. No journey for an iota of miraculous love with privacy no longer exists. In the world of today, the only people alive selfishly loves themselves. Amatory poems turned reality are observed by everyone, for I am the saddest poem. I am the saddest poem expected to give signals of turning violent in an unruly society. While these insignificant people brainwash society into thinking their preventing violence, they are the reason it exists.
On many occasions, in the damp grass of the humid air, I would be humiliated. On my long path to school, humiliation increased when I would be pushed down a hillock. I never defended myself in fear of retaliating so roughly that they will never awake. Not every day was the grass damp and the air very humid, so it shows how often this event occurred. They would laugh at me as students, sometimes, purposely tripping me down the hallway of school or pulling my pants down.
They are a team of organized bullies trying to control me. Go to school just for some unnecessary classes. Why is it that I usually see a math teacher write the number “666” on the chalkboard than any other noticeable number for a solution to a problem? Why do students mock the one demurely walking? Why do they gloat over my misery, for I am too shy to approach a female of the same age. Because bullies get involved in a relationship I want by robbing the female, I wish great harm on them. I feel sorry for the female being in a fallacious relationship, for I could intentionally enlighten them with enough attention.
Teachers do absolutely nothing, and if they do, any form of detention is temporary. Ignore the situation or talk to the bullies, I tried. They know the information teachers give in order to avoid mental disturbance as well as they know their verbal and physical attacks bother me. Why must I not use a weapon, I would constantly think. Oh, as an articulate person, I want to be a successful film director and an author, telling a biography of my life. The only problem with being an author is that I am eighteen-years-old, and the only way I can utterly express myself is by getting many people angry enough to sue me.
When I think about it, nobody has to relate to my life to overcome their stress, for I am risking my own independence. Bullies with the intentions of robbing me of hope ignites me with frustration, for I speak of the truth. I honestly want deserving people to know my life story, but they simply cannot, if parents, students, teachers, and more may intend on suing me. I cannot express my truth to the world unless I murder every victim capable of suing me for anything offensive I say. Repeatedly, I would think about murdering people, for on an untold version of the gematria code, my name equals “666.”
Never to sunder is the ubiquitous love that I have for nobody. As an incomparable fact, people are close-minded dimwits, wandering from the greatest thinker existing today. One day, all people will beg for my help, for I am the trickery behind the love. People said that they loved me countless times, but that is the same thing they say to many others. How could they love if they mock (my unexpressed goals) the things I treat like my children. If they laugh at false romance in daily life, does it not possibly delete the goals of serious love? Without love, there is magnifying horror, which is currently the only thing I personally excel at.
On a date I would rather not say, I hanged the “testicular healer” of a woman with a bull rope around her thin, sore neck. Why I call her the “testicular healer” is because she loved to have sex with many entities (people) just to be a mother. Because she was looking not for love in a relationship with others, she had no love for me to forgive. Manny was a rude high school cheerleader; she mocked me because I was obsessed with her appearance, but no longer. Giving me exhilaration, she died with a shrilling cry that lowered in volume.

My Beloved Me

Chicago, Illinois

At 6:33 A.M., on a foggy road, eighteen-year-old Tyrese Cusner is driving a white convertible from his parents’ house. With his hope of reaching the destination of Coberdale High School, he drives 45 miles per hour, illegally speeding down a 4-way intersection, when there is a red light signal. This senior is wearing a frown with a tight grip on the steering wheel; swiftly, he makes a right turn after stopping at another 4-way intersection. Eight pedestrians despise him because he dangerously drives like he has an addled mind. The speeding vehicle he controls forces several pedestrians to instinctively escape danger by running out of the away, but he is more focused on successfully reaching his destination.
Unfortunately, this time, when Tyrese speeds down an intersection during a red light signal, he is distracted by a paralyzed deer resting on the sidewalk. Unwanted danger from the left side of his father’s car is near, but he is severely disturbed by the sight of the deer. The stranger on the left side of his car is having a private conversation with her best friend on a black cell phone. Suddenly, startling him, he darts his head toward the left, aware of danger. It occurs to him, she is traveling near him, honking the horn, reducing her speed. When her black convertible collides into his, the purpose of speeding toward the destination seems meaningless. From the impact of the crash, he hits his forehead against the steering wheel, and his vehicle nearly flips over. After sighing, strongly wishing that this day will end, he turns his eyes from the shimmering sun, opening the side door for confrontation.
“This can’t be happening,” the innocent, angelic voice of a female stranger yells, mixing with the sound of a barking puppy, coming from an expensive, black, leather purse.
After exiting her vehicle unharmed to check on her grey-shaded Pomeranian puppy, Terra, Shelly immediately ends her phone call. Sending a cold feeling to her hair follicles, she sees the unpleasantly shocked face on Tyrese. When she steps out the car, the aroma of newly born roses enters his nostrils. She has the face of a supermodel who could be very wealthy, and if she is wealthy, he believes that she should pay the damages to his father’s car. When he stares at her out of rage, it causes him to suffer stiff joints.
The beauty Shelly holds remains while Tyrese imagines smacking the halo from above her head. He notices her wearing the hairstyle of a ringlet, and it makes her appear like a beloved queen. The hairstyle is so amazingly built that the slightest energy of wind would be like rumpling a model in a fairytale. If he could prevent his rage of yelling at the air, he would find the time to care that her beauty holds no blemishes, like a dreamlike reality. From his awareness, as he glares at her curvaceous body perfectly placed in clothing, he notices that she is wearing silver, small, circular earrings. She also has an unbuttoned, black, polyester jacket, a grey t-shirt, green jeans, and black, leather, cowgirl boots. Due to this female crashing into his now damaged car, when he heads to Coberdale High School, it certainly will not gain him popularity. Approaching her makes him want to break her left headlight, but at least the car accident did not end his life.
“Lady, I believe you made the mistake of crashing into my parents’ car. You expect me to remain seated and shrug my shoulders nonchalantly? I have places to be right about now! That cell phone attempt you pulled off could’ve caused me to die.”
“Look, I am having a hectic day. How about you watch where you’re looking instead. You ran the light, and I honked my horn, trying to stop the car! I recently purchased this car, and it’s not even fully paid for! You’re paying for the damages. I’m calling the police right now.”
“Well, hurry. I have somewhere to be.”
Frowning, Shelly says, “Shut it, mister! You wronged me.”
As if she is wearing an aboriginal necklace rediscovered in a forsaken house, he stares at it, saying, “Wronged you? Just give me your name.”
“Shelly Morbin. What’s yours?”
As he digs in his right pocket for a writing implement and a folded up piece of paper to write down her license plate, he says, “Tyrese Cusner. Just so that I can blackmail you, I have your license plate. We don’t need an officer to get involved. You’re paying for the damages. Give me your phone number.”
“Only if you pay half of the damages. And let me get your license plate, Tyrese.”
In distress, he moans at the fine-looking brunette with the heart-shaped pendant and says, “That won’t be necessary”
Returning to her car, Sherry swiftly opens the side door with her keys, then quickly searches for a blank piece of paper and a black pen. As she steps out of the car holding the items, she sighs, attempting to ignore Tyrese. Before she can finish writing down the information to his license plate, Tyrese sits on the hood of his car, and she hears loud sirens from a police car. Although she struggles to be calm, she gets so nervous that she nearly sheds tears from her almond-shaped eyes. With an innocent face, she turns her head to the officer firstly approaching her about the accident.
Officer Gurney is wearing a serious face of rage as he says, “Madam, what’s the problem we have here?”
“Well, mister officer, this man ran pass a red stop light, leading to a car crash,” attempting to attack Tyrese, she speaks rapidly, nearly combining all of her words together, but he blocks her from getting close, “Unfortunately, I should be on my way to my high school, right now. Paul, I am going to be late because of this man.”
“Easy there, Shelly,” he says, then he approaches Tyrese, “My name is Officer Gurney. Give me your name sir. How did this crash become?”
“My name is Tyrese Cusner. That drunk was on her cell phone while I was turning on green light.”
“Name calling is not tolerated. Let’s not worsen the situation. Tell me what happened.”
Tyrese yells at the serene sky and says, “I told you what happened! She ruined my car…”
“That’s enough. Show me your I.D. and give me your phone number.”
“Officer Gurney,” she says walking toward them, “I’m sure we can come to an agreement if Tyrese admits to running the light. We can both just equally pay for the damages.”
“It looks like this lady has your best interest,” Officer Gurney says while smirking.
“I’m not admitting to anything I didn’t do. What is wrong with this woman…”
Officer Gurney interrupts him, “Listen, she’s a really nice lady you’re messing with. She doesn’t deserve to be talked to like that. She offered the both of you to pay for the damages, but because of your attitude, you’re guilty.”

Coberdale High School

At approximately 7:37 A.M., Tyrese is lately driving in the parking lot of Coberdale High School with a large fine. He hears laughing from many students deciding to distractively look out of their classroom windows. The situation could be less humiliating if he could rush out of the car, but keeping him searching for an empty parking spot, the entire area is nearly full. Although he wants respect from students in school, two freshman males demoralizes him, after ditching their class. After positioning the right strap of the black book bag on his back, students are staring at him as he nervously exits his car. He is wearing an unforgiving frown teachers are now seeing out of the clear windows. From this moment, all of the given attention seems to be on him, making him have the urge to get back in his car, driving away.
The guffaws make Tyrese want to faint, but passing a wisp of wind, he walks in a calm manner. Before entering the public school, he heads under a colonnade made out of stone, hearing unseen, chirping birds. He makes his way to a vacant hall, between grey lockers on both sides, glancing at the loud noise behind the corridors. Cheerleaders are eagerly exiting the gym, wearing their school colors: burgundy, onyx, and indigo. While frozen in terror, he actually sees gorgeous teenagers not laughing at him. Several of them give him a flirtatious smile with a harmless greeting. Thus, in return, nearly speechless, he greets them, but he does so while they pass his direction, heading out the front doors.
Running, the gorgeous cheerleaders head around the school, following the group to the gigantic football field, but Tyrese forgets that he is late for English class. He is shocked that several cheerleaders spoke to him, but he gets upset that he did not ask for their names. Slowly, he remembers why he arrived to high school in a rush, panicking about being late. Then, swiftly, he moves to the right side of the lockers, on the far end, with the numbers, “88.” Like macerating brownies in caramel, maybe Coberdale High School is not going to be so bad after all, he thinks.
Chevon Brambly, a fourteen-year-old senior, enters the front doors of the school, staring at Tyrese from her locker, with the number, “176.” From her locker, it is parallel to his; she is watching him stuff his school supplies in it, and is unnoticed by him. She wants to make the right moment to introduce herself, but realizes that he is in rush to search for his textbook and head to class. What if she frightens him, she thinks. She has black eyeliner and sharp, black nails that can nearly snag his shirt, and she poses in the mirror of her opened locker, forming a malicious smile that a serial killer could only make. The curiosity of who Tyrese is interests her enough to approach him.
In a dreamlike, soft, dulcet voice that sounds like his mothers, Chevon nudges him on his right shoulder and says, “Hello.”
Startling him, he jumps up, turning around, forming an innocent smile, saying, “Hello.”
The appearance of Chevon is remarkably beautiful nearly causing him to drool in her presence. From the pupils of her irresistible eyes, they appear like the color of black jewelry. Already, her voluptuous body causes his psyche to sadly question his appearance with dwindling dignity. She is a brunette with a double ponytail and thin, black glasses. From the reflection of her clear glasses, he can see his shocked face, and when he looks at her heart-shaped lips, he notices her chewing gum. The action of the gum she is chewing causes him to smell the wonderful scent of strawberry. Then, he notices that the smell of the strawberry blends with a similar, tropical smell from her expensive perfume.
“I’m Chevon Brambly. You’re new here, aren’t you? Here at Coberdale, there are many students you don’t want to be bothered with. They’re troublemakers. Hang with me, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. I’m Tyrese Cusner. In fact, I’m new here. Your eyes are lovely. I love your accent.”
While giggling, she nearly turns her entire head away from him to blush, saying, “It’s Russian. At nine, I moved from Russia to England. Then, until I was eleven, I moved to America.”
“Nice. I’m a senior… A transferred student at a private school called, “West Fretmore High School. And you’re a junior, I’m guessing? I’m arriving late because some crazy lady crashed into my car on the way here.”
While walking back to her locker, closing it, and placing a lock on it, she says, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re not hurt. And I’m a senior. Mrs. Sober, my teacher excused me from class for a quick bathroom break. I just went to a local, fast-food restaurant. Well, I’ll catch you around. Don’t be a stranger.”
While closing his locker and locking it with a number code, he says, “See ya.”
Finally, he finds his English class, which is in room, “303,” and his teacher turns toward the door he opens, saying, “Hello. I’m Mrs. Sober. Today is my first day as a teacher. No one is going to be tardy today. Everyone who is late for class will have to write me a five page essay about themselves or a person that they know. Keep in mind, the essay can be about anyone, and it is due Friday, next week.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Sober. If we can come to some kind of understanding for my lateness, I’d appreciate it.”
“Save it! I will not tolerate this behavior beyond this day. Keep it up, and next time, I’ll mark you tardy. Take a seat and make some friends. Class will be over in less than an hour,” she then speaks to the classmates, interrupting their separate group discussions, “I will not tolerate cell phone usage in my classroom!”
Wanting to sigh, as he walks to find an empty seat, classmates are chuckling. Majority of the classmates stop chatting with one another; remaining suspiciously quiet, they glance at him as if he is an insignificant human being. While Mrs. Sober yells at the classmates to continue chatting, he slumps down in a seat of the back row, to the far end of the left. Although the classmates follow the teacher’s orders to continue their discussions, he is severely terrified of people calling him socially awkward. Due to his fear, he fails to chat with every student in the classroom except for one. As soon as Chevon walks in the classroom, she smiles, sitting next to him. Her friendly behavior of asking about his interests makes him receive a comfortable feeling that he has a reliable friend to chat to throughout the entire school year.
“What sorts of things interests you,” Chevon asks, then says, “I’m eighteen and I am a lifeguard. One day I will pursue a career as a firefighter. If not a firefighter, I will be a nurse. My father owns a farm, so I am trained in riding horses and all that good stuff. Here, at Coberdale, it’ll be my fourth year participating in the swimming team. I love going shopping to collect jewelry and collecting flowers outdoors. I tend to be a nonviolent, kindhearted person with a love for animals. And I’m hopelessly romantic.”
“My interests are cars, video games, and weightlifting. My job? I’m working on it. Future career? I’m undecided to be honest. I feel like I’m stuck in an oubliette at times. Basically, I’m scared to make decisions about my life. This will be my fourth year participating in afterschool activities though. I excel at basketball and football.”
“That’s very manly, my friend. My baby brother, Sam goes here. He’s a freshman. Sadly, I’m now going to be watched. Every guy that I talk to, he approaches, trying to scare them off. If you see him, stay calm.”
“He’s overprotective.”
“Very. I try keeping my distance.”
About a month from now, Tyrese can imagine himself having ethereal love. The only person that he would romantically think about would be Chevon, and in return, she would think about him. He would always slightly believe that their feelings are not mutual. Thus, he does not feel ready to get involved in a relationship, believing that she could be happier with another person. Currently, he knows very little about her, so maybe there is a chance he will eventually find true love, he thinks.
At the same moment he pulls his chair up to the desk, he notices that the classmates stop speaking, hear the sound of the door open. Sauntering in the classroom, Shelly shocks him with a mixture of rage. He frowns with disbelief that he is in not only in the same school as her, but in the same classroom. It occurs to him, she is fairly popular; with a mixture of fear, male students are easily forming flirtatious faces. The females are jealous and the males care that she may reject them, except Tyrese, who is jealous of not her beauty, but popularity. He wants to rush from his seat angrily yelling. Instead of yelling, he hides his annoyed face under the wooden desk, hoping that she accidentally entered the wrong class.
Giving him the idea that Shelly is indeed in the right classroom, in a worried voice, she says to the teacher, “Hello. I’m sorry that I’ve arrived late. It won’t happen again.”
Mrs. Sober greets her and politely says, “It’s okay. You may take a seat if you wish.”
Notifying Chevon, he says, “That’s the person that crashed into my car earlier.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Whispering, he says, “I hate this school.”
When Shelly views the quiet classroom, she notices that there is only one empty seat in the back, which is next to Chevon. At the moment, she is awfully disappointed and is not aware that Tyrese can see her. By the time she walks in the back of the classroom prepared to lower her haunches, with a surprised expression, she glares at him. Just when she thought that school would take her mind from the car accident, she wishes the school year would already end. He glares in return as Chevon gets extremely nervous about being between two people loathing one another.
Shelly asks Tyrese, “Oh great! You want to ruin my school time too! How did you get here?”
In sarcasm, Tyrese says, “With a cell phone from the driver’s seat. Paul must be such a wonderful friend.”
“I hate you. This is your fault.”
Mrs. Sober loudly says to the classmates, “For students arriving late, please notify them of what assignment they owe me and the due date! I will not repeat myself in this classroom. You all are adults and should know to be on time. And if I have to warn you to continue group discussions, I’m decreasing points!”
“Hello.” she speaks to Shelly, “Everyone who is late has to write a five page essay about themself or someone they know. The due date is Friday of next week.”
After sighing, she politely says, “Thank you, Chevon. Sorry about you hearing my attitude. How are you? I wouldn’t speak to him though.”
“Peachy … and he’s fine.”
“I’m sure. As you know, I’m the leader of the cheerleading squad, which means that my squad never loses. I’m dedicated to everything I do,” she temporarily wipes the perspiration falling down her eyebrows with a white handkerchief, then snaps her fingers after saying each letter of an abbreviation in a sentence, “Sweety, distractions like Tyrese must leave, A.S.A.P. … and F.Y.I, if you continue to hang out with him, your every desire will be gone like dessert.”
Somebody sitting in front of him has a malodorous odor coming from their armpits. Thus, he wants to vomit, looking toward his friend, Chevon to see if she is affected by the terrible smell. Indeed, she is affected by the smell, swiftly covering her nose with a priceless face of scorn. “Why,” he whispers to Chevon, noticing Shelly placing her face in her purse, just to reduce the smell. He is curious of which student did not put deodorant under their arms; so, he extends his face directly in front of him, sniffing. Automatically, he rushes his face backwards, hearing the skinny male giggling with several friends. Unfortunately, he is not laughing, having a feeling that he sniffed the most unpleasant spot in the classroom.

Gym

It is 8:30A.M, and Shelly is jealously being stared at by nearly everyone in the large gymnasium. She is dribbling a basketball on the concrete surface while the teenage boys are taking pictures of her gorgeous face and the girls are loudly cheering. When she throws the basketball, it successfully goes through the hoop, and uncontrollably, everyone in the gymnasium cheers. Thirty two students are holding basketballs aiming where they are going to throw; she laughs at majority of the attempts for them to make the ball go through the hoop. There is a weight training room beside the basketball court, but only three students are using it. Because of the students’ eagerness to make public rumors about her, she is currently being immortalized in various pictures on the internet.
Although Shelly loves her popularity, she is busy worrying about the damages done on her expensive convertible. Immediately, changing her face to a frown, she repeatedly runs up the silver, metallic bleachers, performing 10 push-ups when she heads down. Five times, she soundlessly runs up the bleachers, and everyone in the gymnasium obsessively watches her workout. While heavily breathing, sweat comes down her face, for she runs around the bleachers twice. From the sides of her body, she then bends her extended legs, making them parallel. After drinking a mixture of crushed green grapes, strawberries, and lime, she runs up the bleachers again. Putting everyone in awe, she does a continuous cartwheel coming down the bleachers.
A woman with frizzy, red hair approaches her, “Nice moves, girl! The gym teacher is at a teachers’ conference. That means we have the entire gym to ourselves. What do you say we go shopping after school? It’ll be like we were kids again.”
“Didn’t you check the message I sent you? Priscilla, as much as I’d love that, I can’t. Today, I got in a car crash with an insensitive, unavoidable lowlife. Just by taking a glimpse at his face, he appears like he lives in an unbearable cesspool. The worse part, he goes to this school, but he will rue the day he met me. Since he wanted to ruin my luck, his luck will never be.”
“What do you have on your mind? If you need me, I’m here.”
Staring at her hazel eyes, she confidently says, “This is my year. I just know that he will not be too fond of people.”
Coming from the lunch room, Chevon enters the gymnasium, firmly holding a pink diary, which has leopard spots on the front cover. Knowing that students are not going to bother her, she walks behind the bleachers where there are fluorescent lights hanging above. Behind the bleachers, nobody is around, so she places headphones in her ears, blocking out the sound of the playful students. Finally, she opens her diary to page thirty, noticing blank pages. This is her moment to write about her day, and she is willing to, eagerly digging in her right pocket for a black pen.
In the diary, Chevon writes, “‘Cleanse the patterned substance of blood. My vessels drop from first to last. May my dripping heart just flood? Crossing heartbeats, there rots the past.’ Unlike my poem, today, I met a charming, young man, and I blush when I turn around from the remarkable words he says to me. Frankly, in such a short time of one day, he makes me feel like I’m the only person important in the world. Sadly, I want to express myself, but I must wait to further know him. His mystery is as tempting as his face. My lips shall one day be on his. Oh, I want to cuddle with Tyrese and refuse to let go, even when his sweat doesn’t support my hands.”
As Tyrese enters the gym searching for her, she writes about another topic, “Mother, you make me feel so disappointed, telling me that my only dream shall be taking ownership of the farm, after my dad dies. You bring me brimming tears when you tell me that I’m not allowed to date men as long as I don’t have a separate home of my own. I expressed my feelings to you, but it’s as if you don’t care. I’m determined to do whatever makes me into a better person, but a better person I can be, is not by following into the footsteps of my father.”
Priscilla approaches Chevon making a joyful voice, “Hello.”
Nervously, Chevon removes her black headphones, wondering why Priscilla, Shelly’s best friend wants to speak to her. Believing that Priscilla wants to embarrass her, she closes her diary, rising up with a frown. Despite her belief of soon being embarrassed, she jealously glances at Priscilla’s fashionable, homemade clothing. First, making her want to wear more expensive clothing, she glances at her lacy, sleeveless, white blouse, her silver, studded belt, and yellow jeans. From the front of the jeans, there are three, black spider designs, just below the area of the knees. On the sides of the jeans, there are large, single black wings on the back pockets. Chevon nearly cries before finally glancing at her leather, black, high heels.
“Making a lugubrious voice, Chevon says, “What … what do you want?”
Sarcastically, she says, “A friendship.”
“Tell me what brings you,” ignoring many students nosily listening to her conversation around the bleachers, she says, “You think you’re so pretty, don’t you?”
“You and your boyfriend should watch yourselves.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. … Eye cruelty are ours mistaken by the healthiest way to die.”
Causing many people to surround the area, Priscilla pushes her against the bleachers, saying, “Whatever! You just tell your boyfriend to apologize to my girl, Shelly. If you don’t, there will be dire consequences.”
Chevon gets extremely sensitive trying not to express any emotion on her face as she steps away from the bleachers. Out of rage, she wants to retaliate by inflicting bodily harm on Priscilla, especially after seeing the disrespectful smirk she is wearing. Chevon’s heart pumps at the rate of a car that could speed past an athlete, so she is too nervous to make a sudden movement. When she looks around, students galore rudely mock her with laughter, so while panicking, she heavily breathes. The moment dominates her emotions causing her to fearfully run away. She stares at Tyrese as Priscilla snatches her diary throwing it to the concrete floor, laughing.
Stepping in the midst of attention, Tyrese reaches for the diary and realizes that Priscilla is one of the cheerleaders, whom earlier greeted him with a flirtatious smile. For the second time of the day, he can see her face, and she gives him another flirtatious smile. Uncomfortably, he steps back, causing his back to hit the bleachers. The crowd stops laughing once she walks his direction. Prepared to communicate, she places one hand above his neck, touching the object his back rests on.
“It’s me again. Priscilla,” she romantically says just to say in a state of confusion, “Just where are you going with that diary?”
“It belongs to a friend. I have to go.”
“I’ll catch you later.”
Shelly walks behind Priscilla and says, “You owe me, Tyrese! You crashed into my car! I wouldn’t trust the air if I was you.”
“That’s your fault,” he yells back and says, “Lady, I did nothing wrong.”
“Get out of here.”
Everyone silently stares as Tyrese swiftly jostles through the crowd. The only thing on his mind for the moment is finding his friend. Without once turning around, he exits the gymnasium. Frustrating him, the hallway is also crowded by socializing students on a classroom break, and he fails to see Chevon. After passing the loud students, he swiftly heads down the hallway, making a left turn. Far down the hall, near a stairway, he sees her enter a room. By the time he rushes down the hallway, he comes to a realization that Chevon is in the women’s bathroom. From hearing her sad cry, he wants to help her feel better.
“Chevon! Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m not coming out!”
After looking to his right and left to see that nobody is around the area, he enters the women’s bathroom. Unaware that he entered the same bathroom, Chevon enters the third stall at the far end, closing the door. More, she cries, sitting on the toilet lid. Curiosity of why she is crying gets to him, so he surprises her. The sound of his voice is close enough to let her know he is in the same place.
She opens the door, widening her eyes in his presence. Before she thinks anything weird, she notices that her diary is in his right hand. Calmly, she stands, wiping the tears from her kissable face. When she panicked to the point of forgetting her item, another male cares enough at trying to hand-deliver it. The male she is attracted to is alone with her with a curious face, and she loves that he is pleasingly polite.
He gives her the diary and says, “You left your item. I hope you’re going to be okay.”
“Thanks. And I can’t believe you entered the women’s bathroom. I’ll be fine. I just have to organize my mind.”
“I can’t believe you’d risk being my friend.”
While smiling, she says, “You’re crazy.”
“What could you possibly be going through that would make you leave like that?”
“Two years ago, my ex-boyfriend threatened to break up with me because my parents verbally attacked him. They said he was not good enough to date me and that he was just going to abandon me. Instead of him talking to me over the phone, he had sent me a text message, explaining how frustrated my parents make him. I’m the one that lives with them, but he wanted to complain and separate. I attempted to call him to talk things out, but mother called me telling me that she got in a car accident. So, at that moment, he blamed me for not caring to contact him in a timely manner. He used psychological, emotional, and an intellectual style to manipulate me. I’m trying to block moments like that from getting the best of me.”
“Sometimes, people can be so selfishly cruel. Majority of relationships are just a phase. If you did your part in the relationship, you shouldn’t ever feel guilty,” writing his phone number on a small, white paper, he says, “If you ever feel like you need someone to listen and talk to, I’m here. And can you check if someone is around the area, so that I don’t look weird?”
“Will do, sir.”
She walks toward the exit seeing her little brother, Sam, resting against the redbrick wall. He is curious of why she has an odd look on her face. Rushing from the parallel position, she whispers in Tyrese’s ear, “My little brother is outside of the bathroom.” With a concerned face, Tyrese questions why Sam would be standing outside of the bathroom, alone. She shrugs her shoulders to the question, and he patiently waits five seconds. Thus, Tyrese immediately leaves the women’s bathroom, after she sees her little brother, Sam walk away from the area.

Shelly’s Diary

Warm water full of thick bubbles, naked in a bathtub, Shelly is writing in a black diary, “You’re my only balance in what’s called space. You reach wondrous chemicals from plus miles. You’re my only promise soaring from a heart’s place. Love, you give me warmth in return for smiles. It’s cold, but there’s warmth of constellations. Mysteries could brighten like the large sun. Let’s share worlds for upcoming generations. If we meet, the best chemical, I won.”
Terra, her female dog, comes out of a small nook, beside the door. Barking, she jumps in the bathtub, nearly getting the diary wet. Shelly laughs politely telling her, “Be careful, Terra!” Picking her up, Shelly pats her on the back, thus she shakes the wetness from her grey fur. Part of the diary gets wet, but Shelly still kisses her on the forehead.

Chevon’s Diary

Meanwhile, Chevon is at home, lying in her bed, feeling rejuvenated by writing in her personal diary, “From thirst of perpetual love gaining worse, my mind could burst. When fortunately attached, you cannot be a bag of lies. I could certainly suffocate if you are not my first. If you are to be my last, I love air as no surprise. This could be love unlike never, resting from pulse of views. This could be your love bathed in the wonders of timely smiles. You could kiss every lipless heart, including mine with clues. I could swoon from the sight of your pictures of lovely styles. Our love could hold no misguided words of uncanny feelings. This could be love undulating across aesthetic places. Let this be us eradicating our fears flying pass ceilings. If we reach the zenith, smoke fade, always between our spaces.”
On the foam bed, she then closes her diary, seeking quietude. From a soft pillow, she perfectly rests her head. Then, she makes a lackadaisical effort to position the bluish green bed sheet fully around her shirt. In a dream, she is sitting on the beach, about to passionately kiss Tyrese on the lips, beside a recently built sandcastle. Everything seems perfect; he loves her leather black bra and panty, and she loves his shorts below his toned body. The warm, caressing wind blows against her flesh. He is comfortably happy with the shape and size of her body. The anticlimactic conclusion of the dream deeply disturbs her, for he surprisingly runs away. The disturbing question of why he would run away certainly comes to her attention when she wakes up.
Through the opened blinds, Chevon sees the weather she mostly hates. Snow falls from the firmament, and her room gets cold, shivering. It is approximately twenty-nine degrees, but she is unsure of the temperature. Near the window, a round, wooden table is cluttered with hay, and she is frustrated about rushing outside to feed them. While slowly closing the blinds, she worries about the furious mood her father will be in, complaining about the property. Reluctantly, she grabs a black, hooded cotton coat, zipping it up. Wearing a grin, she grabs hay from the table, heading in out of the room. Thus, with the help of a strong gust of wind, snow kisses her skin, then her useful glasses. After wiping her glasses with pieces of her hidden hair, she finally rushes at a location where the ceiling protects her from the weather, feeding the hungry cows.
With dark attire, wearing a hooded coat with leather gloves and sweatpants below, Dennis, her father walks toward the farm. In his right hand, he is firmly holding three, grey, plastic bags of groceries. Just like his daughter, he also hates the snow, shivering while struggling to properly breathe. Thus, from the duration of the snowy weather, his body quickly turns numb. When he is close enough to see her, he frowns, refusing to speak.
After dropping the grocery bags, the father steps over indurated mud, walking to the left side. Quickly, he uses a silver key to open a private room. While Chevon continues to feed the cows, for over five minutes, he stays in the room, keeping himself warm. Thus, during that time, to a friend, he was loudly speaking on his cell phone, complaining about the weather. The moment he exits the area, she ignores his existence, entering her bedroom, locking the door shut.
After taking off her coat, she grabs her diary, whispering to herself, “Is this qualified sadness without him? Or am I sad for what I cannot have?”
Above a white, wooden dresser, she then looks in a clear, heart-shaped mirror, brushing her hair with a bluish-green comb. From her reflection, she smiles with confidence that Tyrese has mutual feelings for her. Pretending like his face is in front of his, she lowers the comb the dresser, kissing the mirror. Thus, the red evidence of her lips attaches to the mirror. Reality strikes her; she remembers that he is not in the same room to notice her nicely placed kiss.
At the same moment Chevon picks up her diary, Tyrese is in his room, writing in his personal bluish-green diary, “If it’s true that everything you do affects everyone, I am in the world of confusion. Before I was in high school, I was a victim of parental guidance. Unfortunately, the feeling of being controlled made me a rebellious man. Sometimes, I would remain restless, sewing extra designs on the casual clothing my parents bought me, just to appear like a trendsetter. In class, I would sleep, nearly drooling on the table, and refuse to complete given assignments. I would ignore given instructions from authority figures of the school mocking them in every verbal way I knew how. Thus, in over four middle schools, I would get suspended and expelled, until I changed my mindset, getting determined to receive a college scholarship for football.”
He continues to write, “Today, on my first day as a senior in high school, an unforgettable, rude lady (Shelly Morbin) crashed into my father’s old car. The same car my father loves is now wrecked, and I cannot afford to pay for it. I hate her, and I wouldn’t care if she was a single human being endlessly surrounded by treelike sculptures of grinning faces. She is in fact a cruel lady with the help of a one-sided cop to make me appear fairly guilty. Oh, if I could write a consequence for her, I’d be ashamed of myself, for it may be disturbingly cruel. When my father arrives and finds out about the car, he is going to punish me. The only problem about the punishment is how will it occur, and that is the haunting question that deeply frightens me.”
Tyrese yawns then writes, “My chances for love escapes like rare birds lurking in the crying clouds. Never finding love is what I thought my fate would be before today. Seemingly, the perfect person for me is the lovable woman that fortunately comprehends me, beyond a way I could ever dream. I smile at the apotheosis of a lovely addiction. Furthermore, I receive felicity, just by the sight of her cell phone number. Like gold, if her heart is made of and for metal, from my mouth, I speak no magnetic words. When she is serious, I still receive a ticklish feeling from not only my heart, but natural bones. If I get to speak to her years from now, always, I’ll respectfully be faithfully honest.”
Near his hot radiator, after eating a morsel of shrimp on a brown plate, Tyrese disappointingly hears the sound of the front, wooden door opening. Thus, he panics, placing the plate on the floor. He hopes that if his father is home, he did not see the damaged car in the garage yet. What if it is his loud mother home, he thinks, closing his personal diary. Trying to remain calm, he thinks about how to inform his father about the damaged car. Fear is his only help of self-punishment, for it is highly noticeable. Only if this is just a nightmare, but reality is now, forcing him to view a terrible moment.
Sitting up from his soft bed, his heart pounds at a disturbing rate he cannot calculate. He momentarily accepts the oxygen within his room, trying to cherish his final moments before he gets a parental punishment. Beside his black, flat-screen television, the painting of an alien erupting from a crying woman’s belly is hanging on his wall, making him currently feel worse. The painting shows the alien with the complexion of emerald in a prayer position, and he has a desire to pray. Due to the mysterious, peaceful face of the alien, his own painting frightens him, questioning if his father will forgive him. As he stares at the painting, he can see the alien’s eyes closed from a trance. Avoiding the possible representation of the painting, he grins from both of the alien’s legs and hands connected, in front of a black background.
Vibrating from his right pocket is his cell phone, but he refuses to answer it, walking out of his room, prepared to inform his father the horrible news. From a distance, he stands, having an innocent look on his face. “What’s wrong,” his father curiously asks while oddly looking at him. At this moment, he could cry, and not regret it, for he opens his mouth to speak. Before he can inform his father the horrible news, a natural disaster of an earthquake occurs.
The floor from the house noticeably shakes, thus his father’s property gets destroyed. Pictures on the living room wall falls. Thick, white vases holding spider plants near the front windows also falls, breaking. Glass shatters from the round, glass, living room table. While a surrounding sound of loud noises can be heard, glass materials from the kitchen of the wooden counters surrounds the place. Startling him, the black trash can crashes into the stove, and the living room chandelier falls, nearly hitting him.
The living room floor breaks as easy as glass while the lights stop working. Reacting to his father’s yelling, Tyrese nervously runs into his bedroom, worrying with profound hope that the disaster will stop. Unfortunately, his hope means absolutely nothing to nature, for the event attacks his room. While the alarm of the convertible in the garage turns on, the bed supports Tyrese’s body from the floor as he fearfully stares at objects being destroyed. As he balances himself on the bed for slightly two seconds, his black, flat-screen television drops to the floor along with his painting. A rectangular, glass table falls over in the exact direction he does, causing him to hit his head against one of the metal legs. Thus, he feels the nagging pain against his brittle bones. He is resting near a gossamer web in an unconscious state being nearly buried beyond the surface of the floor.
It has been exactly two minutes, and with a blurry vision, Tyrese gradually struggles to rise to his feet. While he moves his sore neck to look around the room, his vision gets clearer. Somewhere that he cannot see, he hears his father speaking, “I have to get you to a hospital.” Like a ringing phone of a mean tone, the last word his father said echoes in his ears. His entire body is numb, and he can see the concerned face of his father, worrying about the cut marks attached to the left side of his forehead.
After rubbing his hands against his eyes, he says, “I’m fine. My room isn’t.”
“Forget about the room. I’ll handle that. The earthquake caused the garage to fall, so my car is a wreck.”
“Mom’s gonna freak when she hears this.”
“I called her already. She’s on her way. You were on the floor for two minutes.”
Several minutes pass before police and ambulance sirens enter the area with a loud sound outside the house. Stepping over the broken glass, he looks out the window, seeing something disturbing. The town houses are destroyed and a few traumatized people are seen existing. He also notices damaged cars misplaced around the street. Resting sycamore trees are partly blocking the view of many innocent people crying. Being a survivor of the life-altering experience forces him feel a deep sadness for the victims that died. As his father places his right hand around his shoulder, he looks outside, comforting him, having the idea that the world is soon bound to end.
It occurs to him that he never checked the text message, so he does, “How is your afternoon?”
He texts Chevon back, “Terrible. An earthquake just hit my house. Many people in my town are dead. I just don’t want to be here right now.”
Shocked, Chevon then calls him and says, “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Half of the house is destroyed. My life seems to get worse.”
She turns on the television and realizes that the tragic event is being discussed live on the news, so she says, “It’s on television.… Don’t worry. Look, I’ll see if you can stay at my place until you get things situated. This is terrible.”
Surprised before speaking, he says, “Thank you.”

Chevon’s Place

From Chevon’s diary, she writes, “Traditionally lost. … Looks so uninvited. … Attentional love cost. … Certainly farsighted. … If I could replace years. … I’d wish no mockery. … From isolated tears. … Reducing silently…”
Writing in her diary reminds her of several disturbing moments that occurred in the past. She receives flashbacks of being by her lonesome after severe punishments. In one flashback, three years ago, she is in a fitness center bench-pressing a 180 pound barbell. Exhausted after fifteen repetitions, approximately seven, female masked bullies of devilry quietly entered the center. Dresses in all dark attire, they had access to stolen guns aiming them at her frightened face. Thus, with cruel laughter, they threatened her to not say a word about the occurrence or else being bullied will not be the worse of her problems.
Just seven months ago, she remembers lying unconsciously on a pile of snow, in the woods. While it was below zero degrees, the cold gust of wind made matters worse. Shadows roamed the woods while her vision got blurry. Although it was the start of evening, the eldritch firmament forms burgundy, then onyx. The dead trees around her existence are invisible while the vivid stars above greeted her saddened, desperate eyes. Nobody came to her rescue after being temporarily unwelcomed in her father’s house. As she struggled to get her numb body up, she remembers the feeling of her father opening the bedroom door to see her kissing a fifteen-year-old boy, thus, she wept outside for three hours.
Chevon continues writing in her diary, “Optional theories kept. … Everyone misuses. … Lurking words solely slept. … Time secretly loses… Horrible reliving. … Lachrymose silence. … Maniacal giving. … No documented flirts…”
Holding a transparent, glass drink, Tyrese enters her bedroom with a milk-white, plastic plate. After placing the glass on the black, shaggy rug, he sits down on the bed, staring at the food on his plate. As he eats the cheesy macaroni beside the seasoned pork, the memory of how his home was ruined repeats in his mind. The memory will not allow him to take a single bite or use the fork to help reach the food in his mouth. Thus, he sighs, relieved that he did not die.
“I really appreciate that you’d do this for us,” he says, “What would make you help us?”
She says, “You’re my friend. Anyone related to a friend of mine, is a member of my family. I’m blessed for any opportunity I get in life. I learn from good and bad. Losing your house is a test of your strength to inspire others in struggle. Now, your home is here.”
He tries to communicate to her with poetry, “If tears were gold, I’d have none sold. If years were old, how could I hold? If tears were thick, could I grow sick? If years were quick, is this a trick?”
“Something as precious as the element of gold shouldn’t be a self-desired thought. It is very unhealthy to live in the past, but healthy to learn from it. You’re deeply upset, but rejoicing is what you’re capable of doing. I used to believe that rare is air maintaining air. Life is no trick if one departs from Earth early.”
Finally, he eats the food from his plate after hearkening to the words of his best friend, then says, “I hate Shelly Morbin.”
“I don’t hate Shelly or Priscilla. I just want them to find more respect for people. You respectfully accept me,” she moves closer to him and says, “Rather you believe it or not, ever since I met you, you’ve helped me out more than I’ve helped you.”
Curiously, he asks, “How?”
A knock on the bedroom door occurs. She rises to open the door seeing her father wearing an odd look on his face. It is a familiar look that he gave her before she was not allowed in the house. The face of her father intimidates her making her wonder if anything terrible is about to occur. So, she decides to ask the seemingly deranged person she has for a father a question.
“What is it you want?”
“No kissing in that room. As long as you’re living here, you obey my rules. That’s all I came here for.”
“Dad. … We’re just friends. I’m not kissing anyone.”
While closing the door, he says, “That’s the way I love it. Let him sleep downstairs when you all get tired.”
“I will,” she then sits next to Tyrese and says, “My dad’s always like that. You’ll get used to it. As a child, he fell down the stairs and wrecked ten percent of his thinking process. As I was saying, you’re an amazing person. Your positive behavior of accepting me helped me accept myself. I wasn’t accepted by everyone in the past.”
“You’re truly a wonderful person,” he looks at her mesmerizing face, and hers get closer.
“You are more.”
Blindly, they nuzzle, before passionately kissing one another like adhesive flavors would in a scientific study. Chevon already has her soft lips on his, but she is unsure if her father may purposely open the bedroom door, causing her to get in deep trouble. Her heart throbs faster, and it feels like it can permanently end if his lips leave. Gently, he rubs her neck, then places the back of her head on a stack of three, cotton pillows, wrapped in green pillow cases. From the opened window, the caressing wind helps the moment by aiming at their smiling faces.
By the time she removes her daytime clothing, she is wearing a black negligee; the bodice is made out of lace, but the rest is made out of satin. With her left hand, she snaps her fingers, thus, music instantly plays from the black flat-screen television on the wall. Then, she rises from the comfortable bed, swaying her curvy hips perfectly to the rhythm of the Arabic House Music. The more visible her flesh is, the more beautifully visible she is, dancing to the music. While her boyfriend watches, her natural beauty has a stronger hypnotizing power of making the medium volume of the music cry in jealousy.
Sitting on a milk-white dresser, her cell phone rings, and she answers it, “Hello.”
The music is louder than any words she is not sure she missed over the phone. Thus, she snaps her fingers, and the television stops playing the music. No sound of words comes into her right ear, but the sound of echoing footsteps. It could be a prank phone call that she is receiving, but she is terrified that it may not be. Then, she hears mumbling joining a whisper, “Help me!”
Chevon’s eyes widen as she questions, “Who is this?”
The harrowing voice of Shelly laughs, “The Devil!”
“That’s one thing you know. Shelly, how did you get this number?”
“Oh, I have my ways. You should wonder how I’m going to get your boyfriend. He won’t stay with you anyway. You’re not sexy like me” she says in sarcasm, “If I wanted, I can take your boyfriend with just three words.”
“Uh, don’t bother. You have no idea what we’ve been through in such a short period of time,” she says, then makes Tyrese smile with the next words, “You’re right, he’s my boyfriend, but he’s mine. … And he’s staying mine. So, find you a close-minded delinquent to devote your life to.”
Chevon ends the phone call with a smirk and says, “Shelly is such a…”
He interrupts, “I know… What matters is that we’re together. The breaths we take aren’t outnumbered by agreeable love.”
“You know. I want to read your diary. If I read yours, you can read mine.”
“Deal. I hope you said no bad things about me,” he says as they exchange diaries.
Tyrese reads Chevon’s diary, “I’ll never forget it. A strong, dark, handsome man named Tyrese saved me with joy today. Is it strange that I cry after leaving his eyesight when he is simply amazing? Being away from him makes me think of millions of ways to express myself. So, I take the easiest practice by writing something not specific. If I was to express romantic words, and he laughed, I’d laugh with a broken heart. Simply, I write, ‘Azure sea, eyeing me—nightly free. Daily plea, sighing we—widely see. Knowing be, mainly glee—crying spree. Closer chi, we agree—lest it flee.’”
As Tyrese laughs, “Chevon reads, “It is the impromptu thoughts I hold to be in her presence. I made the greatest move in my life when I first saw her, but I still don’t think it was perfect. The move was facing her direction before she robbed my qualms. What may our time bring? The beautiful lady quickly became my best friend. If our relationship builds, I want not for our friendship to end.”
From the nape of her neck, Tyrese breathes with tangible breaths humanizing her. With the notion to tickle her most demanding spot, he refuses. The moment seeming everlasting turns better with a rapid, unexpected, soft kiss from her. Love calls him in so many ways, so he rushes to kiss her on the irresistible lips. They could make any mammal cry out of jealousy by the passionate form of affection, which can turn to a public display.
“You make me, me,” she says.”
“Without you … I’m nailed to thorns scaled with horns.”

The Next Day

Down the hallway, Chevon and Tyrese are firmly holding hands. They can see the jealousy etched on Shelly’s face around the left corner. Any moment, erelong, Shelly will verbally attack them, and they know it. After watching Tyrese’s home get destroyed by the earthquake on television, everyone is staring at him, knowing that he is safe with his new girlfriend. Nothing can ruin this moment of escaping death and walking with his girlfriend like a celebrity.
“I hate that dullard taking my man, Shelly says to Priscilla.”
Priscilla chuckles and says, “Wait a minute. … I thought you hate Tyrese.”
“Part of me do. I just want Chevon to be unhappy.”
“You floozy lass. You should leave them alone. They’ve been through enough. He’s broke. … You’re rich. He’s popular, and now, you’re not. You could handle that.”
“I will. When I get what I want. He thinks he’s so popular, don’t he?”
“Is that all you care about?”
“I’ll catch up with you later, girl. I need time to think.”
A deep voice reaches the intercom, then Tyrese and Chevon sees Shelly covering her ears as she rushes behind many talking students, “Please, don’t worry about Tyrese. Get to class people!”
In the women’s bathroom, Shelly writes on the clear mirror with purple lipstick, “From a nameless bum to Satanism. My Spanish wish will never diminish. Strum my love allowing a hum to come. Something not poetically mawkish. … Chevon Brambly.”
Shelly then walks out of the bathroom innocently sitting parallel from the bathroom to write in her black diary, “Entertaining behind any stare. Exhilarating behind so much. The abyss of a kiss is where? Loveless actuality to touch.”
Priscilla approaches her, “You don’t have to do anything stupid.”
“Too late,” she says, then writes a poem called “Vapor Cries,” “Daunting cries never fade. Raining delivers flow. Awaking this parade. Drowning any symbol. Shadowy drippings free. Watery alurum. Melody tragedy. Heavily sharing some. Dwelling in the vapor. Hours drenched in liquid. Miracle escaper. Bursting past every lid.
“Girl. … What did you do,” she gets curious, then rushes in the bathroom to destroy the purple evidence on the mirror.

Mouth Lair Club

“Sweep my dreams not beneath my feet. Be somewhere your steps won’t meet. Breaking the broom isn’t a must. Don’t mistake unmoved dreams for dust,” he wonders about saying.
It is in Thorne Bay, Alaska, at the “Mouth Lair Club,” in the backstage area, where a twenty-two-year old anxiously waits to be seen in front of hundreds of people. Reviewing his written notes of preplanned poetry soothes his soul, but once he removes his eyes from the paper, the same anxious feeling returns. His heart pumps at a rate he never felt before while standing in one position; approximately 125 beats per minute, it pumps. As he lowers the paper hearkening to the current participant on stage, he shivers, thinking that if he ripped his written paper, it would not affect people. Video cameras are actually filming the poetic participants, but he feels deeply jealous of the opportunity the participants are receiving, especially the current one. An opportunity to express the mind for an unexpected opportunity of fame is what he always desired, but the long wait causes perspiration to drip down his right eyebrow.
He hearkens to the last words of her poem, “Pluck an eye, may it cry, or face a lullaby? If it turns, tuck it in, and may it see a crib? Keep it warm, keep it loved, while tears struggle dry. Keep your eye holding words, which aren’t of glib.”
Hearing the loud cheers directed at his best friend, Alley Shabinski causes him to sigh. The audience repeatedly chants her first name, thus his eyes are aglow, widened with obvious jealousy. The time, 7:36 P.M., appears on a round-shaped clock, hanging on the redbrick wall. Two conceited participants of the event soon to arrive on stage stares at him with a smirk, thus, he heads to a small, private area. In a private room, after locking the door, he attacks the wall, shredding tears, seeming as natural as his blood. Just when he thought he could permanently impress someone in his life with words, he has given up on the day he received the opportunity to. Knowing he is an orphan, he glares at the darkness, wishing that his words could give him endless respect from the world.
Being in the dark room alone makes him remember how he survived a tragic train accident at Seattle, Washington, 4 years ago. Due to trauma, he lacks the ability to publicly speak, and it is a struggle for him to greet anyone, except the people he knows. As he remembers, it was raining on Christmas Eve. He was not in a motor vehicle, but he was in fact located at a local train station, playfully running from Alley Shabinski. The surface was icy, but he slipped onto the wooden train tracks, desperately yelling with nagging pain. By the time his friend could locate where he fell, in great disbelief, she saw the train crash into his body. It was a miracle, for twenty three hours after he was hit by the train, the rumors were that he started breathing again.
For nearly two years, he was in a coma, living off the hard-earned money Alley struggled to pay. Two additional years, he was left in a coma with healthcare being paid by caring, supportive groups involved in fundraising. Whenever Alley had the time, she visited him as long as she could, communicating to him about all that she accomplished, and her personal feelings. She expressed how much she missed him, saying how him and God are the only people that she fully understands. One year ago, in one memory, when she held his forehead, she said, “I was never kissed, but by the powerful words of God. … Most human lips are as guilty as limbs with lucid lies.” For many hours, she would dedicate her time effectively reading countless scriptures from the bible, faithfully praying that he will escape the coma. On the fourth year, on Easter, when she could not afford to pay for his healthcare any longer, she was in deep depression. Although he never felt her kissable lips on that day, she cried loudly, thus, by another miracle, he started moving.
Living after a life-altering event such as a train accident stunned every nation. Doctors knew that scientifically, he should had been dead from the impact of the collision. After he awoke, struggling to move his numb body, first, he struggled to gaze in the air, saying, “Thank you.” Debating rather or not he is truly blessed, doctors were impressed that he did not suffer eternal bleeding before suffering a long coma. Most importantly, Alley saw his happy expression to be alive, and she said to him, “After four years, it’s a blessing to have you back.”
As he cries in the room still surprised that he is alive, he thinks about Alley. Alley, his role model, gives him the desire to be a better poet than her. Every day, regardless of the subject, her words sink in his mind as influential experiences. Not just her words are of natural beauty, for he has deeper, unexpressed feelings for her. The amount of love that she shows for human beings is unbelievably real. When he thinks more, he cannot even remember the last time she had a vitriolic voice.
When he reflects more on the past, at the time he was in a coma, he can remember the words that she expressed to him, “My heart greets inches to feet. I just want your assistance. I balance from a distance. May you ever feel my beat? ”

Backstage

Returning backstage, steering her eyes in various directions, Alley is confused of where Malachi Abson is. When she is told where he is by a sixteen-year old making a flirtatious voice, she immediately rushes down the center of the hallway, turning to the left. Concerned about his feelings, twice, she calls his name, knocking on the locked door of a mens’ bathroom. She hopes that if he is in fact quiet in the bathroom, he will soon open it, and express himself. Five seconds goes by, which seems like five minutes, and she wants to kick down the metal door. By a parallel wall, she stands, waiting for him to open the door, thus, she hears the door unlock, slightly opening.
Making a soft, angelic voice, she says, “Malachi.”
While trying to hide his watery eyes, he opens the door far enough to walk through. Alley is too concerned to not believe that he could be a troubled man. It occurs to her, he has enochlophobia, but really wants to use his poetry to receive a meaningful accomplish in his life. Trying to ignore her voice, he nervously walks inches away. He turns around to see her invisible hair follicles where hair fails to grow on models. From utter nervousness, with his right fingernail of his index finger, he positions it down the parallel finger of the left hand, reaching the cuticle. Looking at her innocent face connected to a black mantilla, he slumps down against the hard wall. When she walks toward him, he jealously takes a glimpse at her black shawl, dark, blue jeans with vine designs at the bottom, and leather, black heels. His hands shake at a rapid pace along with his legs, and he angrily yells at the air, trying to reduce his problem.
Out of concern, she questions him, “What is your problem?”
With a depressing voice, he says, “A worldly phase with a maze stays not of days, but always replays behind sunrays. … I hoped all my life to make an impact on the world, but I would rather be at distance, hiding myself. I never achieved anything I wanted in life. They said I was brain-dead, and I feel no better when I peek between those curtains. My dying opportunity came.”
“I don’t want to beg, but if you just get on that stage, I’ll give you something as a gift. Be the fly during gunplay, and they’ll listen to what you say. If you continue to focus on the past, you won’t meet your goals.”
“No thanks. No gift will make me want to embarrass myself. You’ve been publicly saying poems for years. Me, not a day have I been doing this publicly. What if I express my thoughts, and they believe that I possess nebulous thoughts? You have the looks and everything. I have absolutely nothing people will love.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m positive.”
“No you’re not,” she sits beside him with her knees bent upward and says, “You have no clue what the audience response will be to your creativity until you try. And if they dislike you, you’ll only perform better next time. Who knows, maybe you’re a better performer than me.”
Her words of wisdom certainly makes him want to walk out on the stage already, but he is still frightened about what people may say. Nightmare after nightmare, this moment has come to haunt him in the past. He looks at her face, then rises up, taking deep breaths. The air seems to reduce by every second, for his moment to perform is coming. People down the hallway stares at him from a distance, and he makes an understandable, irritated expression toward Alley.
“That is not my fault,” she says, “When you get on the stage, and finish your poem, it will be easier next time. It certainly will not be easier if you’re a perfectionist, but with more attempts, your level of courage will build.”
“I want to endure these infectious habits of incurable fright. I want to reduce these countless needles along brimming tears height. It measures beyond knowledge, but I intend to battle the pressure. The temperature is high on burning grounds originally lesser.”
“That’s a start. I’ll give you the gift now if you promise to go out there.”
“If anybody deserves a gift, it’s you,” he says before her soft lips noticeably grapple with his.

On Stage

Having no paper of written poetry in front of his eyes, Malachi calmly made his way through the red, velvet curtains, and is determined to impress everyone listening. At the moment, he has responsible lips, needed to open, carrying out the sound of every syllable spoken. It nervously frightens him if there will exist scattered opinions, but he desires the utter beginning of his global fame and endless respect. Silence is discovered in the audience as soon as he touches the warm microphone. If the inside of his mouth was not dehydrated, he thinks that the silent audience may have boosted his courage, so he swallows the unflavored substance of his saliva. Thus, he says, “I call this piece ‘Wings Weight.” The only thing left for him to do is effectively say the correct words to the poem.
He imagines the audience respectfully cheering for him before he starts talking and says, “I’m pushed by heavy pressure from cold hands. Seemingly, snow within attacks my skin. I’m pushed—no minds of lies understands. The weight could increase and decrease my kin. Belittle hate with unfinished goodbyes. Burn not angelic trees—beg on love’s knees. Kill no wordless cultural exercise. Melodious wind, dry the flames from trees.”
After he notices the audience cheering, with more confidence, he continues to speak, “Will these wings unbend when love’s arms extend? Will the wind wipeout the sadness my fall brings? Can the airless sky produce the wind? From colorful heights, does love offer wings? The rebirth of qualms consumes the next day. It battles gradually pushing snow. Distorted faces of love’s astray. Frostbite outweighs given, burnt lies, oh.”
“My starving breaths could freeze their sinking touch. The sun and moon yawns at unheard sounds. Cut fabrics wraps minds, but what place feeds much? Colors are blind resting on fates’ pounds. May the wings weight punish my frozen eyes? I sweat from sight—these eyes could dilate. Corner of askew grounds could be pushed cries. I have naked tears—please don’t hesitate.”
“Lightly, dreams rest on wishful thoughts of flight. Dreams can be weighed knowingly when they drop. Limitless are weightless wings beyond sight. Homeward, I weigh the struggles and won’t stop. Voices of good sugar, lift the weightless. Love pervade the air; reach the pregnant sky. Waning love is without wings to impress. Are wings waving in nirvana, high?
It is amazing, for the audience claps from his performance, thus he says, “Thank you. Since you liked my poem, I have another one titled, “More than Cute.” Wrapped in the coziness of flesh, aided by the warmest of breaths, are eyes to my throbbing heart. Your mouth widening hardly for mute, from the sound of the lyrics flute, my heart creates a parachute. Seen in the paradise of smart, beauty is your minds only clone—your clone could cure the tortured part. Joined in your mind, I dream, owning not retractable words, and my eyes say, “You’re more than just cute.”
When he looks over his right shoulder, without saying a word, Alley’s eyes inform him a necessary message. At first, he is unsure of what her attractive eyes could be telling him. Somehow reaching every sense throughout his body, he comes to a realization. From his perspective, she is the personification of the correlation of love and wisdom. The message occurs to him, “Everyone is famous because God knows them.” From this moment, he feels no need for other people globally appreciating him, but the need to show appreciation to others.
Malachi places the microphone down, walks off the wooden stage, then smiles at her lovable face. Her expression shows that she is still impressed by his performance, and she compliments him, “We love your poems. You should always write.” With the fast velocity of throbs from his heart, the worthwhile gift he was waiting for takes his bones in a temporary, immovable position. Regardless of him being twenty-two years old, always, he will remember that the woman he loves gave him his first kiss.

The Left Wife

In the gloomy basement, there are black and white paintings of illusions having two meanings across the redbrick walls. Attached to metal hooks are black lanterns hanging from thin strings. There is a black, grandfather clock beside a glass tank full of creepy spiders. When I glare out of the only window, under the noctilucent clouds, there is a crocodile giving me a worse one. If I stay any longer, I am bound to be drenched in a plague of tears, but I know I have no escape.
Gasping for air, I am resting on a slightly bent, dusty, wooden table. I am naked, and my hands and feet are tied down with a thick, black rope. Around my surroundings, I dart my head, panicking, smelling mildewed clothes. Tawny, cardboard boxes full of old newspapers are stacked on my right side, and my limbs cannot knock them down. It turns midnight, and I cry, wondering how I got here. Once the sound of footsteps on the creaky, wooden floor comes, I struggle harder to escape, especially after seeing the person’s shadow.
With a small, circular, metal cage in the stranger’s green, rubber gloves, the stranger is wearing a black veil with a brown, long, curly wig. I cry louder nearly choking on my own saliva, “Why are you doing this!” As perspiration drips from my fearful face, the stranger places the object above his stomach. Strangely, stranger exits the room without saying a word, then returns, comfortably holding a ravenous rat. This is when I knew I would die, for the stranger places the rat inside of the metal cage. On the nearby wall, the stranger flicks a switch causing noxious fumes to surround the room. Thus, the rat panics, ruthlessly biting through my digestive tract to escape.
Even after my death, I am peering in the darkness. I lurk in the shadows forgetting that the killer cannot see me. Sometimes, the killer can hear me, and it is frightening. Why do I make the house very uncanny if it feels like home? Home is where my second, loyal wife lives, but I forgot her unique name.

Diane’s Lyrics

Help Me Find My Mind
Verse 1:
Before the chore of a ruthless whore…
I abhor the gore if it knocks no door.
This is a fable dissecting you.
Rejecting society for more.
Heartless thuggery; I can be too.
Fuck prison; true horror will occur.
Outnumber magic like tragic, bitch.
Every sect accusing a number.
Abusing stoned childhoods in a ditch.

Chorus:
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?

Verse 2:
Asylum for systems—this is pain.
Living with bullies, now, I’m killing.
From delusional words of feeling.
Blame the insane jumping at a train.
Speechless words will attack the ceiling.
Really, suicide speaks to me loud.
How to live the feud of solitude.
Tried to forgive, but I’m still not proud.
Effigies if I see attitude.

Chorus:
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?

Verse 3:
Quietude is rude; hearken to me.
Repeatedly tortured—they’ll ask why.
Nobody cares—show the inner “G”.
Bodies in a hollow tree—still shy.
Invoking spirits; need no advice.
If reincarnated, you’re dead twice.
Explosive words like the blackest turds.
Slicing chemicals to sacrifice.
Murdering plenty angelic birds.

Chorus:
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?
Can you help me find my goddamn mind?

Funeral Souls
Verse 1:
Sweat the souls making funerals.
Add the lost and discover cost.
Eye symbols—break these chemicals.
Live fumes of the final exhaust.

Bury wonders—I set the fear.
Grasping hope, I smother sore.
Livid smiles will disappear.
Digging deep for blissful whores.

Watch your grave; I misbehave.
Strangled you before all’s blue.
Breaking rules—I’m not a slave.
Sewing words for no rescue.

Chorus:
Trickery can’t fuck with me.
Spells can fade—retaliate.
Open for a killing spree.
Struggle pain; we decide your fate.

Verse 2:
Mindless thoughts won’t cleanse away.
Screaming along life’s errors.
Can’t control—my life’s astray.
Visit pain’s darkened terrors.

Are they amused—say goodbye.
Pick a gun for a girl.
If I kill, am I shy?
Click, clack pow—give a pearl.

Over words knowingly said.
Promise pain to flow away.
Falling needs with care that bled.
Strangled you before all’s grey.

Chorus:
Trickery can’t fuck with me.
Spells can fade—retaliate.
Open for a killing spree.
Struggle pain; we decide your fate.

Verse 3:
Organized liars exist.
Preying on justice with luck.
Crawling through angles of mist.
Giving no birth of a fuck.

Torture with bloody semens’.
They can’t stop what they don’t know.
Make them suffer from demons.
Awake, leftover breaths grow.

Give me air, and all you lack.
Ritual words to promise.
Strangled you before all’s black.
Troubled eyes the wind won’t kiss.

Sacrifice agony, quick.
Will they bitch or will they moan.
No damn time to feel lovesick.
I won’t stop for any tone.

Chorus:
Trickery can’t fuck with me.
Spells can fade—retaliate.
Open for a killing spree.
Struggle pain; we decide your fate.

Disguised Threat
Verse 1:
Spiral stares from lucid lies.
Leading dares for dripping views.
Annihilating red skies.
Every corner, they accuse.

Wrapping fear in true disguise.
Fainting words before they lose.
Making death before their eyes.
Widening lids just to choose.

Pain’s removal approval.
Vanish fate’s brutality.
Narrow arrows as a whole.
Delete this reality.

The bearer of legions rise.
Unlocking realms to witches.
Reality being wise.
Handing stitches in ditches.

Chorus:
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.

Verse 2:
Burnin’ graves with gasoline.
In Satan’s name, we may kill.
Make them squeal beyond a scene.
Won’t chill—we do as we will.

Murder scenes for heaven.
Crescent moon mopin’ low.
It’s twenty-four seven.
Fate’s unnamed tomorrow.

Robbed catacombs of eyes.
Return the sight of bright.
It’s stitches lullabies.
From six senses of might.

Asinine entities.
Obituary sight.
Eulogy for crazies.
Introducing Hell’s fight.

Chorus:
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.
Just when you think, you don’t know.

Proserpine Guiding
Verse 1:
I heartily abhor injustice.
Pick every puzzle for this corner.
I always wonder how to beat this.
Always eyeing a troubled warner.

Can’t abandon life’s simplicity.
Can’t adjust to utopia, why?
Can’t cooperate; milestones set free.
Can’t approach when I’m living a lie.

Chorus:
Proserpine, guide the best way of life.
We’re one; beyond lyrics with riots.
Be someone of my marital wife.
Ghastly smiles torturing these bigots.

Verse 2:
Passion so pleasant as death feels.
Solitude gone, and we destroy.
They apologize—no pain heals.
Grudges receive ways to enjoy.

Regions, our aims, these holidays.
Deeper, we seek true criminals.
Humankind blinded by sun rays.
We’re everywhere with life’s portals.

Chorus:
Proserpine, guide the best way of life.
We’re one; beyond lyrics with riots.
Be someone of my marital wife.
Ghastly smiles torturing these bigots.

Verse 3:
They couldn’t turn a shadow white.
They’re afraid of iniquity.
Behold, the pentagram of sight.
We glorify us vividly.

Holding elements for our revenge.
Striking joints and major pressure points.
Sit laughing wounds behind a door hinge.
Force urine until something disjoints.

Chorus:
Proserpine, guide the best way of life.
We’re one; beyond lyrics with riots.
Be someone of my marital wife.
Ghastly smiles torturing these bigots.

Verse 4:
Shooting halos like church stands.
Comprehend the minds that burns.
Inverted sins sleep on lands.
Shred minds exchanged—no concerns.

Molesting the brain—dead near.
Burying authorities.
Cremation for any tear.
Chop nameless goats’ throats at trees.

Majestic Doll’s
Verse 1:
Bad karma, I forsee.
You fathom what I do?
No coven mystery.
Be destroyed by voodoo.

Paint pictures like a doll.
Will it bleed or awake?
Black candles near blood fall.
Oh, the coma is fake.

Hands shake needles this time.
Oops to the ones attacked.
Sacrifice for this crime.
Needles have the place packed.

Chorus:

Majestic doll’s
Can’t put them down.
This terror calls.
Breakin’ your crown.

Verse 2:
Comes even after dusk.
Voodoo guards-it relates.
Breakin’ a gender husk.
Guess what retaliates.

Gasp for air if I care.
Be controlled by no lung.
No tongue for life to spare.
Dehumanized with dung.

Switch the twitch from objects.
Beastly roles on paintin’s.
Overthrowing skinny sects.
Wishful halls of taintin’s.

Chorus:
Majestic doll’s
Can’t put them down.
This terror calls.
Breakin’ your crown.

Majestic doll’s
Can’t put them down.
This terror calls.
Breakin’ your crown.

Verse 3:
Quiver, blood deliver.
Measure, dolls’ treasure. River of a giver.
Clever for my pleasure.

These bloody appetites.
Slay a saint false-hearted.
Delete the parasites.
Question what departed.

Paintin’ trials of screamin’.
Breakin’ skulls; slaughter all.
Hate kills what is seemin’.
Snatchin’ cholesterol.

Chorus:
Majestic doll’s
Can’t put them down.
This terror calls.
Breakin’ your crown.

Majestic doll’s
Can’t put them down.
This terror calls.
Breakin’ your crown.

Kissed Philophobia
Demoralize kiss haunting.
Peripheral visions born.
Edible message grunting.
Apparitions, they don’t mourn.

Aggravation restarting’s.
Terrorizing any psyches.
Paralyzing eyes from strings.
Abusive eyes for dislike.

Passion, six feet of darkness.
Gloomy birds rephrased.
Ending any nemesis.
Dying for the never praised.

Immortality is guilt.
Compromise with a killer.
Evidence—a burning quilt.
Earth’s rumors scared who’s realer.

Chorus:
Philophobia
Philophobia
Philophobia.
Damn, Philophobia.

Verse 2:
Seattle tears so mundane.
Disheartening stabs from skies.
Mixing knives from what’s disdain.
Never drowning when it dries.

Lonely feud of solitude.
No remorse with utter force.
Earliest views, I include.
Wedding dress of divorce.

Pictures of love shoved above.
Ashes of lust rubbed no more.
Summoned with rape thereof.
Weapons—finish pain’s gore.

Narcotics for addled minds.
Can’t repent from daunting loss.
Dispirited from all kinds.
Lingering death made across.

Chorus:
Philophobia
Philophobia
Philophobia.
Damn, Philophobia.

Verse 3:
Horrid breaths without my lass.
Stiff body wanders to hurt.
Peeking through winds of landmass.
Where’s love for an introvert?

Central rage posing nowhere.
Enduring condemnation.
Kinky thoughts—no wishes fair.
Spirits beyond relation.

Fain to die as fairly shy.
Requesting lust with a blade.
Rebirths of lips—worth a try.
Life’s just the greatest grenade.

Play the deadly serenade.
Marriage slipping with whistles.
Reminder of who obeyed.
The attachment of missiles.

Chorus:
Philophobia
Philophobia
Philophobia.
Damn, Philophobia.

Breaking Cord
Verse 1:
Unrelenting womb of heat.
Keep reciting fatal cries.
No repenting; add defeat.
Depriving water, surprise.

Enduring no curing touch.
Fluent in all, he pops out.
Asking none—not telling much.
People around surely doubt.

Beautiful killer of all.
Opposite, he’s probably.
Why do knives levitate tall?
He’s born in Cincinnati.

Is he born in Englewood?
Evil eyes categorized.
Plotting spells overly good.
Good for psych, recognize.

Is he visibly a she?
A beast made human to fool.
Self-indulgence—plenty money.
Wichita Slayer Uncool.

Born somewhere nobody knows.
Nazareth, peacefully hate.
Intimidate when fear shows.
Slaughtering to situate.

Chorus:
Little lord, little lord.
Popped from a common place.
Breaking cord, breaking cord.
Speeding hope for life’s race.

Little lord, little lord.
Popped from a common place.
Breaking cord, breaking cord.
Speeding hope for life’s race.

Verse 2:
Raping one’s in Birmingham.
Famous, but not understood.
Everywhere with legions, damn.
From the suburbs to the hood.

Oakland can’t prevent these laws.
Picture the deaths; kill for will.
Detroit vanished—no applause.
Michigan to a drug deal.

Heavy war; thinking more gore.
Bodies sore from Gonaïves.
Voodoo, kickback on a shore.
Plenty more—living deceives.

More hardcore than Salvadore.
Crimes from San Pedro Sula.
Shooting traps on any whore.
Making ones starve with mullah.

Torture, invoking demons.
Spirits from inner options.
Semen flying all seasons.
With a mind of adoptions.

Explosives with my wives knives.
Suicidal, try to yell.
Ominous mind with more lives.
Awake and still in a spell.

Chorus:
Little lord, little lord.
Popped from a common place.
Breaking cord, breaking cord.
Speeding hope for life’s race.

Little lord, little lord.
Popped from a common place.
Breaking cord, breaking cord.
Speeding hope for life’s race.

Verse 3:
Shooting Atlantis laughing.
Burning scrolls of apostles.
Atlantis never having.
Born using magic doodles.

Atlanta on a gurney.
Demoralizing Timbuktu.
The universe’s gurney.
Blurry on a hurry clue.

Pompeii destined to not stay.
No haven can ever hide.
Races sob and feel dismay.
Feel the wrath of suicide.

Sybils’, thugs scared of pain.
Authorities are running.
Limbless souls going insane.
Trap them in Athens shunning.

Crashing, poisoning the lies.
Making footprints bleed, haha.
Warning no one, for all dies.
Killing in Chitungwiza.

Chorus:

Little lord, little lord.
Popped from a common place.
Breaking cord, breaking cord.
Speeding hope for life’s race.

Turning Numb
Verse 1:
Nameless child, gone wild.
Fairly spoiled one.
Torture room redialed.
Newly child to shun.

All achieved deceived.
Broken toys, but one.
A dream unplayed grieved.
Unloved when it spun.

Boredom’s activity.
Dosage of upsets.
Weeping so silently.
Waiting for regrets.

Hoping balance rise.
Mockery lowers.
Just to peek at lies.
Lost minds from knowers.

Chorus:
Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

Verse 2:
Dysfunctional kin.
Try bearing barely.
The ominous sin.
Hopelessly dreary.

Treatment for lost years.
Short in child support.
Effigies for tears.
A soul toyed at court.

Imagine a friend.
With names unplayed.
Support to the end.
Answers left are made.

See-through promises.
Fading existence.
Bury those kisses.
Breathing’s so intense.

Chorus:
Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

Verse 3:
Blossom a madman.
Toughest meaning’s shy.
Destroy a lifespan.
May time question why?

Childhood extinction.
Motionlessly still.
The forgotten one.
Frustrated to feel.

Eradicate pain.
Learning from concern.
Evidently insane.
Before toys that burn.

They burn while turning.
They try escaping.
Continue burning.
The mind that’s raping.

Chorus:
Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

Airless voice.
Turning numb.
Begging choice.
Feeling Dumb.

The Third Gift
Intro:
Are we not all hardened sperm? Age is thought—people can learn. Why are they more than a germ? Their death is not my concern. People never understood. They told me what I should wear. Stopped success from how I could… Raped my pride, daily, I swear. The list could go forever. I accept this agony. Not alone—not never.

Verse 1:
Chores before wars—maddened at doors.
Mother, daddy—they both anger me.
I forgave always, but hate soars.
Silence like me, but bullies won’t be.

Time to recognize the dead tries.
The tried “why’s” stabbin’ the rear near.
Gothly breaths—don’t categorize.
Demonize the prize—disappear.

Take this knife to my bloody wrist.
I can’t miss my only damn wish.
I slit after the get hit list.
Feelin’ very fuckin’ mawkish.

Chorus:
Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Verse 2:
Knife for a bullet aimin’ shot.
Sick of liars; cause the vomit.
I’ll shoot ‘em in the parkin’ lot.
I’ll toss shit for a birthday kit.

The sanctuary’s assassin.
Mock my words; explosion to graves.
This pain’s so excruciatin’.
Nobody cares for hands that saves.

Hades intertwine with faces.
Hidin’ evidence unfound.
These behemoth of races.
Even deceived after the sound.

Chorus:
Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Verse 3:
Left as no ordinary deaths.
Begin’ like who was crucified.
Collectin’ necessary breaths.
Ritual massacre to hide.

Just wanna commit suicide.
Confusion, the pain hurts, I say.
Make the Earth very petrified.
I’ll murder without delay.

Fuck Jesus, the poltergeist.
Refuse to beg; it’s a somber lane.
Choose to kill; I don’t accept Christ.
Document the rage of insane.

Chorus:
Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Long exist the third gift.
Born with scorn—keep smilin’.
Takin’ life into shift.
Dyin’ fast and howlin’.

Lips of Hail
Carnal dreams, Satan redeems.
Gyrating limbs of control.
Sigils protected, it seems.
Invocations immortal.

Discover the amulet.
Open-minded to Satan.
Panicking words.
A new witch to awaken.

Hearken to the truthful realms.
Cast out dancing mania.
Ablation just overwhelms.
Castration that just says, “See ya.”

Kicking spermatic cords first.
This vengeful mistress licks pus.
Disinfect before worse burst.
Undergo a way to cuss.

Chorus:
October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.

October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.

Verse 2:
Riddle in the middle eye.
Corruption for the Earth’s trees.
Intend to die if gun-shy.
Feel the wand of energies.

Peace, but she won’t allow it.
Grudges go, but hers shall stay.
Nits from cadavers of wit.
Beyond her, not one betray.

Buried journeys’ for the prey.
Honored sacrifices live.
Laughter strikes and won’t obey.
Trudging the forest to give.

The kindest moment, she is.
Generating air, she stabs.
Trap the bodies—she’s a wiz.
Possession for a partner dabs.

Chorus:
October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.

October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.
Verse 3:
Abortions mocking the way.
Shocking flesh beyond what’s said.
Spellbinding words that’ll stay.
Bewitching ones that have bled.

Divine witches oaths darken.
Lucky abilities stretch.
Needless words—she’ll surely sin.
Purging fear from magic sketch.

Vow to murder, but protect.
Relate, situate, then hate.
Advance the path—just select.
Be the scapegoat—hesitate.

Wonder witchery that stays.
Seeking wishful lies that starts.
Satan jumping out of days.
Begging endlessly off charts.

Chorus:
October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.

October.
Lips of Hail.
Unrobe her.
Lovely tale.

Burnin’ Swastika’s
Verse 1:
Framed minds of dripping cords.
Swiftly goin’ insane.
Sacred madness at lords.
Openin’ minds to train.

Disembodied voices.
Fuck a damn religion.
Alcoholic choices.
Shot dead like a pigeon.

Religion won’t rape me.
Decision of vast hope.
Burnin’ bibles brightly.
Horrid lair from a pope.

Grand wizards dissected.
Nazis’ shoot directly.
Terribly infected.
No remorse; fightin’ free.
Burnin’ the swastikas.
Reality blackout.
Takin’ in all eras.
Decisions—may you doubt?

Romance partly despair.
Genre where one abuse.
Robbin’ advice—no care.
Losin’ minds to accuse.

Colors assemble now.
Behold golden attacks.
Earth’s gained anyway how.
Kill bigots; stabbing backs.

Chorus:
Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Verse 2:
Or question behavior.
Demonic, verbal talks.
A physical savior.
A million bullets walks.

Frame until we snap back.
Locate the magic sin.
Effigies for none black.
Dissecting pale in kin.

Lovin’ all religions.
Stoppin’ evil with words.
Murderous decisions.
Labeled near thirty thirds.

Overthrowing liars.
Unnecessary wars.
Bullies dropped in fires.
Torturin’ behind doors.

Nail to the palms; feel dead.
Crucified beyond life.
Droppin’ bombs straight ahead.
Singin’ psalms—harm their wife.

DNA lost from trails.
Many flesh decomposed.
Destroying embiciles.
Like St. Peter enclosed.

Narcotics exchangin’.
Unlockin’ deities.
Wishes rearrangin’.
Mystical honorees.

Chorus:
Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Verse 3:
No fibs—burnin’ youths’ cribs.
Only theirs—servin’ no prayers.
Abusin’ peers to ribs.
Controllin’ betrayers.

Soldiers bewitched by eyes.
Near botanical lands.
Joinin’ uncertain lies.
Begone from lurkin’ sands.

Killin’ the triple “K”.
Feelin’ the vibe of rage.
Drillin’ the brightest day.
Settin’ the greatest page.

Sleep with secrets unknown.
Crowdin’ ancient temples.
Discoverin’ what’s shown.
Breakin’ trust from dimples.

Six, six, six—Satan rise.
With Lilith to destroy.
Infinity surprise.
Destruction to employ.

Beyond the occult lives.
Petrified citadels.
Determinin’ pain gives.
Annihilatin’ cells.

Souls crackin’ holy bells.
Penetratin’ snitches.
Usin’ weapons for trails.
Summonin’ with ditches.

Chorus:
Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Burnin’ Swastikas.
Burnin’ many homes.
Burnin’, always was.
Burnin’ business domes.

Forceful Desire
Intro:
“I don’t have to go to prison to be a thug. Jesus went. Some killers roam the streets, and they’re thugs. Publicists as dimwits are. Too many to name. Thugs can’t take this one. Give me a sane reason why I shouldn’t do this.”
“I love you… You’re not thinking straight!”
“You don’t seduce me. Fuck you, bitch!”
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

Verse 1:
Cerebral atrophy around.
Ataxia mixing surround.
Asphixia inflammation.
Mindful Masturbation.

Mantras Pollution bound to wedge.
Hemorrhage on the edge.
Exhuming burgundy flesh, comes.
Delivering the orgasms.

Soaked vaginal stimulation.
Tactile force intimidation.
Experimental mind cloning.
Sensationally keep moaning.

No harassment to arse resent.
Sentimental moments unbent.
Shifting decisions laughably.
Arguably creating glee.

Chorus:
Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Verse 2:
Thrusting eerie, bodily spots.
Penetrating what function gots.
Erupting fluid finally.
Widen and swallow if hungry.

Fellatio—I’m undone.
Fantasize an illegal gun.
Violating your beauty sleep.
Horniest creation to creep.

Sexual maneuvers reused.
Starving miracles, more defused.
Animalistic amusement.
Molesting change you overspent.

Reminder of guilty ways.
Pleasurable restarted days.
Fornication down the abyss.
Reminiscences of darkness.

Chorus:
Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Verse 3:
Taking your gossamer web out.
Adding no problematic shout.
Murderous song of eight octaves.
Wondrous incantation relives.

Noticed as the Devil backwards.
Locations killing your bastards.
Remaking phobias disease.
Regardless, killing before please.

Mayhem—sexual recordings.
Slipping off kinky rewardings.
Periods observed during pain.
Lunging until liquid’s no stain.

This exceptional obsession.
Overshadowing aggression.
Epitaphs handed, “Get well soon!”
Secondary guess—I’m a goon.

Chorus:
Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Forceful desire.
Why I admire?
Secret disturbance.
Alive ever since.

Kill This Fable
Verse 1:
They beat, they cheat, but can’t complete.
Defeat, repeat, but can’t stand heat.
So, we’re stalking their license plates.
We say “Fuck the United States!”

No sadder scene—talk like a teen.
Revenge over phonies, we send.
We want people to comprehend.
Assemble now by what we mean.

Doomed by the rain bent—storming from eyes.
Careless government—behold lies.
Rebellion from what they won’t show.
It’s destruction from the get-go.

Chorus:
Mamma Mia.
Oh, fucking no.
Asphyxia.
Kill this fable.

Mamma Mia.
Oh, fucking no.
Asphyxia.
Kill this fable.

Verse 2:
Trauma drama—suicide “G’s”
The endless comma—beg on your knees.
Insomnia—purely sable.
Destroying the indigo.

Permission suspicion decline.
Labyrinths of myths’ replaced fine.
Sadomasochism, it comes.
Unleashing pain on bitch syndromes.

We shoot, put them on mute, and mock.
By powers of pussy and cock.
It’s redemption solely for us.
Liberty, no need to discuss.

Chorus:
Mamma Mia.
Oh, fucking no.
Asphyxia.
Kill this fable.

Mamma Mia.
Oh, fucking no.
Asphyxia.
Kill this fable.

Kissable Poetry

Part 1

Where Is?

Where is your smile;
I am not crying.
Where is your heart;
I can love you back.
Where is your path;
Is it worth buying?
Where is your fear;
Will these tears attack?

Where is your hand;
It could need a ring.
Where is your mind;
It could join with mine.
Where is your tongue;
Lonely one, I bring.
Where is your pride;
Just give me a sign.

Handles of Candles

We’re faceless clones serving the beloved you.
Your beloved tears to smiles glide from candles.
If breathing, the fire’s not out at curfew.
If owned faces, queen, no one lifts the handles.

Rigid bones

Golly, the rigid bones fail to enclose my heart.
My vessels abhor me; they swirl—it’s a doozy.
I unduly trudge as my heart failure restart.
Pardon me, I’m woozy from the blood in the sea.

Identity Astray

I’m mortified by
Blood behind this
Confetti.
I’m amused by laughter
Of gift holders
Ready.
It’s known that phony friends
Even serve phony
Tears.
I’m circled this time, but
Stabbed while blocking these
Ears.

Belittle me, I’m
A lonely, humerus
Turd.
They seize my hands
Preventing to say a
Word.
I feel saliva from where
I breathe as a
Dunce.
So, trap me again as
I lie deceased this
Once.

Know not me from
An obituary,
Liars.
Mankind opposes me
From behind the
Fires.
My pockets tear like
Tires going astray,
Oh!
I have no identity
And no place to
Go.

Cane with Name

I snuggle on the edge
Bewildered from
Sight.
Weep from this bridge with
Rejection from your
Heart.
What else could you want,
I wonder near the
Light.
I doubt kissing below,
But time has to
Start.

You’re on a ship, but
I do yearn it to
Crash.
Don’t you hold your breath,
For I’m doing the
Same.
It never crashes and
I won’t fall like
Trash.
I glare at you holding
A cane with your
Name.

Blind in Heaven

Blind in heaven is you,
I see.
You passed me twice and why,
I Ask.
My memories fade;
Answer me.
Will you ignore wine
In the cask?

Colorful rage is in
Heaven.
How do you forget love
I yearn.
Fedoras, you have;
Why seven?
You’re drunk; is heaven
To burn?

Speaking to you is
My concern.
Found the reflection of disgrace.
You’d rather be drunk, so
Don’t turn.
Not a word to say to
Your face.

Apart and Numb

Numb alone is
Me apart.
Lively soul, I
Have attached.
Love, begone, and give
My heart.
My mind of words
Are not matched.

Touch my mind with words,
I try.
I doubted—I need you,
Now.
Mistake me or
Tell a lie.
Love me every way
Of how.

Never inform me
You’re lost.
I seek your imagined
Smiles.
Every path at
Any cost.
Tears on a million
Towels.

It’s years on lands, I’m trudging.
If I’m noticed, tell me,
Quick.
Hug me—I may be
Budging.
I’ll still lift you; I’m not sick.

Love me—I’m
Invisible.
I’m still mesmerized by
Time.
The signs of saving won’t
Show.
I’m unworthy—I’ll kiss
Grime.

Deathbed in Kansas

There was the burning,
Dusty house of saddened
Kate.
She was a polite lass with
Friendly, loud
Hounds.
She hid her face, but
Remained in the same
State.
In Kansas above a
Deathbed, she heard
Sounds.

There was contorting
Faces near askew
Walls.
A decaying ceiling
Above damp
Stairs.
Burning furniture from
Burglars’ mad
Laws.
There was drowning lives
Strangled from
Nightmares.

Her seven dogs never
Barked or entered the
Room.
Her curious mind
Appalled her circling
Thought.
Her shallow breaths reduced,
Thus, there was silent
Gloom.
Her fearful thought was her
Family, which got
Caught.

Her heart endured
Agony—it pumps so
Slowly.
Lingering hands were
Her mere physical
Feeling.
Fear decreased her
Blood flow as she sniffed
Moly.
Horror awaited her,
So she faced the
Ceiling.

Why Selfish?

At first, she remembered the sounds of pain.
Then, her faith weakened like broken, black bones.
Of course, she was successful and insane.
But, the rebirth of her heart formed to stones.

Weep not, for she has a crib when asleep.
Her triumph is haunted by her horror.
She wanders from the house and spots a creep.
With no tattles, she weeps an explorer.

Only two years and two months old, she is.
She strived to be thoughtful and sing.
Unsure of all else, her time’s his.
She hates every human being.

She’s a cute, compassionate girl no more.
All money she’ll make is in her small heart.
All worthy friends visible, she’ll then ignore.
Her favorite thought is to surely depart.

Last of Paradise

Before the sun absorbs our
Physical bodies, I
Weep with a
Smile.
The last ounce of water is
Robbed, so I give what
Remains in my
Mouth.
To see you awake longer,
It is worth a kiss
Of every walked
Mile.
Our love outshines the sun,
And shall proceed rather
It is north or
South.

I deny the hopeless time of
Death, for every breath
With you soothes
Me.
My thoughts are solely for you;
The last person I
Touch, it must be
You.
Be attached when you hug me;
The slightest second
With you is a
Journey.
My passion is not gone from
What shines; my growing
Passion remains
True.

Your sweet voice comes from
Paradise; your voice is
The last that I must
Hear.
Before you perish, again,
I confidently seek your
Black lips—my heart
Skips.
I wonder about undressing
You when you speak, and
You lack that
Fear.
In our final breathing
Moments, I am to do
All that you may
Do.

Mother’s Seeds

This wondrous, shadowy creature
Ate earthly humans
Galore.
She smothered their faith
First; she carefully
Consumed their blood
Intake.
She’s welcomed by the
Kingdom of darkness; at
The heart, her gifts are
Sore.
Her gifts have heartsore,
Adhesive feelings to
The purity of
Sake.

Death is the simplest thing;
It’s the magnified mistake of
Truth.
Death has inborn love;
It smiles at its promised
Fortitude.
It seizes grudges for
The normal, the
Ill, killing the
Youth.
It suffocates ones with frail
Hearts keeping them in
Solitude.

She fears not the greatly doomed
Innocent ones of their sad
Guilt.
She’s shy to the sky, and she’s
In a shroud of cold Rain as
Fate.
She remembers how much
Blood she spilt, but her smile seems to
Tilt.
Loveless desires plummeting in
The soil for growths
Hate.

Seeds of various shapes blossom;
In fact, nine are born
Fast.
The other parent is in prison
For using bad
Drugs.
The children discover their
Father’s name, but he’s the
Past.
They yell until they’re exhausted,
Shrugging, gnawing on
Bugs.

Untamed by hate, they unite as a
Group, wanting to
Kill.
Their mother appreciates their
Intentions and
Actions.
Desires of crimes brimming with
So much horror to
Reveal.
Together, they’re invisible, Robbing
Satisfactions.

Religion is not their
Primary focus of
Vision.
Hidden time reduces by
Every sin that they
Commit.
Chosen corpses are
Dressed in Black
Robes by the groups
Decision.
No way can these scornful
Seeds even wonder to
Quit.

Karalee

It is me, the lover
Whom envisage
Perfection.
The one bewitched promptly
By your loveliness of
Bliss.
I acknowledge your love,
And cherish your
Direction.
Dream of tomorrow out of
Great hope that I don’t
Miss.

Karalee, you trap me in
A box at the first
Sight.
You’re the main target, but
I struggle to breathe fresh
Air.
It appears fair, for your
Divine image receives
Height.
You receive the light from
The murky box I can’t
Share.

Why we can’t meet is the
Ideal trouble I’ll
Carry.
I can’t prevent your love,
So you’ll surely achieve
It.
All that must occur will
Make you smile like a
Fairy.
If I’m to die right now,
I’m happy for what you
Get.

My obsession proceeds with
The throbbing of my
Heart.
I observe how others
Lie to steal your
Attention.
I feel ill when another speaks
To you, hence dates
Start.
I’ve observed your qualms,
And what I don’t need to
Mention.

I beseech you to be proud
In a note of black
Tears.
Yes, I’m afraid, and the
Note’s in my focused
Mind.
Don’t ever feel alone;
I’ve been watching you for
Years.
Be not afraid darling;
Your life is highly
Defined.

In the Sky

Some fear thunder, but
Pray it does not rain
It.
They land on stars
Creating the darker
Side.
Abnormal things strike from
The sky—they may
Split.
It’s an energy that
Plenty seem to
Hide.

Uncool Loner
A loner walking in various
Places of a high
School.
The loner saw familiar faces
Drugging her with their
Pride.
Down the library to the
Cafeteria, she’s
Uncool.
Pass the corridors in the classrooms,
She was a tool, but
Sighed.

She doubted happiness and Thought
She was suffering
Alone.
She thought with a tortured mind
Until she saw someone else
Hurt.
A bullied loner as well, he
Was, mocked by eyes of the
Known.
A humiliated virgin with
Death threats as a
Pervert.

Goodbye from a Tub

I saw her face before I saw my
Own, and I keep seeing
Her.
In a tub of hot tears, I bow
And cry, for plenty of days,
Why?
I refuse to eat, for my time
Is limited by a
Number.
In my demented mind, I see the
Love, but where am I—
Goodbye.

I pronounce her name, not out of
Shame, and I pretend that I’m
Sane.
We’re one as always; her flesh,
And blood is mine—even her red
Bones.
She won’t rest long, for her
Agony is mine, and soon none to
Gain.
I lied to myself; I eat supper,
But I hear constant
Moans.

Is it just me, or does my cell
Phone ring loudly when I’m
Alone?
She’s just all that I personally know
Of; so, why does it
Ring?
Most importantly, who wonders enough
To call me on the
Phone?
Less, I’m belittled by these thoughts,
So, I ask, what’ll this life
Bring?

“Hello,” she says, but I certainly
Wonder if her voice is
True.
My breakable heart shakes like
The ground as I question the
Caller.
“Who is this,” I really question,
Simply because I have no
Clue.
Silence grows, and a squeal I can
Hear, reliving an unseen
View.

Robbed Truth?

Tell me the utter truth; is this
Given Earth bound for
Destruction?
Money, the biggest sin murdered
For, but people
Retaliate.
Lava brims wildly from us; all’s
Not our fault—it’s
Eruption.
Our history is nearly erased, what’s
To learn, and who’s to
Hate?

Teach me greatness, not a made majority
Of single cultures
Success.
Support our families when ill
And kill for us if
Violent.
We should be equal as a whole;
Joined minds make more and can
Bless.
If we do not fight for our
Equality, remain
Silent.

We’re humans regardless of
Race or other
Happenings.
Look backward and forward,
But let us forgive if
Needed.
Love is why Earth was made;
Domination leads to robbed
Things.
Are we not equal—all’s an
Aim, even the
Succeeded.

May our hands bleed before
Prayers; block the
Naysayers.
Let us strive for greatness
Putting our enemies in
Need.
Their time’ll come; our
Tribe’ll grow—we’re not
Role-players.
We must teach the grown, teach
The youth, and wait for the
Seed.

Part 2

Lady of Tears

Oh, lady of tears, I’ll kill
Your fears—worry not to stay
Blue.
Give me the signal; any distance
I’ll travel for your
Likes.
Shed tears no more; I’ll dive Oceans
Breathlessly just to reach
You.
I’ll run the lands for you; your
Love succumbs me, I’ll jump the
Spikes.

Beloved Fatima, you’re honored
More than a black
Chalice.
Kept in my heart most, unlike
Another, I won’t visit your
Pain.
You’re a hearty one never
Intending to seize
Malice.
I’m here to stay, sew
Your Wounds beyond your
Satisfaction to
Gain.

Must I Speak

Hello, must I speak to
Strangers, not avoiding the
Dangers?
Who should they be, I don’t know
Them—they can just stay far
Away.
But, who’ll I meet, could I
Benefit from it, goal
Changers?
It’s hard to utter words, just
Allow others to walk
Astray.

I’m friendly with darkness,
Silent the most,
But hopes for the
Sky.
By the strength of blessings,
I’m aiming my words—I choose my
Way.
Let me not breathe to question
Why; I need elation—I
Try.
The walls aren’t my way, but
They’ll soon stop
Hearing me, one
Day.

Fighting Overseas

Internecine fighting cannot
Shift this mind from you
Overseas.
You captivate me enough
To refuse a comfy resting
Place.
I own indurated blood,
For I am an undying
Species.
The sandstorms crowd the bullets,
But I am here—on my wet
Knees.

Feathers were attached to her nails,
And they were pretty, black
Nails.
Fishnet armbands swung
Down her seeming like
see-through, cut drapes,
Always.
Flesh beyond fabrics aroused her,
And they did not ever tell
Tales.
From what lingered, the quiet bearer
of insight seized a dark
Maze.

Within the maze, a shadow of peace
shouted, but where was it
At.
Within her, somewhere, the shout
Repeated, but which way could I
Turn?
Why beyond dazzling eyes fluid
Made a puddle and went
Splat?
Why her ruffled, velvet dress
Made me cuddle lifting my
Concern?

Very Well

From the secretive realm, she stroke
Me like an axe to an oak
Tree.
It was me, the tree that fell, ripped
From roots like a magical
Spell.
The wind did not blow, and the darkness
Grew from the vines, pardon
Me.
I tried to balance myself; my roots
Were lost—I am very
Well.

The Ice is Mine

Tremulous mom, give me the viewed birth of reason.
Strengthen my drink with ice; do it for all season.
May I blossom soon; may I smile in the water.
Hello, the ice is mine, and I am your daughter.

U.F.O Awareness

Vibration hits me, so what could it be?
The ground awakes, or is it really me.
Pipes break and horns honk; give me peace, hero.
An eye turns wide as clearly as can go.

No, it is the ground trembling with noise.
Dissecting all in sight of girls and boys.
Hovering the adults like U.F.O.’s
Everyone’s dying in collected rows.

Buildings explode while many scream in fear.
Cars lift to the atmosphere; cars won’t steer.
Danger approaches plenty towns from height.
As a nightly flight, they kill till sight.

I was wrong, for they kill even in day.
Aiming for ones hiding under the bay.
What can I say, the Earth’s quickly burning.
This is the history that I’m learning.

Subtracting time is limited with frowns.
It haunts all, including female gowns.
Burying hope of heroes’ daily gun.
Haunting walls and floors while kept at the sun.

It’s No Fantasy

Shut the lids to your eyes, and
Imagine precisely what I’m
Saying.
Interpret the conclusion of the
Story not by your
Assumption.
Allow your mind to drop morals,
But not the faith to start
Decaying.
Make this world real, and with
Separation of hate, which is
Resumption.

There dwells an immortal Tarantula
Crawling webs above the
Earth.
Awaiting for the given dead, and
Hoping for their living
Trust.
The tarantula names us his Children, but
Why some fear since
Birth?
Bitten by him, afraid why he may have
Caused more to form to
Dust.

Below the mundane Earth, there dwells
A serpent prowling in dark
Flames.
Oh, yes, the serpent knows of all our
Names, slithering to eat
Us.
His children are named by the lucky;
Advanced in life with great
Names.
The serpent’s said to mock us,
But some deny, failing to
Discuss.

Much more than sane, the insane
Wanders the streets by what major
Cause?
Were they bullied, emotionally
Hurt, or changed by a
Power?
What’s darkness within many people,
For darkness is above
Laws.
We’re steered like rats, strongly judged,
But some paranoid every viewed
Hour.

Hope on a Vessel

I did not need a compass to
Find you nor just a
Thought.
I thought more than I
Blinked from this vessel that Would not
Sink.
And you were always there—when I
Turned, it was not my
Fault.
I felt so guilty; to survive,
The water I would
Drink.

The vessel must reach land, but
You must promise to do
Right.
If not right, you are out of sight
During my nightly
Dreams.
Must I panic if the vessel
Crashes or cruises to
Light.
Ignoring the vessel creates
Your ignorance, it
Seems.

Angel Beyond Laws

Opal roses bloom where you Smile,
For your soft back is
Wreathed with divine
Wings.
The reasons of love ambles the field of warmth;
Your ambling love
Expands.
The sky nurtures you like emotions of my
Throbbing heart; your good heart
Sings.
You fly at angles beyond reached with hands;
So, I follow your
Commands.

Why should I marry you; marriage is
Built by laws that can be
Destroyed.
Mentally, I am attached without
The power of law, but are
You?
Accept me by the person that I
Am, or my soul is just a
Void.
Frankly, if I cannot reach you, the
Greatest of laws I will run
Through.

Wingless Nest

A sodden nest is in the forest somewhere.
Baby chicks chirp over the falling unhatched
Eggs.
They chirp and chirp giving birth to despair.
Watching siblings fall, they cannot stand on
Legs.

Every hair they remember with one eye stare.
Their hope is promised by fate; fate is so rude.
A dive they may take; to share wings, they may tear.
The wind befriends them fast; they die, I include.

Lover’s Lifespan

An erroneous act yields till
I leave, decimating me
Deeply.
Entice a lover of promise;
Make me an inquisitive
Man.
Hop the fences for not me;
Bark with glory for your
Destiny.
Break your mental leash,
And run from me, for
You affected my
Lifespan.

Must you forget when I’m
Livid; miss, must you
Forget when I’m
Dead.
I’ll enter the center of death
In the winter with a
Splinter.
Worry not when death absorbs me
With love promising what you
Said.
Someday, we’ll meet, but not
Today, for I’m the lucky
Inventor.

Options of Nature

Your options tumble down
Tendrils of curling
Vines.
Oozing from every leaf of
The plants, blood
Drips.
Kneeling at the image of
Nature, and its
Signs.
Reborn again with the
Right option if it
Slips.

Haul Dreams

Haul the wheels of hatred
From mindboggling
Dimwits.
Haul the wagon balancing
Them as children of
Time.
Keep it in a murky cave with
Preplanned birthday
Kits.
With their special dreams, but
Leave them a flame and a
Dime.

Armando?

Three items passed the
Locked gates to the
House.
Suspicion grew in the
Household of
Luck.
Giggles followed a
Girl in a blue
Blouse.
It was dark and parents
Missed what was
Snuck.

Was she to blame for
Her own given
Death?
She was silent as a
Mouse hiding
Cheese.
What lurked in the
Closet took her last
Breath.
The sad girl cried to
Her knees saying,
“Please!”

What was left at the crime
Scene were three
Things.
A gun, a wedding
Ring, and a black
Rose.
She screamed the name,
But held her muscle
Strings.
With incomplete dreams,
She made her final
Pose.

Was her eyes in
Motion to visit
Facts?
Blind her widened eyes
If she saw no
Face.
“Armando,” she
Screamed before the wild
Acts.
The killer, she saw
Escaped at fast
Pace.

Satanic Schizophrenic

Insomnia, fade like organs chucked
In a scorching lava, brimming from its
Hole.
Panic from the sounds many others once trapped, But vow to be martyred from this
Dream.
May the lava burn even in the sky if I grow wings; Am I fooled godly
Goal?
Was my birth a hysterical
Accident—I am clueless
Where is the right
Team.

Hate in the Dungeon

Hate was etched on her
Face.
But she just wanted
Space.
Her eyes would drain the
Weak.
Then prevent them to
Speak.

They feared the unsolved
Case.
The depths of this bleak
Place.
They fled from her known
Glare.
They would frown in
Despair.

Her mouth could burn their
Soul.
Then, rob their biggest
Goal.
They’re in dungeons with no care.
It’s their lives with no
Air.

It’s their heart with a
Hole.
A life with no true
Role.
A home with many fools.
It’s them treated as
Tools.

Body that Walked

Her lips were shaped like a heart.
Her green eyes glistened in the rain.
Her smooth hips could make you depart.
Her soft thighs would control your brain.

She had round bosoms that could please.
Her hair exposed in the
Shadows.
She had spots of blood on her knees.
Her hair had a leaf with a
Rose.

It was the color of pure
Red.
The beautiful sight that can glow.
Shaped like a red heart, which was dead.
Her body always had to
Show.

Many blue walls were in front of me.
Like a big spider in the cold night.
Slowly, she then crawled over to see.
So, it was the last of her sight.

Wide Puddle

In the puddle of love, I
Sink.
I can’t stand tall—not
Anymore.
It grows wide, but know what I think.
I attempt to swim to the
Shore.

And I drown for you, my  Baby.
And your eyes are true—you’re crazy.
And my frown is new, if you
See.
And I cry for you—
Energy.

Blessed Scheme

Counting blessings, she
Swallows tears of
Luck.
Bathed in a thick
Subterranean
Cave.
The blessings are markings
Chanting but
Stuck.
Tears in the dirt forming
To shrubs—they
Wave.

I need not resumes
When I see
Her.
I wander the streets
Gazing with a
Smile.
I aim somber roads
Without your
Number.
Where are you; I have
No numbers to
Dial.

You are my herculean
Task, I should
Say.
I searched a trail of
Shadows—I’m now
Blue.
Have mercy on me;
I’ll find you one
Day.
May my leg cramps
Fade as I limp to
You?

I digest the wind,
But hope to fly
High.
I can never seem
To do what I
Dream.
If I reach clouds, I’d
Look down at your
Eye.
I own not a feather
For a huge
Scheme.

Sinful strings
With a violin,
I commit a
Sin.
I apologize;
I didn’t mean
It.
Strings I may have won;
You, I need to
Win.
Believe the song—I
Love you every
Bit.

I pulled her strings—
She hates me,
Honestly.
So, you can pull my
Strings at any
Time.
I’ll endure what breaks
Turning silent,
See.
I’ll remain here even
Outside my
Prime.

Part 3

Mansion of Labyrinths

The silver chandelier dangled
In the darkness of this
Place that was
Built.
Below the chandelier, kittens
Smiled showering
With everyone’s
Fear.
At the front door, a keen knife
Was covered up in
A comfortable
Quilt.
Beside, another knife was under
The dirt of a plant
Pot for a
Year.

There was fur on steps—why
Could it be and
What mystery
Hid?
Two stories high lead the
Labyrinth, for the
Paths split in
Three.
Marbles fell at
Center—pianos
Moaned lopsided on a
Sid.

I dwelled in a playhouse
Dodging workings
Of a witch,
Swiftly.

A fist thumped the door, red
Lights dimmed off, and
Mist loomed from the
Dark.
The smell of mildew wandered
With saltwater down
The black
Stairs.
In the eldritch mansion, chairs
Fell down the steps
And left a
Mark.
The walk was long; the steps
Were slippery—I
Grew many
Hairs.

A disgruntled old man
Overdosed from
Pills was
Asleep.
On the right stairs,
He was, but I was
On the left
Side.
When awoke, he swallowed
Bullets—love
He couldn’t
Keep.
With an iron plug, he
Aimed at his green
Eyes and
Cried.

The feeble male
Was a butler
And former
Convict.
He always carried a
Gun, shooting
At lurking
Shadows.
He shot his daughter
Years ago—rules of
Life were
Strict.
He was young, but he died
At seventy—that’s
How life
Goes.

I yearned to find my
Lover, but in which
Room was she
In?
There were countless
Doors on one floor
Of five; they were
Flooded.
I checked the right side—every
Floor, seeing nothing
But heard
Men.
A thud from an organ
Lead me to the
Room—I saw
Blood.

The sight gave me a
Conniption I never
Expected.
I dropped down with a glare;
She was slaughtered
Like a
Cow.
For hours, drugs I
Injected, feeling
Neglected.
We only been together
For three days—oh,
Butler,
Wow!

Hearken to My Ukulele

May you swoon from
My eyes gaily and
Daily?
Hitchhike with me by
Choice to heavenly
Stars?
Third, reach days to
Utter words I let
Free?
Hearken to my ukulele
If only
Ours.

Is the citadel of
Love left for us
Two?
I see objects blocking
You like a long
Bridge.
If I trip, will I notice
That the sky’s
Blue?
Hearken to my ukulele
From a black
Ridge.

Unreal Murder

Manchester is where the
Huge, gothic mystery
Glows.
Below a solar eclipse,
Murder snatches the
Sky.
Majestic views around eldritch
Corners has black
Arrows.
The end of each point seizes
A whole failing to ask
Why.

Farther than the Sky

You’re farther than the sky,
Then closer than the
Ground.
I see you in my dreams,
And keep my thoughts
Around.
Keep your favorite place;
Hug the sun—stop your
Tears.
Farther than you are your
Born seeds with open
Ears.

Cursed her Backbone

I cursed her backbone but sorry now.
They brung her back home—sat her down.
I made her sob—oh, curse me, ow!
She left the sky, and gave her crown.

The genius girl is just being the giver.
Shiver like static on this tragedy, oh.
Her kindness showed, and made me shiver.
She just may spot red, but I spot the pure gold, wo!

Wild Birthday

You ate my birthday
Cakes as a small
Child.
You kept the lit candles
When born a
Teen.
I aged—what’s stopping
Me from being
Wild?
I’m proud, for I’ll own
The cake and your
Spleen.

Oh, so I mentally
Think to cure
Pain.
You hid my clothes;
I attempted to
Tell.
Oddly, no care from
Humans even
Rain.
I observed the backyard
Wishing your
Hell.

But, my flesh melts from
The noise in your
Room.
The girl I dreamt of
Wants your water
Pipe.
Make her drool, I’ll scream
And break the pipe,
Boom!
It’s my birthday, and
Your blood I won’t
Wipe.

Rainbow Formula

One cup of sugar, two cups of
Love, and three cups of
Roses.
Those were the lovely ingredients
That we shared long
Ago.
Water, we faithfully bathed
In complimenting our
Poses.
We held our fantasies with
The formula for a
Rainbow.

Us Help

Build the ground to stalk.
Build a wall to crawl.
Build a floor to walk.
Build a roof for all.

Must we punch the ground?
Must we punch the walls?
Must we lose a sound?
Must our eyes spot halls?

Help us when alone.
Help us not be scared.
Help us walk this zone.
Help us if we shared.

Should we swim in air?
Should we jump the roof?
Should we fly with care?
Should we bark like, “Woof!”

Extending Pages

Extending pages shout
The process of my
Life.
Not for all ages without
A battle from
Death.
If pages are lost or burnt,
There found by my
Wife.
New chapters convince me
That leaders are on
Meth.

Flail in a Chamber

Like sluggish horses awaiting
Angels, I mock in
Return.
From a vast chamber, I laugh with a flail, keeping you
Caged.
I torture you with remarks and
Gashes, watching flesh
Burn.
Needless to say, I’m a threat from yours—that’s Why I’m
Enraged.

I recite scriptures of the
Bible to advance my
Mind.
I see evil in what should
Be good, so I
Sacrifice.
Because these minions are blind,
They need my advice to
Find.
Never may they see the light by
The dirt that keeps their
Lice.

Beg with a Cry

I beg this mind to dream
More of you and
Arise.
I beg these watery eyes
To spot you
Everywhere.
I beg my heart keeps throbbing—
Every day’s a
Surprise.
I beg my ears to touch your
Voice and mouth to touch
Air.

I cry about times I
Never spoke of with
You.
I cry with a whisper
From the pits of
Suffering.
I cry of my qualities
Compared to yours—so
True.
I cry private and public
On the web
Buffering.

Auburn Eyes

Auburn eyes bleeding tender glass.
Crawling, panting in this landmass.
Feeling numbness with hugs of fear.
I forget how to shed a
Tear.

Crimson wounds to patch evermore.
Frail hands pounding my front door.
A loose knob while my heart thumps.
Perspiration falls—my soul jumps.

Crush my limbs, but may I grow wings?
Love my halo, and what it brings.
If I fly, may I carry you?
Wish me limbs—my words can stay true.

I whimper during frightful times.
Swallow the rain searching for dimes.
Panic in solitude and weep.
Always feeling watched and can’t sleep.

Auburn eyes personifying flames.
Fade magical wishes and names.
The names within you—they speak Loud.
Haunt me now or never be proud.

Maple Bones

My maple bones fracture by a bite.
I’m made of sweetness—arrive in peace.
I attract starving ones, but not quite.
With mouths, they gnaw till the taste cease.

Call me sweetness, and rot your teeth out.
Steal what’s sweet—spread my name in pleasure.
These bones heal like a promise I doubt.
These bones balance on what I measure.

Views from a Coffin

Only loved in a coffin;
I’m kissed very
Often.
Where they see no blemishes;
Where my pain can
Soften.
I’m dug up for hugs, but none
Of them were founded
Then.
And they know not my views
Even though they’re my
Kin.

They may bury me again
And get support
Too!
Where was my support, for
My views are still like
Glue.
I relied on trust
And trusted on
Relying.
May my kin make me see
What they were
Implying?

Longest thoughts of Hope

These are my longest
Thoughts of
Hope.
These are my longest
Thoughts of
You.
These are the
Many days I’ll
Mope.
These are
Memories of us
Two.

It’s harder to
Think what you
Want.
It’s harder
To give what I
Hold.
It’s harder
To say up
Front.
And it’s harder
To be
Controlled.

You bewitch me
With charming
Eyes.
Your body’s
Tempting; marry
Me.
We’re forever
And love will
Rise.
We’ll kill pain from our
Canopy.

Sleep, but I
Could be your
Pillow.
Awake, and I could be
Forever.
I’ll never blink
From this
Willow.
Think lovely—don’t say
Never.

I’m only cleansing my
Eyes.
I’m in disguise—you see
Me?
Plants have water by my
Cries.
Heat’s my temper—don’t
Worry.

This Could Be Solace

Kiss me harder than knives,
But don’t run from what
Thrives.
Love that your sullen tears
Drip on me when I’m
Cold.
The weather’s in my mind; if
This fades, love
Survives.
It’s dripping fear, but I
Lie on my back as
Told.

This could be solace; just
Nuzzle my guileless
Face.
I give births in a
Kitchen during these
Earthquakes.
I could lose my limbs, but
You can’t deny this
Case.
Acid’s in my heart; properly
Jump from what
Bakes.

This could be solace;
Sympathy exists by
Wants.
I could be amazing;
Faucets, I’ll turn
Off.
If it storms, I’ll close
Windows from stranger
Hunts.
I’ll clean the house, and
Make sure you’ll never
Cough.

This could be solace;
The bedroom’s for
Comfort.
Blessed dreams with a
Waking call to live
Again.
Tsunamis can’t kill;
Water here just can’t
Hurt.
Where we rest, we
Never age with a
Sin.

This could be solace;
All diseases could
Die.
Refrain from
Promiscuous
Behavior.
Remember, love won’t
Make you question
Why.
Love can’t bleed;
The walker’s the
Savior.

Pain Week

Monday, she befriended dust as a must to say.
It brimmed slowly balancing fate to the targets.
Say she arose from the backwards wind twice a day.
Hit the bacillus once she prayed, thus, she admits.

Tuesday, she won abortion after contortion.
The reflection of her ashes has clones to stay.
Supply of tears reincarnated for a son.
Oh, she moaned for success without a resume.

Wednesday, amnesia strikes with no discussion.
Her casket shows, but not with her DNA.
Moans shake lands; she’s in a concussion of none.
Eyes of every hue selecting the prey.

Thursday, bullies haunt her mind; her tears could Faint.
Then, glass replaces her nails like plus fairytales.
Only hearkens to her, a calendar saint.
Committed to views are eyes grappling trails.

Friday, circling agony is the mind.
Cemetery cries borrow dates for reaches.
Blind only to air, she peeks behind.
Air reduces—nobody preaches.

Saturday, birth was not worth on Earth.
She regrets pain haunting others’ path.
Elements are germs seeking girth.
In confusion, she avoids wrath.

Sunday, the timely fog releases Light.
Shine from delusional apocalypse.
Wind rips threads with whispers out of sight.
Whispers join the height; the weather flips.

	Should All Comic Boo… on Only In Doubt Town: Sun Chi Mo…
	mvijohnsonave on Dare
	Neeraj (nekneeraj) on Satan’s Map
	Feminine and Feline on Randomness #11
	Shots from a Town \|… on Shots from a Town

Isaiah Lawrence

Love is perfection. Period.

Lorde Love

Cash Out the Snake

Hells Clouds

Rissa Callaway Songs