Sunday, January 10, 2010

Untitled... Prologue

 The dark had long descended over the quaint Bradshaw house and the owners had long retired to their bed. One, however, a Mrs. Cecelia Bradshaw tossed and turned, her aging limbs seeming to resist the thought of sleep although her eye lids fell temptingly heavy over her eyes. So when the first noise sounded she jolted from her half sleep, a sense of fear traveling through her blue veins, winding its way to her heart.
            She looked around the shadowy room and out into the hallway. Nothing seemed to be amiss so she lied back down next to her husband and let her eyes begin to close. It was the creaking of an old house, she told herself. It happens all the time, she reasoned.
            And then it happened again, the pounding reverberating through the halls.
            No, that was definitely not an old house sound.
            “Robert, did you hear that?” Cecelia whispered to the man lying beside her. He snorted and turned his back to her.
            “Robert,” Her tone was pleading now as she nudged at his shoulder.
            “Did I hear what?” He grumbled, only wanting to get back to sleep.
            “That bang bang-bang.” She attempted to imitate the sound.
            “Cece, please, this an old house and I’m an old man who needs his sleep. I didn’t hear a thing.” He sighed and fluffed his pillow before sinking back into it.
            The silence between the aging husband and wife stretched through the dark for moments that could have been minutes or possibly seconds, Cecelia couldn’t tell but as just as her eyes threatened to close once more the sound echoed through the halls to their small bedroom, more urgent sounding than either of the times before.
            “Robert,” she urged once more. Cecelia was a woman who followed her gut and right now that pounding sound was turning her stomach into a knot, and that knot was telling her something was wrong.
            Robert Bradshaw sat up in his bed, listening intently; he wasn’t going to deny that he had heard it the last time, and the sound left a cold feeling creeping through his bones. Cecelia followed him as he stumbled through the black hallways, switching on every light they passed; she held an old baseball bat gripped in her frail hands. They both jumped as the beating sound began again, the front door shaking from the force causing the noise.
            As they reached the end of the hallway the harsh sound stopped at once but was followed by a single hollow sounding thud.
            The two shared confused and slightly fearful glances before Robert reached for the doorknob.
            “Step back, Cecelia,” her husband’s voice was so sharp. He had never used that tone before, never, and frankly, it scared her. She took two steps back, gripping the baseball bat so tight her knuckles turned ghostly white. Robert turned to his wife once more and took a deep breath. Quicker than she had thought possible for her grey-haired spouse, he threw the front door open.
            Immediately the two were struck dumb. There in the shadows just outside the door a body swayed, moonlight warred with the lights from the house, causing only part of the body to show, and that part alone was gruesome enough to nearly give the two elderly a pair of matching heart attacks. Mud caked feet led to crisscrossed slashes marring thin legs; blood seemed to trickle from everywhere.
            Cecelia and Robert stood there for seconds cleverly disguised as minutes staring at the young girl. She took one swaying step out of the shadows and into the house, revealing even more unsightly incisions and bruises. The bruises were like beautiful splashes of paint on her ivory skinned face that clashed with the blood of a wound hidden on her hairline. Her hair was matted with soil and blood.
            Her eyes, glazed with fear, traveled over the plump woman and the scrawny, balding man before following their gazes to her own body. Rivulets of scarlet blood traveled down her legs and arms, landing on the snow-white carpet.
            “I-I’m s-sorry—“ Just as the final syllable escaped her lips, her legs gave out and her body crumpled into the old man’s shaking arms.

Monday, December 14, 2009

New Beginnings

I'm not going to paste my entire short story on here because the format always gets screwed up but here is the link to this story i wrote the other day.
It might not seem like it at first but it's about being brave enough to accept the things you cannot change and to change the things you can.

also, the writing style is a lot "braver" i suppose you could say with the words i use.

keep in mind please, that i was writing this for a school assignment and was supposed to keep it to 6 pages at the maximum. That proved to be impossible so i splurged for 9 (oh, the bravery!)
it's still not how i imagined it because i had to cut it so short but oh well. one day i will return to it.

Friday, December 4, 2009


Don’t worry your pretty little head, little one
Daddy’s gone elsewhere tonight
You don’t have to worry about the
Look he gets in his eyes
When he’s had too much to drink
And when the liquor just wasn’t enough
To declaw the demon in his mind.

Don’t lose any sleep, little one,
Daddy’s gone elsewhere again tonight
And he’s taken his brown bottle with him
To the place where we wish he wouldn’t leave.
When he’s elsewhere we are safe
And when he’s elsewhere we’re okay
That is why we must leave.

Don’t be scared, little one.
We’re going elsewhere tonight.
So pack your bags and get dressed.
We’re leaving for the next train leaving town.
Don’t waste your time looking over your shoulder
He’s not here, he doesn’t know,
He’s gone elsewhere.

Where is elsewhere you ask?
Elsewhere is anywhere but here.
Elsewhere can be our safe haven
Elsewhere can be our hell on earth.
Safe Haven…

We’ll find out when we get there.

I'll Sing (Sestina)

When you left, you took my breath with you
The longest hour and a lifetime away from home.
And now my lungs are tired and as dry as stone.
So I sit silent and alone, rocking the ruins of my heart to sleep.
From their shining diamond mouths like tears they sing,
And it is the most heart wrenching song you’ll ever hear.

If by chance the melody followed the air so you could hear
You wouldn’t care; the sound of death wouldn’t even phase you.
Apathy has sewn your mouth closed, never again will you sing
Never again will you’re heart allow yourself to call another home.
All you’ll know is loneliness, when you wake, when you sleep
You’ll be alone, you and your heart of stone.

Do you remember, when I would wake to the tapping of a stone
On my bedroom window? That was before you refused to hear
The world out; that was before you’d crawl in bed and sleep
Blocking out the cries and laughs that make up the world around you.
When the moon was stretching over the sky you’d find me at home
And together, in perfect harmony with the earth, we would sing.

But now you refuse to listen, you refuse to sing.
The world is too much for you; you think it’s only as cold as stone.
You don’t understand the precious balance upon which we find our home.
Negative, ugly things, that made your heart hurt was all you could hear.
So you gave up, shut yourself up, and refused to let anyone near you.
That is why your dreams are painted in pain and anguish when you sleep.

I tried to calm your dreams, to let you breathe easy in sleep
But you denied my deepest attempts, refused to listen to me sing.
And that is why when you left, even though my heart broke, I let you.
You became unreachable in your self-imposed silence, as stubborn as stone.
That is when my heart began to cry out the song you wouldn’t hear
The song that begged you to find yourself back in my arms, at home.

For the sake of my heart I wish you would come home
No matter how long I rock the broken pieces it can’t— it won’t sleep
In time I’ll learn another way to reason with it so it will hear
I’ll tell it you’re not the only reason to live, there are many other songs to sing.
Already my lungs are learning to breathe again, resurrecting from stone.
So, one day my heart will be whole, my lungs alive, and they will forget you.

I’ll find myself at home, and I’ll sing.
And while you sleep on your bed of stone,
You will weep as you hear me breathe without you.

Siren's Sonnet

There is a song that the siren sings
That dulls the pain and clouds the mind
Young sailors don’t yet know what evil it brings
Or that they’re about to leave their entire life behind.

The melody crawls along the waves to their waiting ship
To catch any unlucky man on deck alone
They don’t realize its claws seizing their heart in its cold grip,
Pulling them into the fog, into the dark unknown.

When their body washes up onto the sandy shore
She’ll fall to her knees and wail to the sea’s ebb and flow
They’re not the one she was calling to, the one she sung for
They’re not her lover lost to the dark waters so long ago

Their cold, colorless corpse mocks her suffering, her every sigh
And once again her soul tears open and begins the deadly cry.

A different version of Siren Song.

Someone Knows

Have you ever had a secret?
The kind of secret you’re always thinking about?
The kind that keep you up at night as it
Gnaws on your cerebrum like some disgruntled lapdog?
The kind that keep you from staring too long into people’s eyes
Cause you’re afraid they’ll see it deep down in your corneas?
If you say no, we’ll know you’re lying.
Everyone has had a secret and
Everyone’s scared that someone knows.

I know, it's a bit different from what i usually write...


I’m not perfect, you’ll soon figure that out
I’m human, a potential pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife
I worry about what might happen next
And wonder “what if” as I get older
My mind must think it’s training for a marathon
Because in all my years it’s never stopped running
Paranoia slips in and out of my thoughts
And Melancholy has found itself a home
When you talk to me and I don’t answer
My eyes are focused on something else
And my thoughts are too.
Some call it being spacey- a regular astronaut
Some call it being ditzy- your dumb blonde stereotype.
I call it being lost in your own thoughts
Having so much to think about
That each train of thought fights for your attention
Until it’s like a battlefield, bloody brain waves strewn about.
So like I said, I’m not perfect,
A galaxy or two away perhaps,
If I’m lucky.

we were supposed to write something about "personal identity", only, everything i wrote was waaaay too personal. So this is what i turned in. I'm not happy with it. At all.

Fire Dancers

Deep in the jungle
In a dance as old as time—
They soar over fires.

Sound of Silence

Faint, Thunderous
Buzzing, Singing, Speaking
Wail, Shriek, Peace, Tranquility
Muting, Smothering, Deafening
Stony, Soft

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Silver Screens

Silver screens and technological spawn
Hundreds of choices but good nothing on
And yet you’re all up watching until dawn.

Eyes glued to that damned lighted square
Pants stitched to your favorite chair
Lost in a trance, a half-crazed stare.

It’s more addictive than crack cocaine.
It’s rotting what is left of your brain,
But do I here any of you complain?