Here is a Young Adult Fiction Tale and also a lesson to be taught to all of us, from children to adults; respect the people who have live longer than you. And by the time you have read this story you will know why. Please, like, comment, share and subscribe.
The Tale of Black Cats and Broken Windows
The teenage lad picks up and hurtles another rock at the eerie house, it clonks off the wooden skin of the home, the dead ivy clings to the side of the almost dilapidated home like a person living in the past, unable to let go. Upstairs windows have already been broken with antisocial behaviour but have been that way for a while as the curtains to each of the room’s hangout like hung prisoners.
“I’m throwing rocks, aren’t you gonna’ do anything?” The young lad Fran performs.
Fran stands at the front gate that has been ripped from one hinge and hangs on for dear life. The garden of the property had become a tropical forest of weeds and bush, everything colourful has been drained and sucked dry, it seems like a mystical mystery as every other garden on the street was pristinely cut and watered on occasion. Fran stands with his arm pulled back with a rock gripped and throws another. The rumoured witches’ liar lives under a giant black cloud that only seems to blanket this house on the street.
The old lady who lives in the rundown home scrapes her dead-leg across the floorboards; she limps over to the screen-door, opening it very cautiously. A cat in tow within her arm, she rests an eye on the young hooligan who is outside of her gate.
“Young man, what do you think you are doing?” She responds to the stone thrower in her rustled voice.
“I’m throwing stones; what are you going to do about it, old lady?” Fran charges out; picking up another rock.
The old lady shuffles out a little more to the top step of her doorstep. Birds in the sky who circle, break from nature and fly away; the clouds of mosquitoes disburse and vanish into the brush of the garden jungle.
“You shouldn’t be throwing stones at all; it is not a nice behaviour. Why are you doing this?” She replies.
“Because I can and it is within my nature to destroy; even when it is the home of a rixatrix.” Fran picks up another rock and lobs it through another window. He stands tough with pride, believing he is more superior to the old lady.
“Go find prey, Paws.” The black cat looks up into the woman’s eyes; she lets the cat fall to her feet, it scampers away. “Young man, you have broken the rules for your entertainment, you must pay for all you have damaged, I will ask you to go home to where you feel safe with one small idea; I am an old lady, yes, I have lived along long time, so in ending I have been through more fire than you can imagine, I have done worse acts than you are doing now but repaid them all with all the happiness I lusted for. You believe I am only a haggard woman; I am so much more than that. Soon I will be throwing my own rocks at you.” So contempt the lady declares.
Fran’s eyes open to fear, he backs on his feet to the uttered words of promise from the witch. Turning and running away in cower. The old ladies wrathful laugh echoes all the way down the street, following Fran home.
That night as Fran settles snug in his bed, a storm concocts and evil idea within the night sky, spitting bad words against the world against Fran’s bedroom window. He rests his head upon his pillow and begins to close his eyes and fall into a deep sleep.
“Goodnight, Fran Munroe; do not wrestle and do not speak within your slumber.” A rustic voice spells out from the shadows of his bedroom.
Fran’s eye open with a phobia he could not nightmare about. He tries to wriggle from comfort and shout-out to his parents but no movement and words come to be. The only thing Fran can do is watch and listen, finally.
“I told you to heed yourself, Fran, as it is within your nature to throw stones for fun at an old woman’s home.” The witch reveals herself from the shadows and comes into dim light from the hallway and lightning strikes. “It is within my nature to deliver revenge upon souls who hurt me. Young people nowadays a forgetful, they forget that we old people have been around, seen and done everything; where you have pride and energy, we have fought and have memory. You should respect your elders, Fran. My cat, Paws, followed you home tonight and as you came to my home for disruption, I have come to yours for destruction.” She comes to his bedside and smiles darkly in his face.
The doubled windows of Fran’s bedroom open with the intruder of wind, ever so grimly. The rain chucks harder and thunder and lightning bang drums and sound symbols to the theme song of murder.
The sinister old lady takes flight within Fran’s room, hovering over his bed; she lets out a devilishly spine-chilling shriek. Fran can still only watch as the old decrepit woman is sucked out from his window into the war that has broke-out within the sky; her overalls and skirt flicker and snap at the wind as she holds herself in front of the moons light.
“You broke my home, now I shall take yours!” She screams.
With that, she extends her arms, pointing her blackened fingernails at the house and begins to hum to herself; she rolls her eyes again and again.
Fran’s whole house begins to shudder with fear, shivering with the real reality that is happening. Photo frames and ornaments firstly begin to fall from shelves, windows begin to shatter; walls begin to peel like skin from the bone. The whole house topples on top of the adolescent, and all Fran can do is witness the wrath of an old lady from down the street.
“The moral of this story, you ask? Respect your elders; they know even more sadistic and evil shit than any of us.” – Alex Kennedy.
The Tale of the Not-So Grateful King
There once was a king of Sluinn who was in love with the most beautiful black haired maiden in the land. He made the young maiden, Lucia, his queen, post haste; as he knew that he could love no other and nothing as much. At this time he was a gracious king, he helped feed his kingdom, he kept a clean and prosperous land which no other line beyond had, all his lands people loved him.
One day as the king and queen rode horse-back in the woods; an assassin sprung an attempt on both their lives. The blackened mask of the assassin had the emblem of a scorpion; he was from the evil tribe of Pion, far beyond the snowy mountains of the north.
“What do you want? Guards! Guards!” Lucia chants.
The king motioned his horse in front of the Lucia’s to protect her. The assassin drags his sword from his holster, taking swings at the king’s feet.
From out of nowhere a spiralling blade propels from the bushes, sticking into the hired-knives neck, killing him.
The guards finally arrive, circling the king with their spears and swords. A ruffled man exits the cobwebs of branches, without a care in the world upon his face.
The king bypasses his supposed guard and trots up to the scruffian with so much pride stance within his stare.
“My name is King Orwin, I rule Sluinn and everything that has colour within our beautiful world. You have saved mine and my wife’s life, name your price and it shall be granted.”
“My name is Gossoon sire and all I ask is a few pennies to see my belly get full tonight.” He pleads with his hands together.
“My fellow saviour, I have left my pouch back at Castle Grey, we have no money here. If you return back with us I will fill your pockets with as much gold and bread as you can carry.” The king proclaims with a bow of his head.
“My gracious king, I am on a path home, I have not seen my family within ten years, and if I return with you it will be another day too long. Forgive me.” Gossoon bows his regrets.
“Well you will not go free without a token.” The king insists.
“Sire, I will be arriving back here within one year, if possible I can collect my reward then?” Gossoon gulps in hope.
“I now know that the tribe Pion are advancing an attack because of this attempt and you have saved my life. Within one year, you can return and ask me for anything within my world and it shall be granted, young Gossoon.” The king, queen and troops turn and hike back towards the castle and Gossoon continues on his travels.
A war broke out within Sluinn between the king’s army and the tribe Pion. It raged on for several months. But in the end, the king was victorious. He had now become the wealthiest man upon the planet, his country size doubled. And it was all because of one man’s kind nature to save another human being.
Now the king had become so powerful and rich, he had also gained paranoia and an anger problem, thinking people were going to try and steal what he had taken in conquer. It had reached the eleventh month of the year and the king started to over think everything, believing the stranger who saved his life so long ago, would come and bow at his feet and ask for his full bank.
The king commanded his guards to arrest the stranger on sight and bring him forth to the king. As the twelfth month gleamed and died, the stranger travelled back to Sluinn to collect his reward. He was captured and chained and dragged to the king’s court to be heard. Gossoon was thrown on the floor. The king sat next to his wife Lucia within giant golden thrones.
“You have come to take my money, haven’t you stranger?” The king hisses.
“Sire, no, you asked me to return to claim my reward, so here I am” Gossoon stammers in fear.
The king rises from his cushion and looks down with an odious stare, pointing at Gossoon.
“You will receive nothing, you deserve nothing, you are to be banished for eternity, and if you return back to my kingdom you will be beheaded. Do you have anything to say?” He addresses.
Gossoon shed one tear and looks upon the queen; she rests ever so quietly as both their eyes connect in gaze.
“Sire, from this day on I hope you find yourself, once something that means so much to you is gone, you will try your hardest to get it back. But I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you.”
“If it is not mine, you can have it, now leave and never return!” The king bellows.
Gossoon is picked up and lead from the castle. The king sits, gripping onto his armrests with apathy tapping on his fingertips. The queen leans over.
“Husband, I am feeling rather lightheaded, I think I may take my leave from court and go to bed, my love.” She says ever so gently.
The king leans in for a kiss.
“Yes, my dear. Have your bed maids escort you to our room and I shall be there soon.” The king whispers.
The queen stands and shuffles herself out of the side door, five maids cluster behind her.
That night the king flings his sheets open and creeps into bed next to his beauty. He looks upon her face, thinking he could never love something or someone so much. A kiss upon the lips for the queen.
The queen awakens, squinty eyes at first, she shoots up bright eyed.
“AAAAHHHHHHH! Who are you? Who are you?! Where am I?” The queen falls out of bed and with the balls of her feet she scrapes backwards to the corner of the room.
“My love, my love. It is me, the king.” He pleads with her to know him.
“I have never laid eyes upon you, sir, or this place.” She cries.
“You do not remember me? Is there anything you do remember, my love?” He sobs.
“One thing, I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you and I have already taken it; only those words, sir.” She replies rather hypnotized.
Moral of the story, you don’t what you have got until it’s gone and something’s in life are worth so much more than others.
Alex’s Poetic side.
Please let these stars guide me home,
The debt in which I claim, was paid in full,
I crossed that line far from the road,
Lost my mind, I’ve had prison bars of my own,
What do I wish on? When my vision is gone,
A two course collision, with a coping mechanism,
And brute force…
No cross road junctions,
To make me run from these onions,
My function is dysfunction,
Another one bites the dust so I write in blood,
With my pen now I’m lunging in…
I’m deeply lost, but reinforced,
You refuse to keep me close, and I sink further,
Into using the force, now to the dark-side I enter,
A land-slide of words is now my form of murder,
You can analyze each burn,
But your eyes have been banned
By the sights he has earned,
He will rise from the dead,
And give to the world what is deserves in return.
From the ashes I am rising,
Back to balance this horizon,
From this abyss in which I’m climbing,
Of hopelessness, motionless and bribing,
No hope left in this bottomless pit,
Gotta keep a grip, I gotta keep grip…
Having a dream doesn’t mean you’re fool,
Subconsciously knowing it won’t come true,
That might do, when this world laughs at you…
I’m just getting warming up,
I need a way to transform my luck,
From corrupt to construct a good life, I must…
It’s all on my cards; I will take all of the bad, easy or hard,
Because I believe in my heart,
No more cheating the start,
This empty feeling I have,
If you could only see the meaning of that…
I’m still open-minded, the right idea, still hoping to find it,
It’s like I’ve been blinded by the soap trapped behind my eye-lids,
My words are deafening, in this environment of silence,
My Mount Everest I’ve climbed it,
And when I hit the event of my death,
I want people to say…
“Life… That dude tried it”
The shadows violate through my window,
As an unexpected intruder,
Just then time froze and my courage took the form of excluder,
My blanket becomes my shield,
To darkness I am tonight’s last meal,
I dare not move, I dare not stare, beyond that bed, beyond that chair,
All in my head? Or is something on the air?
All my words, all cry help, all unheard as my tongue never dealt…
As my fear along with eyes begin to focus,
Works of ten madmen or witchcrafts hocus-Pocus?
Under my bed, ready to attack,
Is this the menace within my head hidden within the dark?
The door is my guard, my prison,
This room has me finally trapped…
A break for freedom is on a mind echo,
I hate the feeling of being totally alone,
I try and chase the meanings of monsters being within my own home,
Then come back to peace, logic and belief,
Remove my head from the sheets and take another peek.
These Med-kits have no instant direct hit,
On my fucking headaches,
I think I’m addicted, dependant,
Since my hands and legs shake,
I’m still outta’ control,
But depression ain’t nothing baby when we start to roll,
I keep running from them till I’m back in the cold,
My shadow mans pressing buttons,
Messing and fucking me up,
Momma, I just thought you should know,
I was trying to go forward but being pulled back,
Rocking back and forth in the corner,
But I told you as soon as,
You tried to get me the right help,
Now there’s nothing they can do,
Cried every night,
Because my genes set me up in hell,
So you know I had to pull through.
In this dead of night,
I’m in a crisis,
Hells set its sights,
One the righteous,
This precious life is not that priceless,
Can’t be that petrified,
If I’m still fight for rights,
In this dead heat,
I have to separate my feet soon,
And make a break for freedom,
My hands shake and I’m tearful,
We both know time waits for no fool.
I’m hellbound from sell-out to sold out,
Makes a change from living in a cold house,
The welcome mat from red to black is rolled out,
From hell I’m back,
Now you can’t get me back,
I’m something you can’t hold down,
Put me back on my feet,
Hells back to tear words apart,
My world already fell apart,
Looks like you were all sight seeing,
In my live readings, I rest in pieces,
With your peace you police me,
I don’t have my own blood on my hands,
Only delusions of granger in them,
Watch me break these clouds, expose these heavens,
If I can,
I’m writing in venom.
I’m being held by angels,
Does that mean I’m in danger?
And now I can’t stay with you.
I’m afraid that death is my cure,
Have I jumped my last stepping stone?
Letting myself in through heavens door,
Set forth for the light beyond,
From the fight before I have to stay strong,
Laying here going, going, gone,
Then being thrown in the darkest of holes,
My eyes, I have to keep them opened,
The reapers soul shopping,
He says “More often than none”
You will be lowered in to that hole within that coffin.
I had a dream,
That the past has captured me,
A crash test dummy,
For the masters who attached a lead,
And their partners who passed a beat,
I’m in agony,
As my life passes, blinding me,
Living in harmony,
When the harm is put on you by somebody,
Who thinks you’re harmless,
Writing on my body,
With no money and hungry,
I need this,
So I plead my case,
Please miss; provide a recess from this pain,
Can’t be aggressive my mellow mind is to blame,
But the marks on my face and rib-cage,
Have me heading the wrong way.
It’s a hell of long way,
Back to the Promised Land,
To be a common man,
You have a different angle on me,
I’m blinded my this sun-rise,
I think I can make you see that sometimes,
Angry is the only way to be.
This is coming off my chest,
I’m flying off these walls,
All these emotions inside,
Can’t be stalled,
It’s time to break loose,
It’s time to break free,
Alex’s blew a fuse,
Here comes another side of me.
In the current climate I’m loving poverty,
I’m dying in my poetry,
I wish my eyes were born blind,
Because I’m throwing these stones,
I don’t want to see where they land,
When all my hope has gone,
Please keep hold of my hand.
The airs talking to me,
Shadows are walking to me,
Their grip is locking me,
It’s shockingly shaking the room,
Rocking me rapidly, attacking me,
Grabbing me, throwing me, flooring me,
Entity whoring me, grounding me,
Setting about me,
Sky high clouding me,
Shouting loudly at me, “How could he just walk out on his life and still go to sleep?”
“We take over and cause a super-nova, so no one looks at him likes he’s just another freak!”
Watch me deteriorate,
Cause I’m feeling this weight,
Of looking fear in the face,
Seems like now we’re in a race,
In this day and age,
Can’t be without a key for my cage,
What would you say if I wanted out?
“Alex, you’re not seeing this straight, it’s normal for you to be feeling this way.”
Deep down I know it’s the truth,
This is to the world,
Keep me away.
Trying to be a man in a contest world,
Got to find some moral ground,
Before this solider can step out of hell,
Holding out my hand reaching for help,
No one’s there, my problems shared,
Probably best now to leave him troubled,
Just stop and stare,
Watch that guy talk nonsense, pop pills and top himself,
Throw that psycho in a padded cell,
In my eyes, he is not right in the maddening head,
He was once innocent in sense,
Put him in chains,
Now the only time we see that guy is when the weathers changed,
Look, look, the pains he’s in has got him running naked in the rain,
Someone save him from himself,
Think about the danger that crazy kid could put this world in.
I’ve been auctioned off to the night,
Gavel banged and gone,
Now I’m boxed off from life tonight,
Buried with and avalanche of wrong,
The right is to far away,
Gather round my void,
I reach my hand to safety,
But its get to hard just to hang on,
I took a wrong turn,
There is nothing here to compare,
How long this world took to burn,
My soul with its words,
I’m nothing less than nothingness,
Undress my feelings,
Grit my teeth and suffer this,
This planet I may be under this,
But I’m lighting matches,
I’m damned if I do and damned if I didn’t it,
Stuck with these twenty-two catches.
We could be together forever,
Until death do us part,
I would go further than that,
Just to protect both of our hearts,
I would travel to heaven or even to hell,
Bring you back to the living,
So I could take you and make you my world,
I’m opening the ground,
Shouting above and over these clouds,
All I know right now,
Is your soul must be found,
My time flows slow,
Until I find you I am going rouge,
My own soul is rolling over to your cold,
I can’t live this life without you,
Thought I was hands on,
But all I got was random samples,
Of the once existence of a man gone,
Holding me for ransom,
Trapped in this sandstorm,
Like having soap in your eyes,
Grabbing broken cries,
Having both sides in your mind,
Halving then asking for more time,
There is your line,
You stay on your side,
I will stay on mine.
I plead for a divorce from God,
I’ve tried using brute force,
Connecting through Morse code,
What took you so long?
Not God, these kicks aren’t stopping,
I’m the seventh wonder of a problematic motion,
Rocking back and forth in wonder intently,
The persons question is why? In that sentence,
I’m searching for divine intervention,
Mind over body,
But your body learns the lessons.
I put vodka shots in my co-co pops,
Just to ease this suffering,
I’m up and down,
On a trapeze jumping,
Then on my knees numbing,
I should have given my keys to someone,
Now I am swaying back and forth,
Serious, I have plummeted from my summit,
My actions are only criss-cross,
My hands are always fist locked,
Smash the glass, grip and squash,
So now prepare yourself for an avalanche,
Those are camouflaged,
I stand on guard,
People pass so far, fast.
I’m back in this car crash,
Just hit a brick wall,
No… don’t give this kid a call,
You weren’t responsible,
For making the omelets from my broken eggs,
For me now, its mission impossible,
To break free from these straps,
And get out this hospital bed.
Carrying all this dead weight,
On my back,
In my detrimental state, pushing me back,
I’ve had better days in lives chess games,
But not like that, not like that,
No longer running from monsters,
Mobsters or cop stares,
I’m the one in this corner,
Pilled up and I can’t stop there,
Because my storms are chased by doctors,
But more or less the road-rage that I show is,
Causing my prone face to chase the shadows,
God’s good grace homes in to do battles,
With the beast, the freak show animal,
Running down endless corridors,
Penniless but got front-row seats,
To my own personal horror show,
If I get hungry later,
I will follow the bread crumbs home.
It’s too little to late,
Playing piggy in the middle with dire straits,
I’ve got to find fate,
I’ve got a black heart,
But lights in my eyes,
When I break,
My glass shards are exchanged for money rides,
Just one day at a time, dude,
Just one day at a time.
It’s weird how fate hits with crushing blows,
I drown myself in this world’s weight,
This kid there’s nothing lower,
Dismissed – the hurries over,
Fits for overcoming sober,
It’s just that I am running low on,
The love the never showed up,
Just give me my soul back,
Let the cat out the bag,
Because you left this man to go mad,
In the hands of the bad,
I wish I could scratch out my eyes,
Because I don’t want them,
I have lived this modern life,
No way passed,
No way forward.
Each blink is too long and each beat is too much to cage and bare, so I shall rip off my eyelids to keep you in my sight’s a little longer and tear through my chest and place myself as a sacrifice to the goddess of my inner war. My lips become unworked and dry without your pressure and I wonder and pace in circles to this addiction called you, your essence or smoke clings to my lungs, I know each inhale is deadly but the remembrance will one day be my murderer. I know you have found your feet and walked the ground you stood on but you left a blood-trail when you drove your hand through my ribs, clasped your fingers around my heart and dragged it off to the unknown, thank you. I have tried to rip and burn the photographs of you but your witchcrafting spells are protection against your stillness towards the weak. It feels as if I am chained to a monstrous mountains peak of snow and I am kneeling at its feet, tortured to watch the skies clouds that have now been replaced with images of our better times and precious seconds. There was no Cupid with a bow and arrow only a silent thief with a dagger. No medical diagnosis or prescription to help me now, the only answer it to go cold turkey, the oldest of remedies and cures but it will surely almost destroy me as you have ripped out my insides, cooked them and now I am ready to carve. The thought of you make me throw-up, not in a sickening way to your portrait but fear, anxiety, frustration and anger, those are the invisible fingers down my throat.
Thank you, Love.
Saved By An Angel – Part Two
As people shoulder straight through Jack, he seems unmoved by their barge, walking side by side with me. Crowds of people are herding either towards school or work, the whole sidewalk is ram-packed.
“Okay, time for a game changer, Natalie. What I am planning to do is to rebuild you, saying that, I will have to destroy you first; all in a hypothetical sense.” Jack reasons, fingering his septum above his upper-lip.
I stop in my track and share a glare of unease to his witty grin. He turns and stands right in front of me.
“What did I tell you? I asked you to trust me, it won’t hurt one bit, well not physically.” He chuckles as he re-turns and begins walking again. I really do not fancy answering him within this swarm of walkers; I don’t think I could handle the weird looks, laughs and points of their normal ways.
I jog up to his pace and take out my Galaxy S4 Mini phone and hold it to my ear.
“Jack, what do you have planned? You have a look in your eyes that’s not really settling well within me.”
He halts and looks over someone’s shoulder as they are reading text messages; the young ladies life Jack scopes into has a smile cut right across her face, the message must be a good one perhaps from a new love. He claps his hands together.
“I’ve got it and we can do it before school, Nat. Onwards and upwards!” Jack pinches my cheeks with so much excitement which emulates from his facial expression. He grabs my hand and tugs me down the street, all the by-passers look on to me being dragged by an invisible force.
“Jack, if you don’t stop pulling me I will be forced to call you an Archangel.” Jack stops in his track but I keep staggering and hurtle straight into his back.
“Hey, Guardian Angels are the poor men in heaven and those Ass-Angels are the movie stars. I am nothing like those douche bags and I sleep better knowing that.” He affirms with a cocky tone. “We’re at your first task anyway.” He pecks me on the cheek. My affinity for this man, slash angel is growing on me.
“Task? What task? I thought you were sent here to help me.” He creeps up to me and throws his arm around me. “I am but the help cannot only come from me, think of me as a coach who hypes you up before the big game but it is inevitably you who will be doing all the running and scoring.”
“Great, Self-help, Jack I could have done this myself.” I exhale gently.
“Sort of self-help but you will have to help yourself to my advice. I don’t lie, Nat.”
I give in with my hands wiping my old life away within my nervous sweat.
“Now, do you see in Jacks-Snack-Bar to our left; there is a guy named Steven Jackson, he is the one wearing a leather jacket.” I glance through the window and see the most rough-looking, chiselled jawed guy I have ever seen, sat with five other loud-ass dudes. “Nat, look at me. What I need from you in our first task is I want to walk in there and tell that guy that he is the most luscious and sexiest guy you have ever laid eyes on and all you want to do is lick his bare chest. Then walk back out before he gets the chance to reply.”
Only thinking about doing this deed freezes my every limb and chases my heartbeat.
“I don’t think I can Jack. That’s way too much for me to handle first off.”
He puts his hands on my face and holds my head within his palms, looking at me right in the eyes, right into my soul.
“Natalie, you are a new you. You have a new look and a new lease of life. I would never have asked this of you if I myself did not think you were ready for it, I wouldn’t have asked it from you. You are, trust me.” I lighten up. “Now get that ass in there.”
Step towards complete demise from the social structure. I enter through the door with a ding and silently I strategize all that I must say while trying to keep it all together. The laugh from the gang in the corner bellows through-out the Snack-bar; all other sitters are unnerved and scared to ask for them to settle.
I walk over panicky but with a mission to keep me marching.
“Hi-Hiiii Steve.” The whole room stops and stares at me about to make a fool of myself. “I would… Like to say-y-y-y… You are the sexiest of all men and I would lick to like you… I mean like to lick you.” I quickly close my eyes, turn, open and march straight out of the door.
“I mess up, Jack.” I almost wail.
“No you didn’t. What you did was stand up to everything that was telling you not to and you took a step into the beyond of your normal state. First step complete, tick it from the list. C’mon let’s get to school.”
We cut through Jenkins Park, which is a wooded area but if cuts the time to walk to school by at least twenty minutes which in theory means an extra twenty minutes in bed. Jack is hopping over logs.
“What’s it like being an angel, Jack?” I probe into his life to get to know about this mystery that has chained himself to me.
“Boring at times, all you do is watch; we all really watch the intimacy side of life, that’s kind of our movies. That one spark between two people that flourishes into a forest fire, it’s an F’in treat which goes great with popcorn.” He reports without ever making eye-contact, still hopping over branches.
“The Devil was an angel, right? So is he still downstairs?” Jack cocks his head and burst out laughing.
“Okay, let me clear the whole Lucifer story up, for your ears only. Lucifer was the most beautiful of angels, females wanted to be with him and the males would have carved off their right-wing just to be him for a day. So one day he and our all mighty father had a major falling out, which got him kicked out our house. That’s the part of the book that all you guys have read, but like it is in heaven it shall be on Earth. My dad forgave and let him back in ages ago, he messed up, paid the price and now he is the golden boy again; a vain ass-bag but still a daddy’s boy at the end of the day. Why do you think whenever there’s a movie made about him, all of the people say there is a curse on the movie set. I would be pissed too to have people think for a millennium that I was actually evil. He’s back at home, think as hell as a rehab centre for angels. He’s bringing his autobiography out on scroll in a few months, I have pre-order my copy along with the audio version of his story in hell, narrated by Elvis. We’re not that different, baby.”
A ruckus of male laughter and shouts comes echoing from through the weaves of the trees and leafs. Me and Jack pass deer in the headlight stares at one another.
“Jack! What could that be?” I hush over to him.
“I don’t know…. Werewolves, maybe?” He chucks, undeterred by the hollers as he stares into my deep blues.
From the bushes behind us comes Steve Jackson, clicking his knuckles.
“There you are my sweet thing, I didn’t get the chance to reply to your compliment earlier, you ran away so fast, so me and my boys…” All Stevens’s boys come out from the shadows of the woods and stand behind Steve. “…Drove around looking for you, to thank you in our special way for making our day; I hope you like it.”
I start to back up with the trembles of fear shivering me. Their evil deeds show in their eyes as they step forward and try to flank me from the sides. Jack steps in front of me.
“Natalie, slowly start to back up, I will deal with this. Nobody and I mean nobody gets in the way of my work.” Jack bows his head with his eyes closed, focusing himself. Without any effort his flutters into the air; the forest turns dark. The shadows of gigantic wings attach and open from Jacks back. Within one flap of his almost invisible wings and ferocious winds tears through the forest, ripping up logs and sending the spiralling through the air, brush that laid still distorts the entire forest; along with the roar of wind help pick up the hooligans and somersaults them through the woodland until they are out of sight.
Everything soon settles and begins to rest on mayhem. Jack comes back to the throws of gravity. He turns with a smile.
“Shall we get to school, then?” He bubbles like nothing has happened.
I nod incessantly in shock as he brushes by me with a wink.
What have I gotten myself into? Who is this guy? Why me? I guess by the time this week is up I will find out, won’t I?
A storm just for me ripples the very skies; rain-veins on the windows as my candle burns with a hiss. I just killed a man, not a man but myself. My sanity has gone forever and all that this world is left with is the condition. From the clouds their improper faces which glare at my improper soul, spit at my feet, walking in puddles.
Time is the biggest of killers to me. I wish, I wish, I am choking on this wishbone. Within me is only without you. They are the people of the dawn and I am the son of the night, bullets and knives make my halo but loss takes a chunk of body and thread. I screamed for you, your name rang in my ear.
When from the shadows comes brightening hate,
Take their skin and their bones shall break,
Burn their eyes and stab their hearts,
Take their heads and tear them apart.
I am a black flower now in bloom, these words are my toxins. Greatness has no fear, I shall be born great, observe. Would you like some life along with that body? I will poison their minds with my venomous behaviour. The war inside me rages on. Where I will take you now, your eyes will be my weapon.
Finding an equal heart takes time, but losing that heart takes another. They say revenge upon love is the evilest of actions one can do; but the loss of you made the anger build and build and build until a smile arose upon my face and an idea was brewed. Now in the clutches of death we think about the people we would like to bring with us – Good and bad.
Can you hear that? That is the world bleeding, crying with discomfort and it is all because of me! I am never forever but for never. Life or death, neither would survive within me if I only committed to my true nature.
I am holding this world’s fate within my palm, paradise or purgatory, everlastingly within a plummet. A dire need for fire or love, torn would be the word between worlds, neither for me.
For my Writing Friends
I stand now; I stand a man with no future as of yet, twiddled by his past and troubled by his condition but still I stand toe to toe – nose to nose with this epic-fail named my life. Yes it may have a detrimental state on my being but in life’s chess game I can hold all of its weight because they call me Alexander the Great Writer.
I am different writer from all of you, which inevitably makes me stand away from the pack, I’m a lone wolf, you hunt your prey, I am more of a devilish creature; I wait for my food to come to me. Decipher that how you will. But I have watched and seen so many of a’writer creep up to a literary agent with a piece of work or a manuscript, shaking with so much possibility for a publication or perhaps a good phrase. But —
“Excuse me; this is my manuscript, its call Dead on The Water. It’s a psych-thriller novel. Everyone who reads it says it is awesome. Could you give it a read, please?” The writer stammers as he shudders in his boots.
“Sure thing, it will be the first thing I will do right after I do this other thing I have to do.” The clips of the high-heels simmer away through the double doors of the agency.
And what a shock! Nothing comes to pass.
But I devised a plan. One that will be more treacherous and longwinded than your way, I will write a blog! Write everything I can, whenever I can. Gain views upon my work through the blog and social networks. And in time the RIGHT-EYES will stumble upon my words. – The idea doesn’t seem that great when I write it down like that, but if I do my own thing I should get to where I am going through gaining attention. Oh yeah, for all you wannabe writers. A blog can be used as a portfolio for your work, so anyone wanting to know what you write like before contacting you, can view it, so write your best pieces. It’s a lot like putting on your party-dress and attending a ball, you want to be the best piece of polished writing-skirt at that place, so you get lucky and go home for the best damn night of your life. I think I got carried away with that part, I’m back now.
Now my talent or skill; to me it resembles a ship on the ocean, it could be calm and controlled on the water but like the weather, within an instant it can turn harsh, deadly and challenging and then there’s days of waves of poetry; but you have to look out for them.
These words I give birth to can conquer all forever, whatever the weather whether I wither or whether I turn killer and send this world into global terror, I shall. Whether I use poetic stories or general stories to get my emotion pen across, I will, by any means necessary. I may be a female pin-up centrefold and my words may be censored gold, but the reality is my reality is something I can never truly hold, my job sucks and my bed is never cold, fact.
But I write everything and when I say everything, I write everything on my mind at the time I am thinking about writing. But in a way that is educational for other writers due to my ability to play with the words. Also in diary fashion so people just wanting to pop in and check out if other people are having bad days just like them. And then you have my dark side that gravitationally yanks people in to show my mental illness and how I write about it, along with the why strapped to it and the ferocious way I chuck words around that they could never even muster to think about using.
Take away this hurt, please. It feels as if my brains will flower-blossom from beneath my skull, splitting my life into death. I am crumpled on the floor taking this beating from myself because I must; squish my eyes shut so no tears are spilt.
These med-kits have no instant direct-hit on these chugging headaches.
You see I write everything I see. I could be watching TV and everything the characters on-screen are acting I am writing EVERYTHING that I see. –
Davis stretches through the doorway, gun handle strangled, index finger at the ready to twitch. His eyes mean business with his bad acting; but the bad guy is going down. The shadow of a silhouette passes the kitchen door; Davis barely caught it in his peripheral vision.
So on and so forth. Hey, you can always watch what I was writing.
But it is a great way to further your talent. Watch something and rhyme off quickly and efficiently, so when it comes to tackling you work, it’s not only a great piece of writing it’s also a piece of pi$$ to do it.
Keep those pens busy!
Alex – The great writer, it’s got a cool ring to it.
This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me!
I’m coming for it all, one last stand on every piece of paper, crumple it up and use them as bombs or make myself paper aeroplanes. Extremists, Haha! Please… I’m an extreme extremist; I eat terrorists as if they were bubble-gum, see what I did there? I just blew-up another one. Pop! I’ll be waiting here forever on these pages; a pen as my gravestone, a bunch of blunt pencils as flowers and a papier-mâché coffin. I’m throwing sucker-punches at this page but this isn’t the bible, less holy! My life stinks, I can’t even afford to pay my water bill; I’m the stinky-kid. Help me, I’m a writer! What have I gotten myself involved in? I’m sick of this life; this must be the withdrawal from sanity. What can I do with this life except become a writer; there a light-bulb has just switched on, turn it off! This headache is getting worse. My words jump straight off the page, don’t they? Beware they could blind you.
This whole big bad world has nothing on me, why do you think I peeled off my own skin? I wanted to become appealing to everyone. You cannot do what I do; you can only do what I cannot do, which is stop and fail. I’m now stabbing my eyes with my pen, so I can really see what I am writing for you. Can you see passed my words and see the light? Here, let me put this computer over your head. This is what I’m meant for; to me it’s as if I’m carving my name in cement. It’s that easy!
So throw all your pens up in the air, blacken out my Sun, no matter; I write in the darkness. Human emotion is my only kryptonite; it radiates through and clouds my vision, I just have to remember I’m not human. I live in this pen, I live in these words, now you have read me; I’m on your mind – my job is done. Don’t blame my mother; she did her best to raise Hell! From every litter you must have a runt, that’s me. I’m Mr. Brightside though; I must have rolled on my side on this hellfire. I could always count my blessings in life but I’m a writer, I don’t deal in numbers.
I sleep with this pen every night; I think I have contracted ink-poisoning, it’s life-threatening with every word I scribble. Fame is in a frame on my mantle, I’m in love with her but she is too busy satisfying other people but I will be the love of her life, until we’re both dead! I bucking-bronco off all of my mental baggage, I’m sick of carrying all of the dirty laundry; they call me a pig-headed ass!
Why are you asking me to leave? I don’t even live on this world. These aren’t words, they are only spasms I suffer with, so what exactly are you reading? That’s right, nothingness. Why are you here? You could be writing screenplays, you could be living your perfect life, you could be making money; don’t do what I’m doing, I’m doomed!
On a scale of one to five, in women’s eyes, I’m usually number 4. Why do you think I never step forward in this line up? I don’t want to be underrated. But I did it! It’s like a murder he wrote.
I burst into laughter every time I read my journal, my life is such a sick-joke it’s actually funny. I can’t talk to some people, I get more sense from talking to brick-walls, so I did that and they tried locking me up for that too.
A problem shared is a problem doubled, my words can be infectious. Does Alex live here? Sorry, his upstairs is vacant. This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me. We’re all prisoners behind this mortar; I’m reaching through the brickwork to show you I’m still alive.
And as soon as my stars have aligned, you can then watch me as I shoot! Because I’ll be a Superstar.
I treasure my secrets so this world cannot find me. An Xmarks the spot; this is why I write when I am cross. I will wait here for you, I will always be here. Keep digging the dirt from on top of me; you will never uncover my truth. Set sail for a better life, towards the horizon line into the sunset. I cannot stand these calm oceans any longer; I am falling from the edge of the world’s ledge.
This split personality is splitting me in half, personally I am a person of pure fear, I don’t get along with many people, I blow up if you’re here. How would it be if I were famous? That would never happen; if I had a working brain this nameless delinquent would be too dangerous. I forecast more contrast, the light from my eyes have been snatched by a bad-man, gone fast. These naked trees vein over my skies, Alex, stop looking up to those stars unless they’re exploding!
Life is lawless,
Jobless with no benefits,
Hopeless and can’t get to grips,
With this whole mess I am living in.
Welfare will recur,
So will their slurring eyes,
The greatest loser,
It takes time to get use to,
We’re all living in this warfare,
Don’t feed this animal, tattooed,
Check out my new head-ware.
Ill-starred since my life started,
Killed my heart for my writing passion,
My time machine has broken down,
I am reliving my remembered past in a passing glimpse,
I’m turning off my humanity switch,
Hey, these hits happen.
Down this wormhole I go,
Clicking together my heels,
There’s no place like home,
Falling on my face, comatose,
You’re now watch an apocalypse taking place,
I’m diving in headfirst, hold your nose,
I am swimming in insane.
These words play no part in my everyday vocabulary, my existence is a horrific ordeal; ideally I am lost for words. Don’t wake me up from this nightmare; my everyday life is much worse. What can I write to have you on my side? See these horrors I never borrowed in this heart lives only hollowed morals.