She speaks (for a change).

Tuesday, September 7th 2004

Right. So. Hello.
You wanted out, so say something.
Leave me be. I'm not used to this. Let me become accustomed to the idea of being in control.
Very well.
You fade. Ah, it is wonderful to stretch my fingers, my mind, my thoughts. To begin...

I've been walking down this alley for too long. Where is the crossroad? I can't seem to find it. Does it turn back on itself? Perhaps I've been walking in circles? No such luck. This all appears to be new, only familiar because it is still an alley.
Curses!
She sat down and stared at the filthy ground. Then she grabbed a rock and began carving circles into the sludge.
Ah... the spiral. You think to escape through the whirlwind?
She jumped at the voice teasing at her mind. "No - what whirlwind?"
The one in your mind, of course. Silly girl.
I'm not a girl!
Silly then? Silly woman, silly human, silly thing. Go back to your linear alley. Keep walking back and forth to nowhere. I dare you.
Silence.
Self-doubt? I can smell it on you. Disgusting.
Shut up!
Hahaha! Shut your mind then.
She continued walking.
You've turned around.
No I haven't.
Look!
She lifted her head, glancing forward and then back. "They look the same."
Do you see the doorway?
There's a door?
Fool! I'm done with you. Call me when you're ready for help next time.
The presence vanished.
Where to go now?
This is pointless. Why should I even keep going?
To get to the end of course, answered a quiet voice from beneath the ground.
But the end is so very far away.
How can you know until you find it?
I know. I can feel it.
Well, this isn't making it any easier.
Right.
She stopp-

You don't trust me, do you?
I'm tired.
Quit complaining!
Where was I? Oh, the alley.

She looked to her left and saw the outlines of a door, dirty cracks in the brick.
Open it.
She pushed hesitantly and then with all of her weight. It croaked open slowly, a shadow sprawling at her feet.
Come in, multiple voices hissed.
She stepped through. One foot. Two. The door became a wall again. The darkness grabbed her.
"Let go!"
No. We've been waiting for you.
"Who?"
The shadows.
She froze. They carried her through the emptiness to the bit of light that allowed them to exist.
Within its glowing circle lay a knife, a silvery glint against the shadows. They dropped her unceremoniously into the circle.
She stood up quickly, and was just as quickly shoved back into a chair.
So fresh! Blue eyes gleamed within a gaunt face. A tall man in white stood before her, knife in hand. His black hair lay like silk, framing his features.
Are you ready to make the crossing? Are you ready to die?
"Die? No! Get away from me!"
She tried to run, but the chair held her firm.
Do not be so afraid young one. You are ready - he tapped her chest with the tip of the knife - inside.
She closed her eyes. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.
Open your eyes!
She obeyed the command instinctively, just as the blade soared for her chest. She gasped as it sunk into her heart. Blood spurted out, coating the man's white attire. Her mouth remained open, silently screaming her shock.
Perfect! he exclaimed, pulling out the blade.
He slashed at her stomach, making tiger stripes of her skin. Up and down the arms, across the thighs, and along the legs. She shivered and moaned, devoid of pain, overwhelmed with the white hot pleasure.
Once finished, he turned her pliant body over and carved a symbol into her back.
When it was done, she sighed, struggling to remain awake.
Those perfect, crystal blue eyes floated before her. "Thank you," she whispered
My pleasure, dear. His crimson lips curved into a soft smile, and then disappeared into the shadows.

Star

A street light blinked out of existence, casting a portion of the parking lot into obscurity. Colby quickly glanced toward a small cafe, gleaning from the dim lights within that it was vacant. He crept through the shadows at the edge of the lot, following the metal fence that had long since been appropriated by overgrown bushes and feral weeds. Upon reaching the corner, he kneeled down and clawed at the dirt and grass, then buried his torn knapsack. He then sat upon the small mound, and shrunk into his threadbare army jacket, preparing to sleep for however long he would remain undiscovered.

Deep red light blossomed beneath Colby's eyelids, sending him to his feet. In his exhaustion he assumed the worst - the police on patrol for homeless men like himself, aching to throw away the garbage lingering in the city. But it wasn't the cops. It wasn't anybody.

On the cracked concrete of the once deserted lot laid two snakes, one pearly white, the other a glittering onyx. Their combined purple-white phosphorescence formed a nimbus at least four feet in diameter, radiating waves of heat that enveloped Colby, caressing his tense muscles. Without a sound, the two reptiles undulated in a fluid dance, mirroring each other perfectly. Colby remained standing behind the mound of earth at his feet, eyes riveted. He was not by any means a religious man, but the hypnotic display felt innately spiritual. The dance felt like the reenactment of an ancient ritual; it was eerily familiar, yet completely alien.

The two lava lamp snakes embraced each other in that mid-town cafe parking lot, and vomited tiny emeralds into each other's lap. Their hollow eyes bore into Colby's frozen features for an interminable amount of time before they simply vanished. At that moment, a star streaked across the incandescent city sky, and another was born.

[Wrote this on October 18 for Brett. It's mostly unedited and needs work, like everything else I throw in here...]

Morning.

Or was it night? She could never tell, when every day she forced herself into consciousness long before dawn dared to scar the sky. The life of a diligent student.

She glanced up at her alarm clock. It was blank, not even flashing. The power had to be out.

"Shit!" She sat upright quickly, reaching for her glasses. If she was late again, had slept through her morning classes, there would be no way to keep up with the week's homework and make-up tests.

While fighting against a seemingly endless wave of blankets, she noticed a yellow tag pinned to the end of one. She hastily put on her glasses and examined the tag closely. In a jagged script of black ink was written the word "Clomatica".

After staring at it for a moment, she finally ripped it off and slid out of bed to determine exactly how late she was. Her feet came to rest on something slimy and warm. With a barely stifled yelp, she slipped and landed gracelessly on the floor. The liquid was a murky green, spilling across the entire room - if one could call it a room anymore.

Her desk and shelves of books were completely demolished. Scraps of burnt wood lay haphazardly strewn about. Where there had once been a window was now a gaping portal leading to an empty sky, before which her books fluttered like fallen butterflies. The remaining walls were riddled with cracks and holes, causing her to wonder, somewhere beneath layers of shock, whether the entire ceiling would collapse and kill her right then.

But it did not collapse. Nor did the vision disappear. For it was a vision, of course. It wasn't real.

How could it be?

The unidentifiable liquid quivered beneath her hands, pulsating as if it were alive and growing, as if it sought to find its way in her. She snatched her hands back quickly and scrambled to her feet. Ignoring the sludge that was becoming more viscous with each step, she carefully made her way to the door that had miraculously remained attached to its frame. It opened with ease.

The hallway beyond was clear of any abnormalities. It had an eerie emptiness, there being no doors, and only a dim haze imitating light. She froze and breathed in deeply. Come on, it's just a dream, she told herself, tentatively taking a step. A few more steps, and she looked back towards the door. She hadn't moved.

Every step brought her closer to nowhere. Suddenly the shadows and the bare, linear space seemed to extend infinitely in both directions. Perhaps if she stepped to the side? No, there was nothing to step onto if she deviated from the path. Finally, she closed her eyes and scurried forward, until she felt herself step onto the hard tile of the kitchen floor.

"Finally out of bed, I see," came her mother's chastening voice. "I swear, Isabelle, if you keep doing this, I'm not going to continue excusing you from school."

The girl flicked her eyes upwards, searchingly. A familiar look of annoyance wrinkled her mother's face as she scraped at a pan full of eggs. The broken shells were mixed in with the yellow embryos. A cockroach crawled across her mother's arm.

Involuntarily her eyes were drawn towards the rest of the kitchen. Grease and thick layers of bubbling fat coated the counters and the table. It dripped slowly to the floor, coagulating into white disks that appeared to grow exponentially. Having held her breath until then, she suddenly gasped, the rancid air burning her throat, wrenching her stomach. She whimpered.

"Did you hear me, Belle? Eat your breakfast and get out!" A snake writhed within her mother's hair, it's mouth stretching remarkably wide as it lunged for the girl.

The world suddenly lurched sideways, and took her with it.

* * *

A hand grasped her shoulder and shook her violently. "Belle, are you awake?"

Shifting in her desk, the girl came to realize that she was at school. "Yeah," she mumbled. "Sorry, I was just thinking about something."

The teacher stared at her hard, tapping his pen on the edge of the textbook he must have been reading from only moments ago. A few students snickered, expecting punishment, but all he said was, "You don't look so well. Would you like a pass to the nurse's office?"

Isabelle sighed in relief and nodded, gathering her books and forcing herself unsteadily to her feet. The teacher put a slip of paper into her hand, then returned to the chalkboard.

She staggered through door and walked in the direction of the office, then cut back and made her way to the bathroom. There was no point in going to the nurse. There was no one to pick her up if they deemed her sick enough to go home.

Dropping her books in the corner of the bathroom, she leaned over a sink, gripping the sides, waiting for her body to stop trembling. She looked in the mirror. The mirror looked back. Like the abyss, but with color, light, and form, taunting her. Empty, hollow eyes met her gaze. Were they watching her, or looking through her? What did they see?

Isabelle sighed and checked the pass to see how long she had before anyone would notice that she was missing. There was only one word on it.

"Clomatica."

A web of cracks spread across the mirror as the sink fell out from beneath her. She cried out as a sudden geyser of water hit her full in the face, soaking her in seconds. Before she could even think of escaping, a black mass of algae devoured the door. It crept slowly across the wall.

"Stop, stop, stop," she whispered, unable to move.

"Stop what?" inquired a male voice.

She quickly looked around, finding no one to respond to. "Please - please help me. Where are you?"

The voice sighed, "We are in Clomatica. You've always been here, you just never saw it properly until I did help you."

Isabelle sat down suddenly and buried her fingers in her hair. "No. I'm not talking to myself."

"True, you're talking to me," he said calmly. "I may be in you, but I’m not actually you."

"Then get out!" she growled.

Laughter echoed through her mind, turning her anger into uncontrollable fear. She crawled into the nearest stall and locked the door, as if she could lock out the voice with it. Curling up beside the toilet, she closed her eyes, and wished herself to sink into the wall.

The voice only laughed all the more.


* * *

Searching, searching, searching.

Isabelle had a knife in her hand and was digging into her skin, searching for the thing that was inside of her, for evidence of its presence within her body. It seemed insane to be doing this, when she allowed herself to think of it. People who cut open their arms and believe they are in other realities are usually locked up and closely watched.

She looked around at the bathroom stall, the graffiti scrawled by people she only vaguely remembered having ever existed. There was no laughter, no voice in her mind, and the walls were solid, familiar brick. No one was watching her now, so she dug in deeper, searching, searching, searching.

When had she started this?

The blood streamed indifferently down her arm, giving no reply. It coated her skin like liquid silk, a safety net between her mind and the ephemeral reality.

At last she found it, the silver thread that connected him to her, his mind to her own. She tried in vain to wipe her hands clean on the sides of her jeans, in order to be sure that she got a good hold on the thing. The silvery thread seemed to wink at her, daring her to dig deeper.

No, this was far enough.

She wrapped the strand around her fingers, gritted her teeth, and pulled as hard and as quickly as she could, as if ripping off a Band-Aid from the inside. Something inside of her snapped. A blue line of lightening raced up her arm and into her head. It exploded at the back of her eyes, the pure pleasure of pain mercilessly reminding her that she was, in fact, alive.

The thread dissolved in her hand. She closed her eyes and smiled.

Suddenly two feet appeared beneath the door, and a persistent knocking followed. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

Isabelle scrambled to her feet, checking to see where she had put the knife, whether or not she could hide her arm long enough to get past the person on the other side of the door. But there was no remnant of what had happened, only a clean scar running up the inside of her arm.

The knocking continued, "Are you okay in there?"

Isabelle reached into her pocket, carefully pulling out the yellow slip of paper. She held her breath as she unfolded it. The ink had bled and faded, as though it had suffered through multiple journeys in the washer. It was gone. Clomatica was gone.

"Yes," she breathed, "I'm fine."

But what reality is this? she thought. The one I came from, or one of my own making?

Somehow, it didn't matter.

Contemplating the blank page, I am first afraid, but mar it with these words to create a starting point from which to forge ahead. Word after word carefully picked and placed within this empty vase. Not too carefully though, words are wild and should remain so, else they lose their honest beauty.

Unfortunately, no subject other than the battle with white pixels comes to me, so I will leave this as encouragement for later.

Innocence

A very real desire for balance.
Unable to contemplate the true
Cruelty that permeates life.
It smiles without shame,
Sheds tears like spring rain.

Innocence is rare beauty,
Emanating from within.
Sweet and proper is the one
Lying unknowingly with sin.

Our Dream

Desert fire, near endless,
Eventually meets
The ocean's caress.
One having been starved,
The other repeatedly drowned.
He warms her with his passion
As she sates him with her tears.
Landscape slides, recedes
Forming into another place.
They follow the path that unwinds
With footprints melting into lace
Moving fluidly toward a composite dream
Where both fire and water may linger.
No pain, no fear, no silent scream
In a world where matched hearts wander.

Reproduction

"You sonuvabitch, that thing ain't real."

The man's breath stank of beer and dead mongoose. The bartender was leaning over the counter, towel in hand, half-listening to the drunk that was intending to distract him.

"No, sir. I assure you that it is quite real."

"Look at the damn thing. It's fuckin' 40 feet long."

John glanced up at the water creature mounted on the wall behind him, and quickly returned to wiping idly at the bar. "I'd say 50 feet, at least."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the drunk mumbled into his glass.

The bar tender hesitated momentarily, then finally looked up at the man across from him. He must have been in his early 30's, dirty beard, with poorly chosen thrift store clothes.

"You want to touch it?"

The man spit out his beer, coughing. "Touch what you fucking asshole. I'm not like that!"

John looked at him calmly. "The fish, sir. Would you like to touch it?"

A suspicious glance, "Sure. Then I can show you why the thing's a fuckin' fake."

Lifting the break in the bar, John let the man squeeze his way through the gap and to the creature hung carefully above rows of liquor bottles. It was just low enough that the man could graze its head. He stuck his fingers in its mouth and jumped back quickly.

"What the hell?" He sucked on his wounded finger, glaring at the bar tender.

"The teeth are rather sharp."

"Yeah, I can fucking see that." The man shook his head, "Anyone could stuff teeth in a fuckin' puppet."

John lifted the bar again, "If you say so, sir. But I assure you that those are its real teeth."

"Well what the fuck is it then?"

"It's a basilosaurus. A prehistoric whale, I guess you could say."

"Whatever." The man threw some money on the bar, "Thanks for the freak show. I'm getting the fuck out of here, if you don't mind."

The bar tender gathered the money and smiled, "No, sir. I don't mind at all."

***

Hours later, after the bar was cleaned and closed, John walked out of the building and into the alley beside it. Lying on the ground was the drunk man, now quite sober, an expression of pure terror etched into what was left of his face. He carefully inspected the man's hands, locating the finger that had been pierced by the tooth of the basilosaurus. The entire digit was stained the color of a purple-blue bruise, and felt as though it were filled with pus.

John shook his head and mock sighed, "They never listen."

He squeezed the finger until the wound burst open and a stream of liquid encasing an eel-like fetus slipped out and into his hands. John grinned, "Hello there, darling."

Quickly, he dumped a bottle of vodka on the corpse and lit a match, dropping it on the offensive red and green plaid shirt. Then he placed the fetus in a specially prepared jar, giving it a loving caress. "Sorry, love. Daddy's an alcoholic. But I'm sure he won't mind if I take care of you now." He grinned again and walked swiftly from the alley, caressing the jar hidden beneath his jacket.

The Infamous Chalk Monster Story

Once, on a grey afternoon, when clouds didn't threaten to drop themselves, and sunlight remained safely filtered, two girls sat on a sidewalk. They were silly girls, very intelligent, but prone to simple adventures in order to pass the time. So there they sat, chalk in hand, gazing at the concrete canvas.

"What do you think?" asked the redhead.

"Hm.. I think we should draw monsters! They should cover the entire sidewalk!" answered the blonde.

The redhead chewed on her lip and stared at the ground, "Okay. You outline it and I'll help with filling it in."

So the blonde set to work, doing what she did best, creating the most horrifying chalk monster that has ever existed. It had myriad wings, claws, and teeth, and acidic saliva dripping from its wrinkled snout. "Oh, it's perfect!" said the redhead. So they filled it in with a riot of color, bringing the monster to life.

Once finished, the two stood up and dusted off the chalk that clung to their clothes, content with the monstrosity now residing on the corner of the sidewalk. A pack of kids rode up on their bikes, stopping to look from the across the street.

"Hey, what's that?" yelled one.

The blonde and redhead glared at the children, as if daring them to come any closer. When the kids said nothing more and finally rode off, the two girls went back into the house and drank some soda.

"It is really a quite lovely monster," said the redhead.

"Yes, we should definitely take pictures!" replied the blonde.

Then they both heard a violent scream from outside, and ran downstairs to investigate. They hit the sidewalk, and gasped to see that the monster had lifted itself from the sidewalk and into 3D form. It was about 8 feet tall, towering over the small child that had fallen over in fear at its feet.

The creature let out a puff of black chalk smoke and turned towards its creators. The redhead and the blonde looked at the whining, snivelling brat lying on the ground, and then back up at the monster.

The blonde shrugged and the redhead smiled, "You can have him."

A line of teeth spread across its gruesome features before they crushed the child, snapping bones and ripping tendons. The blonde giggled while the redhead smiled.

Once the child had finally stopped screaming, the monster swallowed it whole, its chalk body bulging. The two girls applied color where needed, sharpening the teeth, and filling out the stomach. Then they frolicked into the house as it silently lay back down and sunk back into its concrete bed.

“Would you like more tea?”

The man carefully placed another log within the fire and turned to the woman sitting languidly on his couch.

She shook her head, russet hair falling forward onto her face. The man returned to her side and brushed the hair back, taking a moment to caress her cheek before withdrawing. She watched him with a glazed expression, as if not quite aware of his actions.

The man sighed and sipped his own cup of tea, trying not to be offended by her lack of response. “You know, I’ve been waiting to talk with you all evening.”

He could swear a slight smile curved those cryptic lips for an agonizing moment, before returning to their initial, close-mouthed position.

“What do your friends say when you tell them you spend your nights with me?” the man asked hesitantly.

A ringing laugh answered him, mocking him. He grabbed her wrists, grinding bones. “How can you love me when you hurt me so?” he whispered, searching her eyes for some sort of reaction. Fear. Guilt.

She fell away from him when he let go, retreating to the opposite end of the couch. The light of the fire played over her shadowy features, suggesting emotion where there was none to be found. So many secrets, so many thoughts locked up in that passive expression. No, it was not passive; it was contemplative. He darted forward and kissed her, grasping her face between desperate fingers. Her lips didn’t reciprocate, but she didn’t fight him either.

“Speak, damn you!” he snarled fiercely, digging his fingernails into yielding flesh. An intricate weave of blood rivulets escaped his grasp, dashing quickly across pallid skin. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, struggling to put away his pain. Frightening her again would send her back through the door, away from him. He dropped his head into his hands and stared at the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

The voice was caressing, promising.

“No you don’t.”

A spidery hand slid over his thigh, wordlessly asking him to believe her. Gazing up into her eyes, he froze. Tears crowded those eyes, threatening to wash away the red, to take her with it. His breath caught in his throat at the thought of having caused this undesired reaction. And yet, had he not hoped for it all along?

“I love you,” her eyes wept, begging him to understand.

He could not deny those eyes. Silently, he lifted her from the couch. She clung to him, arms encircling his neck, as a hopeful smile crossed his features. To hold her, oh to hold her and be accepted so willingly! He took her to his bed and laid out her fragile body beneath welcoming quilts. After arranging the pillows about her, he slipped into the bed, gazing at the woman with wonder. She was to him a mythical creature that he longed to touch, but feared to alter.

Ah, but she had accepted him. Chosen him.

He rested her head delicately on his chest and stroked her gossamer hair, delighted to be the recipient of a pleasant sigh. She was his, and never again would he lie awake at night, craving her touch, fearing her rejection. No longer would she slip from his grasp to drink with false friends who spoke of him unkindly. She was in his bed; she loved him.

Reveling in these thoughts, he slipped into a peaceful sleep, the coveted corpse held firmly in his arms.

Drag me to the edge and back. Strip me to my simplest self. If nothing remains, make me yours, built on your ideal. For by then I could not hope to be anything more than your creation...

deconstruct me.
reconstruct me.
shear away
the excess.

let the casement
peel away
before your
waiting fingers.

bind me gently
with your words.
control me
with a soft persuasion.

throw me to
the tiled floor;
emulate
sensation.

remind me that
I am alive
but take me
to a dream.

forget that I
am blood and flesh
and make my
body scream.

I love your wicked, promising grin, beckoning me to enter in the game of blood and pain. I step back once and find myself next to you. My body betrays itself, and kneels before you. What thoughts lie beneath that constant grin? What mercy hides within those crystal eyes? Hopefully none. Hopefully some. It's become too hard to decide...