Lynn's Trip, part 4

Al decided that the best thing to do with me for the time being was to take me to his place. I got a little excited to see what a statue’s house might look like. My mind entertained itself with all kinds of possibilities, from Grecian-style temples to Pueblo-style kivas to medieval castles. When we approached a tall but humble-looking wooden hut, I was a bit disappointed. “This is where you live?” I asked him.

“Yep, this is it,” Al said, cracking a stony smile. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It looks like a human shack,” I said. “I’m surprised. I expected a lot more stone.”

“You’ll see the stone when you get inside,” he said, and pushed the door open with his hands—I couldn’t tell if this was because it was unlocked, or because he was strong enough to push through the lock. I would’ve asked, but I had a more pressing question: “Are you going to attempt to feed me stone food? Because if that’s all you have, don’t bother. I like my teeth too much.”

            “Statues don’t eat,” he said, “so I’m afraid I have nothing to feed you, not even stone food. Stone food would only add more stone to me, and I would lose my lovely shapely form and become a bulking slab of rock. How terrible that would be!” He strolled over to a wall mirror (made of glass, bordered with stone) and smiled at his reflection. He was one of those cocky bastards.

            I had a seat on the stone couch. “We humans have that issue too,” I said. “We call it ‘getting fat.’” I took a look around. Everything was made of stone except for the TV. Even the lamps were made of stone. I suppose it was only a pure technicality that the house wasn’t also made of stone.

            There was something else not made of stone that caught my eye: an Internet modem! “You have an Internet connection?!” I asked in total disbelief.

            “Doesn’t everybody?” he replied.

            I jumped up. “If you have an Internet connection, then that means I can try to contact my friends…my boyfriend…please let me use your computer!!”

            Al looked at me doubtfully. “I dunno, Lynn,” he said. “I dunno if the email here will reach wherever you’re from.”

“It’s worth a shot,” I said. “The Internet can do some pretty amazing things, after all.”

“Well,” Al said, “you’re welcome to try. The computer is in my room, down the hall and to the left.”

I followed his directions. Instead of seeing a giant bed like I’d expected to see, I saw another pedestal like the one he’d been standing on out by the farmhouses. Of course, I thought, a statue wouldn’t sleep in a bed. His computer was on a giant desk with a giant chair. I could climb up in the giant chair—it was a lot like climbing a tree—but I couldn’t manage to use the giant keyboard. I sighed, climbed back down, and headed back to the living room.

“Al?”

“Mmhm?”

“That keyboard is far too big for me. Can I have a sheet of paper, or are your pens gigantic too?”

Al opened a drawer and produced a reasonably-sized sheet of paper and a pen that was big, but not too big for me to hold. “Thanks,” I said. First, I wrote Erma, Sunita, Dirk, and Mel’s email addresses at the top. Then, I wrote what I wanted to send:

Mel/Erma/Sunita/Dirk,

I woke up this morning in this strange place. I’m stuck here and I have no clue how to get home, and nobody here knows where Turnersville is. I’m a bit freaked out. Please email me back as soon as you can. I don’t have my phone with me. I am NOT trolling!!!

-Lynn

I handed the paper to Al. “Please send this message to the email addresses I wrote at the top,” I told him. Al nodded. “Will do,” he said. He disappeared into his room, and I climbed back up on the stone couch to keep myself occupied by channel surfing. I wondered what kind of TV show a statue would watch. 

Knight Yorick

Wrote this one for my brother, who is a peaceful pacifist who loves knights. (:

There was a knight whose name was Yorick,

and a lovely knight he was for sure!

There was never a knight so noble,

or one so brave, or one so pure.

Knight Yorick never used a sword,

and this you might think quite unreal.

But you see, he had no need for swords;

he only made use of his shield!

He did not brawl, he did not strike,

but his armor was like nothing yet seen.

Many have searched for something like,

but they’ll only find such in their dreams.

Knight Yorick was a peaceful man

who above all valued chivalry.

And when faced with a beast of any size,

he’d stand his ground like an old oak tree.

He was loyal as any knight could be,

and this did win him many friends.

He sealed their secrets with his blood

and would take them to his very end.

You may be wondering by now

why this won’t tell of Yorick’s fights.

Well, because you do not need

to slay a beast to be a knight.

Knight Yorick’s title was given

on heart and bravery alone.

And his kingdom says, when it comes to knights,

you could never find a better one! 

Blade Queen, part 6

I decided to show Lily how to cook deer meet the proper way.

            There happened to be a deer nearby the creek, across from the grave she’d made for that guy—too close by to be able to cross the creek without scaring it away, but just the right distance for a well-aimed rifle shot. Lily told me she didn’t want to actually watch me shoot the deer—in fact, the thought of it turned her pale and made her face crumple up like she was sick. I didn’t expect her to want to watch me shoot it. She isn’t like me, not in the slightest. I wondered if watching the deer die would make her cry like she did when I killed that guy last night (was it only last night? Why does it feel like so damn long ago?). It was only a deer, but she’d probably start crying anyway. I wondered if she even ate any meat.

            But there was no way for her to get back to the camp without making noise and scaring the deer. I had to tell her to turn around and close her eyes, and if she was going to cry she had best save it for after I made the shot. She nodded, looking sick again, then turned around and threw her hands over her face. She didn’t make a sound. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mildly impressed.

            One shot, and the deer became our meal. I set my rifle down, palmed my blade, and crossed the creek on foot. Lily had turned around and was watching me. I pretended I didn’t know it, but I felt a mild surge of pride. Nobody had ever actually watched me in action before—they never got the chance to. I must say, it was a very good feeling to have an audience. The pride made me a bit silly in the head, and I twirled around a few times before taking a big, goofy, dramatic bow. She laughed like I was some TV comedian. I felt myself turning red and tried to hide it.

            I knelt down by the deer and began cutting slabs off of it. I expected Lily to turn around again, but she didn’t seem so disturbed about it now that the thing was dead. Without a word, she watched as I cut up the slabs, slipped my blade into the pocket of my wet jeans, and haul the slabs to my shoulders. As I started to cross back over, Lily waded over to me and took a few of the slabs off of my shoulders.

            I raised a brow at her. “What are you doing that for?” I asked.

            She smiled at me. “Why not?”

            She has an okay smile, I guess…

Strange Tales About Strange People: Rurita Liked to Throw Things

Rurita and Lolita were twins. They looked nothing alike.

            Lolita’s hair was very light blonde, almost white. She kept it in two big pigtails that were tied with two bows. The color of the bows varied by day—sometimes she wore blue bows, sometimes pink, sometimes red. But Lolita always wore bows of some color, every day. Lolita’s skin was as white as marble. Her twin often teased her by saying she looked like a ghost.

            Rurita’s hair was night black. It was long and curly and kept in ringlets that felt to her shoulders. On some days the ringlets hung loose, and on some days they were tied in a ponytail. But Rurita always wore ringlets in some form, every day. Rurita’s skin was tinted pearly pink. Her twin often teased her by saying she was as pink as a salmon.

            Rurita and Lolita acted nothing alike; Lolita was sweet, delicate, and demure, and Rurita was mischevious, bold, and often very loud. But the most iconic difference between the two of them was Rurita’s very strange and very bad habit: Rurita liked to throw things. Anything she got her hands on, she would throw: books, rocks, dolls, ceramics, and even kitchen appliances. She once nearly knocked her friend Annabell unconscious by throwing a blender at her (thankfully, Annabell ducked, and the only thing hurt was the poor blender).

            Rurita never threw anything with the intention of hurting anyone. She only threw things because she couldn’t help herself; everything she laid eyes on seemed to be saying, “Throw me, Rurita! Throw me! Please pick me up and throw me!” And Rurita would oblige, because she found it very rude to ignore an object’s request to be thrown. Unfortunately, no one else that Rurita knew felt this way, and nobody liked being in the path of flying objects. This is why everybody liked Lolita and nobody liked Rurita. And this is why Rurita was a very lonely young woman.

            Naturally, Rurita didn’t like this, and she knew that the only way to get people to like her was to stop her habit of throwing things. But the only way to do that was to get the things to stop asking to be thrown. What makes something want to be thrown? she wondered. She understood that would never know unless she asked.

            Rurita approached the pillow on her bed. “Hey, Rurita!” the pillow said. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting to be thrown all day, so let’s make with the throwing!”

            But Rurita shook her head. “Why do you want to be thrown so badly?” she asked.

            “Because it’s so fun!” said the pillow. “Don’t you know how boring it is to be a pillow? Just lying here all day and all night, doing nothing at all but supporting your head when you sleep…do you know how stressful a job that is? Why don’t you try supporting some giant’s head every night? Flying through the air is the only thing that relieves my stress and cures my boredom. Now, please, just do this for me, Rurita!

            “What if I found another way to relieve your stress and cure your boredom?” asked Rurita, who now felt incredibly guilty for making the pillow support her head every night. She thought over all of the things a pillow might like. Finally, she said, “What if I were to toss you instead of throwing you?”

            “Is there any difference?” the pillow asked.

            “Yes,” said Rurita. Then she picked up the pillow, which shrieked delightedly in anticipation of being thrown across the room. But instead of throwing it across the room, Rurita tossed it straight up into the air and caught it coming back down.

            “Eeeee!” shrieked the pillow. “Hey, this is fun! Do it again!”          

            Rurita tossed the pillow straight up and caught it a few more times. The pillow shrieked with delight and laughed and howled each time. “Hey!” cried the pencil on Rurita’s desk. “I wanna try that! Toss me in the air, Rurita!”

            Rurita set the pillow back down. Then she picked up the pencil, grasped it with one hand, and tossed it straight up into the air and caught it. “Yeah! Yeah!” cried the pencil. “I love this! Do it again, do it again!”

            Soon every object in Rurita’s room was begging to be tossed in the air and caught. Rurita was sure she got around to every object. She tossed each object in the air five times before giving another object a chance. It took a long time to get around to every object in the room, but when she finally did, all of the objects were laughing and cheering and none of them asked to be thrown anymore. They anticipated the next day, when they would all beg her to toss them again.

            Rurita stopped throwing things, and soon people began to realize they were no longer in danger of having something flung at them if they hung around with her, and since Rurita was very good company when she wasn’t throwing things, her group of friends grew and grew. However, she now had two distinctive behaviors that differed from her twin: the first one was that she was always picking things up and tossing them up into the air five times. Anything she laid eyes on, she would toss.

            The other was that Lolita slept with a pillow under her head every night, and though this was something that Rurita used to do, she didn’t anymore. Rurita didn’t understand how anybody could put a poor pillow through that. 

The Madman

Wrote this one for my boyfriend. He calls himself a madman a lot so I wrote him a poem about one (:

There is a madman that I know

He eats fried rats,

draws on the walls,

and yells at trees to make them grow.

He’s tamed a tiger and a hawk.

He rides giraffes,

and spends his weekends

sticking googly eyes on rocks.

He honks at cars and quacks at ducks.

He caught a rabbit,

cut off its foot,

and said that it would bring him luck.

His matches are his favorite toys.

He caused a scene

by opening his door

and roaring loudly at two boys.

No one really knows his ways.

He’s mad all right,

and will stay that way

until the very end of his days. 

Blade Queen, part 5

After my first and only failed kill (!!!), I crept back down to that spot by the creek to finish watching Lily pretty up the hole. My mind was screwed up from the shock of having walked away from a kill. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even me anymore—is that girl really a swamp witch, and did she transform me into somebody else while I wasn’t looking? After I was all done watching her and came back to my tent, I took a quick look in a compact mirror I’d stolen off a previous victim and found that I at least still looked like me. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m still me…

            Anyway, I watched her prettying up that hole for at least another twenty-five minutes, and then I heard her begin to murmur under her breath. I strained my ears to hear what she was saying, and when I couldn’t hear from my distance, I silently crept closer and closer. Don’t turn around, I silently pleaded. Please, don’t turn the hell around. If she caught me spying on her, I would be branded with the Scarlet J for all eternity—J for “jackass.”

            Lily was praying. She was praying for the dead guy, like this was some kind of memorial service (I’ve never been to a memorial service once, but I know what goes on at them from TV). She didn’t know his name, had never seen him alive at any point in her life (or at least, that’s what she told me), and he meant nothing to her, yet she was praying for him and setting up a makeshift funeral as if he had been her brother or husband.

            What the fuck was wrong with this girl?!

            I strolled over there and caught her by the shoulder. Her praying ceased, and she looked up at me with those big-ass eyes that I always found quite creepy. “So you do know this guy,” I told her. I made myself sound very displeased that she had lied to me, and I was.

            She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

            “Bullshit,” I said, giving her a rough shake. “You don’t just pray for people you don’t know, nor do you cry for them, or make pretty little graves for them…if you don’t know someone and they’re dead, you leave ‘em alone. That’s what any normal person does, anyhow.” I no longer cared that she knew I had been spying.

            “The poor guy doesn’t have anybody else to pray for him right now,” Lily said, “so I’ve got to.”

            “Like that’ll do him any good now.” I released her and began to walk away. Lily returned to her prayer for the dead guy she didn’t know and never would. I rolled my eyes, finding this to be one of the most ridiculous things I’d ever seen anybody do.

            That’s when I heard her say, “Oh, and God? About Blade Queen…”

            I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. I ran back to the tent like I had rockets attached to me. 

A Cherry Blossom Field and Other Flowers (free verse)

I discovered that my school

has a big, beautiful field

of lacey white cherry blossoms

all lined up in a row.

They looked like a line of ladies

in white lace dresses.

I never really noticed

how beautiful that town really is.

There are cherry trees everywhere—

big, fluffy pink ones

that look like highfalutin ladies

in trailing party dresses.

There are purple-blue seas of wisteria

and violets

and hyacinth

and other purple things

I don’t yet know the names of.

There are flowers that look like white stars,

golden carpets of dandelions,

trailing cherry trees with big pink flowers

that drape to the ground—

like graceful geisha girls

in pink kimonos, bowing low.

I thought of one day

bringing down a white bough

for my little brother to run his fingers over.

I thought of one day

pointing out each blossom to him,

naming them off as we go along.

“Wisteria,

azalea,

hyacinth,

crocus,

forsythia,

daffodil…”

By then,

I will know the names

of every flower in that town. 

Lynn's Trip, part 3 and a half

Here's the rest of it. Sorry I'm so late. My sworn brother just got out of surgery and I've been standing by him all day while he recovers.

The tears returned. “All I did was get drunk! I’ve been drunk before, and nothing like this ever happened! I get drunk every Saturday night, for Pete’s sake! I’ve never passed out before, but I know people who have, and nothing like this ever happened to them!” By then I was erupting like a tear volcano. I sniffled, sobbed, wailed, and even kicked my foot a little when I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was a mess and Al knew it, which was why he remained completely silent while I made a spectacle of myself. I’m surprised he didn’t just roll his stony eyes and walk away. He just stood there and watched me carry on like a three-year-old child. When I finally calmed down, my dress was soaked with tears and I had a headache.

            Al laid his rocky hand on my shoulder. “Are you done?”

            I looked up at him and nodded pitifully. I was a mess. I saw him wince when he saw just how much snot was all over my face.

            “Lynn,” he said, “what do you think we should do with you?”

            I half sighed and half groaned. “I don’t know.” 

Lynn's Trip, part 3

I have a terrible terrible migraine right now so the rest of this part will be posted tomorrow. Sorry for any inconvenience. I just wanted to get at least this much up...

“Al!” When I saw that Al hadn’t moved from where I’d left him, I couldn’t help but run up and hug him. I didn’t care how much of a tool it made me look like. To my surprise, he returned the hug. “Well, look who’s back!” he said. My mind was instantly filled with Eminem’s Without Me. Guess who’s back…Back again…

            Al patted me and gave me a stony smile. “What brings you back, Lynn?” he asked. I sat at his base. “I tried one of those houses,” I said, “and the guy there made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. He kept saying ‘Come inside and we’ll see what we’ll do with you,’ and shit like that. And he called me a ‘pretty bird.’ Yuck!”

            “You don’t like to be told you’re pretty?” Al chided me. “Would you rather be told you’re ugly?”

            “It was the way he said it, Al,” I said, still feeling squicked out over it. “Anyway, I didn’t like that guy, and I’m not too keen on seeing what the others are like. Besides, nobody knows where Turnersville is. I don’t even think anyone around here has even heard of it. Have you even heard of it?”

            “’Fraid not.”

            “Right,” I said, sighing. “So how high or low are the chances of me getting out of here?”

            “Do I look like a mathematician?”

            “I don’t know!” I hollered. Normally I like smartasses, but I was in a state of deep irritation. “I just want to go home, dammit!”

Blade Queen, part 4

Blade Queen and Lynn's Trip will be shorter than usual tonight. Sorry about that. 

I woke up this morning to find the body gone.

            Of course, Lily’s ditch was the first place I checked. Now she’s stealing my trophies too. I’m really beginning to curse myself for ever leaving her alive in the first place, and even further for still refusing to kill her. I could’ve had it over and done with last night. She was right there, I had my blade…why didn’t I just jump on her?!

            That girl was turning me into a complete buffoon. Maybe she was some kind of forest witch and I was under some screwed up spell. The only way to end the spell was to kill the witch—but of course, the spell wouldn’t let me kill the witch. It was the perfect enchantment, the perfect defense mechanism…the only thing that could do the Forest Devil in was the Forest Witch…

            Oh, for fuck’s sake, look at me rambling. I’m not even making any sense. I’ve gone completely out of my mind.

            Anyway, both Lily and the body were absent from her ditch, which gave me an uneasy feeling like you wouldn’t believe. If she wasn’t there, she could be anywhere. She could be attempting escape!

            I palmed my blade and began the search. If she was attempting escape, I had to kill her. There was no other option. If she escaped, she would whistleblow to the authorities and my life was as good as over. The only reason I’m still here is because the authorities think I’m some kind of malevolent spirit or demon; this is because the first few investigative teams sent back here all met my blade before they could do anything. After that, nobody dared to send anybody else back here. If that girl made her way out of here, the stories of the Forest Devil would be over and I would be compromised. She had to stay here, dead or alive. She belonged to me now.

            Luckily for her, I found her out by the creek, setting up some kind of weird rock formations. Where is my corpse? I thought. I strolled over to her and stood in front of her, my blade gleaming in my palm.

            “What are you doing?”

            She stopped her work and looked up at me, but didn’t answer. The girl has serious nerve.

            “I said, what are you do-ing?”

            She shrugged. “Making something.”

            “Where’s the corpse from last night?” I asked her, smacking the blade handle against my palm. “If you threw it out, I’ll run you through.”

            “I buried him,” she said “right here.”

            She did what?! “What do you mean, you buried him right here? Who do you think you are to take my kills and bury them?! Did you forget whose domain you are in?!”

            “No,” she said “I didn’t. I just thought you were done with him. You kind of just…left him there. So I buried him and I’m making a grave.”

            A grave? “Did you know this guy, or something? Is that why you were so damn weepy last night?”

            “No, I didn’t know him,” she told me, “But you’re supposed to give the dead a proper burial.”

            Now I was getting angry. “Girl, who the hell are you to tell me what I do with my victims?! I’ve just about had it with you, you know. I make the mistake of keeping you alive, and you start acting like you own the place!”

            “It’s not like that,” Lily protested. “It’s…”

            “Shut up!” I smacked her across the face. “I should have offed you on day one.” I was suddenly very aware of the blade in my palm, which meant I must’ve been good and ready to use it. Finally! I thought. Finally, I’m going to do it! I will be rid of this bane on my existence! My heart thumped in excitement, and I began to smile at the thought of a new kill. I began advancing on her. She didn’t move, she didn’t even flinch…

            I brought the blade down and stuck it in the ground at her knees.

            Then I ran off.

            I don’t think I can take this shit anymore. 

Living in Paradise (a poem for my hometown)

Living in paradise,

where the pink cherry blossoms bloom

and the air is fragrant with floral scents;

where you can smell the ocean from your room

and listen to the birds’ lovely laments.

Yes, I’m living in paradise.

Living in paradise,

where the sun is always warm

in the air, on your back, and on your face;

where the sights of graceful herons are a daily norm

and the streets are lined with blooms of white lace.

Yes, I’m living in paradise.

Living in paradise,

where the forests are vast and green

and the ice cream is soft as clouds;

where the moon shines brighter than ever seen

and the world is quiet, never loud.

Yes, I’m living in paradise.

Living in paradise,

where there’s good food to be had,

where the skies and waters are crystal blue;

where it’s a real rarity to be sad,

and the world is seen with a pink-tinted hue.

Yes, I’m leaving in paradise.

Yes, I’m living in paradise.

Job Classes (inspired by Grand Chase and its job system)

First job—

A time of learning,

training,

finding your skills.

Finding your true power,

realizing your inner will.

Second job—

A time of moving,

growing,

taking a long, hard gaze

at your past and your present

and all of the coming days.

Third job—

a time of knowing

showing

all that you can really do.

This is the time to understand

the real strength within you.

Fourth job—

The last stage,

last phase

of your metamorphosis.

This is when you look at life

and say, “This is all there is.” 

National Poetry Month Announcement

Since April is National Poetry Month, the blog will be updated with two poems per week for the duration of the month. (:

Blade Queen, part 3

She tried. Boy, did she ever try.

            She cleared out the toxic plants and berries like I told her to do, and I’m not entirely sure what to feel about that. Is she trying to kill me, or is she not? Does she want me to kill her, or does she not? I really don’t know what to make of this chick anymore.

            But what I do know is that, even though she may have screwed it up tremendously, she’s dedicated more time to me in the space of a morning than anyone had ever done in my entire life. No one’s ever bothered to cook for me. I always had to feed myself, even as a little kid. During the rare occasions that my piece of shit father did cook something, he always messed it up and I always had to redo it to keep myself from getting goddamn food poisoning. Sometimes I think he messed it up on purpose.

            So a part of me—that part that just loves to fight my better nature these days—wants to thank her for at least trying, and for cleaning out the bad plants. But at the same time, the rest of me is asking that part what the hell is wrong with it and beating it senseless for its stupidity, because why would I thank her for a half-assed job? Besides, I know her game. I know why she wants to stay alive so badly. She’s trying to kill me before I kill her. And I will absolutely not let that happen!

            I’ll bet the folks at home would be real fucking thrilled with her if she came running back and told them she’d killed the Forest Devil. Too bad there’s no way in hell that’s going to happen. Now that I truly know her game, I can’t afford to screw around anymore. Lily dies tonight.

***

            I was sure to cook us both a breakfast that wouldn’t kill us, as well as lunch and dinner later on. Luring a victim into a false sense of security isn’t usually my style, but once in a blue moon I get a victim who doesn’t get to know what’s coming. She thanked me ever so graciously for each meal, and I didn’t speak a word to her. At lunch, she picked up on this and began grilling me.

            “Not talking today, Blade Queen?”

            Why the hell do you care?

            “You’re that pissed off about the poison plants, huh?”

            You have no idea, kid.

            “What are you so angry for if you’re just going to kill me anyway?”

            Are you egging me on?

            “Do you usually give the silent treatment to people you’re just going to kill anyway?”

            Only those who are a special kind of screwed. Like you, chick.

            “Well, I don’t know how a killer’s mind works.”

            Shut up.

            She stayed away from me for the rest of the day, giving me perfect time to prepare. I cleaned and sharpened my blade so that it was in the perfect condition for piercing her jugular—a slow and painful death in a sea of blood was the perfect fate for the one who dared to stand up to the queen of death. For the rest of the day I remained in my tent and out of sight, planning the kill out in my head over and over again, acting it out on some old makeshift dummy dolls I’d thrown together for the purpose of planning kills. Someone who attempted to overthrow the queen of blades certainly did not deserve to be made into my midnight snack. I would just dump her into the Pit when I was done with her.

            When night fell, I was ready to attack. I palmed my blade and headed out for the kill. Lily was sleeping in her pitiful ditch, and I smiled hungrily. She had no chance to see it coming! It was perfect!

            That’s when it happened: the all too familiar sounds of rustling in the brush up ahead, too big to be a squirrel or a fox or a coyote. It was a human, an intruder. A distraction from my much more important kill!

            “Son of a bitch!” I kicked at the undergrowth and repeatedly smacked the handle of the blade against my hand. “Damn, damn, damn!” I would end this one quickly. I made my way through the brush and was on him like a panther on a rodent in one red hot minute. My blade was at his throat. I felt the thrill of the kill, that wonderful feeling that I hadn’t felt ever since Lily came into the picture, and it was enough to make me cry out with joy. “You don’t belong here, pitiful little man!” I said through my laughter. “Nobody belongs here but me, and I’ve got much more important things to do than deal with the likes of you.” I’d intended to snuff him out like the flame of a candle before he could even process what was going on, but I suppose I just couldn’t help but fuck around with him a little. I hadn’t gotten to have any sort of fun in days, and the thought of finally getting back to my old games was enough to make me forget about the miserable week I’d been having. He opened his mouth to say something, and I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face against the ground until his nose bled. “You will keep your mouth closed, or your death will be as slow and painful as I can possibly make it,” I said. I held my blade under his bleeding nose. I caught the blood on my blade and lapped it up. It tasted like tarnished metal and sweet red liquor.

            The cretin opened his mouth again, and I slapped him hard across the face and made a deep cut across his left cheek. The blood trickled out, and I squealed for joy and pressed my lips to his cheek to lap it all up. I finally felt like I was returning to myself after I’d been acting like such a jackass all week, and the feeling overwhelmed me. It was simply too much!

            I spent the next few minutes smacking the guy around. I yanked his hair just to hear him cry out and see the hilarious expressions on his face. I slammed his head against the ground again. I pinked his face and neck with my blade until he looked like a bloody slab of meat. I grabbed his arm and forcefully slammed him into trees or into the ground. And finally, when I had had enough fun with this guy, I grabbed him and held him in a vicegrip. He was hyperventilating so fast I thought his lungs would come bursting out of his chest like in a zany cartoon. I flipped him over, then drove my blade as far as it would go into his chest, twisting it around so I could hear it squish everything around in there. I kept digging until I was sure I had reached his heart, then expelled the blade. My first successful kill in ages was a beautiful one!

            I threw his body to the ground and examined him for anything I might like. He had nothing in his pockets, and his shirt and sweatshirt were hideous. But I liked his coat. Winter was fast approaching, and I would need a new coat. I plucked it off of him and leaned in to get a taste of the aftermath of the kill.

            I was nibbling away at the flesh I’d left on his chest when I heard the brush rustling behind me. Two victims in one night? I thought. Hell yes! I palmed my blade and whirled around, and then realized that I had completely forgotten about Lily.

            She was staring me down. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her lips were pressed tightly together, and her body looked as rigid as the corpse I had just been dealing with. Her ghost-white face looked even creepier illuminated by the milky rays of the moonlight. She opened her mouth and let out a cry that sounded like a mouse’s squeak. I abandoned the body and approached her.

            “What do you want from me, girl?”

            Now that I was right in her face, I could see the tears—her eyes were running like water faucets, and somehow that made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I began to shake, and I hugged myself to hide it, pretending that I was just cold. “So you’re crying, huh?”

            She didn’t say a word.

            “You knew what I was capable of. This almost happened to you. It still can one day. Are you now having second thoughts about your cavalier attitude towards your impending death?”

            No response.

            “I am the queen of blades,” I went on. “I’m the harbinger of death. The grim reaper. Most say I’m a monster. Some say I’m a malevolent, hateful entity. A few even say that I’m the devil. You must’ve heard at least one of the legends about this forest. You know nobody who goes in ever comes out, and now you know why. Are you really that surprised about it?”

            No response. Why couldn’t I stop shaking?

            “Aren’t you going to say something?”

            She turned and walked away. I followed her like a fox stalking its prey, making sure she wouldn’t attempt to run away. She didn’t, though. She just climbed back into the ditch and curled up under the sweatshirt and the flimsy blanket I had given her.

            I don’t understand her game anymore. The girl is positively insane. 

Strange Tales About Strange People: Maki and the Egg

Maki found a stone.

            The stone was very round, very white, very speckled, and looked like the egg of a very large bird that lays round, white, speckled eggs.

            But this was not an egg. It was a stone.

            Maki picked up the stone and examined it thoroughly. He stared at it and turned it over and over in his hand. It felt hard and very rough, and a bit of it crumbled into gravel in his hand as he felt at it. He touched one of the speckles and it rubbed off like it was done with paint.

            Maki came to the only logical conclusion: “Whoa, I found an egg!”

            He looked all around for nearby nests. He went down on all fours and crawled around on the ground, looking under rocks and peering into bushes, to see if any had fallen somewhere. When he found none, he climbed every tree that he could find. He found plenty of nests up there: nests with sky blue eggs and nests with smooth grey eggs, nests with dingy brown eggs and nests with tawny yellow eggs. But he did not find any nests with round, white, speckled eggs.

            Maki was disappointed not to have found the egg’s rightful nest, and he knew what he now had to do. He slipped the egg into his jeans pocket, where it would be warm, and clapped his hand over it for extra warmth. He didn’t know the first thing about hatching an egg, but he knew somebody who did: his friend Blaze, who tended a farm and spent each spring hatching chicken and turkey eggs.

            Maki took the round, white speckled egg from his pocket to show it to Blaze. “I need to hatch this egg,” he told her. “Can you tell me how?”

            Blaze gave Maki’s egg a good long look. She took it and turned it over and over in her hand. Finally, she said, “Maki, this is a rock.”

            Maki raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s an egg. It’s some bird’s egg and I need to hatch it.”

            “This is not an egg, Maki,” Blaze said. She handed it to him. “Feel it. It’s too heavy to be an egg, and the texture is way too rough. It looks a bit like an egg, but it’s very obviously a rock.”

            “Blaze,” Maki said, “I know what a rock looks like and I know what an egg looks like. This is not a rock, this is an egg. A bird dropped it and if I don’t hatch it, the chick is going to die. You hatch chicks all the time, Blaze. I know you don’t want a dead chick on your conscience.”

            Blaze shook her head. “My conscience will be clear, because there won’t be any dead chick, because that is not an egg!” 

            “Blaze!” Maki was beginning to grow very impatient with her. “Just tell me how to hatch the freaking egg!”

            “I can’t tell you how to hatch a freaking rock!” Blaze was beginning to grow impatient with Maki as well. “It’s a rock, Maki! It doesn’t hatch! I know what an egg looks like. I’ve worked with eggs all my life. That is a rock. Apparently your head is also a rock, because you just don’t seem to get that!”

            Maki was searching his mind for an insult to throw at Blaze when her youngest sister, Chika, walked by on her way to the barn to milk the cows. “Hi there, Maki!” she said, giving him a big friendly smile that showed all of her teeth. Chika was always smiling. Her smiles were always friendly and always showed all of her pretty white teeth. Seeing Chika smile caused Maki to forget his insult for Blaze. “Hello, Chika,” he said. “Would you like to see the egg I found?”

            Chika jumped up excitably. “You found an egg?”

            “Don’t worry about it, Chika,” Blaze said. “He’s just trying to troll. His ‘egg’ is just an old rock he found on the ground somewhere. It only looks like an egg.”

            “Show me!” Chika cried. “I want to see a rock that looks like an egg!”

            Maki showed Chika the rock. Perhaps Chika would understand that it really was an egg, and not a rock.

            But Chika said, “Oh! That’s a pretty rock! Where did you find it, Maki?”

            Maki sighed in exasperation. “It’s not a rock, Chika,” he told her. “It’s an egg, and your sister won’t tell me how to hatch it because she doesn’t think it’s an egg. And obviously you’re not going to tell me either, because you don’t think it’s an egg either. Whatever, I’ll go look it up on the Internet, then.”

            But Chika said, “Wait. Give the egg to me, and I’ll see if I can hatch it. If it hatches, we’ll know it’s a real egg.”

            Blaze was annoyed. “Feel it, Chika,” she said. “It feels nothing like an egg. It feels like a rock.”

            Chika took the rock from Maki. It really did feel like a rock. “We’ll try it anyway,” she said. “Let me hold on to the rock, and we’ll see if it’s a rock or an egg in a few weeks.”

            “Thank you, Chika!” Maki said, and gratefully patted Chika’s head. “Take really good care of it, all right?”

            “I will!” Chika assured him.

            Maki said goodbye to Blaze and asked her to say hello to her other sister, Ken, for him. Then he walked off, imagining what sort of cool-looking bird would hatch out of his egg.

            Blaze just shook her head.

            Chika set up the egg in an egg incubator.

            Her sister Ken caught her at this. “Chika,” she said, “you know you shouldn’t play with the egg incubator.”

            “I’m not playing with it,” Chika told her. “I’m doing something for Maki. He’s very convinced that this rock is an egg, and I told him if it doesn’t hatch then it must be a rock.”

            But Ken didn’t like this. They might need the egg incubator to tend to a reluctant egg or a sick newborn chick. They couldn’t use it to play with rocks. “You can’t use the egg incubator for that, Chika,” Ken said, removing the rock from the incubator. “You tell Maki to take back his rock.”

            Chika giggled. “All right,” she said. “He was probably just trying to troll anyway.” She asked Ken to drive her to Maki’s to give back the rock.

            “Chika, did you even try to hatch it?”

            Maki was very disappointed in Chika, and in Ken too. He was beginning to feel like the three of them only cared about chickens and turkeys. They didn’t care about the fate of this innocent baby bird that would die without even getting to see the world outside of its egg. Chika giggled. “I’m sorry, Maki, but Ken wouldn’t let me put it in the incubator. She took it out and told me you need to take it back.” 

            Maki put his palm to his forehead. “Do you all even care about any bird that’s not a chicken or a turkey?!”

            “Maki,” Ken said, “you had your fun. It was a funny joke, and you can stop now. Take back your weird looking rock.”

            “I’m not joking!” Maki cried. “It’s not a rock! It’s an egg! An egg! And now whatever is in it is going to die!”

            “You’re insane!” Ken cried. She grabbed the rock and threw it at Maki’s feet…

            …and something went cr-aaaack!

            The three of them jumped. They looked down at Maki’s feet.

            Sitting there with its tiny new wings curled around the tip of Maki’s shoe was a baby phoenix. The gravelly remains of the white, round, speckled rock were sticking to its downy feathers and lying in places near Maki’s feet.

            Phoenixes never die. 

Under the White Arches

Under the White Arches

Under the white arches

that reach the sky,

a yellow man smiles

and a sad blue girl cries.

An old green man

wearily stretches and lies

under the white arches.

Under the white arches

the little orange things play

and the haughty purple mistress reflects on the day.

The violet-eyed children

say, “Everything is okay

under the white arches.”

Under the white arches

the little robin bird

sings of all he has seen and heard

at a grand meeting,

where all hear his words,

under the white arches.

Under the white arches,

warm under the sun,

is a place for joy, for peace, for fun.

And each day

is a bright and colorful one

under the white arches. 

Discoveries Made When Unfortunately Absent from My Blog

10. Who needs me, and what it means to be needed.

9. What it means to be able to save yourself.

8. Sometimes families just don’t work out, but when they don’t, you’re allowed to find a new one.

7. Adulthood is an addition, not a means of elimination.

6. What “maturity” truly means, and you don’t need to stop being a child to start being an adult.

5. The actions of a bully are never your fault, including when the bully is somebody in your family.

4. The true meaning of “unconditional love.”

3. What it really means to be a family.

2. How to save a life.

1. What it truly means to have a purpose in life and to be a good person.

I am truly sorry to have neglected my blog over the last two weeks. This is a list of the things that I’ve realized in those past two weeks while I was unfortunately forced to leave my blog. To make up for the downtime, I will be updating the blog with new things once a day for the next week (today till next Wednesday). New Lynns and Blade Queens will be added on the weekends as is the usual.

Thank you to all who remained with me despite the long wait!