I am a coward. I was a coward. I'm done with it. I'm done pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm not loud. I'm not quiet either. I don't know all the answers. I need someone to lean on too. And for a while, before I met my boyfriend, I had no one. Everyone turned to me and I gave them bullshit advice just to help them through the day or the week. It was good advice though. Most of it, I should take too. But I'm too proud for that. "I don't have problems." "I can handle it by myself." These are the lies I have told myself since I was in 4th grade. I'm not that strong. I have kept to myself so that I wouldn't burden those around me. But you know what? Fuck it all. I am at my limit.
I will walk into school Monday morning and tell myself that that day will be different. I won't force a smile. I won't pretend to be someone I'm not or to feel something I don't. This is my life. This is who I am. And if they don't like it, they can kiss my ass. I will go to school and do well for no one but me. To my friends that have bought a copy of this book and read this, I hope you know that this wasn't brought on by any of you. I have been messed up for a long time. Because of something that happened before 4th grade, I have forced myself to forget and change. I chose to kill myself to keep others happy. I'm not doing it anymore. I CHOOSE to tear this mask away and be myself. The girl I am with my love and the girl I have always been; I just have to remember who she is without the help of my boyfriend.
Thank you Austin, my one and only love. You believed in me and gave me the strength to tell everyone the truth. You chipped the mask. Now I'm tearing it down.
Short Stories
I was never really one for writing stories. Poetry has always stuck with me. However, I have been able to come up with a few short stories.
Life in Death
Silent sorrow of life in death. The kiss of lust for pain. For what crime has she committed to endure such misery? She has loved. She lusted for one that could never be. The sweet scent of cinnamon spice fills her senses. Her heart aches to hold him; to kiss him. The woman yearns to feel his hot tender lips against her own. Another tear escapes her ocean eyes of a deep abyss. Life without is like death with. Two cannot be one and together. With silent sobs, she falls to the icy oak floor. Cradling her stomach, she recalls the last moment she has with her one true love. That night of such heated passion, not even Hell could withstand. Her light chestnut hair hung loosely from her pony-tail. Her small body quivered as she pulled her hands from her body and stared at the crimson stain that masked her true color. Blood shed from her lover's heart that has ceased to beat because of her; because of her love for him and the jealousy of another man. A pain ran through her body and wet tears streaked her dirty face. Mascara ran with the ears, leaving her pale cheeks streaked in black. Gasping for air, she continued to sob, pulling herself closer to the body. His short blond hair was wet from sweat that came from his struggle for life. His hazel eyes are soulless now, love gone from them. His body was lifeless, still tall and muscular. But all warmth has gone from him, his strong heart silent. The woman mourned for the loss of two hearts. Hers and his. Her own had gone cold, unable to feel anything except the sorrow of losing one she held dear. She rests her head upon his bloody chest, crying out with a loud scream. The murder was gone from the scene now. He ran at the sight of first blood. He dared not see the pain he has cause the one he so desperately 'loved.' He had not loved her at all though. He merely wished to see the one that captured her heart suffer. The small woman looked like a child now as she cried for her love; for her soul-mate.
Hours passed before she finally rose from the body. All life has drained from her soul. She felt as if she was nothing; a thoughtless shell. Then, in the silent of her home, a voice rang true in the back of her mind. “Life goes on for others but not for you. Kill the murderer who took your lover's soul.” The woman was tempted to listen to the voice. Slowly, she walked to the large kitchen that resided on the other side of the house. The house, a one-story suburban home, was silent except for the howl of nearby wolves. The floor creaked below the weight of this woman, even if she did not weigh even 120 pounds. Entering the kitchen, the woman moved to the granite counter to the side by the black refrigerator. Upon it, knives of every size was neatly placed within a block of wood. With a shaky hand, the woman reached forth and pulled the largest one. With her lifeless blue eyes she stared into the blade at the reflection of herself. On the other side, she saw no one. She was nothing in this world now that her heart has shattered. She bore witness to the murder of her husband by the hand of her best friend. She watched as blood poured from his wound and she lay helpless to the side. Drugged she was before all took place. A mysterious poison that rendered the poor woman paralyzed as the man she once trusted stabbed the one she loves. Her muscles still felt lethargy as she made the walk to the kitchen. As she held the blade up to eye level, another tear escaped. Her lower lip quivered as she placed the tip of the knife to her heart. With hesitation, she slowly pressed into her skin, drawing blood and causing a cut. With a gasp, she dropped the weapon and fell to her knees. Holding her head in shame, she wept. Crimson spread across her chest as her gown soaked up the warm liquid. She felt the blood creep down her skin. Her once brown hair was now a shining red from when she rests her head upon her husband's chest and from her own blood as it got caught in its path.
Her heart felt heavier than ever. Crawling ever so slowly back to that room, she bit her lip to keep from crying. If she were to die that night she was to do it in her love's arms. When she entered, the woman ignored the sight of blood and struggle, finding her way back to the cold body. Looking at his face she shook her head, blaming herself for his death. Sorrow filled the air and tears wet the floor. If she had not allowed herself to love then his life would not have been stolen. She placed a kiss upon his pale lips, closing her eyes and laying to recall the memories that they shared. Their anniversary. Their first kiss. Their first make out. A slight smile made its way upon her lips at the thought. They always argued over who began that kiss. He would always say that she did. She would shake her head and argue that it was him that began it all. She remembered their first date and the day that he proposed. He was always asking her to marry him when they text. Every time she would say of course with a bright smile planted upon her face. The woman remembered how he would always make her smile and blush to no end. He was always embarrassing her.
She recalled the day they wedded. The beautiful day they both said 'I do.' and began their lives together. The first time they made love, and all the days in between. The woman closed her eyes. They were not married for even a year before this fateful day. Had she not invited the man into her home this would never have happened. He had cried out in a fit of rage when he saw her husband emerge from the room, come over and wrap his arms around his lovely bride's waist. The man pulled a knife from his pocket and lashed at him. Her love was too quick though. He pushed her out of the way and moved in time to avoid the first attack. Her friend did not stop. He kept going after him until they came to this barren room where the fatal blow was made. It was her fault. And it was this guilt that would be her murderer. She would die painfully, being completely consumed by her emotions of sorrow. The woman knew that the man beside her would never return to her. The scent of cinnamon faded now, replaced by the scent of death lurking in the shadows of every corner. It was time for her to go to her husband at last. The cut she placed in her chest has bled this whole times, causing her to lose much blood. She would bleed to death just as her lover did. They would be together in a life after death.
Death vs. Life
Sorrow keeps Death awake in the night. Fear fuels him to continue on. Happiness means nothing to him for it only makes you hesitate. Love is unknown to him. Never receiving nor giving it, he is Death. Death knows no limitations on which souls to take. If one is close to learning something unnecessary, they will be killed by their own
curiosity. He does not care for the weak and is entertained by those strong enough to continue fighting. In his eyes, those who give up on life should never have been born. As he fades between Time to haunt, the mortals of the world cower in fear for their fleeting life.
One night, Death came knocking on a young woman’s door. There at her bed he stood, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He knew her time was almost up. As he lifted his scythe to rip her soul from her dying body, she awakens. One forest green eye and one ocean blue eye stared up at him as he stumbled back to stop the cut. Death was flabbergasted. None have seen him nor awoken within seconds of their passing. “Leave me Death. I have no time for you,” a strong voice said. The woman was sitting up now, her lips slightly ajar. Her eyes showed nothing more than the curiosity of life.
Death blinked and stepped forward, studying the mortal. He ran his pale fingers through his darkened hair and sighed heavily. “You know not to whom you speak mortal child. Death takes orders from no one but Life.” His fiery red eyes glared at the woman as she smirked and pulled herself out of bed. How strange it was for him to speak to a fleeting life before the soul was severed. Death straightened his crimson tie with his free hand as he watched her cross the small room and rummage through her closet. “Why must you stall your death any longer woman?”
The young woman stopped going through her closet momentarily and looked over her shoulder. “You will not call me ‘woman’ as you have for many other mortal females. My name is Alexus Rainwaters and you will address me as such.” With that said, Alexus pulled out some dark jean pants and a black tank-top. Death stood in his place, unsure how to react. She had chided him for calling her by her gender and not her name. He never bothered to learn the names of his victims and merely went on to get the job done. Her telling him to call her by her birth name infuriated him.
While Alexus changed quickly into her new clothes, Death made his way over to her. Standing behind her, Death could certainly tell that he towered over the mortal woman. He was a good foot taller than she, him being about six foot three. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed her firmly by the arm. “Know your place. I am Death. Do not take me as some small threat! I control your life.” His voice boomed through the room, each word echoing in their ears.
Heart racing, Alexus jerked her arm from his grasp and turned to face him. Her heterochromatic eyes stared up into his red ones, full of determination and anger. “You control no life. You are merely Death. An immortal trapped in your own discomfort. If you are so powerful then kill me now with no regret,” the woman challenged him. She did not fear death nor cared for life. Life and death meant nothing if you do not fight for it.
The reaper was taken aback by her sudden outburst. No mortal being has ever challenged him to kill them. None truly had the chance to. Death stared, wide-eyed, at the woman as she turned her back on him to put on some shoes. The room was still dark, moonlight barely shining through her white curtains. Her bed rested, disturbed by her slumber, against the far wall. The rest of the room was bare, with the exception of a few pictures or writings on the wall here and there.
Death was intrigued by this woman, this Alexus. She feared nothing, or so it seemed. Even mortals can trick a god. The reaper glared and turned around swiftly and paced the length of the room. How dare she challenge a god to kill her after catching his interest like she so obviously has?! He was the Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper to those who fear him. Death growled deeply under his breath and glanced at Alexus. That infuriating mortal should be scared, begging him to spare her and yet, she chides him and challenges him to do his job.
Alexus rolled her eyes as the Grim Reaper paced about her room. She was running late because of him. She needed to get to work and open up shop. This woman worked at a hostess club and often opened the club when the manager was out of town. Fluffing her hair, she headed to the door, her heels clacking against the wooden floor. “When you have made your decision, find me. You are a pathetic excuse for a reaper, Death. Know your own place.” Opening the door, she slipped out into the night, slamming it behind her.
Death stood still now, looking at the door and replaying her exit in his mind. He was pathetic? Sighing, he collapsed onto her bed and held his head. He has been an angel for so long; he forgot what it was like to be mortal, to have to fight for meaning and life. Death looked to the window and leaned over, pushing aside the curtains. The moon was high in the night sky now. Alexus would surely make it to work alright. Death still didn’t know what it was about that woman that made him so irritated and interested, but he would find out. For now though, he wanted to rest. Extending is large black wings; he plucked a feather and laid it on her nightstand. They would meet again another time.
Making his own exit now, he stepped out into the night air and stretched his wings to their full length. Lifting off the ground, he flew through the city, rushing past blinding lights and roaring cars. He flew higher and higher into the heavens until he was no longer visible. Mortals could not see Death unless they were about to die so he had nothing to fear. In the back of his mind, he still thought of Alexus, the woman who lived.
Diamond in the Rough
Deep within our very souls,
Lays a gem of brilliance.
It is cut and grounded,
Shaping into who we are.
This gem shines brighter than the rest.
It cannot be worn as jewelry.
It grows inside us as we become one.
Making us like diamonds.
We are gems in the rough.
We shape our lives as we grow older.
The smooth edges of our surroundings.
And the transparent windows into our past.
We are diamonds in the rough.
Gems awaiting our chance to shine.
No two diamonds are alike
Such as no two human beings are alike.
We are different from past generations.
We have grown stronger.
We shine brighter.
And we take pride in our imperfections.
Our beating hearts,
Our throbbing souls,
The very essence of our life.
We are diamonds in the rough.
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