They call me crazy, and maybe they're right. They are right, they are right, I am crazy.
Late at night, in my apartment. On the bed. The needles, in rows. Waiting, waiting.
I just got out(more) from rehab two weeks ago, but I can't
My hands automatically reach for what is against the rules, my mind already awaits the tantalizing colors and feelings of what is forbidden.
It's a wonder that this hasn't killed me yet.
It will, someday. I am a countdown clock.
But I can't stop
The next day, they come up to me.
I sigh, resigned. "I'm sorry."
"'Sorry' isn't enough this time," says the woman. "Come with me."
"Rehab?" I guess.
"No," says the man.
"No. You've...moved on. Past rehab."
"Past rehab?" What is there past rehab?
We climb into the government vehicle. My hands itch for my needlework. Mama taught me sewing when I was young, before I was moved out of the community, and needlework has always calmed my hands and my mind.
"Our sensors have detected that you are entertaning illegal and dangerous thought patterns," the woman says.
"Yes," I admit. I am obviously an addict, so why deny it?
"Such as...?" the man presses.
I swallow, feeling the horrible, forbidden word rise in my throat. "Equality."
"Why are we not all equal?" the woman recites.
I have heard this so many times in rehab. "In a perfectly equal society, there is no order, no law: there is only chaos."
"Chaos," recites the man, "Is what we must defeat."
Tears welled up in his eyes, pain causing his vision to blur. He clenched his stomach, hydrochloric acid burning his esophagus. His mouth opened, and release. Vomit escaped his mouth into the toilet, chunks of the last dinner apparent in the puddle of bile laying on the bathroom tile.(more) It was months since this started, eat and puke, chow down and throw up, binge and purge.
Now he layed there, silent, grey eyes cold and spit dribbling from his mouth. His hand creeped down to his stomach, hollowed out and ribs showing. Tears finally pushed out of his eyes, spilling on his face and hitting the tiles with a splash that couldn't be heard. After a few more moments of just laying still, he was standing up. He ran his fingers through his hair and started to look at himself. He was a ghost, a skeleton, merely a pale figure malnourished and gaunt. Lifting his fingers to stroke his reflection, the boy began to sob. Loud, racking sobs that shook his body and made him collapse.
There was a click of the door, and a woman stepped in. Similar to the boy, but plumper and warmer. Her mouth was an "o" that she lifted her hand to as her eyes darted to the puddle and then to her ghostly little boy. Words attempted to escaper her mouth, but failed. And quietly, ever so quietly, the boy whispered, "I can't stop."(less)
Professor Helskin and his class were studying the sun's corona when he began to notice some bizarre readings indicating disproportionately powerful flares of radiation erupting from opposite sides of the sun.
(more) The professor tugged on his grey beard like a wizard studying dragons from afar, "This is incredible! The Sun, her magnetic poles are periodically shifting along the direction of Earth's elliptical plane. It appears that it is behaving like a pulsar, in that these jets are rotating at slow, but predictable intervals. Perhaps this can explain the strange atmospheric phenomena we've witnessed the last several years. But how?", he yelled out in amazement with the raspy voice of an elderly man with a rekindled spirit of youthful lust for exploration.
When he turned away from his telescope to face his class, he was insulted to find the audience to sharing none of his childish enthusiasm for science and mystery.
The man grumbled to himself, "So many years of tenure to earn the right to teach the apathetic and stupid masses." He sighed hopelessly, and decided to abandon the class. "CLASS DISMISSED, go home!", he croaked loudly. As the body of about hundred students vacated the lecture hall, all but one student decided to stay behind and she approached the professor.
"Professor, I'd like to stay and learn more about this event." She was a petite teenage woman whose eyes burned with an severe hunger for knowledge to spite her gentle face. They look one another in the eye, and he immediately saw that passion which he saw in the mirror every morning in his youth. He paused for a moment, and then his eyes twinkled with the rekindling spark of joy and he said, "Well, I cannot stop you. Feel free to accompany me, young lady."(less)
the feeling I get when I embark on a new project. My thoughts clutter with a mixture of excitement and joy. I get immersed in the developmental process, overlooking all aspects and covering all angles. Approaching the starting line, I can feel the adrenaline circulating throughout my body. I'm(more) ready to go. BANG. I freeze. Nothing is moving. I look around and nobody seems to notice. It's as if the gunshot absorbed all my energy. I stare blankly into the distant finish line. I keep repeating to myself, 300, just 300. GO!
I don't. Shaking my head in disappointment, I venture to the the nearest place to forget it all, filling myself with unfulfilling stimulus. Thoughts from my zero performance keeps nudging it's way back into my thoughts.
Moments go by in silence, just staring. There are awkward giggles and blown kisses, but no words. I look at you, you accept all of me. You challenge me, in the silence, to be a better person. You make me question what I thought life was. I grow, and(more) grow, and grow... You look at me and you see a future, you see a girl you may have never known -- if not by fate, you tell me. The quiet air remains between us as we gaze like children into a rainbow, staring at one-another. We want to say more, we want to love more, we want to do more -- but all we can do right now is feel, and smile. Smile, smile, smile... There's an eternity to carry on with life, and right now.. we can't stop smiling.(less)
When Hanna was born the whole family was so excited they forgot to get Martha from softball practice.
Martha and her coach sat on the bleachers surrounding the field for three hours before her aunt Mary pulled up. Embarrassed, Martha got into the car with her head dow(more)n while her aunt explained everything to coach who just smiled and said it was no problem to stay and congratulations.
When Hanna came home the first time everyone was so busy cooing and ahing over her they forgot to make dinner. Martha had a bowl of dry cereal because the milk had gone bad.
As the sisters grew Hanna became more beautiful with each year. There was something about her inky black hair and swirling blue eyes that drew people to her.
While Hanna shined in the sunlight, Martha faded into gray. She became more and more invisible by the year.
So Martha began to bake. She knew no one else would make her dinner or tuck her into bed so she made cakes and cookies and pies. Sugar seemed to cling to her even when she was at school.
One day, while frosting a beautiful powder pink cake, Hanna wandered into the kitchen.
What's that? She questioned.
Martha looked at her beautiful, slim, fairy of a sister and had a thought. "Oh, it's nothing you would want."
Unused to being denied Hanna dipped her finger in the frosting and licked it clean.
"It's ok I guess." She lied as she eyed the cake.
Martha shrugged, "Ok, but you can't eat it."
"Yes I can!" Hanna said as she took the cake and ate the entire cake alone.
"Ok, eat that but don't touch my doughnuts." Martha said with a smile.
Hanna promptly ate the doughnuts and everything else in the kitchen.