I didn't mean to follow you at first; it just happened. It was always after Math that I would see your back in the hall, your neck exposed due to the shortness of your hair, your strides long and fast in your rush to get to your next class.(more) I don't know why I noticed you out of all the other kids in the wave of students, but I did, and, without being fully conscious to it, I began to look for you every day.
I hadn't been following you for too long, only about three weeks, before I realized that I loved you.
I had always brushed off the notion of love when one has not talked to the other; that's love with appearance, not character. But now? Now I didn't brush it off. Now I wholeheartedly believed in it. It was silly, I know. Almost stupid. Especially since, when you thought about it, you would realize that all I had ever seen of you was your back, no matter how quickly I rushed out of class. But there was something about you that attracted me to you, and that one night as I lay thinking about you I realized through the little shiver in my stomach and the quick beating of my heart that I loved you.
And so I set three goals. The first was to see your face. The second was to find out your name. And the third? The third goal was to talk to the person I loved.(less)
As she lies awake, her mind is filled by nothing else but the broad curve of his back, the soft hairs that stick up at the nape of his neck, the grateful smirk he throws at her over his shoulder, his eyes black and bright. He holds out his(more) hand. She mirrors him and he presses something heavy and cold into her palm, into her heart; when she looks down, she sees he's wrapped her fingers around the handle of a gun. She writes her name on the burden and holsters it.(less)
A wide grin spread across his freckled face and he glanced behind him. The boys were still wandering forward, some tripping over the sleek stones and squealing noisily as they fell into the icy water. "When will they ever learn," he muttered to no-one. "Up ahead!" he exclaimed, a(more) little louder, as the quick movement of animals in the underbrush caught his visual attention.
"Can we wait, just a moment, please?" one of the boys huffed, leaning on the hilt of his umbrella and adjusting his coke-bottle glasses.
Peter pursed his lips, considering. He had led them through the marsh for hours before they'd even reached this creek, and they still had much farther to go. "No."
The boys groaned in unison, each standing straighter than before and trying to rub the sleepiness from their eyes. There were grumbles of "fine" and "whatever" before they again pushed forward through the leaves and shallow water.
Peter skipped ahead, knowing the creek like the back of his hand. "We'll get there. Soon enough."
The sun just started to dip below the horizon, a golden hue painting the sky as I made my way down the path. There was something about this old walkway that gave me instantaneous euphoria as memories rushed past me, giving me just a taste of their sweetness. But(more) now, they were gone, even though I found myself following them, even to the point of letting them take me wherever they pleased. I was probably delusional, and very dehydrated, because they started to take form in front of me. Their images stood before my eyes, and I walked with my memories, pushing past the irritated pedestrians and walking with no regards of my safety.
Just following my memories.
I was damn near convinced I was mad beyond repair at this point, but then something miraculous happened. As my memories started to fade, their human-like form disintegrating into thin air, I found myself back to the place I had been trying to find all along.
I had followed my subconscious delusions all the way home.
He opened one eye. And stayed like that for a while - laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He finally sat, swaying his legs over to the side of the bed. He took in his surroundings, and noticed his walls were covered with harlequin clowns and -(more) imps?
He got up, and his gaze led him downward to his clothes. His pajamas. Blue. With an air shmbol on his shirt. A shirt with a long hoodie. Doubt crossed his mind, his feet leading him down the stairs outside his door.
Harlequin clown figurines were scattered, few of them.
He entered the kitchen, and saw his dad sitting at the table, newspaper in hand. He looked up to him, and spoke, "Good morning, John."
... It was all a dream? The trolls, the adventures, the monsters? Were Dave and Rose and Jade even real?
"You were in a coma, you were stablizied and getting better, so the doctor sent you home. You don't remember anything?" His dad put the newspaper down and observed his son.
A young boy is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with a pale face, and confused. It's his 14th birthday, and has been in a coma for a year.
Her gorgeous fiery red hair flowed like a flag in the cold winter wind and shined as bright as the north star through the pure white snow. Her complexion as clear as a recently Windexed window. A smile that shines brighter then a pack of fireflies in the darkest(more) hour of ones life. And a voice that rings through the ears like a symphony of angels. However always standing just out of reach she continues forward with me just behind. Every day I question the thoughts that go through my mind and come to the same conclusion every time, a conclusion that have caused some to call me crazy, some to call me a fool and many to point and laugh. So just know, as long as there is a slow and steady breath leaving these faint lips I will always follow you. I may falter and stagger behind but I will always remain following you.(less)
"I'm following right behind you honey, don't worry, we'll all be together soon. Then everything will finally be okay."
The cold air nipped the man's face as he quietly spoke to the ground. Adjusting the shotgun before him, he lowered his chin and begged for mercy. He wa(more)s sorry he was such a weak man. Shards from a broken whiskey bottle cut into his knees as he prayed to a god he wasn't sure he even believed in. Before a flicker of indecision could spark, his fingers twitched.
Everything was warm.
Everything was peaceful.
Everything was... Right.
I'm following you with bottles and ribbons. Don't look. They're rattling all over the place, and it's messy. Really messy.
I'm also following you with a murder of crows, and a whipped cream pie with your name on it. In cherry sauce.
I'm following you with adorati(more)on and splendor. I'm one crushing, being crushed by the weight of my affection. For you, darling.
I'm following you with reflections. Little mirrors and tall mirrors and round mirrors find you as you walk along an avenue or apply lipstick. Plum was the color of yesterday.
Sometimes, I stop and watch dogs just to see if they chase their tales.
I'm working up the courage to speak with you. Learn your name, untangle myself from all these ribbons. It's messy, really.
I'd like very much to hear your words, smelling espresso on them. Or absinthe.
Three weeks ago, when one of my crows collided head-on with an old cyclist, I touched your hand. You leaned down to look at me. I turned away, too emotional due to the crow.
"Poor boy," you said, and walked away.
At night, I dream of you as an enormous woman. I mount the summit of your right breast as thought it were a hill and slide down the sunlight on your skin. I'm crushing, and something, during such dreams, I am crushed.
Her eyes reflected the small, roly-poly body waddling down the sidewalk. The scruffy white puppy jingled in front of the coffee-shop window, dripping in the pouring rain. She watched him pause, sitting heavily in a puddle as he turned his head to one side. He stared intently at the(more) patrons all lined up on barstools and MacBooks; peering out from their secluded worlds to look at the fluffy mop. The young woman curled her dark, long hair over her ear as she folded up her lecture notes and adjusted her cozy sweater. She hastily rushed over to the counter, her teacup clattering on the smooth marble.
"I'm sorry, Granola, I'll be back soon, I promise!" Her on-and-off co-worker slash barista ran a hand through his dishwater blond hair.
"Sure, whenever," he said, nonchalant as always.
The woman's galoshes squeaked on the hardwood floor towards the array of bicycles parked inside the warehouse; she carefully picked the oldest one from the back corner, fastening the clear ponchos over the back rack for her books.
She made sure to zip up her raincoat as she walked her bike out into the rain. The little white dog still sat sadly, watching her with round, brown eyes. She walked towards the corner, waiting until she got to the next block to avoid so many pedestrians. He dog ran to walk in front of her bike.
"I can't be following you home, puppy," she commented. He continued to look over his shoulder every few steps. They continued this way until they approached the crosswalk.
"Oh, alright, come here," she sighed and gently picked up the puppy and placed him in her handle bar basket. She surrounded him with her sweater, and snugly covered him with a poncho.
Right outside my window is a drone. I know it's there because it wouldn't make sense if it wasn't. Nowadays, they have machines that can put a bullet between your eyes before you ever knew it was there. They could probably make it look like an accident too.
Alladays, there have(more) been spirits who could follow you from the other world and kill you if they please - put a bullet between your eyes without ever being seen by human eyes. They don't even need to make it look like an accident.
And they're following you.
Once, I talked to the ghost inside the machine. He was rather friendly, as you might expect a being whose consciousness spans millions of machines and hundreds of years would be. If you've got that much experience, I think it stands to reason that your consciousness would be able rise above evil.
But then again...power corrupts absolutely, doesn't it? What if you concentrated all that power in a measly man? God, s/he would fuck it all up, huh?
And so friend(s), if you decide to follow me, do so friendly intent. For I empty my soul into the world to be used as a tool.
My body's a tool, but my spirit's a being. It travels along the story of existence, spinning a web behind it, caught in the beauty of ideas.
In the end, I might end up following you. It's been said that the best teachers are the best students. Everyone's a learner and everyone's a teacher. Well if you follow me, then I'm gonna be following you.
And so we follow each other in the great eternity, going on until our bodies die and our spirits rise.
See you on the other side. You can follow me there :)(less)
She was motionless, or rather, rendered incapable of movement. What good would it do her in the end? She would act, repent, act, repent, forever trapped in the endless cycle that drove her mad.
She was alone. For once, it wasn’t a product of her needless self-isolation. She(more) was left alone. They had sung her the song of unconditional love and left her. Left her. She searched for and learned to loathe what they saw in her. She convinced herself that those who were unlovable deserved nothing. She convinced herself that she was nothing.
She longed for this solitude to be stolen from her. She was trapped under the weight of words unspoken and flaws left uncorrected. She sought comfort, love, and assurance.