"NO! I want to watch someone die," wailed my 4-year-old daughter. I insisted that I had no videos of dying people on my computer, but she shrieked: "YES YOU DO! JUST TYPE IT IN AND SEARCH!"
My goo(more)d sense prevailed, but the theme continued at breakfast, when she wondered what it feels like to be dying. I thought this was a phase, but it has been over a year since she began to talk daily of the process of death and decomposition. Uncomfortable conversations have become commonplace, and we speculate about the precise manner of my father's hypothermia and drowning, in public places. In the checkout line at the grocery, she asks if fish have eaten his bones yet or whether we could go find his "old head" at the bottom of the sea.
I dread few conversations now, but I avoid lynching and suicide. Today my daughter talked about people who jump off the Golden Gate Bridge and asked if they were simply crazy, and I said no: they might just be sad or lonely or scared.
In his suicide note, E mentioned burning bridges and getting lost in woods and unrequited love, and then he filled his veins with too much heroin and went to die in a hammock. Today he would have turned 44, but instead he stopped at 29. I did not tell my daughters about him, but I no longer dread the conversation.
Yesterday my older girl asked the meaning of "sexy," and I hesitated longer than I had over any questions of death. She accepted my answer, then pushed on to ask what the fourth dimension is like. Her sister interrupted, "But WHY can't people fly?"
I was angry. The words you were using had so much hate and insult behind them. Your mind is empty of emotions though, full of something else. Intelligence takes precedent over emotion in your mind. You think it s because you are a better being, though in reality it(more) is because you are scared. Emotion is something you have always run from, it s something that s never made sense to you. You say you re open but in reality you re the exact opposite. You are a glass door that is locked from both sides. Just transparent enough to see the other side, but impermeable to what sits outside your beliefs. I m not what you want but I have memories that prove that a lie. You have desires you can t control, and you deal with that by subterfuge and secrets. You compartmentalize people and things so one cannot affect the other. Everything that I have learned from this is what to watch out for. To not let people take advantage of what I have to offer. What we did was wrong? but you turn around and do the same thing? I was once told you have a repeating pattern, and you do. You have no friends, no one who really knows you. You hide yourself in a box besides the one person you attach yourself too. I might have been lucky to know you, but I m also lucky it s now over. I expended so much and got so little in return. Maybe I made mistakes but everything I did had good intentions behind it. I rather have good intentions that go bad, with love and caring behind them, than secrets and lies. I just realized how lucky I am this is over.(less)
Both of us were trapped, and neither of us could help the other. I now faced my worst fears. He now faced his worst enemy. I fought the mental battle, and he fought the physical.
Shaking, I stood unmoving as the furthest reaches of my mind threw fea(more)r after fear at me, from the largest spiders to the tiniest whispers in my ears: "Weakling, coward, failure...". I was overwhelmed as the intense urge to scream and cuddle into a ball surged through my senses and brought all rational thoughts to a halt. Except for one.
"If you don't get out alive, then he will die."
Immediately, my senses calmed down. My fears loomed before me, unshaken. Spiders clacked their jaws, eager to devour me. Ravens stared at me, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Bloodstained apparitions glided towards me, ghostly hands reaching out. But I was able to move again.
If I didn't get out alive, I wouldn't be able to go to his rescue.
"You must fight!"
If I didn't get out alive, my best friend would die.
All of us in the war wondered what it would be like to die. There was no right answer.
Some, like Charlie, went out quickly. A bullet through the brain, a bright burst of pain, and then the After.
Randy was not so lucky. His death was(more) lingering, painful. The disease nibbled at his toes and his fingertips and spread; a red rash, the aches and pains, the moans in the night. The fever that never broke until the cool stillness of his death.
Some die heroes, like Oliver. Captured. Tortured. Needles and knives. He lost his legs, then his arms, then his ears. His nose. Oliver turned into a torso, but he said nothing. He welcomed the last knife. It was a hero's death.
Michael's death was infamous. He didn't have the strength that Oliver had. He caved as soon as he was tied down to the table. He was returned to us alive, but in our minds, he was dead.
Some died forgotten. They were nothing more than a bloody pulp on the battlefield until someone looked up and said "Hey, you guys seen Steve?"
The only kind of death that everybody had was the kind where you couldn't get out alive.(less)
Lost in the wrinkles of his mind, she knew she would never mean enough to him. He swallowed all his love each night, debating the wrongs of the world or clicking away on his ancient typewriter. Riding waves of cheap whiskey, genius would sprawl across the page. For hours(more) he would grunt and guzzle and type. How had it come to this? Something had gone terribly wrong.
At the end of it he would stagger into their bed, limp and spent, nothing left for her. Each night made promises, promises to leave him, promises to move into her sister’s spare room. Even a spare room decorated for a baby who never showed and a twin bed with a train comforter, waiting for a little boy who would never come - even that was better than this.
In the morning darkness she would turn off the alarm and roll to the edge of the bed but he would stir and pull her back. His rough hands turned gentle and sticking his face in her hair, taking deep breaths, ‘just to have her in his all day, to carry her through the heat of the day’. Her heart would start to thaw, her resolve begin to weaken.
Maybe he did need her - even if he didn’t want her. Need could turn to want. With a cloudy head she would roll out of bed and to her feet. Looking around the little trailer, bottles littering the ages old shag carpet she would sigh. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to come out victorious having saved a brilliant man...but it didn’t look like she would get alive.
I wandered through the blue light of dawn, my mind a foggy shroud. I felt In knew where I was, in fact I'd passed through these streets many times. I paid no attention to the passing buildings and the few early stirrers and workers of the morning.
My lucidity(more) returned in ebbs. The gnawing worry creeping up on me that I had done wrong. It gripped my stomach and sent my head spinning. My reprieve last night had been brief. I vomited in a rubbish bin. I was paying for my sins now.
I hail a cab. Thankfully he doesn't talk much. I crunch myself up into a little ball in the seat, praying the day doesn't come, cursing the glow of the horizon. Before long, I am home.
The house is quiet. I dig through my bag for my keys. I hope I don't wake anyone. The door swings open, I shuffle to my bed. I collapse.
I don't sleep, though I am more exhausted than I have ever been in my life. I struggle to remember my movements from the night before, the gaps being filled with thoughts and false memories, each worse than the last. I wonder if anyone will ever talk to me again. I am shameful. I am an excuse.
I write it all down, I promise myself never to let it get this far again. I wonder how long that will last. I need another release. I want to stop hurting without causing hurt. I want to be free, but not tied down to the drink. How do people do it? What is wrong with me?
I toss and turn into a fitful sleep. Perhaps in the light I shall see things more clearly.
It's hard to think of us
alone on this rock;
Just a black and blue contusion
on the edge of the cosmos.
Then I see that red outline on your ass.
(more) Feel your hands on my cock.
A gentle nibble on your bare breast.
In the grand scheme of things,
we are all nothingness,
twisting through the chaos.
So lets do anything and everything tonight,
cause we ain't getting out alive.
For Jason Wright, death was not an option. As the First of the Centurion Rangers, dying would not only set a bad precedent for any future rangers to come, but it would sully the otherwise perfect name around their organization. If he were to die, then who knows what(more) would happen? Would the program's funding get cut, or would its members be terminated? Jason didn't want to play with the thought.
His visor was covered in condensation from his heavy breathing, and his sides ached from running as fast as he could through several kilometers of forest. He wanted to cough and to throw aside his helmet and breathe fresh air, but that wasn't an option. "It" would find him.
A beast, he didn't know what. Something large, probably hungry, judging by the way it had charged him. He had heard stories of the creatures of the Lunar Forests of Titan, but no man had ever truly returned with a detailed experience. If he acted smart, maybe he would be the first. The organization would love that publicity.
He could hear the beast grunting, and every muscle on his body clenched. Did it hear him?
The tremors continued, growing quieter and quieter as the beast stalked away. Jason was safe, for now. He secured his pack, tightened the straps, and drew his taser knife. With one click, it began to flicker with electricity. If he had to fight one of those creatures, he planned on taking it with him.
But if he could, he wouldn't fight. There were people depending on Jason. Jobs on the line. People who needed him, who loved him. Eliza. She would cry if he died. One thing was clear for Jason, he had to get out alive.(less)
It was silent. Not the kind of silence where there wasn't anyone talking, but rather as if there was nothing. As if you were in a middle of nowhere. So you could understand why I was so shocked when someone-err-thing had just been there the whole time I was there.(more) He was right in front of me, his headless body facing in my direction. He had no eyes, but I could just sense that he was looking at me. He started to walk towards me. (less)
i am alive, i think. or maybe not.
what is alive? a term i must define
my heart will sometimes sink from things i've thought,
and other times, the sun it will outshine.
(more) am i alive, though, just because i feel?
there must be other ways that i can test
the notion that my life is truly real,
or if reality is just a jest.
i could convince my self of my existence,
but that could be a ruse by my own mind.
i could make sure i put up much resistance,
but then i won't be sure of what i find.
i don't need proof, for now, that i'm alive
the universe too complex to contrive(less)
I have to get out alive
I'm all alone
I must get in a car and drive
Away from my past
And towards my present
It's all gone by way to fast
(more) Even if I get out alive
Who's to say I won't die trying(less)