Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

Our first fiction assignment was to write a flash fiction piece - something short and to the point.  The added element is we had to include something referred to as a "trope" - a singular object, idea, etc around which the action in the piece revolves.  Suggestions for locations included a yard sale, so I started thinking about a yard sale gone wrong.

This was what flowed from my fingertips, sitting in class...

Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

 

 



The sun, burning through the early morning fog, cut the chill like a barber’s razor.  Grass crunched under heavy feet, dew glistening like diamonds.

The tattered remains of a former life scattered the lawn on rickety wooden tables.  Brightly colored plastic, smooth glazed ceramics, and tarnished metal beckoned like the perfume of a beautiful woman.

Among the broken toys and tattered clothing, he saw something – something as beautiful as it was terrible.  He’d been looking for this book for years, and here it was – tossed aside like garbage.

His fingers gingerly brushed the cover, cool to the touch… jagged along a torn edge.  He lifted it, the smell of paper, ink, and dust – a heady aroma to any bibliophile – assaulted his senses and touched parts of him he’d thought long dead.

He must have it!

Setting the book down, he reached for his wallet.  He checked for cash and, elated with his find, went to grab his treasure again.

It was gone!

He looked around, wild eyed and panicked.  He must have it!  Where’d it go?

A woman walked away from him, something in her hands.

“Give it to me,” he shouted.

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“I just found it!  You can’t take it!”

She shook her head and turned to leave.

He ran, tackling her from behind and knocking her to the ground.

“I have to have it!”  His eyes, glazed with adrenaline, bulged from his face.

He ripped it out of her hands, only to find his treasured book was a lunchbox the lady had just bought.

He rolled off her, defeated… depressed…

He laid there, looking up at a clear blue sky.  In the distance, flashing lights and sirens grew closer.

As soon as he escaped again, he’d find his precious book…

His prize…

His treasure…

… that part of his soul he’d lost so long ago to the ravages of time and insanity.

Because of him...

Cognac diamonds lit with passion's fire
Yours is the touch that ignites my desire
Dreams of tomorrow built today
Bring perfect images to guide our way
A yearning that burns brighter than stars above
You've taught me the real meaning of love.

Contagion of Your Devotion

(Verse 1)

Alone in an endless midnight ocean
That seemed to spark and burn –
A delirious, drowning feeling
That caused my head to turn.

Eye lit with possessed fire,
Cognac diamonds in a porcelain sea
Embrace the screaming darkness
And a fear beyond possibility


(Chorus)

Battle scarred veterans
Secrets rise from yesterday
Contagion of your devotion
Always blocking the way
Where once was my heart
Now lies a gaping hole –
Your black rose stands witness
To my aching, weeping soul.


(Whispered Coda)
Those hellish fires of your soul –
All that’s left to dry your icy tears

(Repeat once)


(Verse 2)

Black flame enveloping on
A warm breeze, vanilla sweet
My hellish agony
Became your favorite treat

Delicious lips of wine and honey
Drank out my soul with each kiss
Every breath a baptism of fire –
A blaze that none could miss.


(Chorus)

Battle scarred veterans
Secrets rise from yesterday
Contagion of your devotion
Always blocking the way
Where once was my heart
Now lies a gaping hole –
Your black rose stands witness
To my aching, weeping soul.


(Whispered Coda)
Those hellish fires of your soul –
All that’s left to dry your icy tears


(Bridge)

Alone in this wild, dissolving bliss
Embrace the screaming darkness
Air almost too thick to breathe
Alone in a fragment of nothingness


(Chorus)

Battle scarred veterans
Secrets rise from yesterday
Contagion of your devotion
Always blocking the way
Where once was my heart
Now lies a gaping hole –
Your black rose stands witness
To my aching, weeping soul.


(Whispered Coda)
Those hellish fires of your soul –
All that’s left to dry your icy tears

(Repeat Coda until fade out)

Mentirosa (Revisited)

(Verse 1)

Glances exchanged across the room,
Fanning the flame of mystery.
Your eyes and lips made promises of tomorrow…
Promises never meant for me.

A whisper in the dark that hovered –
That whisper that warmed my soul –
A whisper of deceit was all it was,
One that carried a heavy toll


(Chorus)

In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night

Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes


(Whispered Coda)

I thought you were the one
But you broke my heart
Your betrayal crushed my spirit
And with my soul you’ll never part

(Verse 2)

Took me into your arms with that caress –
Surrounded me in the warmth of your eyes.
Twisted every word until I was possessed
Possessed by the poison of your lies.

Now you’re walking out that door,
Your new lover on your arm,
And I’m left with the pieces of our life –
Your lying did nothing but harm.


(Chorus)

In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night

Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes


(Whispered Coda)

I thought you were the one
But you broke my heart
Your betrayal crushed my spirit
And with my soul you’ll never part


(Bridge)
Mentirosa, how’d you find me?
Girl, you knew better from the start
Promised me forever with fire in your eyes
And all you did was break my heart


(Chorus)

In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night

Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes


(Whispered Coda)

I thought you were the one
But you broke my heart
Your betrayal crushed my spirit
And with my soul you’ll never part

(Repeat to fade)

Update and new writing

Okay, so I haven't posted in a while, but there is great news that is most definitely post-worthy.

What, you may ask, could prompt me to be so excited about posting?

I am currently awaiting proof copies of a book of my poetry that is being published. The book is called Nyte Songs: A Selection of Vampyric Poetry, and it's already got an ISBN number and everything!!

I'll be sure to let everyone know when the book is available for purchase!

And, in honor of that, I've been so inspired to write that I have decided to participate in NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) this year. My juices are flowing, and I'm just waiting for November 1st to start working on my opus. Maybe this will be the year I finish a novel and start shopping it around to agents and major publishing houses.

Also, I have revisited and reworked the lyrics to a song I wrote that is pubilshed on this blog (Mentirosa) and wrote a new set of lyrics (Contagion of Your Devotion). I shall be posting both very shortly. (If anyone knows of someone who can set lyrics to music, please let me know. I'd LOVE to hear my lyrics set to something!!)

Enjoy :)

The Dump

As I was cleaning out the attic this weekend, I found all sorts of old junk that I had forgotten was even there. Of course, when I first stumbled upon my “treasures,” I wanted to keep everything I saw. Why would I have kept them in the first place? But, after pouring through box after box of broken toys and ripped parchment, I convinced myself that my “treasures” were ready for their final resting place. Being as this was Saturday and that trash pick-up day wasn’t until Wednesday, it required a trip to… the dump. Even now, I wince at the thought of having to brave the ever-present gloom that reigns there. The dump is a strange yet repulsive place… a place where people tend to bury the human spirit along with their trash.

From the main road, entering the dump looked like you were entering the grounds of a federal prison – and we’re not talking “Club Fed”. The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire invitingly curled around the top of each section. Following the slow procession of vehicles to the front gate, I noticed a man peeking through the blinds of a dirty office building. The building’s grey exterior was peeling away, the result of prolonged exposure to the toxic environment of hair spray cans, dirty baby diapers, and rotten banana peels. As soon as the man noticed me looking back, he hurriedly closed the blinds.

A man in filthy grey coveralls was standing out front to interrogate each passerby about their garbage. “Do you have any used batteries?” “Are you disposing of hazardous materials?” “Are you dumping used oil?” The list of questions went on and on for what felt like forever – until you were ready to surrender and admit to smuggling in a bag full of non-biodegradable Styrofoam containers just to make the man leave you alone. You’d even be willing to sign a confession in blood just to make this guy quit asking the never-ending parade of questions.

As I drove on into the interior sanctum of the dump, I noticed another unsightly building high upon a hill, overshadowing the recycling bins. This one had to be twenty-five feet tall and draped with rusted old sheet metal. The building looked like it had been rammed into by a wrecking ball at least a million times, and that it would collapse upon that million and first time, taking everything in it straight to hell. Trucks full of furniture, brush, and tree limbs were unloaded inside of the building – the dump’s own execution chamber. Within the walls of this building contained the largest crushing machine on the premises. When it activated, it made torturous scraping noised accompanied by splintering crackles. You could almost hear the death screams of each abandoned couch or chair as it was tossed into the machine like yesterday’s newspaper.

The stench was overpowering, unbearable – an odor of death mixed with the acrid aroma of despair. The wind stirred and brought along with it the stench of long-forgotten, abandoned, used baby diapers. I pulled my shirt up over my nose, trying to filter the bitterness through the lingering scent of fabric softener and my body spray, but it was too much for my crude attempt to hands.

I choked back a gag as I saw a fat rat fumbling with a half-rotted McDonald’s bag, oozing slimy aged lettuce and ketchup as it did. Weeds bordering the fence were littered with plastic wrappers, Styrofoam cups, and other non-biodegradable materials. Polluted water was seeping out of the dumpsters and had formed stagnate puddles infested with thousands of tiny, spasmodic worms.

I wondered how anyone could work in this foul environment and remain healthy, either physically or mentally. I also wondered how the county could afford to pay anyone enough to work in this harsh, alien terrain.

Most of the people at the dump all had the same blank expression on their faces, void of any emotion except perhaps disgust. They came in like robots, emptied their trash, and sped away as fast as possible without running someone else over.

There was, however, a sub-culture at the dump – those people disdainfully referred to as “Dumpster Divers” by most of the public. One of these dumpster divers, a man whose pants would not stay up and had dipped low enough to reveal a full inch and a half of his butt crack, was crawling through a dumpster full of old washers and dryers. At one point he surfaced, wiping his sweating face with one grimy hand, and paced back and forth furiously like he was contemplating the meaning of life… the world… and everything. Suddenly, he dove back in like he’d discovered the world’s greatest treasure at the bottom of this metallic coffin. No one paid attention to him… they all pretended his existence was nothing more than a mere shadow or trick of light.

At the next dumpster over, a young man was throwing away heavy, black plastic trash bags full of roofing shingles. The reason I know this? One of the bags caught the corner of the dumpster and ripped open while the young man was hurling it into the dumpster, causing shingles to rain down on the ground like torn piece of black hail. This caught my attention because he was standing almost directly under a sign that read, “ABSOLUTELY NO CONTRACTOR OR CONSTRUCTION DEBRIS.”

Within minutes, a man wearing a coffee-stained T-shirt and hat bearing the county’s logo approached the young offender. He asked, “Hey, sonny, whatcha got in them bags?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just some old garbage.”

Knowing that the young man was lying, but not really caring enough to call him on it, the old man sneered a sinister yellow grin and said, “Them bags look awfully heavy, son. Are you sure you don’t have any body parts in there?”

They both laughed, and I decided to leave them alone. After all, my task was now finished.

So I left that eerie, malodorous place. I drove away from the dump as quickly as I could before I could bury my spirit – my very humanity – along with the trash I had dumped. The dump is death personified – a graveyard laden with the excesses of society. I ran away – far, far away – from the dump before it could sink its claws into me, infecting me with its decomposition and melancholy.

A Dark So Heavy

You know me. Deep down in the depths of your psyche, you know me very well. I am the thing lurking at the very edges of your world, where reality and illusion blur together. I am the ravenous creature that fed on your fears as a child – the monster in the closet; the bogeyman hiding under your bed, waiting to snatch you when your defenses were at their lowest. You didn’t realize what I was then, did you? Only when you were older… wiser… and more alone than ever did it dawn on you what I was. But you couldn’t verbalize it – couldn’t find the words to describe what was happening.

You have always thought me a monster, and I am. I am your personal monster. Your parents always told you I wasn’t real, but you never believed them. You could feel my cold icy fingers reaching for your heart in the darkness of midnight. You could feel the weight of my presence pressing down on you like that of a lover… a lover more concerned with your pain than your pleasure.

You cried tears into the pillow after your parents left you, assuring you there wasn’t anything there – that small pillow with the daisy-patterned pillowcase that your mother fluffed for you every night before kissing you good night. Once they left, you could feel me invading, and the tears would flow, staining the cotton case through to the pillow itself. I liked those tears. No offering could have been more delicious. I licked them off your pillow… from your cheeks, your lips, your eyes. Savoring their salty, fear-tinged taste, I licked you to sleep.

You should thank me. I was the only one who would ever touch you. Even when everyone else claimed to love you, I was still the only one to touch you. Every time you touched yourself, I was there – hiding in your fingers, wrapped around your skin like the lingering scent of a rose. Want to be touched now? There’s no one else who will do it – it’s just you and me. Together.

It was more fun as you got older. Feeding on your fear, that is. More pain – from your friends, your family, but never from me. I would devour you once they had finished destroying the few dreams you’d built around you. Sucking out the hope with deep strokes of my tongue. I made my home in that heavy pit of emptiness within your heart. Grown sick of closets, that’s where I felt my most comfortable – finally one with you.

Did you feel me there? Could you feel my icy touch when the one you wished to love pushed you away? Just a little push at first – a nudge, really. Then harder when you didn’t go… harder and harder, words and actions cutting you to the quick and searing your soul. Again! Again! It was good for me. Was it good for you too?

Feeling a little strange now? Don’t blame me. I wasn’t the one who placed the razor in your hand. It was slick for me though… and so sweet. The cuts from the razors left a small tinge of burgundy and that salty, acrid taste of blood. The taste was a million times sweeter than that of your tears – blood that told of the emptiness welling just beneath your breast.

You surprised me, you know, when you started to hit yourself. Just a few smacks here and there – your shoulders, your head – in an attempt to drive me away. But you can’t drive me out in such a cowardly way. So go ahead coward, bash your head against the wall; beat your shoulders; bruise your chest. Only one thing will drive me away, and that would take guts. And inverting into yourself – into that pit I made – is a coward’s way out. And it makes your blood sweeter. The smell is exquisite – blood tainted with orchids and vanilla – and I only grow stronger. I’m like an undertow – so dark, so heavy, and so cold.

What do you expect now? Standing there naked as you are, razor in hand. Do you want me to take that first cut? I won’t, you know. I’ll make you inflict that upon yourself. But when that first stroke of the razor does come, I’ll be ready. I’ll be there to lick at the blood as it drips to the floor, feeding and taking away the tears from your lips.

Trapped in my chains of loneliness and sadism, I’m all you have.

It’s almost complete, that special place deep within that only I can touch. It’s the part of you that knows. No longer lurking under beds, behind the dresser, or in the closet, I am with you – the only one who loves you. I’m the only one who aches to touch your lips, feel your breath, kiss your skin. I will feed forever with you as we are bound by a dark so heavy.

Bumba's Stomache

(African Creation Myth - Boshongo Tribe)


Pain!
Consuming pain seated deep in the pit of
This immortal's stomach, and
He did his best to be rid of it.

In a blinding burst,
Bumba belched and heaved,
Bringing forth into the void
The brightness of the noonday sun.

As the sun did warm the earth,
Drying the many waters,
Bumba's stomach still ached with
A soul-devouring pain.

He heaved and heaved again,
Creating a heavenly tidal wave -
Painting the blackness of night with
The virgin moon and diamond stars.

With one last heave,
The god's pain was no longer
For he had populated the new earth with
The leopard, turtle, crocodile, and man.

Pandora

(Greek Mythology)

A punishment to mankind
For the misdeeds of living forethought,
She was put upon the Earth
With just one burning desire.
Although she tried to resist
The quiet calling of curiosity,
Caution lost the battle in
The war waged within her mind.
Thus upon the earth was visited
Horrors too many to name.
Among the worse were truly evil -
Mortal pain, sickness, envy, and greed.
Cursed to know the abject grief of
Sorrow forever more,
The foolish woman did scream
Until at last a glimmer -
The escape of hope into the world -
Did give her cause to smile once more.

Nyx

(Greek Creation Myth)

An abyssmal void-
Dark, vast, and bitterly cold -
The powerful Nyx sat alone,
No one for her to behold.
A grand idea did strike -
A beautiful golden egg she'd lay
And selflessly warm the orb,
Sacrificing herself day after day.
Years and years did past,
And still our fair Nyx
Warmed her precious golden egg
In hopes the universe would be fixed.
Until finally a large crack
Throughout the space did ring
And the two halves of the shell,
Their curvatures did bring
The atmosphere - our loving sky
And breathable, clean air;
They also brought the very Earth upon
Which the humans labored with care.

Free Write - A "Slice of Life"

An assignation at midnight, shadows wavering like black flames coming on a warm, flower-scented breeze. His laughter was rich and thick as chocolate – as if you could pull it from the air and eat it. His voice slithered into the room, low and full of promise… silken whispers in the small hours of the night. He walked into the room, as if the air boiled invisibly around him.

She stood there at the window, beautifully silhouetted in that pure white light spreading like ice over the darkness. Not beautiful and not supremely brilliant, she was filled with something that took the place of both qualities – something best described as a profound vivacity… a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life. She was a sexual dessert of curves and points.

She whispered a greeting, a voice so close to silence that one must strain to hear it. That whisper hovered around his body like a line of warmth, a whisper of ghostly electricity.

He went to her, filled with images of his dreams. Dreams of kissing her so hard his mouth hurt; so soft his heart hurt; so long his neck hurt; so deep his throat hurt; and so completely that nothing hurts.

Standing behind her, nuzzling into her neck, this was a nocturnal visit filled with the promise of delicious physical intimacy. He savored the very sweet taste of saliva mixed with skin – skin unnaturally soft, like living velvet. She glowed like there was an ethereal light inside of her… a light only lit by the spark of his touch.

Turning to face him, her eyes drank him down like a parched man eyes a glass of water – eyes flaming with hunger, desire, and truth. Moving to his face, her eyes softened and grew liquid, a fervent passion flaring to life.

He kissed her, his lips soft as silk; gentle as rose petals; hot as the noonday sun. His tongue was a quick wetness exploring the inner reaches of her honeyed mouth. Passion roared in his ears like great waves that crash up and over the beach, never receding but only building more with each tick of the bright night’s clock.

Something inside him melted that hurt in an exquisite way. All his longings; all his dreams and sweet anguish; all the secrets held asleep within him came to life. At once everything was transformed and everything made sense. That first kiss united their souls, the spirits entwining in the very breath they breathed. And each exhalation was a baptism in fire.

He always knew that she could change minds and alter moods with just a touch, but now he knew that she could instantly take possession of a soul with just a kiss. For in that kiss, he lost his very existence.

With a voice soft, low, and more private than the setting, he whispered that he loved her. He stroked her face softly, knowing what his mother had meant when she had told his sister that love and electricity were one in the same. With every kiss, he felt a jolt in his soul; with every whisper and touch, he felt as if he’d been shocked into life.

They sighed together, an air of breathless intensity as the night turned to dawn. The coming sun was the first blue gaze of the day. This love they shared was much like a wild rose – beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense. Tested once by a merciless man to whom she’d been betrothed, he’d already shed that blood to keep her safe. Now, as they watched the sun spread its warming fingers across the sky like pale pastel ribbons, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure they would be together.

Aengus and Caer Ibormeith

(Celtic Mythology)


A lovely maiden, fair of face
And silent, ghostly form
Doth snuck into Aengus’s room
Until unrequited love hath born.
He dreamt of her nightly –
In dreams he wished to stay –
And rued the sun’s dawning
With the passing of every day.
Illness took hold of the man
And throughout body and mind did spread
Until a power physician was summoned
In fear he’d soon be dead.

A search was called –
Looking high, looking low –
But years did pass without avail
While Aengus’s love did grow.
Finally love and luck, it seems,
Met to quench his lonely thirst.
But travel to Loch Bel Dracon
Was the journey to make first.
Upon the quiet, rocky shores,
Aengus did find silver maidens fair
Surrounding his love, Caer Ibormeith,
Whose visage at his heart did tear.

Trying to secure her for our hero,
His people did plead in vain.
So upon the lands came a shower of blood
To help quell his eternal pain.
Her father begged for sweet mercy,
His anguish echoing in his word.
He could not promise the fair maiden
For on even years, she doth become a bird.
So upon the next year, taking great haste,
Aengus traveled to win the girl’s heart.
The pair of swans sealed their love with a swim
And vowed never again to part.

Religion (a free write)

Myth based in fact? Or fact based in myth? The concept of religion is one of the oldest debates in history. Every culture in the world has worshipped a chosen god or a variety of gods and spirits, but is religion based in fact or myth?

It is a question that may never be answered because no one truly knows. No one living today has concrete proof that any one religion is based wholly in fact. While there may be bits and pieces of verifiable fact in every religious story, that is what the largely remain – a story.

Religion is mainly a moral prescription of life. In the form of fables and narrative, it gives you a how and why for living a good, just life. A comparison of today’s major religions (and quite a few minor ones) will show common themes. “Honor thyself and thy family.” “Be kind and helpful in your community.” “Do not want for more than you have.” These are some of the basic tenets of religion across the world.

And how you live your life dictates how you spend your afterlife.

What religion requires that a lot of people have lost is the ability to believe. You have to be able to ignore that tiny part of your brain that says, “Wait!! Show me the proof that this actually happened!!” Without that ability to believe – the ability to put faith in something outside of yourself – you will never be able to embrace religion. No matter what flavor is offered, you’ll find it unappetizing. You’ll be unable to find the necessary power to fully believe.

So then, it leads me to ask…

Who is the more powerful man?

He who can step outside the confines of the conventional and trust his faith in the unknown and unseen?

Or he who cannot, even for a moment, suspend cynicism and disbelief to trust in a power outside himself?

Free Write - Emotions

What is it about the emotions that can dictate the very course of our lives? What is it about a smile or a laugh that touches us so very deep inside without even a moment's thought?

Emotions are a very volatile subject in many, many ways. They cause us to sing in the rain; dance on a roof; cry in our sleep; and any number of strange reactions to the world around us. They can have us singing someone's praises one moment and cursing their very name the next.

As a human being, our lives are dictated by our emotions. If you wake up happy and ready to go in the morning, even if the day is derailed for a moment, you are still ready to face the world. Yet, if you wake up "on the wrong side of the bed," everything seems to go down hill from there.

We attach emotional significance to everything around us. Every sight, smell, taste, and touch brings back some memory of where we were and what we were doing when we first experienced that - and the emotions that surrounded us at that very moment in time. Every sound that surrounds us brings to mind a time where we were elated or crushed - and the sound will affect us the very same way.

So what is it about our emotions that make them so very powerful? What makes us so ruled by those very emotions many try to keep in check?

Untitled Poem #3

Staring down from the endless night,
He watched and waited, filled with wanting desire
She sat under the canopy, staring back,
Alone with the thoughts in her head
Reaching down through the mire and muck
With a hand burning as hot as a banked coal,
He plucked her from her prison –
From this sentence of hell and misery –
To tiptoe amongst the embers
Lighting their way through forever night
Dancing along the ethereal white-green ribbon
Across the universe to a haven –
A warm harbor in the midst of
The freezing stinging bite of loneliness –
And he embraced her,
Protecting her from the pain of humanity…
Until she awakened
Tears staining her pillowcase
In memory of the paradise she’ll never have.

Untitled poem #2

The moon burbled louder in her veins
As the night slid over the city,
Echoes of organized bedlam entwined with
Deepening dark schemata.
Only the night was big enough to
Contain the primal hungers…
The debased urges controlling her.

The warm wind silently stirred her senses,
Driving her to move, to hunt, to conquer.
Shifting nervously, she felt alive as
Passion and yearning filled her…
Infused her soul with a vitality
Alone in a fragment of nothingness
In an endless midnight ocean that somehow managed to burn

Untitled poem

Spun gold from darkest night
Hangs low and pendulous on the horizon,
Watching as she gazes into the heavens.
Soft and wild, the voice of the wind
Whispers sweetly into her ear…
A single weapon –
A few moments of wild abandon.
The hollow wail of starlight surrounds her like
The symphonic shriek of a thousand hiding voices.
Passion builds in her veins –
Passion like a great wave that
Roars up and over the beach and
Does not recede…
Only swells the more with
Every tick of the bright night’s clock.