Hopeful

Justin stands smoking a cigarette (he's 8,) on the corner of Kemp and Kensington. He wears a tattered blue Adidas shirt, black jeans, the right leg ripped from knee to ankle, and sneakers 3 sizes too big. He picks up a medium size rock, weighs it in his hand with a slight jostle, he then turns toward the garage behind him and throws, as hard as he can, squarely hitting the one remaining window. He laughs with the sound of shattering glass. His mother and some man he just met this morning come out of the house next to him, mother shouting, man with beer in one hand, cigarette in the other.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His mother yells.

Justin just stares at her.

"Get in this fucking house right now!"

On his way into the house he grabs the beer out of the mans hand, takes a long drink, and while returning it asks, "Hey man, can I have a cigarette?"

The man, nearly as tall as the door frame, tattoos peeking out from the edges of his clothes looks at the boy, then at the boys mother, she shrugs her shoulders. The man takes out his pack of Marlboro Reds, opens the top and tips two cigarettes into the boys waiting hand.

"Really, two?" Asks Justin.

As Justin walks into the house, toward his hovel-like room he holds back the tears welling up in his eyes. This is the nicest one who's come along, he thinks to himself, I hope he stays awhile.

Here it is again

That feeling of oblivion. The sense that something quick is at my heels, waiting for the moment I lessen my step. The dark corners creep ever closer. Something's got to give, and I'm not sure what it is; my soul perhaps, maybe my mind. Fuck. I have felt this dread so many times before, the first time I was 4; I thought that this feeling meant fire. Flames to engulf my life. It still manifests as fire, I thought I had come to terms though. Thought something within me had an understanding. Not the case. It seems the only reasonable thing to take the air out of me, my spirit, needs to be quelled, turned into something, something different, something dangerous, something that burns. I'm afraid of the dark these days, afraid of the things I can feel, but can't see. Afraid of the wind that brings me sounds of another world, one I have only one foot in. But where does that other foot reside? I feel but a shell, walking as if I belong, knowing I do not. I can't make sense of it anymore, the harder I reach, the further it retreats. Glass is beautiful, especially when shattered, fire can shatter glass. Chaos. Heat. Flame. Air. Hotter. Destroy. A cycle I no longer wish to engage in, no matter how familiar. When does the air run out so the fire will stop?

Transparent

She wakes to the sound of thunder. It rattles through her entire body and builds, growing as it reaches the inside of her chest, exploding inside her. As she readies for a shower, she wonders, if lightening strikes, is there any chance it may electrocute her, leaving her lifeless and seared in her dingy shower stall? She hopes not, it has been months since last she scrubbed any part of her one room apartment she shares with her edgy cat, and that is no way to be found, however fitting.

Wanting

Her days pass slowly, yet fly by at a pace much to quick. Looking back she realizes all she has missed, and her body aches. What was once a peaceful solitude has now become a blur of loneliness. Her life feeling empty and unaccomplished; she weeps. It has been three years since last she knew love in its beautiful state. Her body wishes for the touch of another, the laughter of a friend, the silent understanding of a lover. It seems like her life shattered away from her, dreams and all. When did her plan run awry, at what point did life slip past and leave her alone on this deserted dirt road?

Gentle

She sleeps peacefully in a cool room, a fan blowing the spring air into her sun-marked face. She wakes slightly at the sounds from another room. She knows where she is, but wishes she were elsewhere, knowing the one she will never have is so near to her. Lying her head upon the pillow that smelled of him, it took all of her to keep thoughts of what could be at bay. In her heart she knows it is best to leave this one alone, to lock her heart away, but she also knows, she never feels the need to stay this safe. What is it? She should never have let slip her secret to anyone; that alone let it become real, frightening, unattainable. If she had held it, him, in her mind and in her heart, perhaps then it wouldn't matter, just a passing phase like all the others...but she knows it wouldn't have mattered. He is different; the easy way a laugh escapes not only from her lips, but from the depths of her soul, the way her skin turned into fire in that brief moment he slipped by and brushed the small of her back, the way her eyes light up while looking at him and the playful nature that arises with no pretense, this is what makes him different.

Missing

The street glistens up at her. The light mist coats her hair and skin, it feels nice. She walks slowly on, towards nowhere. Her thoughts are far off, keeping her from knowing where she travels. Through empty streets and along empty fields, she walks, never looking around her, only ahead, wherever that is. Finally, the sound of rushing water wakes her from herself, she finds she is on an old cart bridge in the middle of a copse of maples. Startled by its beauty, she smiles for the first time in months. The slats of the bridge are worn, so worn they are smooth and slippery from the mist and river beneath, they have warped to show the immense flow below. Captivated, she lays down upon the cool bridge and peers through one of the gaps; the motion of the river makes her head swim. Overwhelmed, she rolls onto her back, gasping for air. She closes her eyes and the mist settles coolly upon her flesh, it feels nice. She lays like this for hours, breathing in the cool air, letting the sound of the river beneath wash over her, she stays in this moment, doesn't drift to her life of preoccupation. If only she could stay here forever.

Release

She turns her head to the wind. It fills her up, as if she were always whole, never to have felt that emptiness in her chest. It whips around her, embracing her. Playing through her hair, she knows she is alive. What mystery, kept in that gust of air. How far has it traveled to caress her face, her arms, her neck, as if it knows her secrets.