My Own Captive

My Own Captive

Fragile. I am fragile. 

You think that I am strong. 

Screaming. I am screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming. 

Far too long. 

Time. There’s no time.

Words, stories, sentences, desires, duties, obligations

Bounce back

And forth

Back

And forth

Inside my mind.

I am never quiet.

I dream of speaking these words

Of ridding my tongue of the weight of my thoughts.

You ask me how I am. 

They claw to escape.

The only words I am allowed are “I” and “am” and “fine”. 

Sliding back down my throat, riding the curve of my smiling lips

Fall the words “not” and “okay”. 

But you don’t know. 

There’s so much beneath the surface

That’s not allowed to be

Seen.

I’m screaming, pounding, crying, beating

Against the prison 

Of my lips.

And all

You hear 

Is laughter. 

White Eyes

Axel nodded to his guard as casually as he could, squeezing his right fist. His fingers slipped down the length of the stone hidden there, and Axel forced a smile as his guard lazily waved him forward. Hooking his left thumb in his belt loop, he took a step into the Prison Proper. If today went well, this would be the last time he would ever have to step through those doors.

Axel strolled leisurely through the crowd, heading for the doors at the other end of the room. He noted a few new faces as he passed and nearly felt bad for them. But to be here, the vagrants did deserve it in some way or another. After all, no one would be sentenced to this heaven-forsaken place for anything as simple as murder.  

“Oi! Ax!” A hefty man sitting at a nearby table called. “Come over ‘ere, will ya?”

Axel groaned softly, clenching his fist. He had important things to do, and talking to Quip was not at the top of his priority list. Or anywhere close, for that matter. But Axel never had passed up an opportunity to talk with Quip before and he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself now. Sighing, Axel ran his free hand through his hair and casually made his way over to Quip, just as he would’ve on any normal day.

“What is it?” He asked quietly, stopping a few paces from Quip’s table.

Quip raised a hand and shoved a spoonful of mush into his mouth. “I been hearin’ some talk ‘round here,” He said, preparing another bite, “That they's tightinin’ up security on accounts of a new boy jus’ came in.” He paused, swirling his mush with his spoon. “It’s been said that they’s gettin’ The Mechanism ready, Ax.”

The Mechanism. Cold sweat trickled down Axel’s back.

Quip suddenly reached out and grasped Axel’s arm, forcing him to make eye contact. A wave of nausea threatened, and Axel deliberately chose to focus on Quip’s good eye. He didn’t think he would ever get used to that other one. How could he, when scar tissue and swelling played the roles of eyeball and eyelid?

“So, Ax,” Quip continued, his good blue eye staring, “Yous best be bein’ very careful 'round here, understand?” 
Axel grunted in agreement, but Quip didn’t let go. A shudder of revulsion passed through him. What had happened to that eye? He pulled his arm free and crossed it over his chest. It felt odd with the added bulk in his hand. He cleared his throat.“Who’s made them worried?” He asked stiffly, gazing out at the Proper.

“That ‘un right there.” Quip said, pointing his spoon at a young man a few tables away. He stood maybe 5’6 and was skinnier than a beanpole. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Axel raised an eyebrow.

“Him?” Axel scoffed. "What did he do?"

“See, that there’s the thing.” Quip said, shaking his head. “No’ody knows. Alls we know’s that he’s downright dangerous. What, to have gotten them all riled up and firing up the Mechanism and all.”

Axel glanced back at the young man and found himself unable to move. The boy was staring at him. And his eyes... Heavens above, those eyes. White. Completely... Completely white. How...

Axel tore his gaze away, his hands shaking. He blinked hard and rested his hand on the table, trying to shake off the memory. Good heavens, if the kid looked like that, it was no wonder everyone was so worked up about him. Screw it, he could even understand why they were ready to use the Mechanism! He-

Axel cursed and stumbled back, tripping over his feet and swearing like a sailor. The boy was right there.

“Hello.” The boy said, smiling as though he’d found a lost friend. “I think...” His gaze dropped to Axel’s right hand. “Ah. Yes.” He reached out and grasped Axel’s wrist, raising it up slowly. “I think that you have something that belongs to me.” He tilted his head and grinned. "Would you mind giving that back?"

Responsibility

     "It's your responsibility, Cade!" I yelled, swiping some soaked hair from my eyes. "However afraid you are, it's your responsibility. You cannot just leave them behind."
     Cade stopped abruptly. "What? Leave them- I'm not leaving them behind! I'm not- I- You-" He clenched his fists. "I'm doing what's best." 
     "No, you're not. You know you're not." I took a step back from him, pointing back the way we'd come. "You're leaving them there to rot, all because of your own cowardice. Yes, you've messed up. Yes, you have failed in the past, but don't make this another failure!" 
     Cade's eyes flashed. With his fist still clenched, his gaze locked onto mine, and his posture stuck between defensive and defeated, I couldn't decide if I'd gone too far. But everything I'd said had been true. He was afraid of failing, he was being a coward. He was afraid of committing himself to something just to watch it crumble before his eyes again. But I couldn't stand back and let his fear doom hundreds of people to bondage. 
     I blinked rain from my eyelashes, jerking my head a little to unstick some hair from my face. Cade's jaw was still tense, and I began to wonder if he would ever say something. His eyes were a swirling mass of confusion and anger. 
     "You know, you're beginning to sound like my father, Janet."

Marked Different

By the age of three, I was marked different. By age three, I was causing more trouble and turmoil than a teenager. By age three, my parents were terrified of me. Why? Because my eyes weren't changing color, as they should be.

"But that's stupid," You say. "Why would anyone care about that?"
And I laugh.
"Because," I tell you, bitterness in my voice. "Your eye color shows how you feel. It tells people if you're being honest, trustworthy, or deceitful. Without that assurance, how can someone know if you're telling the truth?"
I'll answer that for you. They can't.
At age three, I was marked with the fact that I would never be trusted, because my eyes didn't change with my emotions. They didn't change to deep blue when I was sad, or emerald green when I was jealous. And so, I was immediately isolated from those I may have called friends. One heck of an introduction to life, wasn't it?
"It's just a phase. He'll grow out of it." I remember my mother saying, her eyes slowly turning a deep shade of purple.
  "Yes. He'll be fine." My father reassured, although his eyes acquired the same hue, for they were afraid. Very afraid. Afraid I would be too different.
But they had no need to fear, for my difference was not a curse. It wasn't a problem. Although, I suppose it was something to be very, very afraid of. Just not in the way that they had expected. Oh, no, I had not been cursed. I had been blessed. Blessed with a gift.
Now, I dramatically sweep my arms out before me, and your eyes follow along. "This," I say, looking you dead in the eyes. "Is my story. The story of an abnormal boy in a normal world. A world that was calling – aching – to be changed."

It's Like A Knife

          "It's like this... Imagine that someone has plunged a knife into your heart. Deeply. Cruelly. The only person who could pull that knife out and save you from your pain, is the one who put it there. So, you learn to live with it. You walk, you talk, you smile, you laugh... But everything you do is tainted by the piercing pain in your chest.

          "The wound starts to heal. It begins closing up. You start to think that you just might be able to live like this.

          "Then a hand reaches out, grasps the hilt. You hope that maybe it's there to take the knife out, to rid you of your burden. You prepare yourself for the pain... You dare to hope that soon it may be gone...

          "And the hand twists, instead of pulling. It twists right and left and up and down but never leaves, never stops. 

          "You go through that process over and over. Coming to accept it, but never quite realizing how much it hurts until that hand comes in again, just when you were healing, and with another twist, you're left on the ground. In pain, barely breathing, barely thinking, as you watch the one person that could help you, act like it's nothing as they walk out of the room where you're dying.
          "You wanted to know what it's like to have a broken heart, didn't you?"

~E.K.M.

I Probably Will Do It Again

          "Shut up." I mumbled, turning towards the suddenly interesting racks of clothing.
          "No really, Tanya, you're adorable when you're flustered."
          I rolled my eyes and cinched my scarf tighter around my face. "Andrew. Stop it."
         "No, no. I mean it. The way you blush? It is the cutest thing." He said, and I knew he was grinning. I just knew it. Ugh. I carefully fingered a cute flowery flannel shirt in front of me, deciding it was best to ignore him. If I showed no reaction he would probably - Well, hopefully - leave me alone. For a few blessed minutes of silence, I thought I had succeeded, until,
         "Oh, my goodness Tanya. Are you cold?" 
         "Um... Yes?" I muttered, furrowing my eyebrows at him.
         "Well, why didn't you say something earlier?" Andrew grabbed my hand, sending tingles up my arm, then pulled me towards him, wrapping me up in a hug.
         "Andrew!" I froze, my arms refusing to move. He was... Well, he was really warm. And he smelled really, really good, and... I didn't exactly want to leave. I wanted to stay there, wrapped in his arms, forever and ever. I wanted him to always protect me from the cold and anything else that threatened me, and-
         "Feeling warmer?" He whispered, his soft voice laced with amusement.
         Aaaaand the spell was broken. He was teasing me. Teasing me!
         "Ugh!" I pushed him away and marched for the store exit. "You are completely unbearable." With frustration creeping through all of me, I cursed my stupid reactions. I had to let everything he did affect me, didn't I?
         "No, no. Tanya, come back. Come on. Please." I could hear him behind me, chuckling, as he walked towards the exit. I picked up my pace. He had the nerve to chuckle? No. You just- No. I shoved my fisted hands into my jacket pockets and kept walking down the mall, not quite sure where I was going. Just, away from that horribly presumptuous, and entirely annoying man - no, boy - that was currently following me.
         Andrew's hand grasped my arm just as I was turning down to the food court.
         "Tanya, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
         I turned to look at him, giving him my best, Are you kidding me? face. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back and crinkling his eyes, because he knew I was right. He certainly would do it again, and I could almost guarantee it would be more than once.
         "Okay. You're right. I probably will do it again." His lips twitched like they always did when he was trying to hold back a grin. "But I am sorry."

The Storm

Boom!

Thunder rumbles across the sky, bringing with it a spattering of rain and the beginnings of a storm. A large drop of water falls onto my ear as wind buffets around me, causing shivers to course throughout my body.

Boom!

My hair gets caught in the wind where it's sent sprawling into my face. I secure a hand over my hair to keep it in place as the slow patter of rain steadily turns into a torrent of water, and I imagine that the sky is crying for me. Crying for me because I can't.

I lean my head back against the wood and pull my arms closer, rocking back and forth, back and forth. I wish, suddenly, that I could say I was dreaming. That I could pretend it never happened. I wish that I could just push you out of my heart like I usually do... But today, I'm too tired.

Drip drip drip drip drip.

I watch vigilantly the steady fall of rain from the roof of wood under which I'm situated, and feel the memory of you burning throughout my mind, consuming my thoughts. Not even the cool wind and icy rain could make the fire die down. No. With every boom or clap of thunder the flames grow higher and higher, although I'm shivering. 

I turn my face up to the sky, tears finally making an appearance as I remember your smile, your laugh. Your arms wrapped around me. Your words and your love... Your life. The fire finds my heart and drops like a heavy anvil onto the tender, tight strings. You... You are gone. I will never hear your voice again, I'll never see your eyes. Never will I be able to tell you I love you. I'll never be able to thank you for what you've done. What you mean, no, meant to me.

My breath catches and I have to remind myself to breathe. To not get choked on the flames of your life. I lift my head from between my knees and realize that, like your heart, the storm has stopped. All that's left are the afterthoughts. Small scents and sounds and sensations that remind me that it was here.

I wipe the last of my tears away, becoming numb again - Numb to life. Numb to the pain. Numb to the burning - and hop off of my perch, my face blank as I watch water drip from the leaves and onto the sodden ground.

The storm, has ended.


~E.K.M.