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.

Fate's Joke

You know, sometimes destiny has a cruel sense of humor. Enough to make me want to just hide in a hole all day. This really wasn’t funny. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and then blinked them open again, slowly glancing at the brown haired boy and sweet redheaded girl across the street. Sure enough, it was still there. That diabolical thread connecting her heart to his, but his heart to someone else. Bright red and quivering, it strung from her to him, then onward. Why? Why couldn’t they just be with each other? I leaned forward and banged my head against the dashboard of our car.

“Are you okay, Natalie?” My mom asked, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I’m good, Mom. I’m good.” I mumbled, glancing down at the thread in my heart that was slowly stretching as the car rumbled forward. I still hadn’t found anyone that connected with my heart. Clearly, there was someone. Not so clearly, I had no idea who he was. But that poor girl... Why was she connected to someone that could never be with her? What if that happened to me? I risked another glance at the couple on the sidewalk and felt nauseous. Couldn’t we decide our own futures? Our own spouses?

“Nat, are you sure you’re okay? You’re sighing a lot again.” My mom glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow.

Whoops.
“Yeah, mom, I’m fine. Just... Contemplating... Life...” My chest felt heavy and I turned my head from the window. I couldn’t shake the blissful look of the red headed woman out of my head. The blissful look that wouldn’t always be there. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the chair. I didn’t want to see any more of fate’s cruel jokes today.

~E.K.M.

True Love

True Love

A strong, weathered man sits inside a bright waiting room

His hands clasped tight, his eyes haunted with gloom.

He rocks back and forth, his head in his hands

Brow furrowed, all thoughts of why he bans

“Mr. Hartford,” A sympathetic voice calls

“We’ve done all that we can,

She’s lasted longer than we ever planned

It won’t be long sir, please come to the door

You might like to see her just once more.”

You can see the hope leaving his eyes

As quickly, stiffly, he follows her there

He sits down beside her, strokes her sweet cheek,

Her hand in his, he feels so, so weak.

He watches as she slowly drifts off to sleep

Her pulse assured by the constant, steady beep

As he stares at her aged, priceless face,

For the first time, tears begin to trace

“Dear God,” He prays, and clutches her hand tight

“I’ve loved her truly, with all of my might.

I’ve treasured every moment that we’ve had alone

I’ve blessed every time that I could call her my own

I’ve lived a good life, I’ve tried my best

She’s been at my side, always my sweet rest.

Sir, she’s my everything. My any and all.

Please, without her, I am nothing at all.”

He buries his face, puts his head in his hands

And in that moment, he begins to understand.

Maybe, just maybe it’s not about him

Maybe, on this heartless, horrible night

Through thinking of her, he could find some light.

After all, it was she that was feeling the pain.

Yes, it would be hard, but he would see her again

To keep her with him, here, in pain curled

Would be selfish, and thinking only of his own little world

As he brings his head out of his own embrace

His eyes look with a new light on her face

He won’t keep her here, out of selfish desires

She deserves so much more, and he won’t keep her tired.

Now, he clasps his hands and starts a new prayer

One, that is different, with a new air

“Dear, God,” he begins “I understand now.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t see past my own, how.

Please, forgive me, and give me strength

I’m going to need it for these next few days.

But dear God please. Will you keep her safe?

I’m giving you everything, my heart in my hands

I trust that you’ll take it to loving, kind lands.

Please God, don’t let this be in vain.

If you must, you can take away my everything.”

And so, for the last time, he watches his wife

She breathes in and out with small life

He kisses her gently, and whispers,

“I love you.”

It is my hope that at the beginning, you were thinking something like, 

"Dude, no, this is going to be soooo cheesy. Nooo." 

And then it was completely different from what you thought.  

If so, then I can say Mission Accomplished. :)

~E.K.M.