Fire

We release one arrow after another into the black haze that surrounds us, but nothing seems to stem the flow of beings that sweep into our midst. One after another, we fall… Black shapes seem to float by, everything in slow motion. Left and then Right, swing, stab, block, Thwap… another brother down… when will this end… Left, Right… endlessly it goes on… and then they're gone, as simply as that. And when the haze clears in the morning there isn't a body left on the field, theirs or ours… This is a terrible war…

Fire
I watch it
As it burns everything
And I love it
Fire

Waking From A Nightmare

Shells pound all around me and we just stand here. Sometimes I imagine that I can see the shells whistling through the sky towards us. But they never hit where I imagine them. Not seeing them is so much worse. It's not like I thought it would be. I just wanted to serve. Now I imagine my body being torn. I wonder what it's like to be struck in the head, if I see white or if I just appear in heaven. I wonder if people have an instant recognition of death. Or if their spirit is left momentarily in shock and confusion. Shock at being free from these weak bodies…My wife won't recognize me right now. I'm so scared. I sit down and don't even notice the piece of glass that imbeds itself in my palm. Blood oozes but I ignore it. I just listen for the whistle and the call. "12:00 500 Meters GO GO GO!" And we run like the wind. Nothing will stop us, because we just want to get home. Where did I get this cut? And I don't think I'm scared. There's not time to be scared right now, no time to think about home or to feel the loss. I only imagine what she would feel if she could see me now. She would be so scared for me… So I'm brave, for Her. We try to stay low, and we wait for our opportunity…Please love me when I'm gone. Because my lack of goodbye haunts me before I even leave you. I love you, so far away. Please forgive me for leaving, and love me when I'm gone.

I don't know where this is going

The sun is rising in the wrong direction today…Either this flu has really set me back, or more than just the contents of my stomach has changed overnight. I’m freaked… I wonder if I should go out the front door or not, but then common sense and a healthy dose of fear remind me that either this is a dream and I’m about to wake up, or I’m not in Oklahoma anymore. Then I decide that if this is a dream I can’t get hurt, and if I’m not in Oklahoma anymore… well things are already screwed up and they can’t get much worse.The air is completely dead I don’t hear a sound, not a squirrel running, or a bird chirping. No trains, planes, cars, sirens… nothing. I’ve never been one to have realistic dreams. As soon as realism begins to hit my dreams, I wake up… I read somewhere that it’s weird to do that… I don’t know, but it’s normal. I should be ok right now then, because this dream isn’t realistic… and yet it’s somehow realistically deadly. The air isn’t just still, it’s dead. The trains aren’t just gone, they’re taken. Destroyed maybe. Yeah… I somehow get that all from the lack of noise around me. The lack of everything except my breathing. And the crunch of the grass on the lawn…
I turn to walk back to the house, the front screen door slamming only accentuates the silence outside but I ignore it for the moment and head for the kitchen. Ready for a bowl of cereal. I’m not one for troubling myself with things, but this is going a bit far even for me. However the possibilities outside are limitless and I would rather force myself to think of all the reasons why I might not hear a thing outside. And then I open my eyes and the darkness around me tells me that the dream is back again…rolling over I struggle with my conscious and force myself back into a light slumber. Fear is a weakness I mumble and my thoughts fade for the moment.

I look out the window and the sun seems to have righted itself somewhere between the space of my eyelids going from shut to open, from dream to reality. Somehow it’s a relief to know I can face yet another day of blissful waiting. This waiting kills me, it’s no wonder I have dreams like last nights.My room here might as well be a prison. I get up and check the locks again. And again I’m thankful for the skylight that gives me some kind of sign there’s life outside of this place. I’m here by choice. That’s when I’m told, but that’s as far as my memory can reach.The walls seem to be cement slabs, the only light is from the skylight above. The floor is carpeted in carpeting far more rich than anything else in this room seems to suggest is warranted. I’m not sure how I know, but this room is more than a couple of stories in the air… I think I want out now… so I start to plan, because I know they won’t let me out voluntarily, again I don’t know why or how. But they won’t let me..

Outside these walls

The walls melt away from me as if I am receding from somewhere else. And then I am me again. I haven’t been me for a long time. And I’ve learned a lot from that other one; an almost virulent individual. But now reality embraces me with its own cold arms, and I know that this will be a difficult ride. And it begins as the come towards me with yet another dose. Yet they really don’t know me, or the power that I hold. I begin my show by slipping the fossilized leather straps that hold my arms and legs. I fall to the floor… So hard to stand… How long has it been… their actions slow, Almost as if they’re puzzled and waiting for me? It would seem natural if you didn’t see how slow the straps are as they float down to the ground. I get up and hobble out… My time has begun, and it’s absolutely glorious to have my power now with an un-entrapped mind.

read my mind

sit waiting. I pride myself like a soldier in my ability to wait them out. They think that they know me, that they can read my mind. But my shield is up. It holds me in place and steadies my breathing until I feel like my body might be dead and I feel the slip. I slip right out of my mind… and slide, and then I can see them all… they don’t know I’m looking… but I can tell that some of them suspect. They look around. And I can tell they’re wondering who’s watching them. None of them know the truth like I do though. And so I’m safe… they can’t hurt me.
Since that day I’ve seen the images, and every time they come I’ve learned how to escape them. The images are intelligent; you would never imagine a memory being intelligent. I might be crazy. I’m not insane however, and these quacks in the white coats don’t seem to know the difference. They’ve watched me grow up within these walls and they wonder why I want out. They wonder how I know they’re coming or how I know what they do when they’re beyond these walls. But what my memories bring me is a blade that points both ways. I only wait for my opportunity. They can’t help me here… so I must help myself…
I slip back within my mind and pull the sheets back over my head, pretending to be asleep. A doctor walks into the room and I can hear him breathing along with the liquid squelch of a syringe being filled. I feel the sharp pinch and chemical burn as things become warm and my thoughts fade.

Pulling Out My Hair

pull hair, originally uploaded by brokenchopstick.

Years passing... Sometimes I see them and sometimes I don't. I'm haunted and yet I deny the images that haunt me. years ago it seems. They institutionalised me now I sit. The meds keep me company along with the occasionally exciting ride on the gurney. Every once in awhile I hear my roommate make a fuss. He probably hides his meds... sometimes my roomate changes... But he's still the same roommate somehow. He's crazy... But then so am I...

The Writhing Place

the little boy stared out the window again, trees blurring together as the van sped up to match the traffic on the freeway. His thoughts drifted and the horrible pictures wouldn't seem to stay far away... dread seemed to be wrapped around him. almost like the time His two older brothers had wrapped him in the old carpet when Mom wasn't looking. but that was fun, not like this at all. everything was over, his friends... his brothers... and mom. The pictures floated in front of him again until tears seemed to blot them out. silent tears, tears that didn't belong on a little boy... and the writhing in his soul began.