Tag Archives: Death

The Fall

The water thundered over the side of the cliff, tumbling down below. The mist roiled skyward. But such was the ways of waterfalls. A peaceful yet violent force of nature.

She stood atop the falls, surveying the land below. It had taken her three hours to climb to the precipice, and it had been worth every second. The serene atmosphere gave her plenty of time to reflect. And nothing in her mind had changed.

Recently, it had occurred to her what life really meant. How futile human existence was. Their purpose was to make the world a better place. And how miserable they failed. That’s why their lives were less than a hundred years. Why would they live longer lives? They were only selfish beings who honestly deserved less.

It was why she climbed to the falls. Her life had been nothing but a selfish disaster. A selfish disappointment. She would make the world a better place by returning her body to fertilize the earth. It had been something that filled her with fear, but no more. It was something she came to terms with. Something she wanted.

Her eyes closed as the waterfall breeze mingled the spray with hair. It was time. Holding out her arms, she leaned forward. Felt the rush of the wind against her face. Tingling every nerve.

Ten.

She had no regrets.

Nine.

No fear.

Eight.

No more reason to live.

Seven.

This was her wish.

Six.

Her peace.

Five.

Her freedom.

Four.

She smiled.

Three.

No one would ever see her again.

Two.

Her body hit the water.

One….


The Abandoned Light

Abandoned stairs

The sky turned a gray he had never seen before, causing the forest to dim; something inside him whispered to find shelter. His eyes scanned the moss-covered trees. He paused. Fully turned in all directions.

He didn’t know this part of the woods.

An over-grown trail led west. He almost missed it, it hadn’t been used in so long. Moving branches and foliage out of his way, he traversed in silence. In fact, this whole region of the forest was quiet. Not a single animal or insect sounded their respective calls.

He stopped. A set of stone stairs lay before him, leading to a black doorway. His heart raced. Causing him to breathe in quicker. Moist earth permeated his nostrils. Putrid algae and decaying trees followed. Then…ash.

Studying the sky once more, he looked back at the door-less entry to a stone building forgotten in time. Left to the clutches of nature. So much so, he hadn’t noticed the rest of the structure at first. And as much as common sense screamed no, something pulled him inside.

His right foot mounted the first step. Dust, leaves, and ash being stirred in who knew how long. He wasn’t positive the staircase wouldn’t crumble beneath his weight. But he had to know what was inside.

He stepped on the second stair.  Then the third, the fourth. Careful to avoid the jagged stone that somehow survived years of the tender care of the elements. Fifth, sixth, seventh. The toe of his hiking boot caught a thick root, sending him down onto the final two steps.

On hands and knees, he lifted his head. The darkness of the doorway was much closer now. He swallowed. Why did he feel so compelled to enter this dilapidated place? Yes, he sought shelter from what he assumed was a storm, but certainly, there was a better place than this.

However, he pushed himself off the wet stone. Wiped his bloody palms on his shorts. Mounted the eighth step. Then the ninth. Finally stood on the landing taken over by fungi and ivy. He still couldn’t determine the building, but he assumed it was an old home. Built so someone could find solace among the silent trees.

One deep breath prepared him to cross the threshold. Two paces, and he was enveloped by the inky blackness. It took three seconds for his eyes to adjust. And in the distance, he saw a light. Light that must’ve streamed through a gaped hole in the ceiling.

He held his breath. Slowly placed one foot in front of the other. The wooden floors creaked and moaned, clearly unhappy about being disturbed. He prayed there were no missing boards.

A wet, acidic stench clogged his throat.

The ray of light was within reach, and he paused. Thick particles floated in the air. What had he been breathing in? The ancient debris of this abandoned home? It seemed like something more. He coughed and choked, stepping into the light to see if he hawked anything up.

A surge pulsed from the stream of light.

This part of the forest returning to its undisturbed state.

The light had claimed another victim.

And added more ash to its home.


Human Interactions

Silence
Because nobody wants to hear words
Lies
Because nobody wants to accept truth
Masks
Because nobody wants to know realness
Cheerfulness
Because nobody wants to perceive depression
Strength
Because nobody wants to see weakness
Fine
Because nobody wants to attend pain
Pettiness
Because nobody wants to genuinely care
Arrogance
Because nobody wants to admit imperfection
Selfishness
Because nobody wants to observe others
Pedestals
Because nobody wants to seem lower
Distance
Because nobody wants to get close
Success
Because nobody wants to praise failure
Wealth
Because nobody wants to acknowledge poverty
Hatred
Because nobody wants to understand love
Force
Because nobody wants to truly coexist
Life
Because nobody wants to confess death


A Warrior’s Poem

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If you mess with the rose
You’ll be pricked by thorns
If you mess with the bull
You’ll be struck by horns
If you mess with the sword
You’ll soon taste iron
If you mess with the dragon
You’re asking for fire

A warrior may not always win
But a warrior will never bend
I will fight even when cornered
I will fight until I look horrid
I will fight with passionate fury
I will fight with vision blurry
I will fight until my last breath
I will fight even after death

Do not put on my grave
How I won or saved the day
If I had words on my grave
This, I would want it to say:
I helped those I found in need
And the captives, I helped freed
I did what I felt to be right
I didn’t accomplish everything with might
For there are higher powers above
And the greatest of these is Love


Modern Art

I like to think of myself as a hobbiest. Someone who enjoys the finer things in life. Mm, fine arts. A photographer? Not really. I don’t own a camera. But I do appreciate a good photograph. I would say I’m an artist. There is no stopping creativity! I see something beautiful, and I just have to rearrange it to be even more beautiful. A sculptor, maybe? Yes, that sounds about right. Someone who creates sculptures with their hands. Yes. Except I wear gloves. Can’t have my fingerprints all over everything. Doesn’t do my artwork any good. Or maybe I’m a sewer. I do include stitches in my art. Or is that considered “mixed media” at that point?  Hmm. More deliberation on that later. For now, it’s time to work. Yes, yes, yes! My masterpiece awaits! The muse cannot be broken!

He tied his black apron over his clothes. Snapped on latex-free gloves. A twitching grin played with the corners of his mouth. He breathed in deep. Exhaled with a sigh. He loved his passion. Nothing made him more excited for waking up every morning. And his latest muse was gorgeous. Though, he could think of a few ways she could be more beautiful. It wasn’t neccessary, but he needed to do it. It made him feel whole again.

Humming, he studied the model sitting on a stool. Walked around her. She was a very fine specimen, indeed. Then he perused his workbench, searching for the perfect tool. Searching for the perfect place to begin. He settled for the simple hack saw. Sang a merry tune as he held out her hand. Examined each finger. The left ring finger looked best. Still singing, he sawed the appendage off.

The model’s screams were silent as he had previously sewn her mouth closed. He ignored the blood. Went to his workbench once again to fetch needle and thread. His chorus broke out when he sewed the finger to her right ear. The processes of slicing body parts and stitching them in various places lasted until he felt complete. He continued humming while he cleaned and sanitized the area of blood. Burst into full song as he covered his dead model in clay. Returned to humming when he wheeled her into the kiln.

He called himself the Future Picasso. He was wanted for the murders of over seventeen girls. And his artwork was on rotating display in the modern art wing of the local museum.


Closed Door

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What lurks behind the door
Life, Death
Something more
What waits behind the glass
Dusty, dirty
Tinted black
What is only a handle away
Sprites, spirits
Golem clay

Patiently waits the door
Faded, rusted
Copper ore
Time is on its side
Sealed, buried
Contents hide
The glass temptingly glints
Legends, secrets
It hints

Curiosity takes the reign
Groaning, creaking
Open again
Light floods the darkness
Beings, creatures
Unknowns hiss
The door is left behind
Freed, rampant
Evil kind

What lurks behind the door
Death, destruction
Something more

*Author’s note: The above picture is one I took of a mausoleum in a cemetary near a friend’s house. I wanted to peek in the glass, but I never did. Just in case something was actually in there.


Please

Please don’t leave me. I need you to come back to me. I am so sorry. I need you to come back. 

My hands shook as I hit send. As they had been shaking for the past two weeks. I had sent similar messages over and over. Hoping for a response. I wouldn’t receive one. He was in a hospital bed because of me. That’s why they wouldn’t let me visit.

An hour passed. No response.

Rubbing my face with a hand, I unlocked my phone. Opened up the messages.

Please come back to me. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please don’t leave me.

Send.

I love you more than you know.

Send.

I buried my phone in my pillow. Hugged myself as tears fell. I didn’t think I still had the capacity to continue crying.

My phone chirped, nearly sending me off the bed. Kept chirping. A call? My heart raced as I slid over the accept icon. “Hello?”

“Look,” it was his sister’s voice, “the only reason I’m calling you is because he’s dead.”

Everything inside me screeched to a halt. The phone slipping from my fingers.

Her choked voice lined with hatred. “Yes. He’s dead. We will be having services, but you’re not invited. If you show up, we will call the police. This is your fault. You need to know it.”

“I love him more than any–” The call ended. I stared at my phone, jaw hanging open. What? Why? How…? In a blind rage, I rose and hurled my phone across the room.

Three days passed.

I stared at the cracked screen of my phone. Opened up the messages.

I refuse to believe you’re dead. Please come back to me. They wouldn’t let me visit. It’s my fault. I love you. I’m sorry. Please come home.

Send.

Sending.

Incomplete.

A red message appeared: This number is no longer in service. Message will not be sent. If you believe this to be an error, please call our support line.

Sinking to the floor, I sobbed into my phone. “No!” The device fell from my grasp. I held my chest. Barely able to breathe. “Please don’t leave me! Please….”


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