My toes, barely visible past my scrunched-up nightgown, were overhanging the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast beyond of space just at the edge of the world. Leaves with their sense of having escaped the mortality of autumn brushed roughly past my arm, carried by the wind- and my feet felt no less perturbed with the unwanted sensations, having been squeezed into high heels almost due for a resize. I’d traveled a week just to see what lay beyond the known edge of my mind, and I’d finally found it.
Okay, deep breath, Rena, just one jump and you’ll be free forever.
There was always a nagging sensation that this was all a dream, that waking up would return me to a mundane existence full of people I loved turning up dead and a bulls-eye forever painted on my back by the police for something not my fault. Sure, I always could have chosen not to pull the trigger while surrounded by regal swathes of snow and scarlet, but if I had to choose between my finger pulling it and someone else having that same power, I would choose myself every time. Because, in all certainly, that’s what a power freak would do- steal the choice away from somebody who didn’t deserve one in the first place. But in this dream place, I always could fly and glitch the sky out (which was ridiculously easy, seeing as I had never gone in an airplane or somewhere high to develop a sense of just how high the planet really was) to reveal a sea of stars and other galaxies just awaiting my touch. And even though stretching up myself to be bigger than Earth itself was so easy that I didn’t need the suspension of reality that being asleep offered and could do it in a waking state in my mind, shrinking myself always ended up either just crouched down or completely being blown out of proportion. Rena was never the tiny type, after all. Rena always had to have the best and the biggest for herself…
One slip of my high-heel-clad foot later, the ground gave away beneath me like sand falling through a giant’s fingers, and I was careening towards the great big ebony lining of my mind with my skirt fluttering up and into my face before dissolving into birds of paradise with the power to return to life. Sure, space wouldn’t care about one lone entity and her lacy underwear, but at least space was for all ages. And wouldn’t drowning in space- my arms were already thrusted up towards the world I’d left behind by my descent- be more peaceful than in the ocean? I would rather return to the stardust that I came from billions of years ago rather than be some shark’s next meal.
After falling for a while, the sky began to fade from the perfection of all colors combined to a void of them, and passing though the barrier felt like breaking the ice and then being plunged into Antarctica’s shores. But instead of giving away to frozen grounds, the roughness of blankets slipped on my skin, and a few rays of sunlight escaping from my bedroom window let me know that I was back in the world of the living. So much for my plans of joining Samhain in merry oblivion... I’d practically been birthed, had I not? The blood was there, and someone being pissed off was present, and someone felt like their uterus had been ripped off and no compensation given.


closure, part 2 (Argentina)

Come on, Argentina, this is what Samhain would have wanted. One foot in front of the other… that’s good, keep going…
“Argentina?” Mom inquired, hurt showing more clearly in her eyes than they were in mine, although hers was due to seeing her daughter depressed rather than actually experiencing a death. “Your dress strap is slipping.”
“Yeah, okay.” I readjusted it, dead center on my shoulder. Wouldn’t want to look crappy for the dead, now, would I? “Where’s the door to the morgue?”
“It’s right here. We’ve passed it five times because you were focused on all the cracks on the floor.” Taking my forearm, Mom gently pulled me into a dimly-lit room with a few doctor-looking people in surgical masks and heavy coats. “There’s a trash can by the door if you need to step out for a few moments.”
“No, mom, it’s okay.” Whatever those two people were supposed to be- is morticians the right word?- had already moved to the other end of the room, where they were fumbling with the keys to multiple drawers. It felt like an anvil had made itself nice and cozy in my stomach, and Mom let go of my forearm and too my cold and sweaty hand.
The morticians finally found the right key among twenty other keys and pulled open one of the drawers, pulling it out all the way to reveal a glimpse of a grayed body. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Mom gently pulled me over to where I could see Samhain’s body, mottled with the same gray shades that we’d seen in the sky on the day she died. The bruise I’d left on her neck one lonely hotel night ages ago was still there, as was her halo of mussed blonde hair now limp and volumeless. I found a few of my fingers reaching towards her hand, maybe to feel if there was some semblance of the girl I had loved left, but Mom passed me a soft glance and I returned that arm back to my side. “So about Anders’ statement…”
“Oh, he was certainly lying.” The mortician on the left pulled down his surgical mask, revealing a wrinkled face not too long from his own death. “Everybody was lying, actually. Samhain definitely had something wonky going on with her cells, judging from how long it took the whole surgical suite to fulfill the donor status that her parents had set up without telling her, but not nearly so far as to make people immortal. Obviously.” If Samhain hadn’t been dead, she would have flinched from the blatant reference to her own mortality. “Maybe make them live a few more decades, I’ll give her that. We won’t know how long exactly until the lab gets back to us.”
“Gets… gets back?”
“Yes, we sent a few tissue samples overseas to see if anything useful could have been done with them. May I remind you that the trash can is by the door if you feel sick.
“Because I’m going to have time to hobble all the way over there.” Sinking to my weak knees, I covered my eyes with my fingers, ragged fingernails leaving little scratches on my forehead.
“Her parents were invited to come here as well, but they declined. Something about having priorities, although I would think that their dead daughter would be most important at the moment. What a shame.” What a shame indeed.

closure, part 1 (Argentina)

I want to go home; I want to sleep in my own bed; I want a normal life again…
The same trees with their winding branches were haunting outside my window, but this time, the romanticized grays were gone and left instead with the ones that make you feel desolate and alone in the world. They’d been there outside my jail cell while my parents grappled with the law system, pulling out all sorts of defenses about self-defense and being mentally disturbed from just witnessing a death… which I suppose the police believed, of course, because they quickly dropped the case into the laps of private investigators and let me go on the terms that I wouldn’t discuss this with any public people. I guess that plan got shot all to hell, because I’m writing this, but Samhain probably wouldn’t mind having some record of her existence etched in somewhere.
“Argentina? Earth to Argentina?” My mom was driving, demoting me to the passenger seat because my state of mental health was still being questioned. “You look really depressed.”
“Imagine seeing the person you love die in your arms while everybody around you keeps saying that you’re a psychopath.”
A sigh escaped past her lips. “In all fairness, you did kind of look like a killer there.” Her fingernails tapped on the steering wheel to the faint beat of the music, washed down in horribly-adjusted equalizers and drowned out by the winter wind howling outside. It all just sounded like vapid dance music now, made by those who were too rich to experience misery. “Now, when we set foot in the morgue…”
I rolled my eyes, quite exasperated from how many times this had been repeated and exaggerated. “Don’t go crazy, don’t say anything about the police system, don’t do anything awkward with the body. I got it, mom.” But did I really get it, my head leaning against the seatbelt and wishing that I could go back to sleep to travel to better days? Was experiencing a million deaths and dead bodies from the comfort of a book on a stormy day really enough to be prepared to go see one in real life?

from death to destiny

from red to black
a simple change in lipstick can set the whole mood
and one goes from being a blazed moment at a rowdy party
to being the shadow that haunts people walking home at night

from crop tops to camisoles
and maybe some leggings to go along with it
for while stretchy dresses certainly get the attention of those about to be manipulated
it certainly doesn’t lend itself well to moving quick against the captors

from urban dweller to suburban nightmare
the pain of being ostracized more than was expected
for everybody says that they would have handled it differently
but everybody lies about how they feel inside

from death to destiny
a handover as easy as a swing
with twice the distance and none of the skinned knees
or cracked ribs from landing too hard

ON A SIDE NOTE: slight hiatus until 2016

This will be a short post as it’s almost midnight here and I’d like to go to sleep sometime tonight. Given that Samhain’s dead and Argentina’s shellshocked, I’m probably going to be taking a few days off in order to plan out the next story I’m going to be writing and possibly a satisfactory conclusion to The Samhain Files. Also, I’ve ordered a smart watch with my Christmas money- yay!- which’ll be coming January 4th, so I’ve got a lot of waiting to do… and a whole lot of books I’ve got to clear off my phone so that I have enough space for all the watch faces that are inevitably going to end up clogging a good amount of storage. Oh well; at least it’s a fixed date I’m waiting for and not fervently hoping every single day that today will be the day the item comes like the times I’d ordered my phone and my pom-pom puppy making kit. (I was young. Don’t judge.)

not a mechanical animal

he became aware of them
before he could fully sense them
blinded among glittering gardens of mirroring butterflies
suspended among tangled wires and loose clamps

this is not supposed to be his body
and he has a faint feeling that there are memories missing
little craters where rocks should have been
holes in the decorating on a birthday cake

tarnished silver and iron plates
slowly being restored to their former glory
Fibonacci wings and tiny little joints
stolen from a decade’s worth of refuse

life is supposed to start in darkness and dirty and wet
but this life starts in chemical dryness
and sterile gloves
and blinding lights from below

three strikes of life (Argentina)

I can’t go to church anymore
even though my parents believe that it is a must
for I have killed someone and got blood on my hands
and therefore am going to hell

I could admit to them that it was self-defense
but that would make them go even more gun-crazy
and what we need is more regulation
not less

and no amount of pleading will bring Samhain back from the other shore
but the old boat metaphor won’t work this time
for it implies that the person got to say goodbye first
not a bloodbath reminiscent of a birth almost never survived

and no amount of tossing and turning
will shake the memories from my head
of a road well-spent in festive silence
and a road with a horrific trip in stained shackles