Tag: death

Accidents

indigoshellLeave a comment

That time you found me on the ground, reaching for my inhaler, you picked me up and tossed me into the car. We drove to the hospital and arrived at 3am, but had to wait until 7am until we could go inside. I struggled with every breath, and with every breath I would think “finally…”

The times I was in a speeding car, watching the door handle, wondering whether or not it would open by some luck of fate. Perhaps the turn would be too sharp, or maybe my dog would jump onto it.

I lived on a tall building all my life. I often liked to look over it and wonder how long I’d feel the pain if I fell down. The window was tall though, and it would be difficult to trip and fall through.

Sometimes I’d walk through my woods. I called it my woods because nobody else bothered to explore it. I saw wolves, bears and mountain lions, but they all ran from me. Why would you run from me? Couldn’t you easily kill me? Wouldn’t you want to?

Old buildings were also fun to explore. The floors were old and rickety, and I often found myself stepping on particularly thin boards hoping to fall through. I was too light, that’s what everyone said, and the boards would creak and moan but I never did fall through.

I kept waiting for accidents. My aim is to disappear off the earth completely with no trace to follow or mourn over.

Guess I’ll have to keep trying.

Handing Your Heart Away

indigoshellLeave a comment

Everyone has a heart. The heart is a clump of muscle imbedded inside your chest, hidden behind your lungs and ribcage. Upon first glance, upon first experience, you plunge your hand into your chest and enclose your fist around your heart.

You’ll keep your hand enclosed around that heart. Maybe you will release your heart, sew up your chest, then wash the blood off your hands.

Or maybe something will happen, and you begin to pull your heart out of your chest. Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt. Just don’t pull too hard or too fast, you could bleed yourself to death. No, pull slow, allow time to clot, then keep pulling.

Who knows how long it takes until you can hold your heart at arm’s length? Maybe it takes two years. Two years sounds like a good amount of time.

Your heart is enclosed in your hand, pumping, pumping, slightly connected to your chest and the rest of your body. You look up. There it is. There is the thing, the person, the place, the reason you pulled your heart out in the first place. Blood soaks your footsteps so you’ll always know the way you came.

You have two options.

The first option is to cut your heart away from you body. Hand it to that person, place it on the ground, do anything that shows that your heart is no longer your own.

They could crush it. Stomp on it, squeeze it slice and dice it up. They could do anything at all and you could do nothing about it. It is no longer your heart.

You have another option.

Turn away. Put your heart back into your chest. Stack your ribs on top and peel your lungs back into place. Sew yourself up. The heart is yours. It will stay yours. Do not ever let it go again.

The Watchful Poster

indigoshellLeave a comment

Three o’clock, sharp. That’s when the metro train always comes along. And yes, there it is, you can just see the bright headlights of the train. I glance at the ground, taking heed of the chipped yellow “CAUTION” paint. I put my feet squarely on the line and lean forwards slightly.

The oily, grungy, and smokey smell of the tunnels rush up onto my face as the train speeds by, missing my face by inches. I always feel a slight sense of ecstasy whenever I did this. “It’s the adrenaline rush,” I’ve been told, “you’ve probably turned yourself into and adrenaline junkie.”

Adrenaline junkie or not, this is what I did every day, and this is honestly what the highlight of my day is. Sad, isn’t it? That my life is so lifelessly boring that the only joy I feel is having a metro train decapitate me.

After sitting in the train for around four minutes, eight minutes tops, I would squeeze the horde of people and make my way up to my workplace. Well, not before pausing to look at a poster.

That poster had been there since I was just a little girl. After my parents died in that train accident, it seemed like that poster was the only family I had left.
She was a beautiful woman, with long raven hair and a shapely face with soft features. She was posing similar to the world-famous Mona Lisa, the only difference was that she lacked a smile. Her dress, though I could only see the top part, was a stunning emerald-green, still shining through decades of dust on the glass covering of the poster.

Her eyes were coloured out. I know now how or why, but I remember one day looking up into her eyes, the original colour I remember not, and seeing that her eyes had been scribbled out. It looked as if an infant had taken a chalky black crayon and coloured her eyes. The only issue with that theory was that the glass case was framed to the wall with solid steel bars.

Her eyes were so startling black against her milky white skin.

I loved that poster. Like I said, she was almost like family, as I had never missed a day where I would not look up to her beautiful face and give her a swift not, a curt wave, or even a rare smile. Every day was the same; boring, rut-like, and lacking of everything any human could ever want.

Her eyes would always follow me. Every once in a while I would lean in closer to the passing train, allowing it to clip my bangs or chip my nails. Every time I do that I can feel her unseen eyes burning onto my body, either as a warning or an encouragement, I do not know.

So I leaned closer every time. I began to get bruises on my forehead, my hands, even my shoulder once. I was called in for suicide attempts but was released, for there was nobody for them to call to confirm my personality or histories.

Her eyes had never felt so hot in my entire life.

One day I may have leaned in too far. Too soon. I may have fallen in. I saw the familiar headlights, the rushing of the oil-stench wind, but this time I felt the ecstasy before even the train reached me. My, how wonderful that felt.

Really, it only hurt a little.

The Apple Pie that could?

frog3Leave a comment

gg4g4

One day the woman made a pie. Not just any pie but an apple pie. The pie was quite happy how his life had turned out. Although he had not yet been baked he was filled with the most delicious apples in all the land.His crust was made from the finest dough.

The woman walked out of the room forgetting the pie had not been baked. He screamed, “bake me!”  No one seemed to care. What to do? he thought. He knew what must be done.  He dragged himself closer and closer to the edge of the counter wishing to slide into the oven.

The pie, halfway off the counter, hesitated, wondering if he should go over the edge. He thought he could make it so he jumped and completely missed the oven.  Instead, falling top-down onto the kitchen the floor. The woman, hearing the sound, screamed, “the pie is ruined!” She grabbed the pie.

The pie thought himself safe. She opened the trash and that’s when the pie realized he was finished. The lid shut on the pie.  He now would live in despair for the remainder of his life. The pie was the apple pie that could not.

Shark Bait, Hoo Ha Ha

indigoshellLeave a comment

Sharks are terrible creatures. They’re merciless hunters that can rip apart a human within seconds, and then will happily dine on their insides. When they sight a human and smell even a slight trace of their blood, nothing can stop them from killing.

At least, that’s how most people say sharks are.

Many times when people are attacked by sharks it’s because the person provokes the shark in some way, such as when divers grab at their fins or when fishermen untangle them from their fishing nets.

Honestly, sharks are like giant, rough-skinned, thousand-toothed dogs. That swim in the ocean. If you grab a dog’s tail, chances are they will bite at you. It’s no different with sharks, the only difference is that sharks and shark attacks are more exaggerated.

A diver dressed in a black wetsuit looks remarkably like a sleek seal, so the shark might take a hunk out of a diver, thinking he’s a seal. The result is a missing limb and a story of being attacked by “a vicious shark.”

Shark attack victims don’t usually die of shark attacks though, they die of blood loss. Sharks often do hit-and-run attacks, where they bite the victim, realize their mistakes, then quickly leave the human to bleed to death.

Vending machines have killed more people than sharks have. I’m sure many people have heard of this fact, but vending machines have killed more people than sharks each year.

Well I mean, it could be because humans are dumb and try to shake the machines that have eaten their change, which could often result in the machine falling on them.

Ok, moral of the story here is, shark good, people bad.

I mean.

Shark, not bad, people… Meeeh.

A warrior’s sting

frog3Leave a comment

gg5

The bee buzzes, flying in the afternoon sun.

They came, not from the sky but from a hive.

It was a hive of distrust and betrayal.

Buzzing and dancing the bees fled from a dying land.

They fly, oblivious to the pain they cause.

While responsible for life their stingers,

can cause death.

They swarm as a group, attacking any outsiders.

Their loyalty lies with the group.

Those who wish to become one of them,

simply cannot.

Their method of communication makes all attempts at diplomacy fail.

When aggravated they valiantly go to their deaths, not for the individual but for the sake of the swarm.

Such and enemy will never be stopped

only delayed.

The death of trusting

frog32 Comments

ff4

A man who is trusted, has nothing to fear.

He can lie and betray all without threat of punishment.

This man’s friend belongs to a different tribe.

That tribe made sure of his brothers’ downfall.

The trusted man began a plot.

The trusting man was lured into the desert embrace.

Talking and speaking began between the trusted and trusting man.

Then it happened.

A shout, a bang, and one hit.

The trusting man was dead , the trusted left the gruesome scene.

The trusting had fallen.

Doll House

kirbyfullyloaded1 Comment

I have terrible nightmares 5/7 days of the week.  Here’s my most recent one.

I was in a house. The halls were washed with ghastly bluish-purple light, the color of a fresh bruise.  The kind of bruise where the blood is mere millimeters from leaking out of the damaged skin.  The walls were covered with photographs in dull black frames. Photographs, with dusty, cracked glass laying spider webs over sallow, sagging faces. All other manner of macabre things hung alongside the photographs. Things… I can’t even describe. Not a centimeter of the walls was visible.  They bulged, distended like sick a stomach, breathing in and out with slow, rasping breaths stirring the musky air.  The decorations breathed with them, watching, waiting, and smiling.

I realized the things on the walls were half eaten, disintegrated beyond the point recognition.  They were shells to an anemone, digested and pushed back out as to create armor for the soft-bodied mouth-stomach.

I found myself, against my will, walking into a room.  The door locked.  And the floor beneath me, the bed beside me everything was inhaling, feverishly trying to pull me in, to get closer.

And then the dolls came.

They marched and crawled and slid and rolled out of the walls with their button eyes dangling, ogling, bouncing madly from their heads on invisible tethers.  Their red, smiling mouths dripped with viscous blackness, filth bubbling forth from lips like rotting sausages.

They reached for me, groaning and laughing with their hollow, putrid, sweet voices echoing terribly around the room.

All the while the house tried to suck me down, somewhere dank and foul, into its roiling stomach.

It wanted to me…  To devour me and digest, to make me part of the decorated walls.  To use my bones as armor and garnish its halls with my skin until it decayed into a mass of putrescence too fetid and melting to drape across the picture frames.

I don’t believe in God. But when they first emerged and started toward me I fell to my knees and begged God or something -anything to save me.

And of course, nothing came.  As I knew it wouldn’t.  There is no God.  And nothing will ever save me but myself.

I burst through the door, the wood of the door frame too weak to hold the rusting lock. The dolls chased me, coming slowly, but steadily with their jerking, broken movements, and the floor rolling and pitching and trying to throw me back into their rotting fabric arms.

Now they were corpses and dolls at together. Flesh melting off their stuffed fabric bones, the smell of rot and mothballs and decaying silk filling the air, their stringy hair writing and hissing like snakes.

The bruise-light made their white, white skin look monstrous… Thickened, oxygen-less blood sloughed like pig slop behind their papery skin.  There was a gruesome, delighted gleam in their black button eyes.  One that promised a gristly embrace when they caught me.  And there was no doubt that they would… No doubt at all…

F.I.N.A.L.S.

callmemaybe32Leave a comment

It is that dreaded time of year again, finals. 

After a full semester of work all I have to show for it is a bunch of pieces of crumpled papers in the bottom of my backpack and the ink my teacher puts on my test telling me how I did in their class this semester.

This time is stressful for all, and I try to not get caught up in the stress, but there is just no way around it.

Honestly, most finals for me aren’t too hard.

Math? Easy.

Science? Easy.

English? Easy

History? No sir.

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Plague Inc.-Fun but Deadly!

backinphilly2 Comments

While reviewing my most recent blog, I came to the mindset that maybe I should write something that’s got nothing to do with sports!

I know you’re all surprised but this is pretty cool. I recently downloaded a new app on my iPad called “Plague Inc.”. This simulator enables the player to take control of their very own disease and attempt to infect and (end result) completely annihilate the entire human race. Imagine sending the humans into complete extinction.

Considering I’m not human (ha), I see literally no controversy of any kind with this game. It’s not like you’re running around with guns and blowing the heads off of zombies. There’s no gore whatsoever. There’s no blood. The only thing possibly traumatic about this game is the principle that you are, in fact eliminating everyone on the planet.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m gonna talk a little bit about some problems I see with the game.

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