Callarix

I sit here, facing you, while you clasp your hands together and tell me that it's no use.  You tell me that you aren't pretty.  That you aren't smart, or funny.  You tell me that you're unworthy.  You don't use those exact words, but to me you are as the pages of a book which has been printed a little too thinly.  I hear the pain behind the laughter, and I see the self-loathing in the light which does not reach your eyes. I don't understand how you could not know. How can you not see that your eyes shine like dewdrops balanced on a single blade of grass?  How can you not feel that your hair flows like strands o

Jump. She hesitated at the edge, looking out towards the horizon.  It seemed a long way away from here, but at the same time she felt if she just stretched she could touch it.  She lifted her hand, fingertips caressing the edges of the possibilities beyond.  But there was nothing brushing against her skin.  It was too far. Jump. Her feet planted firmly on the ground, she leaned forward to look over the edge into the abyss beneath her.  She couldn't see the bottom, that surely meant it was a long way down.  Too deep to survive, definitely.  This couldn't be a good idea, there had to be other routes. Jump. She looked around her.  To her le

 The moment I saw her, I knew that we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together.  It wasn't just the hourglass figure, the waves of deep mahogany hair that fell haphazardly about her shoulders.  It was in the way she carried herself.  Chin high, shoulders back, slight sway to her hips.  She held herself well.  You can tell a lot about someone from the way that they behave when there are strangers around.  I knew instantly that she was damaged, hiding it valiantly behind a stiff wall of bravado. There is something deeply alluring about damaged girls, I can't describe it; all I knew was that I wanted to pull her into my arms and smoo

I was five years old when my Father died.  He was shot, during a mugging in the alley behind the large apartment complex across the street.  "Shot for his shoelaces.", my Grandmother always said.  I was too young to understand what she meant then, I thought she meant he had literally been shot for how his shoelaces were tied.  I had just learned to tie my own shoelaces, my Father had taught me the week before he died.  For two weeks I refused to wear any pair of shoes that had laces, just in case the bad men who shot my Papa would come back and shoot me too. I remember his funeral.  My Mother put my hair up in bunches, tied with black ribbon

No. This cannot be happening to me.  I have fought too long and too hard to give up here.  I won't give the world the satisfaction of my failure.  Even if it takes every last ounce of my strength, I will do this. Fight. I see the light sparkling in front of me.  It might be distorted but if I can jusst stretch a little further.  If I can just reach out my hand that extra inch and take hold, just a few moments more.  One more attempt, just one more. Come on. My hands are so heavy, I can't lift them high enough.  A high pitched tone keeps ringing in my ears.  It sounds like her crying.  I wish she would stop crying.  I wish I could catch h

 Noise. So much noise, his head was ringing from the clamor assaulting his ears.  He lifted his arms to shelter his senses, and confusion flickered across his otherwise blank expression.  His limbs felt so heavy, even raising one hand to his face took an extraordinary amount of effort.  After what felt like a lifetime of struggling with basic motor function, he gave up trying and turned his attention towards his surroundings. His ears had begun to acclimatize to the harsh sounds, giving way for other sensations to register.  His mind processed the information that he was lying down and that whatever he was laying on felt soft. Patches of fur

It's funny.  I look back on the last 23 years and I can see where all the problems were.  Every single screw up that got me to where I am now.  Sometimes it takes a hard reality brick to the face to make a person stand up and take note of their life. I'm not going to waste anyone's time going on and on about the day to day problems or the big explosions that come together to make up my personal life, that's personal and for the most part it should stay that way.  Instead, dear reader, I'm going to turn it to you. Stop whatever you're doing while you read this.  If you're listening to music, turn it off.  Put the pen in your hand that you've

Her fingers ran over the edges of the old clawfoot bathtub in the bathroom, ivory digits tracing every chip of age, as if trying to remember every last indent in the enamelled surface. The steam rose off of the water as she lounged in the tub, her hair hanging over the edge in a brilliant icy cascade, dangling onto the floor. Not a sound could be heard in the entire house save for the occasional creak of ancient floorboards and the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the bath. It was soothing, the solitude. Sighing softly, she gripped the edges of the tub more firmly, hoisting her slender frame out of the vessel, rivulets of wat

We don't talk anymore.  I'm sorry.

I sat amongst a field of light and marvelled at it's shine I danced among sweet butterflies And dreamed you would be mine But once a path you've chosen One cannot be untrue And in my darkest hour I turned, my friend, to you The soul that smiled upon me Now frowned and turned it's back And I watched on in misery As those butterflies turned black A month, or two, or maybe three I picked up and carried on But all the suffering I did Will never be truly gone I cannot take back all those words Although they caused us pain And the lovebird that once sang our song Will never, sing, again.