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[bookofsonder]

I Walk in the Rain

I walk in the rain. It’s not good, it’s not bad either, it’s just rain. I’m always walking, there’s always rain. But hey, at least I’m moving. At least I’m going somewhere. Somewhere.

I walk in the rain. Sometimes it’s a drizzle, sometimes it’s a downpour. The worst times are when it’s windy. But water is water and it’ll evaporate when the rain stops. It doesn’t stop.

I walk in the rain. The sky is grey. All I hear is rain and wind. A lone person in a prison of white noise. But sometimes I can hear myself think. I don’t talk. There’s no reason to.

I walk in the rain. It soaks through my jacket. It leaks into my boots. Wet socks. The wind cuts through me. I’m cold. But I’m cold enough that warmth hurts. Is that good? I don’t know.

I walk in the rain.

[bookofsonder]

Into the Depths

A leader of a small band of brave idiots gives a speech before they enter a place no mortal should go.

Through that door is a land of madness. Madness that will either consume you or destroy you.  It will give you your paradise and make it your hell. It will take from you things you didn’t know could be lost. It will take you and mold you into something more suited to thriving in madness. Boys, if you follow me in there then I can guarantee that who you are now will die. You will either become someone else or you will cease to be. And even if you do survive I cannot assure you that you will be able to come back to this place. If you wish to follow me still then there is one rule you must abide by if you wish to retain your life. Do not look behind you. You will feel someone there, you may see something out of the corner of your eye, you may hear something moving, do not look behind you. With all that said, who still wishes to follow me into this warped, twisted, bastardization of a world?

[bookofsonder]

These are the Questions

Out in the forest in the middle of God-knows-where

Sits a tall tower and a princess with long golden hair

And on the long road is a prince

Who sits down with a wince

And wonders if for this princess he truly does care

[bookofsonder]

Water

Water at my feet There’s not much worrying me The water rises

Water at my waist No point in worrying now The water rises

Water at my neck Should probably help myself Why should I bother

Water over my head A friend pulls me out I give them my thanks

And again I stand Unwavering in my stance Water at my feet

[bookofsonder]

Bump in the Night

09:32:26 PM *AnarchyAngel is online* 09:32:39 PM *AnarchyAngel has begun messaging you* 09:32:41 PM AlexanderHope: Hey! 09:32:44 PM AnarchyAngel: heya :) 09:32:49 PM AlexanderHope: What’s up? 09:33:01 PM AnarchyAngel: not much, you? 09:33:17 PM AlexanderHope: Mostly busy working on the homework from Mr. Leedy’s class. 09:33:28 PM AnarchyAngel: ew, math. happy to be a distraction from that, haha 09:33:34 PM AlexanderHope: Haha, yeah, thanks. 09:33:41 PM AnarchyAngel: Shit, brb. Stepdad’s calling. 09:33:47 PM AlexanderHope: Ugh, good luck. 09:33:50 PM AnarchyAngel: Thanks. 09:33:52 PM *AnarchyAngel is away* 09:36:12 PM *AnarchyAngel is online* 09:36:17 PM AnarchyAngel: back! 09:36:23 PM AlexanderHope: Welcome back! 09:36:39 PM AnarchyAngel: haha, thanks 09:37:12 PM AnarchyAngel: Hey, alex? 09:37:21 PM AlexanderHope: Yeah? 09:37:41 PM AnarchyAngel: You remember what i told you about the wierd noises here? 09:37:49 PM AlexanderHope: Yeah? What’s going on? 09:37:54 PM AnarchyAngel: They’re happening again 09:38:12 PM AnarchyAngel: Fuck, the banging is louder this time 09:38:23 PM AnarchyAngel: Sounds like it’s coming from the closet 09:38:30 PM AlexanderHope: shit, you okay 09:38:38 PM AnarchyAngel: Yeah, it’s just spooking me a bit. Gonna move to another room, see if it stops. 09:38:41 PM AlexanderHope: stay safe 09:39:02 PM AnarchyAngel: Back. Hiding in the bathroom, muffled the noises a bit. 09:39:07 PM AlexanderHope: Jeez, be careful man. That shit sounds terrifying. 09:39:20 PM AnarchyAnge: It’s not that wierd, honestly. Been happening ever since i moved in here but this is the loudest it’s been. 09:39:30 PM AlexanderHope: Didn’t anyone ever check it out? 09:39:36 PM AnarchyAngel: Nope. 09:39:45 PM AnarchyAngel: I do kinda wanna see what’s in there.. 09:39:55 PM AlexanderHope: I swear to god angel if you open that closet 09:40:10 PM AnarchyAngel: You’ll do what? 09:40:15 PM AlexanderHope: nothing.. 09:40:27 PM AnarchyAngel: Exactly. I wouldn’t do that anyway. 09:40:39 PM AnarchyAngel: Yknow, a similar thing happened to my friend before we moved. 09:40:39 PM AnarchyAngel: Actually, this happens every so often, but it’s never happened this long or this loud before. 09:40:47 PM AnarchyAngel: OH god i think the door opened 09:40:54 PM AlexanderHope: Oh fuck! lock the doro 09:41:07 PM AnarchyAngel: It’s locked! oh god its never opened before 09:41:22 PM AlexanderHope: Angel, be quiet. Maybe it won’t know you’re there? 09:41:37 PM AnarchyAngel: Oh GOD it’s banging on the door oh fuckk 09:41:49 PM AlexanderHope: Dont worry, you’ll be fine. Just stay calm. I called 911, they should be there soon. 09:42:02 PM AnarchyAngel: OH GOD ITS BANGING SO HARD 09:42:05 PM AlexanderHope: What’s goinf on?! 09:42:12 PM AnarchyAngel: THE HINGES ARE CREAKING 09:42:22 PM AlexanderHope: Dont worry, the cops will be there any minute! 09:42:33 PM AlexanderHope: Angel? You okay? 09:42:50 PM AlexanderHope: Angel! Answer me!! 09:43:12 PM AlexanderHope: God damnit angel you better be alright 09:53:56 PM AnarchyAngel: Don’t worry Alex, I’m fine. 09:53:58 PM AnarchyAngel: They banging stopped and the cops didn’t find anything. 09:54:02 PM AnarchyAngel: I’m gonna come over, okay? I need some company. Stepdad’s angry about the cops and i want a friend. 09:54:12 PM AlexanderHope: Okay, Angel. Glad to hear you’re okay. 09:54:22 PM AlexanderHope: I’ve unlocked the door. go ahead and come on in when you get here. 09:54:25 PM AnarchyAngel: Glad to hear it! I’ll be over any minute, okay? 09:54:32 PM AlexanderHope: Alright! But, Angel… How were you typing so fast? 09:54:42 PM AlexanderHope: What’s that banging? Angel? 09:54:43 PM AnarchyAngel: I’m here, Alex. 09:54:44 PM *AnarchyAngel is offline*

((So, how did you like the introduction of me, the new writer? hope it was okay. I know some of the times are off but i tried to make it as good as possible.))

[bookofsonder]

The Pains of Espionage

“Okay here’s the plan: we make you look hot and you distract him while I get things done.”

“You know, that’s a great idea.”

“Yes?”

“A wonderful idea, even.” “Alright?”

“Just a top-notch, ten out of ten, stupendous idea. Except.”

“Except?”

“Now just hear me out. Just a little change, just a tweak really. Maybe consider the idea of us, possibly, not doing that.”

“You said it was a good idea!”

“And it is! Just not now. And not for us. And not for this situation. Or any situation.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need too, it’s obvious.”

“I’ll have you know that I trust you completely. To the ends of the Earth. To hell and back!”

“Then why won’t you let me do this? Do you think I can’t?”

“I am under no delusions that you’d be unable to pull this off spectacularly.”

“Then why! Your part is simple, just distract the guy! Or do you think that you won’t be able to?”

“No, I have no doubt that, with your help, I’d be able to woo any man on this planet.”

“Oh, so you’re a coward then.” “Not in the least! I just. That is.”

“That is?” “I don’t think my pride could take the idea of being more attractive as a woman than as a man.”

“Your pride is the least of our worries at the moment.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What a shame.”

“Do I have to be a woman?”

“Does he look gay to you?”

“No.”

“Woman it is then.”

“Is there any chance that you could distract him instead?”

“Is there any chance you know how to break into a safe?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. Now hang up your pride and put on the dress.”

[bookofsonder]

Friends to the End

Friends are very important people in your life. So if one of your dear friends calls you up in the middle of the night and begs you to come to a certain place at a certain time right now really it’s very important and don’t tell anyone please, you go.

“It’s not wrong.” He says.

He’s a fidgety kind of guy. The nervous kind too. Always glancing around, wringing his hands, looking guilty for walking down the street. Not the kind of guy who should be involved with things like this.

“Sure,” I say.

His hands shake as he holds the shovel. Not moving to dig even as I break my back in the middle of the night for him. No, of course he wouldn’t, he’s all caught up in his own head. Probably still going over what brought us to this point.

“It was an escalation, he manipulated me, I had to do it.” He goes on.

I’m not sure why, really. It’s the past. We can’t change it. We move forward. Forward being a forest of spindly trees out in the middle of nowhere, in this case. It’s dirty work, but I’m not complaining too much. At least the roots are easy to cut through.

“Sure,” I say.

Easier than the body at the very least. Now that was dirty work. We got it all cleaned up somehow. Back before he started worrying Daniel was actually a competent helper. He was the one who thought to cut it up and hide the pieces in different locations. He always was the creative one among us.

“Rachel, Rachel. Oh God, what are we doing Rachel? We can’t- can’t do this. We have to go back. We have to- have to.” He trails off.

The hole is deep enough I need to climb out of it now. I straighten up and grab the plastic bag. I think this one is the abdomen. Personally, I think he deserved it. Sure he wasn’t the worst guy in the world, but he wasn’t any saint either. But whether he deserved it or not, what’s done is done.

“Sure,” I say.

Filling in the hole is somehow more tedious than digging it. Probably because I have to pack it down and make it seem like someone didn’t dig a hole here. I’ll also have to make sure I don’t look like I just spent all night digging a hole in the middle of nowhere. Looking suspicious now would just condemn us. At least climbing out of the hole didn’t rip my jeans.

“No, no, we can’t. We go back and we’re as good as dead. Why did he have to- if he had just kept his mouth shut! This wouldn’t have happened. This didn’t need to happen, But he- he made me.” He drops the shovel and begins pacing, looking like a hunted man.

I’d have to fix that before we get back to civilization. I shove as much dirt into the hole as I can push. I’ll have to do something with the leftover dirt. Probably spread it around the surrounding area. Or maybe pack it up and take it with us so it’s not obvious.

“Sure,” I say.

I pack it down and repeat the process. Daniel stops next to a tree and begins breathing deeply. Maybe he’ll be calm enough to drive to the next spot and I can take a nap. Probably not. I pick up his shovel and give it back to him with a nod towards the pile of dirt. He breathes and nods back.

“Right. Right, the hole. The- the body. Right we should.” He breathes, sounding more like the gasp of a drowning man than a breath. “Thanks. Thank you. Rachel, I don’t think I’d have made it this far on my own. I owe you. I owe you so much.”

I smile at him. He’s still twitchy. He’s still nervous. We’re going to have to do something about that.

“What are friends for?” I say.

[bookofsonder]

Superheroes and Masks

Chapter 1: Enter Magician

I’m a superhero. I fly through the night air with my partner by my side and keep an eye out for evildoers. My name is Magician. Under this name, I am a man. I am an insatiable flirt. I am easy going, quick on my feet, and specialize in infuriating my partner, the wonderful Hummingbird. Donning this mask I am the heartthrob of teenage girls everywhere. Yes, Magician is definitely one of my more enjoyable personas. He is not the only one though.

There is also Annabelle, famous model, daughter of a famous designer, quiet, meticulous, well mannered and most of all submissive. That is my home life. That is the mask I show my mother, her assistant who has done more to raise me than she ever has, and all the staff on our land. I crafted this mask first. It’s the one I use to keep mother happy. Or at least, satisfied. She’s very controlling. Also very absent. This is the mask I know best.

As a famous model I also, of course, have a public face. Bell. This one is the golden girl. Sweet, innocent, playful, but full of fire and yearning for adventure. I didn’t make this mask. I didn’t need to. My mother and some consultants had it pre-made for me when I started out. This is the one that all of Bells fans know me by. This one is tedious to keep up, mainly because I’m so full of anger and disgust during my shoots. I think this might be the one I hate the most.

Or it could be the one I show my coworkers and the boys I take as lovers. This one is simply Ann. She’s a drama queen. A Primadonna if you will. She’s loud and loose and won’t hesitate to pitch a fit when things don’t go her way. She’s a spoiled brat and everyone hates her. This one is the contender for most hated because she’s the culmination of people I hate. Why would I craft such a mask? To get ahead in the modeling business. Mother wants nothing more than for me to be successful in this field and does everything to ensure that I am. Unfortunately, a pushover does not last long in this world. So, to become even more than I already am, I created the most hateful mask I could. It’s worked so far.

Of course, all this repressing of emotions leads to some undesirable breaks in character. Now I can’t be having that. So I made a new mask, purely to let off steam. Their name is Alex and they don’t conform. Not to gender ideals, not to sexual ideals, not to anything. They are the epitome of rebellion. From graffiti to brawls to simply looking like an outsider, they don’t fit in. They don’t even fit in with the outsiders. They won’t take drugs, steal things, or hurt the innocent, and surely would not join a gang. I’ve made them as contrary as possible so that none of my other masks slip.

My last mask is one I never want to wear, one I have no reason to wear, and one I make damn sure no one sees me wear, but one I can’t get rid of. Depression. The moments without an audience is when this one is worn. When I have no one to act for and my mask starts to fall. That’s when this one takes over. Unlike the others, I don’t actually wear this mask. I don’t play this character. If anything, it wears my skin. It makes me feel things I’d rather not. Loneliness, self-hatred, desperation. This one came shortly after my first mask. I can’t hate it though. Why?

Six. I have six masks. Six different ideas of who I am and what I should be. That doesn’t leave much room for me. One was fine. Two was a struggle. Three I couldn’t get used to because before I knew it there were four. By five there wasn’t a “me” anymore. By that point, number six was a piece of cake. I can’t get rid of, nor hate, the mask that wears me. Because without it I’d have to face the silence in between roles. I’d have to come to terms with the fact that I am nothing more than a mask. I know it, I always have, but to hear the silence where I should be would make it far too real. It’s easier to pretend that I am my masks.

Or it was. Back when no one cared. That’s the thing about my life. Annabelle has an absent mother and a dead father and was raised by an assistant who really could not care less about her. Bell is a picture, not a person. People love how she looks and not what she’s like. Ann is hated by everyone, except the boys who chase her tail in the hopes of getting their fifteen seconds of fame. Alex isn’t normal, and people don’t like that. Alex may be the mask most hated by others. Depression hates me, enough said. The Magician is a hero. Of course, people would fawn all over him, he saved their lives. Unlike the others though, he really is just a mask. I could die as Magician, I’ve almost died a lot as Magician, and someone else could take up the persona just as easily as I did.

Hummingbird doesn’t see it like that. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but she see’s the mask for what it is. An act. To be Magician is to be free. Unlike Alex he’s not hated by all, unlike the others he’s bound by no expectations, unlike Depression he is confident. I honestly love Magician. Maybe that’s made me complacent. Maybe this ease that comes with him has made me slip without realizing it. Hummingbird, she knows I’m not Magician. I don’t know how she see’s me. But she knows I’m not okay.

She see’s me, me not the Magician, and that scares me. Once, I know I slipped up. I casually told her about my expendability. She was horrified that I would think that. We argued for a solid hour. Her, with venom and passion insisting I was worth more being a face for a mask. Me, confused and bewildered trying to show her that it’s not a big deal. Ever since then she’s gotten angry at me when I take hits meant for her or play distraction. Ever since then she’s been paying more attention to me, waiting for me to slip up. And that was fine. Scary and new, but fine. She still knew nothing about me, my past, or my personas. But then something weird started happening.

I found myself feeling beyond my characters. I’d be playing Ann and I’d feel the need to throw up after having one of her screaming matches. Ann is a vile and unruly bitch, but it’s never made me ill to play her. I hate her but that has never stopped me from playing her. But now? Now I want to apologize as Ann, I want to be overtly nice as Alex, I want to be independent as Annabelle, I want Depression to vanish, I want to be angry as Bell, and I want to be sad as Magician. And then the pain started. The pain when I heard someone dismiss me. When I knew I was merely an object of a means to an end for someone. When people hated or loved not me but the idea of me. When I was thought of or referred to as something less than a person I would feel pain, hurt, betrayal.

Which is ridiculous. I am less than a person. I am a body for a character to inhabit. I am a form to give an idea life. I am a walking and talking canvas, for others to put their ideas of me upon. I am not a person. I have never been a person. I haven’t felt things for years. I’ve felt nothing outside of my masks range of emotions. Even then I’ve never actually felt hope.

Last night was when it became too much for me to bear. It was a patrol night and I was a wreck. Still, I became the Magician and begged for my mask to hold. It didn’t. It was before I met up with Hummingbird. I was on top of some tall building simply looking out over my beautiful city. I didn’t even notice I was crying. I didn’t notice that I was on the very edge of the building. I didn’t notice Hummingbird land behind me. Then I noticed all of it when she yanked me backward. She was furious. She was crying. She begged me to never do that again. I promised her I wouldn’t. She cried into my shirt and asked me to please trust her, please let her help me, please just tell her what was wrong. So I did.

I told her about all my masks. One for my mother, one for the world, one for my coworkers, one for venting, one for villains, and one that wore me. I didn’t go into specifics. She didn’t ask. I told her there wasn’t enough room in this body for seven people, one had to go. She told me that she’d miss seeing me as the Magician. I laughed. That was the first time I’ve truly laughed in a long while. I told her that this mask was too important to the safety of others to leave empty unless absolutely necessary. I told her about how before I truly knew her there were only six. How “I” was the least needed out of all of us. No one knew me. I didn’t know me. No one cared for the longest time. No one needed to care now either. I asked her to let me go. She sobbed. She begged me not too. She tried everything she could think of to change my mind. But I was adamant. There were no attacks that night.

It’s been two days since then. Tonight’s patrol night. I have forced myself to be a shell once again. It’s easier this way. You can’t hurt a puppet, only the role they play. For two days I didn’t feel a thing, not even what it was normal for my role to feel. When night came around my last sliver of self was worried about how Hummingbird would be, and about how I would fill my role as Magician.

Now I am flying through the night air once again. I’m not exhilarated. I’m not happy, nor energetic, nor impulsive and lost in the moment. That doesn’t stop me from pretending I am. Or rather, that doesn’t stop the Magician from showing these traits. Hummingbird lands behind me. I turn. I wave. My body language is relaxed and just a tad flirty. My tone is jovial and just egotistical enough to be endearing. My words fall from my lips with such practiced ease it feels like they were rehearsed and sound utterly natural. Hummingbird looks at him. She sees my mask. She sees how there’s nothing behind it.

She hugs him. She cries. She apologizes over and over. Magician tries to cheer her up. He fails. She begs him to please, please, reconsider. To please not take away her friend. He looks at her. She looks through him, searching for someone else. He tells her that he’s right here. She lets out another sob. Then she turns, screams that she hates him, and runs away. That last sliver of me feels relief, then fades away.

The next day, everything is normal. All the characters are as they should be, the body they inhabit no longer rebels, and Depression is all there is in between performances. After all, the show must go on. And if one audience member detests the performance? Well, you can’t please everyone.

[bookofsonder]

Stress

Just keep swimming.

It's a lot like drowning. Or like sinking. Of course, some don't see it like that. Everyone's at varying levels. Some get their toes wet, some let the water lap at their waist, no one really stays dry. Me? On most days, no, on a good day it's right up around my neck. I'm fine. Usually. I'm standing solid, I'm still breathing, I can see the shore. I'm fine. It's not the best of sensations. Pressing and pulling on you from all sides, just waiting to wear you down. But I'm fine, it helps keep me upright anyways. Most days. Good days. Others, not so much. Other days something happens. My legs, weak from fighting the current, give out and I go under. I can't breathe. I can't see. I don't dare try. But I'm fine, really. There's still solid ground beneath me. I know the surface isn't that far away. And if I come back up and the water's above my mouth, it's fine. I can breathe through my nose. I'm fine. Most days. Sometimes my legs are swept out from under me. Riptide dragging me under and away. I might try to fight it. I might get away. Then I can't touch the bottom and all I have is my own weight trying to drag me down. But it's fine. I'm fine. I can swim. I can still see the shore. I'm fine. But I might not fight. I might get swept far out to sea. But I'm still fine. I can still swim. And though I can't see shore I can see land, I'll get there eventually. I'll be fine. I am fine. Most days. A lot of days. But, every now and again. There's a storm. Some people have shelter. Most people have a form of anchor. I don't have that this far out. I get tossed around and dragged under. I end up, somewhere. I don't know. I can't see. I can't breathe. I don't dare try. I'm underwater. I don't know which way is up or down, I don't know how far under I am, there's no ground beneath me. Only seaweed. I'm tangled up in it, it makes it hard to move. Eventually, I can escape its grasp and swim, somewhere. Eventually, I can get to the surface, with burning lungs and fading sight. These things are nearly inevitable. But. I can't see land. All around me only waves. But it's fine. I'm fine. I'll be alright. I can breathe. I can swim. And though I can’t see land, it's there somewhere. I just need to pick a direction and start swimming. I'll be fine. Even though the water will be rough. Even though I have no food or water. Even though I can swim for only so long and there's no land there's never land. I'm fine. I'm fine. Right? Right. I'm fine.

[bookofsonder]

Head in the Clouds

Drifting off. Losing track of time. Having to be called back to the conversation. Clearly, these people have their head int he clouds. Ever wonder what it’s like up there?

It means you’re not paying attention. It could also be said as “airhead” which has the attached meaning of you having air in place of a brain. But it’s kinda different from where I float. Did you know? As high up as clouds are, the atmosphere is cold enough to freeze the evaporated water in the air. Clouds are really just really light balls of ice. I guess that means it’s pretty chilly up here. It’s funny because you never hear the people who are called frosty being called airheads. It’s also a bit strange, don’t you think? We’re called airheads because it’s like we’re not paying attention to anything. But from up here there’s a lot to catch your interest. Clouds of every shape and size, often stretching out for miles upon miles, and the sun lighting them just so. At least I think it’s miles. It’s hard to judge distance from up here. All I can see are clouds really. Sometimes there are gaps, usually more often in certain places, but really I have no idea what’s on the ground. It’s a bit scary actually. Nothing is really solid up here. Well, kind of. I can’t touch anything, but things can touch me. Winds will throw me around every now and again. Sometimes when I’m in the middle of a cloud my fingers will turn blue, it takes awhile for them to be normal again. Have you ever been inside a thunderhead? I have. Up here things aren’t really solid, but when they are they’re usually painful. Is it bad? When the winds throw me around, I don’t really know where I end up. There’s nothing but clouds. When I start to freeze I don’t have any place that’s really warm, just a bit less cold. And thunderheads.

But it’s not like I don’t know what earth is like at all. I’ve seen mountains. I even visited a couple. Some are barren, only rock and snow peaking through my sea of clouds. Others have other people, and wonderful buildings, and animals. Once I found a bunch of farmers, they berated me for not knowing anything about farming. But how could I have? The only animals up here are birds, and they never stay very long at all. Once I found someone who said they were an explorer, they talked on and on about the struggles it took to get this high up and how I’m not even properly equipped and I really should be much more careful how did I even get up here without dying was beyond them. I didn’t really understand him. Maybe you need gear for climbing the mountain? Once you’re up here though you really don’t need anything. Maybe the hard part was climbing the mountain, too. I don’t really remember how I got up here. Maybe I climbed a mountain like they did. I also met a bunch of monks on one of the mountains I found. They were very nice, though some didn’t talk at all. The ones that did asked me questions instead of just talking to me. Would you like some food, would you like some clothes, would you like to stay for a bit, what is it like where you are, would you like to be elsewhere? They were very strange, to me at least. I’m sure that they’re very normal to themselves. But I can’t see how they can stand it. Some of them can float like I can, but they only ever get a few feet off the ground. The ones who rarely float also stay on the ground much of the time. Why? It’s so solid, it’s so dangerous, it’s so wrong to me. Being on something, or being in something. It’s just unnatural really. But other people I can sort of understand, they don’t float, so it’s the only way they can be. But these ones do, so why bother staying?

I don’t see many others up here. It’s really very funny. So many people are told that their head’s in the clouds, yet I’ve never seen them. But then the sky is huge, maybe we’ve just never crossed paths. Maybe the winds like to keep up apart. Or maybe we’re all at different levels of the sky and the clouds make it so we can’t see each other even if we’re really inches apart. Or maybe I really am alone up here. It’s not all bad though. I have a better view of the stars than anyone on the ground, that has to count for something. You know, once I tried to reach them. It’s ridiculous though. The stars are very far away indeed. And even then, stars are really just other planets and suns. Other things so unnaturally solid and warm. Too warm. I’m much better off cold. And alone. Drifting off from one unknown place to another. And the only way to get to those other worlds would be to get colder first. More alone. More lost than I ever have been before. Out there I’ll be dealing with things worse than thunderheads and hurricanes. Out there I won’t even have mountains to visit. Out there I wouldn’t even hear the voices echoing in the wind. Out there, truly, nothing would be able to touch me. To be among the stars. To be gazed upon by everyone in the world, yet completely and utterly separate from them. Reach for the stars, they say. They don’t tell you that the path there is dark and cold, populated only by what your mind gives it. I’m very high up already, and no one knows I’m here. I’m very cold, very alone, very scared of every gust and cloud and person I see. Maybe.

Maybe I should go higher. Where no one will be able to reach me, even if they truly try. The world would no longer be just out of reach, separated only by a blanket of ice. It’d be gone from me forever. With meteors and moon and a whole atmosphere between me and anyone else. Maybe.

Maybe I’d be better off in the space between the stars.

[bookofsonder]

Confluence of Fates

There are those who think that time is like a river. Flowing ever forward into the great unknown. The thing is, there’s more than one river in the world. The thing is, those rivers don’t always stay separate. The thing is when those rivers come together sometimes currents get confused and start swirling endlessly.

There is something not quite right about the window. It’s almost like an itch at the back of my mind. It’s my attic window, not something I’d seen often but certainly something I was familiar with. But now, it wasn’t exactly right. It’s not that there was anything abnormal about it. Just that the window was. Wrong.

I shake my head. I’m just tired. I’ve been spring cleaning all day, all week really. It’s likely my mind playing tricks on me. So I ignore it, walk back downstairs, and continue on with my life. I’d almost succeeded in forgetting about it, but that little itch never quite went away.

Before I turn in for the night I go back up there. Just to make sure I didn’t forget anything, I tell myself. In truth, I thought that after some rest the window would be normal again, thought that I could put my mind at ease. But to think the window might, now, be right would be to accept that at one point it was not. So I go upstairs and checked behind boxes and on top of trunks just in case I had, in fact, forgotten something and pretend that’s what I was actually there for.

Then I glance at the window. And I don’t look away. The window is, somehow, less right then it was earlier. The itch grew. But no. No, it was the end of the day. Relaxation or not, surely my mind is more than ready for sleep. Surely it’s just a trick of the light. I look away. The window is perfectly fine. I walk back downstairs. I’m just stressed is all. The itch was harder to ignore. Sure with work and spring cleaning and. And. I put my hands over my ears and close my eyes tightly.

And my family, who I’m sure are coming over for Easter Sunday, are probably wondering what I’ve got planned. And my girlfriend will be meeting them too. And my friends will be doing something for the weekend that they’ll want me to join them for. And my co-workers they’ll. I’m in my bedroom. Sleep, I need to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning. Just like it always is. I crawl into bed and close my eyes.

I close the lid of the trunk. I’ve never been able to decide if spring cleaning is a chore or an adventure. I always find the most interesting things. Well, they’re interesting to me. Though, adventure or not, anything would get boring after a week of it. Not to mention that the attic has always been a bit daunting. Cluttered, everything covered in a thick layer of dust, and dark.

Strange, it feels like I’m forgetting something. But what would I be forgetting? It’s always been like that. I’ve been up here almost daily for the past week. It’s almost like an itch in the back of my mind. But then I doubt I could’ve forgotten something that important overnight. Maybe I’m just so bored that my mind is inventing new things. Dull work, distant family, overseas boyfriend. At least I had Easter off with my friends. Sure they aren’t the most outgoing group, but they’re mine.

Maybe I should put a window in here, let some light in.

[bookofsonder]

Respect is Important

Ask anyone who knows anything about ghosts or spirits or what-have-you, there’s pretty much one rule. Do not disrespect them. It’s just a bad idea all around. Never ends well.

“So she likes ghosts.” A tall and scrawny boy says, thoroughly unimpressed with his friend.

“Yes.” His shorter and bulkier companion replies.

“And that means you’re jumping headfirst into paranormal stuff to impress her.” The tall one whom I now dub Michael intones. He looks around my haunting place, equally unimpressed. Rude.

“Yes,” The strong one, whom I dub Jeff, repeats. He pans his flashlight around and, quite frankly, does a terrible job of sneaking through the living room.

“Okay, let’s say that ghosts are real for a second,” Michael says, somehow becoming even more exasperated. “We’re supposedly hunting ghosts and trying to get evidence or a story or something, right?”

“Why else would we be here?” Jeff says as he peers around a corner into the dining room. No one ever looks up. Makes chandeliers wonderful hiding places.

“Right.” Michael has the right idea, he’s not doing that embarrassing kind of sneaking that Jeff for some reason think will help him. “So why in god’s name are we at what is clearly a Halloween tourist trap?” Okay, double rude.

“Are you kidding me? This place has history!” Jeff says. “History!” He says again, with emphasis. Well, at least someone recognizes my accomplishments. Even if it is Jeff of all people.

“Fake history,” Michael says. Okay, rude strike three. Time to give these kids a story no one will ever believe.

I leap off of the chandelier and onto the staircase. The chandelier swings and its fake gems clink together from my sudden departure. The only question is, how far should I go? Beneath me, the boys have frozen in place, by the wall leading to the dining room.

“You heard that-” Jeff gets cut off when Michael says. “It was just the wind! Wind does that. Makes hanging things move.”

Jeff gestures to the living room and looks Michael dead in the eye. “All the windows are closed.”

“Nope!” Michael shakes his head. “There are no ghosts here it’s all completely fake.” He moves to walk through the doorway.

I call a gust of wind and slam the door shut inches from his nose. I might go easy on them, after all, there really aren’t any ghosts here. They can’t stand me for some reason.

Jeff, rather calmly, I’m almost impressed, looks from the door to Michael. “Was that the wind too?”

“It. It’s just an old house. Or, rigged. Yeah, it’s rigged. Someone’s just fucking with us.” Michael weakly chuckles, eye’s glued to the door.

Jeff sighs and tries the doorknob. The lock clicks and refuses to give way. “Cool, so, we’re not going that way.” He walks to the center of the living room and inspects the pictures on the walls.

Michael follows soon after. I scamper across the ceiling to the far wall, my clawed feet making a skittering noise and leaving scratch marks in my wake. I pass into the wall and start reversing colors and changing the images in the pictures when the boys jerk their gazes to the ceiling.

“Okay! Whoever’s doing this! It’s really not funny!” Michael shouts. I disagree, this is hilarious.

“Right.” Jeff’s flashlight is still on the scratch marks. “I think we’re done here.” Not if I have anything to say about it.

The wall bearing the majority of the pictures groans and a slimy substance leaks from under the frames. I take control of the one “normal” picture left, an old woman's portrait. The boys look back to the wall. I can hear their hearts pounding. Michael looks like he’s on the edge of hyperventilating when the flashlight lands on me. I look back at them, first with the painting's eyes, then it’s head. They’re rooted in place as the slime puddles on the floor. I open the paintings mouth, I make the paint pop and melt as I speak. The slime flows directly behind them.

“Little boys should learn to hold their tongues,” I say in a rasping, jerking, croak. I wonderful voice, I’ve found, for pushing people into motion.

Michael screams and they bolt towards the front door, right into the slime. It sizzles and begins to melt bits of Jeffs shoes as he runs through it, he won’t notice that until later tonight. What he does notice is Michael’s second scream when he slips and lands face first in the slime. He drags his, now also sizzling, friend up and out the door. I let my cackling echo across the property. The vines slither behind them, playing at tripping them up, while the tree’s crack and lurch after them. A vine catches Jeff’s arm and squeezes before he rips away from it, leaving green stains on his sleeve.

They rush past the gate and stop. Michael is fine. They turn around. The garden is normal. There is no slime oozing from the front door. They left the front door open. They watch as it swings closed. I watch them from the window and let my eyes glow just for them. They look at each other and run. Tomorrow morning Jeff will notice his ruined shoes and the stains on his shirt. Tomorrow morning Michael will find red splotches on his face, neck, and hands.

Perhaps next time they’ll be a bit more hesitant to speak ill of the damned.

[bookofsonder]

The Traveler’s Fear

Some fear death, others find it a constant companion. Some fear control, others seek it out. Some fear losing everything, other have nothing to lose.

There’s something wrong here. But I can’t tell what. I’ve lived like this for so long, surviving. I take what’s given to me and I survive. I don’t live. I barely live. Living is a luxury I can’t afford. Because I walk hand in hand with a force that can and will crush all that I have and scatter it into the wind. Because I live in a chaos driven existence, where that which I rely on to keep me stable is often ripped out from under me with little to no warning. I can’t afford to relax because to face the perceived oncoming challenges I must always be on guard. I cannot enjoy myself or indulge myself any more than is needed to keep me from exploding because doing so would make me complacent, and promote my ignoring of that which needs to be attended to. I don’t care. I don’t care that I can only ever survive. For I am alive, even if by a hair's breadth, I am alive. Though I often dream of the day that I can do as I please, I don’t delude myself into thinking such dreams are within my reach. My life, my mind, my existence, is in the here and now. And my here and now is survival, scraping along some kind of continued existence. I’ve struck a balance with the continuous destruction of my life. It turns what I knew into ashes and I build again. Not a grand structure of marble and gold. Merely something to keep out the cold and damp, if only just. But yes, no, that’s a lie. A sweet lie that hides within it the truth. For you see, I can build my palace. But that would take effort. And I am lazy. I see many opportunities but I am scared. I don’t want to live a life of splendor, for bare necessities is all I’ve ever known. My shack is my home, what I’ve built myself around. If I take my shack, my only surviving if I spend my hours building a palace. What am I then? And what am I when the walls come tumbling down yet again? No, yes, for it is much easier to discard rubble of sticks and stones than of marble and gold. For when the ceiling comes falling down on me what am I to do with my rubble of splendor? The higher you climb the harder you fall, and the more you have lost the tighter you cling to what’s left, even if rubble is all it is. I don’t need that. I need to be able to move on. I need to be able to not care. Like all who dwell in a state of constant destruction and rebuilding, my schemes are not grand. My life is not glorious. My home is no palace. But it is what it needs to be. My shack is warmer than the harsh winds that threaten to tear it down. It is sturdy enough to resist the wind, but it is also weak enough that when it comes crashing down the falling debris will not hurt me. Much. My shack is plain, so that I may move from one to the next with no regrets. My lights are dim, so that I may traverse the darkness outside when the need comes. Perhaps one day I shall stumble across a palace, perhaps one day the wind will cease to shriek through my walls. But I do not expect this to happen. I do not expect my palace to be around the corner. No, I expect that I will find a place where the storms that tear my shacks down are fewer, but not gone. I expect to build my palace with my own blood and sweat if I am to have one at all. And yet I fully expect to find this place and live in fear. I will build my hut on this land and wait for it to fall. I fear becoming complacent in my life. I fear building higher and grander. For I know that it will all fall, as it has so many times before. I know that when it does fall it will hurt. And I know that the grander it is the more it will hurt when it falls on me. The more I will bemoan it crumbling. The more I will cling to the rubble in some ridiculous hope that it will keep me warm. I am not complacent enough to start building grander. But I am complacent enough to never build any higher. I am fine with my shack. I have grown used to the drafts and leaks. I know I will only miss it for the meager protection it provided and not for any comfort or value lost by its destruction. I am too scared to build higher and live nicer for the pain of its end. But I yearn for it nonetheless. I am too lazy to put in the effort needed to make this palace. I am at peace in my hovel. But it is a peace borne of fear, complacency, and passive acceptance rather than of any contentment. Is it truly a peace worth having? I don’t know. I just don’t know, anything.

[bookofsonder]

When in doubt, run away.

The solution to all life's problems is simple, flee.

Billy didn’t like his job. He had been flipping burgers at the same fast food place for the past ten years. Billy didn’t like his life. He was alone. No family that wanted anything to do with him, no significant other to spend empty days with, not even a dog. Billy didn’t have anything to lose.

So he saved up. He quit his job. He sold all of his worldly possession, and he moved. He moved up north where no one knew him and the world was nothing but snow for the better part of the year. Then life was different for Billy. Before he was alone in a crowd, but this crowd is isolated from the world and far more connected. After moving there he felt like an outsider for a while. Right up until his sweet neighbor locked herself out of her house in the middle of the night.

Now, Billy loves his job. He’s a manager and cooks at his little burger restaurant called The Igloo. He runs it with his lover who also works waiting tables. Billy loves his life. A stable, loving, relationship. Townsfolk he loved like family. He’s even adopted a puppy. Billy has everything he’s wanted, joy fulfillment, and most importantly someone to share it with.

[bookofsonder]

Pancakes 101

They say that teaching someone how to cook is a great way to bond. They’re not exactly wrong, but some things are better left to those more suited to it.

I can cook. I swear. I can make your mouth water with my stews and my eggs are to die for. I can make pasta and heavenly sauces, I can roast a duck like a professional, I can even make candies like tiny pieces of art! I cannot, however, make pancakes. I can’t even properly use those waffle makers where you just put the batter in it. It’s not that I never learned how, or that I hate pancakes, it’s that something always goes spectacularly wrong when I try. I may have let it slip to my friend that I cannot, in fact, make pancakes. I tried to warn him. He didn’t listen.

Now we’re here, covered in pancake batter and flour in a kitchen that is similarly adorned and more than a couple pans that are more burnt pancake than a pan. At least we have a fire extinguisher in the house. Otherwise, that could have ended much worse. Though I’ve never had pancake batter explode like that before. Josh looks at me. He’s either angry, fed up with me, or both. It’s hard to tell when pancake batter is giving his face another layer.

“I tried to warn you.” Is all I say in my defense.

He opens his mouth, but closes is before saying anything. He does so again and raises a hand to gesture with, but puts it back down and stays quiet. He does that so much he actually looks like a mime, kind of. He puts his hands in his hair and makes this noise that’s like a mix of a groan and a yell.

“How!” He shouts. I don’t think it was a question. “How and you be this bad at making pancakes?” There’s the question.

I shrug. “We all have that one thing we’re terrible at. Mine’s pancakes.” I say.

He glares at me like I insulted his grandmother. Without a word he walks to the supply closet, tracking flour all the way down the hall, grabs the mop and bucket, comes back and rather forcefully hands them to me.

“I’m taking a shower. You’re cleaning this up. When I’m done I might help you.” He says.

He leaves me to it and I wonder where to begin. Though, to be honest, that wasn’t the worst reaction I’ve gotten after someone tried to teach me Pancakes 101. The shower starts and I look at my pile of burnt circles of dough. On a whim, I take a bite of one. After a glass of milk to get rid of the aftertaste I congratulate myself. This batch was actually edible. Maybe I can actually get this right. Not for a while though.

[bookofsonder]

Burnout

A letter to no one. Sometimes, things just can’t keep going.

I don’t do this. Ever. I don’t talk about my feelings. I don’t acknowledge them, most of the time they just happen and I actually put effort into ignoring them completely. I’m only doing this because my best friend is actually forcing me to confront and work through my issues.

So, this is usually how it goes. Something happens, I do something wrong, or worse it’s not my fault. So I have a problem. How do I deal with it? I ignore it. I know, not the best of tactics. But it works, somehow. I usually stay busy to keep my mind from wandering in that general direction. Because of this, I get a lot of things done when I’m stressed. Since I’m in college this works out great because I am always stressed. But, like I said before, it’s not the best of tactics. Mainly because the human body is not meant to function on little to no sleep and near-constant exertion. Thankfully it’s not often that a problem hangs around long enough for me to just fall asleep wherever I am. Well, there hasn’t been a problem like that in the past few years at least.

But now I have a problem. It’s always been a problem but I haven’t noticed till a few months back. One of those problems that lie dormant, waiting for the right moment to jump out and ruin your life. Even when I did notice it, it didn’t seem like that big of a problem. It wasn’t a big deal because it was just one problem. But here’s the kicker, the moment I noticed that problem was what allowed me to noticed dozens of other problems relating to the first one. You know that old phrase, the straw that broke the camel's back? Yeah, I’m the camel. I’m not quite broken yet but boy am I getting there.

So it all started when I met my roommate, right? Now, this is where I didn’t notice the problem. It’s not something that jumps out at you, it festers over time until it’s all you can think about. My problem, in the vaguest of terms, is my roommate. Now don’t get me wrong here, she’s an amazing person. She’s always so happy and determined and full of life. It’s awe-inspiring, really. I guess my problem is less her and more me. So she’s amazing, right? I’m not. At all. I’m grumpy and cowardly, nosy and obnoxious, a workaholic, just an all around terrible person. I don’t hate her, I could never hate her. I suppose it’s just that, being around someone as lovely as she puts a microscope on all of my flaws. So, that was the first problem. See? It’s not a big deal, or at the very least it wasn’t something I had to ignore for the sake of my sanity.

Then I started noticing things. It was small, it was simple. It was honestly a terrifying realization. So I rationalized it and put it in the little drawer in my mind labeled ‘Do not open’. Any decent person would know their roommates taste in food, right? Of course. End of discussion. That was just the first straw. I was flipping through my sketchbook when the second one hit me. More than half the drawings in it were her. Of course, they would be! She literally lives with me, I can always use her as a model. That’s enough thought on that subject. It’s hundreds of small things. The grace of her movements, the lilt of her voice, her ridiculous bed head, her off-key singing, her inability to boil water. It’s the little things that I realize I know about her.

I try not to dwell on it. Any good roommate would pick up on the others habits. I leave it at that. I vehemently deny any part of me that says there’s something more. I ignore the pain in my chest when she looks at me, how much I miss her when she’s gone, the anger when some drunk frat boy won’t stop staring at her because she’s just my roommate. Not a single thing more. I care about her because I live with her, that’s all. That’s become my mantra in the past week. The past week where I’ve completely caught up on my studies. Where I’ve cleaned the dorm room floor to ceiling, twice. Where I’ve actually studied every spare moment I’ve had so my mind wouldn’t wander. Where the only sleep I’ve allowed myself is the deep dreamless sleep that only comes from complete and utter exhaustion because she’s even in my dreams and there’s only so much I can rationalize away.

Today my best friend, my roommate, watched me pass out in the middle of a conversation. She had noticed a while back that something was very wrong with me, I suppose that was just the tipping point for her. I’m not surprised. I’m not a particularly subtle person. So here I am. It’s three in the morning, she’s asleep, and I’ve written all of this in the hopes that I can actually face my problem. My mountain of problems. My three, tiny, world-shattering problems.

I’m a girl. I’m in love with my roommate. She is in a very loving relationship with her wonderful boyfriend.

There. I said it. Now if only I could stop it. It would be so much less painful than accepting the truth. I don’t have a snowflake’s chance in a volcano. But I’ve faced my problem. Maybe now I can get a full night’s sleep. Maybe now I can stop needlessly worrying my best friend. Maybe I can accept the fact that a friend is all she’ll ever be.

Pardon me while I go find a lighter to burn this with.

[bookofsonder]

Cadaver Lantern

Working with crazy people isn’t the best of all things. Working with crazy people as a black market organ harvester is most definitely not the best of all things. 

“You know it’s actually a lot like carving pumpkins.” She says from across the room.

It’s really not. “Please shut up,” I say for the umpteenth time. It sure as hell doesn’t smell like pumpkins.

“No, I’m serious. See it’s all squishy and slimy inside and it has a tough skin you need to break through.” She fails to shut up. She’s insane, she has to be insane.

“What kind of pumpkins did you carve growing up?” I respond, because maybe I’m insane too. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk than to focus on what we’re doing.

“Well, I carved regular pumpkins. You know, orange and big and seeds that got everywhere. Hey since it’s, you know, October and stuff. Do you think the boss would mind if we made them Jack O’ Lanterns?” God, Satan, and everything that can hear me please don’t let me end up like her.

“I don’t think he would like that.” What kind of drug is she on to even suggest that? To even consider carving cartoony faces into- into-

“Oh come on, it wouldn’t be that bad! Just imagine it; scary faces glowing at you from a dead man’s stomach. Or skull maybe? How freaky would that be?” The door opens as she’s gesturing with the liver she just extracted. The boss walks in.

“I think,” He says “human Jack O’ Lanterns would make a wonderful statement. Good idea Carla.”

“Really?” She looks far too happy. “Oh my gosh, thank you! Is there a certain thing you want us to carve or can we just do anything?”

He walks past us and looks over the inventory. His steps are easy and unconcerned, his face is relaxed, a casual smile, empty eyes, and not a speck of the horrors he commands can be seen on him. “I’m sure you can think of something.”  He walks back towards the door. “Just don’t get distracted from your primary job.” He says as he leaves.

“Yes, sir!” She salutes at the closing door. “This is going to be so much fun.” She says to me.

“Yeah.” I have changed my mind. God, Zeus, Odin, someone, anyone, please for all that is holy, do not let me end up like him.