meshtams

[meshtams]

The Train

There was an abandoned train station on your way to work- you knew this, because every morning, at 7:37am, you would pass by it. It was somewhere between the third and fourth stops on your route; there was nothing particularly exceptional about this, after all, it had taken you nearly a month to notice it in the first place. Just an old platform: mossy, cracked concrete and a partially collapsed bridge overhead, nothing really worth taking any notice of, and certainly nothing that could be described as unusual in any way at all. By the time you made your commute home each day, the sky would be so dark you could barely see it, and it was so mundane you never really sought it out either, instead preferring to lean against the cool window and try not to fall asleep, exhausted as you always were by this point of the day.

 On one day in particular, you took a train home from your dead-end job, only you were running a little late- your work had been sluggish and lacklustre recently, a consequence of your poor sleep, and so you needed to stay behind to get your work finished. As a result, your usual train had already been and gone, so you were left to make alternate arrangements. The next two trains were from services much more expensive than you could afford; you were, after all, already behind on your rent payment for the month. The train after that, however, was far cheaper- suspiciously cheap, you may have noticed had you been sleeping and eating properly recently, which you had not. As it was, you simply decided it was luck, even fate, perhaps, and bought your ticket.

 When the train arrived it was old, far older than most of the modern trains the majority of railways favoured, although so long as it would get you home, you supposed it didn’t particularly matter. The seats were dusty and worn, but again you took no notice, taking your seat as always and resting your head on the window, condensation forming as your hot breath met the glass.

 The trains movement was jerky and slow, but that was of course to be expected with such an old model. Certainly nothing to worry yourself over.

 It was almost 45 minutes before the train made its first stop; odd, but perhaps this railway only stopped at one or two stations as opposed to the seven of your ordinary service.

 It remained stopped, however, for a strange amount of time- 5, 10, even 15 minutes ticked by, no one seemingly getting on or off at all, and it was then you noticed that you seemed to be the only person in the entire train; only a few carriages long, and the air was still and silent around you.

 Confused, you actually looked out of the window you had been leaned against, and what you saw seemed very peculiar indeed- the train was stopped at the abandoned platform you saw each morning. Had you perhaps broken down? You wondered, and considered trying to find an attendant, or even the driver, to ask them what was going on, but in the end decided to wait a little longer- you didn’t want to be a bother, after all.

 Minutes ticked by, and somehow the air around you seemed to thin, your breathing becoming laborious. At first you thought it was perhaps an anxiety attack; you never had been particularly good with trains, but the only job that would even consider hiring you with your lacking qualifications was a few towns over, and you certainly couldn’t afford to move. It wasn’t, though. It became increasingly clear that the air was, in fact, becoming more and more scarce. Panicking, now, you stood and made your way to the doors, searching for a way to get them open; no buttons like the modern trains tended to have, no pulleys or emergency levers, not even any handles. Fully panicking, you tried to wedge your fingers between the doors and manually pry them apart, but with no success. Looking closer, the doors seemed to have been welded shut, but that couldn’t possibly be right; no more than an hour and a half ago you had come through these very doors, and certainly no one had been by who could have for some reason welded them together in that time! Why, you had been the only person on seemingly the entire train, most definitely the only one in this carriage.

 Barely containing your panic, you made your way to the other carriages, desperately trying to open the doors in them too, one by one, but it was an exercise in futility- the doors were welded solidly shut just as in your compartment.

 You tried your phone then; the screen lit up, but there was nothing there- no home screen, no anything, just a white screen so bright you almost dropped your phone. You were right on the verge of a panic attack by this point, your breaths coming in short pants which were wholly dissatisfying due to the stale, deoxygenated air around you.

 Then, one by one, the lights overhead flickered and died, exactly 6.73 seconds between each one- you didn’t know that, though, the specificity of my design; all you knew was that you were being plunged into darkness, feeling as if you were close to suffocation. You desperately looked around, but there was nothing that could help you. No emergency exits or hammers to break the glass of the windows, no backup lights. Nothing.

 You remembered your phone, stuffed in your pocket where you had abandoned it before, but now the bright light seemed like something that may in fact be helpful. Too bad I had anticipated that, although I had really expected you to think of it sooner- your stupidity really is astounding. Your phone, of course, didn’t turn on at all anymore, the dark screen mocking you for even considering it.

 The next thing you tried to do was break the windows of the train- a silly, immature act of a hysterical imbecile. Your pathetic fists would never make a dent, and once you tried using your keys- certainly smarter, but still futile- you surely noticed that they wouldn’t even make a scratch. Your breathing was hard, laboured, and you were running through your limited air supply even quicker than I had planned.

 Not that it mattered.

 You’re sitting, now. I supposed you realized the pointlessness of fighting back and decided to simply give in.

 I wonder if anyone will actually realize you’re gone? I doubt it. You’re so unlikeable, it’s not as though anyone will actually miss you. No friends, no family…. I suppose your boss might realize you stopped showing up, eventually, anyway, but she won’t care. Why would she? She’ll simply take you off of the payroll and forget all about you. and certainly, your landlord will notice in a week or two, when your rent is still unpaid and he comes knocking, but once he sees the thin film of dust over everything you own, he’s likely to just throw it all away and decide you just left, after all, people like you never stick around for long anyway. Everything you hold dear, left in garbage bags on the side of the road and inevitably taken to landfill when the homeless people nearby have dug through it all and found the majority to be worthless.

 Not long now. Your vision is blacking around the edges, and I’m sure you’ve realized by now that your body will never be found.

 I would say I’m sorry, but it would be a lie. You are a waste of space, a worthless bottom feeder who barely deserves the courtesy of this explanation, and I am so. Hungry.

 No one ever buys their tickets in person anymore, and I can’t exactly add my railway to the internet; a trace is the last thing I need, after all. So thank you. I’m sure you will be a wholly unsatisfying meal, as scrawny and pathetic as you are, but it has been so very long since I last fed. You loose consciousness, and finally, I can feast.

[meshtams]

The fact that there is blood in my body haunts me-

Seeing the way it blooms into bruises under bite marks on hands,

The way it wells up in the aftermath of spots,

Or pours from my body once a month;

How the concept tortures me,

Makes me dream of opening up my skin and letting it all flow out

Let it take with it all of my anxiety-

How am I supposed to breathe when my brain wants nothing more than blood, blood, blood?

How am I supposed to exist when my brain dreams of nothing but scars upon scars

Placed on arms and faces and legs

Until I am unrecognisable

How do I take one foot and put it in front of the other when neither is bleeding,

Yet I know there is blood inside

Waiting for escape

[meshtams]

There are bones beneath my skin

Damp and pale and solid

Sometimes I can see them

But then sometimes I cannot

Sometimes I smash them bruisingly hard

Against walls

Wood

Hands

Until my skin is purple and blue

Because I have bones

And I have skin

And my skin is soft and fragile and oh-so easy to bruise

And my bones are sturdy solid and oh-so hard to break

Sometimes I see my bones

I see the way they tent my skin

But not the way they did when I was 15

And replaced meals with green tea

These days they are hills on my sides when I lay down

Or points on my arms which seem more stronger than the flesh around them

Or the lines on my feet when they flex

In those days they were badges of honour

Worn with pride

But not-quite-there yet

Never quite there yet

Parts of me miss those days

Those days when my bones were sharp and visible

Under pale, bruised skin

Because I have bones under my skin

And some days they feel like old friends,

Settled in as part of me

That I don't need to see

And then some days they feel like hidden treasures

Buried under mounds of flesh to excavate

Just waiting to be found once more

But they're just bones

And skin is just skin

[meshtams]

it was sundown on a thursday evening when you walked past them on the street.

their hair was dark and falling into their heavily scarred face; they looked as if someone had taken a knife to them over and over and over again. their eyes were mostly hidden by thick-rimmed black glasses, and you couldn't tell exactly what their body looked like as obscured by their long black coat as it was, but you could tell they were long-limbed, looking almost stretched out as they towered over you.

something about them was.... off. non-human, almost.

you shook the feeling off and carried on walking, shuddering slightly when they caught your eye and smiled an almost horrible smile, all pointed teeth and cracked lips- you couldn't put your finger on what it was but they were just not right, somehow.

once you got home, you triple checked the locks. you weren't sure why, but you just felt as if you had to. you pushed the person out of your mind.

it was a week later when you found yourself thinking of them. you tried to convince yourself that the unsettled feeling was just a form of prejudice; you saw their scars and found yourself subconsciously repulsed, perhaps. but you knew it was more than that.

you lay in the dark thinking about them, trying to picture their face in your mind for hours before you realized what it was. it was their eyes. their pupils, to be specific. it was subtle enough that you hadn't noticed it at first, distracted as you were by the mess of scarring on their face, but their pupils were slit like a cats. on its own, you would have probably written it off as some sort of strange genetic mutation, but combined with everything else about them you were certain it was something more sinister.

you tried not to think about it anymore, and it almost worked, until you saw them again. it had been over a month, and you hadn't caught even a single glimpse of them, but this night, as you were walking home, you saw them again.

you weren't sure how you hadn't noticed it before, as now you'd realized it was incredibly clear that this was not a human being. they were too long, too gaunt, too... just, wrong to be human. they smiled at you again and you felt sick. their teeth were too sharp to be normal, and was that blood on their lip? you weren't too sure, but you certainly weren't going to stick around for long enough to find out.

you made your way home as quickly as possible, locking your door and dragging your chest of drawers in front of it. you slept with the light on that night.

[meshtams]

"You.... Your body is so full of electricity, and mine so full of magic, that were we ever to touch we would explode. You spark, like broken wires or lighter flints in your fingertips, and the swirling gold of my power calls out to it. I can feel the way we resonate in my core- feel the way every thread of me aches to meet your sparking waves. It would be cataclysmic. A single brush of our fingertips could bring the entire world to its knees, and my soul begs to bring it to fruition. The sheer magnitude of our energies, of our cores, both physical and spiritual, could end the entire universe, and yet I still yearn for a simple touch. We could be infinite, you and I."

[meshtams]

Suppress

I didn’t know why I was even bothering. It was the first day of year eleven and I wished that I was still in bed. Its unlikely I’d’ve been sleeping anyway, but at least I could lay down. Somehow, I felt like if I laid on the floor of the hallway like practically every fibre of my being was begging me to, I would have been kicked in the head by the chavvy year nines that, without fail, ditched the first class of the year.

           So, there I was. Dragging my feet across the shitty, beige tiling, my head down and my long hair falling over my face as I headed practically on auto-pilot towards the biology corridor, past all of the obnoxiously bright noticeboards that gave me a fucking headache.

            When I finally reached my classroom after what felt like hours, I flopped down next to my best friend, Georgie. Well, actually, Georgie was my only friend, but he was still the best.

           “Apparently we’ve got a new teacher, mate.” His voice was as warm and cheerful as always.

           “Hopefully they’ll be less of a prick than Miss Morrigan then, yeah?” I folded my arms on the desk and dropped my head onto them.

           “To be fair, a mass murderer would probably be less of a prick than Morrigan, so the bar isn’t exactly high.” He laughed.

           “Hm, that’d be cool though, to have a mass murderer for a teacher, don’t you think?” my voice was barely more than a mumble and my eyes were squeezed closed.

           “Sure, Mal.” He would probably have said more if not for the sudden slam of books on the front table.

           “RIGHT!” I jumped and almost fell off my seat, my head snapping up violently to look at the teacher. He was tall and skinny, with sallow skin and greying brown hair, and for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on he seemed oddly… familiar. Like he looked like someone I knew, but I was almost certain I’d never met anyone who looked like him before.

I shook my head and turned to Georgie. “Dude, does he look really familiar to you or am I just going nuts?”

“You’ve been nuts for years, Mal.” He smirked bemusedly.

I sniggered. The citalopram and propranolol in my backpack would definitely agree with him there. “Yeah, but, like, more than normal.”

“Nah, man, he looks like that guy who used to babysit you. Your dad’s friend.” I was confused.

“Who?”

“I dunno, he watched you when your parents were at work or away or whatever. I saw him pick you up from school a few times.”

I drew a blank. “When?”

“Man, I don’t know. Like, year 4? Year 5? I just remember I thought he’d look like Snape if he grew his hair out.” He laughed to himself.

“Boys!” The new teacher was suddenly stood right in front of our desk.

“Yes, sir?” Georgie turned on his most charming smile.

“If you want to gossip liked middle-aged women, do it OUTSIDE of my classroom, understood?” We both nodded- clearly, he was going to be almost as bad as Morrigan, and we didn’t even know his name yet. “What are your two’s names?” He looked down his nose sternly at us.

“Georgie Smith, sir.”

“Mallory Hawthorne, sir.” I mumbled. I didn’t have the charisma nor, to be honest, the desire, to charm teachers the way that seemed to come naturally to Georgie.

“Right. Smith, Hawthorne, if I hear either of you speak again this lesson then you will both be spending your lunch break in detention with me. I could not care less about whether or not you listen, but I do not accept disruptions, understood?”

“Yes sir.” We replied as one, Georgie lively as always, me sullen.

“Good.” He turned to walk back towards his desk, addressing the class. “Now, as I was saying, my name is Mr Cresswell and I will be your biology teacher for the next year.” I started to tune him out, dropping my head back onto my desk and spending the rest of the lesson spacing out.

As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of class, Georgie was darting out of his seat and dragging me up by my arm. I groggily stood and allowed myself to be led out of the classroom and towards the gym. I groaned, realizing that it was PE next- I hated PE, because I was useless at anything physical and the teacher never let us get away with slacking off. Most of our teachers didn’t really care, but we’d been stuck with Mrs Swiftley since year 7 and we knew very well by now that she would not accept slackers.

“Leave me here to die, Georgie.” I crumpled to the floor, groaning again.

“You’re so bloody dramatic. Its just PE.” He rolled his eyes.

“Easy for you to say, you like sport… and moving…. And being alive.” I sprawled out on the now empty corridor as the bell rang, signalling the start of class.

“Get up, dipshit. You’re going to make us late, and I don’t want to have a detention on the first day back again.”

“I can’t go, I’m dead.” I murmured, my face pressed against the cool tile- surely school tiles shouldn’t be so comfortable, right?

“Mal, if you don’t get your arse up right now, I’ll call your mum.”

“Georgie, you are the worst best friend in the world.” I heaved myself up and made my way towards the boys’ bathroom; I always changed there instead of in the locker room. I’d not changed in front of anyone since I was about 8 years old, and just the thought made my skin crawl. I tried to push the door open, but it was locked. Why was it locked?

“Georgie, the bathroom’s locked, I can’t get changed.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice but I doubt I was successful.

“Look, everyone’s gonna already be in the gym by now, just get changed in the locker room.” His face was painted with a look of pure exasperation.

“You change then go out and I’ll get changed once its free.” I walked into the locker room and sat heavily on one of the corner benches.

“Mate, we’re already 20 minutes behind, you just change there and I’ll change on the other side of the room with my back to you. Just hurry UP!” I could see that Georgie was getting irritated, so I just nodded.

“Sure, whatever.” I took a deep breath and turned around, starting to undress in the presence of another person for the first time in nearly 7 years.

 I was mostly changed, just about to pull on my t-shirt, when Georgie gasped. I turned quickly to see him staring at me. “Georgie, what the fuck?!”

“Sorry, I just turned to see if you were ready; where did you get that scar?” his eyes were wide.

“What?” my anger was replaced by confusion.

“The one on your back?”

“I don’t have a scar on my back, Georgie. Look, fine, I’m not pissed off with you, lets just go.” Georgie looked like he wanted to say more, but he seemed to think better of it at the last minute, just nodding and turning away.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully; the most exciting thing to happen was the fact that I managed to actually fall asleep during lunch, leaned against Georgie’s shoulder.

That is, until I got home.

 “Mal, your Uncle Artie is coming to visit! He’s finally back in town, so he’ll be coming over for dinner tonight.” My dad greeted me as soon as I walked in the door.

I stared at him blankly. “Who?” I didn’t have an Uncle called Artie. There was Mum’s brother Jamie, and dad’s sisters Lorna and Sue, and Lorna’s husband Darren, but definitely no Artie.

“Artie! You remember Artie, he used to look after you when your mum and me were out.” He must have noticed my complete lack of comprehension, because he just huffed. “You’ll recognise him when you see him. He’ll be here at 6, alright?” I nodded and headed up to my room to shower and change. I smelled from PE and my uniform was starting to itch.

I was undressing in the bathroom when I suddenly remembered what Georgie said about a scar this morning. I rolled my eyes and leaned up on my tip-toes until my torso was in view of the mirror, turning awkwardly to try and see if there was anything. I was certainly surprised to see a large patch of skin down my spine that looked slightly discoloured- the texture looked to be the same as the rest of my back, but there were pinkish-brown spots that stood out starkly against my pale skin. It looked like a well-healed burn scar, but I had absolutely no clue where it had come from. Shaking my head, I pushed the thought aside, turning my shower on and stepping in.

 By the time 6pm came about, I had showered and changed into sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeve, and spent some time laid on my bed scrolling through the barrage of messages Georgie had sent; he sent at least 100 nonsensical messages about whatever his interest was that week every single day, and although I complained to him that he was clingy and irritating, I rather liked them.

“Mal! Uncle Artie’s here!” My mum called up the stairs. I dragged myself off my bed lethargically, pulling my duvet around me like a cape as I made my way downstairs.

When I reached the living room, however, I froze. There was a man sitting across from my parents- a tall, thin man, with pallid skin and dark brown hair with a healthy smattering of grey. He was laughing with my dad about something, but as he looked up and his dark eyes fell on me, my breath caught in my throat. The scent of cheap whiskey invaded my nostrils, even though I knew, logically, that there was no whiskey in the house- the smell made me nauseous so my parents didn’t buy it in.

I felt my chest heave, half a gag and half a gasp for breath as my vision clouded black and I began trembling. I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how hard I tried, and the last thing I saw before succumbing to darkness was my mum hurrying over to me, worried.

 My head felt jumbled. Brief memories of whiskey breath on my face, Artie’s cold voice telling me that I was pathetic. That I was worthless. That I was a mistake. The memories flashed too quickly to comprehend fully, but I got enough. Artie slamming my arm closed in the bedroom door, not quite hard enough to break it. Boiling water pouring down my back. Threats of having my tongue removed from my skull if I spoke a word to my parents. Even in the darkness I felt dizzy, thankful as the recollections slowed; not speaking for 8 months after one threat. Pretending it never happened, that everything was okay, that “Uncle Artie” was just as nice to me as he was to my parents.

 When the memories stopped and my eyes opened, it was to the sight of both of my parents leaning over me, my father with an anxiety pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Mal, Mal, are you okay?” My eyes stung. I tried to open my mouth, to ask them to get him OUT, but my tongue felt heavy, swollen. I lifted my shaky hands and tried to sign to them, panicking, desperately clinging to the vague memories of signing I had.

‘That man hurt me, get him out.’ My mother’s eyes blew wide and filled with tears, whilst my father just dropped everything he was holding, turning and snarling at the man before lunging at him, dragging him out of our house and turning to call the police, whilst my mother held me close.

“What did he do?”

I pulled back to free my shaky hands. ‘Burn. Hit. Mean. Threat. Bad.’ I could barely force my hands to cooperate, let alone form full sentences.

“Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we never noticed. I’m so sorry.” She practically sobbed into his shoulder, clutching him close until the police arrived.

[meshtams]

Hades’ reply to Demeter- a response to Rita Dove

This alone is what I wish for you: acceptance.

I understand my desire has an edge,

That the lives I change become mine to care for,

But I’m not sure you know the same.

The cost of Persephone’s love

Is one I will pay

Gladly, as she stands right by my side.

I see your bitterness,

And your painful grief,

But know this:

I am not the cause – her choices are her own.

Our gardens bloom whilst you leave yours to die.

Our fates are our own to nurture.

I believe in me,

But moreso – I believe in us.

[meshtams]

All Wrong

The little girl sat on her chair- wearing sweatpants, not trousers, because trousers were all wrong.

“I’ve washed your favourite hat!” Her mother said, handing it over- it was brown and made to look like a squirrel. Her mother was smiling. How could she smile at a time like this?

The little girl’s little face screwed up tight.

Her mother wanted to know what was wrong, but the girl just cried. How could she be expected to touch a hat that had been washed?

The yarn had changed its texture in the washing machine. Scratchy scratchy bad. It smelled funny too.

The little girl never touched the hat again. Couldn’t ever touch it again. It was all wrong.

 Beans can’t touch the toast!

The little girl couldn’t eat the beans nor toast once they touched- crumbs in beans and soggy toast were all wrong. It’s beans and toast for years and years and years.

“Yes, I know, no wet food touching dry food.” The little girl’s grandmother was sweet- she had short blonde hair and her favourite colour was green, which then became the little girl’s too when she grew up.

Years pass and the little girl still gets all her food served in separate little dishes so nothing touches, because wet touching dry was all wrong.

 When the little girl hit secondary school, she was expected to cook in class, but how could she cook with recipes like this?! They’re all wrong.

Her mother cut up her onions the night before, because she knew the little girl couldn’t do it herself.

“Can you throw them out for me please?” The little girl’s friend smiled and threw the bag of onions into the bin the next morning- the little girl couldn’t even stand to touch the bag. At least her friend understood.

The food still smelled like onions, just from being in the same container as the bag- the little girl couldn’t eat any of the food- even just the proximity of the onions was all wrong.

 The little girl’s best friend punched her right arm- the little girl almost screamed even though the punch wasn’t even hard enough to redden- it was still all wrong.

The little girl slammed the heavy metal keychain in her hand so hard into her other arm she had bruises for weeks, but it wasn’t all wrong anymore, at least.

The bruises were so hard she felt purple- her left arm was stiff and wouldn’t listen for days.

But at least it wasn’t all wrong.

Left, left, left.

She made sure everyone knew to only touch her on the left.

But people still messed up- even a decade later, even her brother still messed up.

But she could still even it, until it wasn’t all wrong anymore.

 When the little girl was told she might be autistic,

It felt right.

ASD.

That was all right, right, right.

No.

It was all left, left, left- she laughs at this.

[meshtams]

A love letter from the Sun to the Moon

My darling Moon,

Your beauty shines through the darkened sky; I see you.

Your face is radiant- my wonderful wife. I cannot wait until the next eclipse-

Eighteen months is too long to go without kissing you, my love.

I chase you around the earth all year,

And I consider myself lucky to gaze upon your celestial glow.

My rays reach out and beg to touch you,

I adore you.

I dream of the day we meet again,

And everyone will watch us, for your beauty is astounding.

I cannot wait to have your body cover mine once again,

Allow my light to shine only on you

And our beings to entwine until we must again divide.

-          Your faithful Sun.

[meshtams]

Red

The snow was falling heavily outside of Baundry’s Bakery, laying in thick sheets on the roofs and ground, and spreading a winter chill that could be felt even inside the businesses on the lane in spite of the roaring fires invariably lit in each crooked building.

“Red! Get down here, girl!” Mr Baundry called up the stairs. He would never be a warm or even particularly kind man, but he had taken Red in after her parents were mauled by a sleek black wolf when she was twelve without expecting anything more than for her to work as a delivery girl, and Red would be forever thankful to him for keeping her from having to move in with her grandmother. After all, the slightly cold attitude from him was drastically preferable to how her grandmother or parents had ever treated her.

“Coming, sir!” Red called before appearing at the top of the stairs, tying her cloak around her throat and shaking her auburn hair out of her face.

“Today we have another delivery of cream pastries for your Grandmother, and then you’ll have to come back for a big order for the Boothes.” Red’s shoulders slumped and she barely suppressed a groan; she hated visiting her grandmother.

“Yes, sir.” She dropped her head and reached out for the wicker basket Mr Baundry had prepared.

“Don’t dawdle, and don’t stray off the path.” Having heard this almost every day since moving in with Mr Baundry nearly three years ago, she simply nodded and headed for the door, gritting her teeth against the cold and dreading getting to her grandmother’s house.

Ever since Red could remember, her grandmother seemed to have made it her mission to make her as miserable as possible. From sly comments on her appearance to all out verbal abuse, Red’s grandmother made it very clear that Red was unwanted and unloved, as if her parents hadn’t done a good enough job of that before they died.

The path to her grandmother’s house was little more than a dirt road through the forest, and the snow made it almost imperceptible, but Red had been walking the same route her entire life, and she was fairly certain she could walk it with her eyes closed at this point. What she couldn’t do with her eyes closed, however, was keeping an eye on the new wolf that had been stalking her through the forest for the past six months. The wolf was matted and grey, with sharp yellowed teeth and large, dark eyes which were definitely more human than wolf. The first two times Red had seen the wolf, she had written it off as a coincidence, but after the third time, she was sure it must be following her. That was when she started to really pay attention to the wolf’s eyes, and to the way he seemed to act more like a human on four legs than one would expect a wolf to behave. Upon her realisation, she came up with a plan.

The wolf clearly wanted something from her. Most likely, he wanted to either bed or kill her, possibly both. Now, Red was a smart girl, definitely smarter than most gave her credit for, and instead of seeing the wolf as a threat, she saw him as an opportunity. Specifically, she saw him as an opportunity for her to get rid of her horrible grandmother. So, over the next few months, she began to work on subtly planting ideas into his head, muttering to herself as she walked about her hatred of her grandmother and how she wished for a way away from her in a way that he would never notice was intentional. After a few months, she was absolutely positive that the wolf not only had a plan to kill her grandmother, but thought it was entirely his own idea based on his sneakiness and cleverness, and then she just had to wait for him to strike.

Red couldn’t say she had expected today to be the day, but when the wolf took off half way to her grandmother’s house, breaking his usual pattern, she grinned and prepared herself.

When she reached the house, she knocked twice and pushed open the door as always, so that the wolf who had watched her so intently wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. As she stepped in, she feigned a gasp and dropped her basket, pushing down the urge to giggle at the grisly scene she was met with. Blood was all over the sitting room interspersed with discarded bones and gristle, and in the centre stood a tall, nude man holding her grandmother’s severed head by her curly white hair. The man was repulsive, his greying hair lank and greasy and his manically-grinning mouth open to expose teeth that seemed even more yellow in a human face.

“Hello, Red. Do you like your gift?” His voice was gravelly with disuse.

“You… did this for me?” She looked up at him through her thick lashes, pointing her toes towards one another and clasping her hands behind her back in a show of submission.

“Yes, Red. Do you like it?”

“I- I don’t know however I could repay you!” She pulled the tie of her cloak in what she knew would come off as a nervous action and let it drop to the floor of the hallway. His wild eyes grew hungry and she had to stop herself from smirking. “Is there anything you want, sir?”

The man dropped the head in his hand and stalked towards her in a predatory manner. “Why don’t you take off your blouse and pay me back that way?” He practically growled, and she let her lips quirk slightly, knowing that he would see it as agreement instead of amusement at how easily he was playing into her hands. She reached up and slowly unbuttoned her white blouse from the top before dropping it to rest on top of her cloak, following it quickly with her skirt and underwear and then stepping towards him. She stopped directly in front of him and looked up, smirking.

“Did you really think that would work? See, she promised me I’d never be weak again, and she was right.” She laughed, and her bones began to snap and lengthen, her previously creamy-pale skin sprouting red fur.

“Wh-” He was too surprised to shift in time, as her pearly-white canines sank themselves into his throat. She made quick work of the man, crunching through his bones and leaving behind no waste nor further mess; she was a drastically more efficient killer than he clearly was, and besides, she didn’t want anyone finding any evidence. Once she was done, she let the shift wash over her and checked over herself, licking off any stray blood before dressing once more. Once her clothes were back in their usual pristine order, she rubbed her eyes and forced out a few tears before screaming as loud as she could and hoping that someone would hear. As it happened, luck was on her side, and the father of the family who lived closest to her grandmother was close enough to hear her shriek.

“Red? Is that you? Are you okay?”

“S-sir! M-My grandmother!” She squeezed out a few more tears as she looked back at him.

“What about your grandmother?” He reached out and clasped her shoulder. “What’s happened?”

“She-she’s dead! I don’t-” She choked off in a sob.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, Red, that must have been quite a shock. Come on, we can call the police from my house.” His face was sympathetic and kind.

“T-thank you sir.” She smiled slightly through her tears.

When the police arrived, they questioned Red only briefly before they wrote her grandmother’s death off as a simple animal attack and had someone collect the remains ready for her funeral the following morning. After the police told her she was free to go, she headed back to the bakery, where Mr Baundry had already been informed.

“Red. Are you okay?” His voice was stiff but she smiled weakly at the uncharacteristic show of concern, knowing that it simply wouldn’t do to be seen grinning as she wanted to.

“Yes, sir. Thank you. Now that grandmother is dead though….” She pretended to choke up. “I- I think I’ll leave after the funeral. I would like a chance to strike out on my own now that I have no real family left.” She let her head droop.

“Of course, Red. I understand. Will you leave straight after the funeral?”

“Yes, I think that would be best.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Red.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

The next morning, Red dressed in all black and packed up all of her clothes and the money she had saved and headed down to the funeral parlour ready for the service. During the service she stood right at the back, as almost everyone from the village crowded in, and kept her head down to hide the smile she couldn’t quite dispel.

“Hey, Red. I’m proud of you.” A warm arm wrapped around her shoulder, and her smile softened. “I knew you had it in you to get rid of her. We’re both free now.” She could hear the grin in the woman’s voice and she looked up at her.

Jaynie’s black hair flowed down around her face like a shiny curtain, not quite covering up the deep scar running from one temple to under the opposite ear, nor the slightly wolfish grin. “We are. Whatever shall we do?” Red quirked a brow and smirked.

“Whatever we want, darling.” She pressed a kiss to Red’s lips once she was sure no one had noticed them.

The snow was falling much more lightly over the forest over 300 miles from Baundry’s Bakery, as pretty flakes caught in the heavy coats of the red and black wolves curled up around the roaring fire, they had lit a few hours before.

[meshtams]

when your best friend's kiss makes your heart race faster than his ever did,

don't think.

when you catch yourself looking at pretty girls in the street,

don't think.

when you make eye contact with the female barista and feel a flutter in your chest,

don't think.

when you dream of petal-soft mouths and feminine curves,

don't think.

when he touches you and you feel nothing beyond the physical,

don't think.

when you touch him and you hate it,

don't think.

it means nothing.

you're young,

you're inexperienced,

you just don't know how you feel,

don't think.

when years pass and you kiss no one,

think.

when you choose your crushes, pick unattainable men without the desire to date them,

think.

when you hate the idea of sex with men,

think.

when your fantasies focus on faceless women and ignore the men you place there,

think.

when the girl at the bookstore smiles at you and your stomach fills with butterflies,

think.

let yourself think about everything,

let yourself be washed away by the crashing waves of thoughts you hid for years,

hold it in and let it out,

and let yourself think.

when the pretty girl in your class smiles at you,

feel.

when she asks you out for coffee,

feel.

when she kisses you softly,

feel.

when you can't stop grinning all day,

feel.

when you fall in love for the first time ever,

feel.

[meshtams]

grey skies swirl with rain-heavy clouds

pressing down on me

waves crash hard against the rocky beach

throwing me back

the ice wind cuts my skin with bitter precision

leaving me shivering alone

I sink into the stones

wrapped in too-large clothes on a too-cold day

and I lose myself in the biting storm around me

and the swirling hurricane inside

[meshtams]

she pressed kisses to my skin

lighter than the air I breathe

her lips petal-soft against my blushing cheek

I felt every nerve wake up at once

my chest aching with the tenderness of it

my whole body melted into water

dripping softness I had never felt before

my heart thrummed a rhythm filled with adoration

her gentle touches pulled me off of this earth

and into the atmosphere

where I could understand much easier

why she would touch me

as lovingly as that

I couldn't catch my breath

when she kissed me

with her lightly-bitten lips on mine

the world, it spun like a wooden top

gold energy wrapped around me

as my arms wrapped around her

and we disappeared into one another's embrace

[meshtams]

we wanted to be cool

but wonky winged liner and cans of cheap cider

didn't make us any cooler

it just made us sad, and made sure the tears left tracks

we wanted to be interesting

but Tumblr blogs and cigarette smoke

didn't make us any more intestesting

it just left us cold and broken

we wanted to be pretty

but green tea and hidden cuts

are not the measures of beauty we convinced ourselves they were

because empty stomachs and blood stained shirtsleeves are measures of pain instead

we wanted to be happy

but late nights and razorblades and empty coffee cups

were the furthest from happiness we could get

we wanted to be everything

but destroyed ourselves until we had to pick through our rubble and glue our shards back together just to be anything

[meshtams]

we were children

self destructing side by side

red lines on arms

and diet coke on lips

we held each other close

side by side

messy hair falling in our faces

and tear-damp cheeks

covered with makeup

that let us feel stronger

we were children

tired and soft and hurting

hand in hand

as the school bell rang

and we put on our masks

to brave the outside world

blazer sleeves always pulled down

over

shirt sleeves stained red

over

arms too damaged for a child

fifteen is too young

to drink green tea

and pretend it's dinner

we were children

wrapping ourselves up

in too much eyeliner

and doc martens

and dyed hair

to protect ourselves

and to hide ourselves away

high grades and high heads

as we sipped on cheap cider

and cheap vodka

to burn out the darkness

in our chests

we were children

who's hearts pounded

with anxious thoughts

and

who's chests were hollowed out

and replaced with darkness

we were children

[meshtams]

a reply to i hate that youre happy by tiny little houses, and yes i changed the pronouns to she/her cause fuck you im gay

youre sorry, i know that you hurt me

but you never kissed me enough

you have all this trouble unraveling sometimes,

those feelings that you had locked up

but you know that its your misfortune

cause you didnt hold tight enough

well, i know that you struggled to stay whole

while you drowned in your own bitter blood

but i love when im with her,

and i love that i smile

and i love that for once i dont feel like im crying

and i love that i kiss her

cause i love that im whole

and most of all i love that im happier in my soul

ill stay awake again ‘cause im feeling

the warmth of her right by my side

while i know you are laid in those cold, empty sheets

huddled and clutching your sides

but you know that its your misfortune

yes, darling, i know that you do

but youve got your problems, and god, ive got mine

i miss you, but im glad we’re through

but i love when im with her,

and i love that i smile

and i love that for once i dont feel like im crying

and i love that i kiss her

cause i love that im whole

and most of all i love that im happier in my soul

and i love when im with her

and at night we’re entwined

and for once its the truth when i say that im fine

and i hate that i miss you, but id miss her more

and i swear to you, dear, that im happier than before 

[meshtams]

melancholic whispers hold me softly

ghosts of sadness wrapping smoke tendrils around my body

and I thank it

I have been an empty room in an empty house in an empty town for as long as I can remember

my misery has been biting and painful and hollow as my head pounded with everything and nothing

and now I sit

these threads of dreamy gloom wind their ways around my arms

my legs

my chest

but they let me breathe

silver slices stay silver

stay hidden and faded

stay closed and buried under black ink and soft against skin so pale they blend with ease

and my hands no longer itch for the silver pen to scratch them open again

I had forgotten how sweet the darkness could be

with songs of sorrow singing around me

and my chest rising and falling evenly

the bitterness of a vacant soul has departed

the void filled with the chill of sadness and the warmth of feeling at all

suffocating urgency no longer ties me to my bed

my body instead lays itself with tranquility and tenderness, and accepts the wisps of gentle sorrow that wash over my enervated shell

there is a softness in the darkness around me that sets it apart from the harsh chasm that took root in my heart

and I thank it gently as it's light tones sing me a miserable lullaby

and the sunshine feeling of feeling itself rests its head on my shoulder

as the biting knives of sadness are kept at bay