Death Knell

Slipslip sliding
mad eyes writhing,
the Gorgons' dark breath
foretelling her death,
down the slope she goes
where to, no one knows.

"The Earth, she's hard",
so sang the bard
who kenned well what he said.
The dying soul has fled
into the deeps of hell
called by the pealing knell.

Flight

I'm tempted to run again. Just barely holding myself together. I can feel the panic building, the familiar tension. It's a flight reaction because I can't remember how to fight. He tells me it'll be alright, and I nod and smile, but I think even he can see I'm not convinced - not entirely.

It's early this time. I promise not to think about it, to just let it go, but inside, my thoughts are churning. Why, I wonder, do I yearn to be held back, kept safe, steady; despite fighting it all the while? I used to think that maybe it was the person I was with who couldn't hold me. Now I know better - the one to tame the beast must be me.

But do I even want to? What am I searching for? How will I know?

Treading Water

Standing right at the edge, she watches the waves lap over her feet. It's a cloudy, overcast day, and there's no sign of the sun. The sound of the waves envelops her, holding her close. She can hear shouts, but they're faraway, everyday things, meant to be ignored. Entranced, she steps closer, and sits on the sand, ignoring the water licking at her clothes.

It feels like coming home. She smiles, content in herself.

Dancing on a tightrope

Pushed and pulled by conflicting loyalties, she wonders where this is all going to end.

The choices stretch ahead of her - thin, uncompromising wires - and she takes the first step. She's hesitant, trembling as she leaves the safety of the platform. There is no a safety net, and a mis-step could send her crashing towards - what, exactly?

She's afraid, but this is no time for fear. She forces her body to relax, willing each muscle to yield. It's a progressive softening, an adaptation to her environment. She frees her mind, allowing it to think about anything rather than where she is and what she's doing. She's prepared. She can do this. It's been done before.

She takes a step.

Into emptiness.

Life.

This is where I'd usually write a long, tearful post about how everything sucks and it's all my fault and shit. But to be honest, I'm sick of feeling that way. Life's messy and you don't get it right all the time. Sometimes the choices you make affect other people. And there are always consequences.

But you live through it. I always have. Sometimes with a bit more drama and a lot less will to live. The point is, though, that it always ends. It may come back to haunt you later, but dragging yourself through the mud until then is unlikely to help.

I'm moving on. Maybe I made the wrong choices, but there's f###-all I can do about it now.

I hope we stay friends. Or become friends, considering the current state of things. It sounds stupid to me when I say he means a lot to me, but he does. He's still the most amazing person I know. Strange, huh?

Laughter II

Continued from here...

She fell back on the floor, writhing in pain. They just watched, unaffected.

They'd all known she'd try to escape, just as she'd known that they would stop her - that it'd never work. But she'd had to try.

He walked in through a door behind her and she curled up into a ball. She could still sense him when he walked into the room - a combination of that hint of oh-so-sexy perfume and sheer presence. She tensed against that familiar feeling of need. Summoning up all the hate she could find, she stayed where she was, not caring that the grime from the floor was getting in her thick hair, and matted into her white dress.

They vanished into the shadows of the dimly-lit room as he strode up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. She sensed movement, tension in the shadows. They were waiting for her to make once false move.

He knelt beside her. "You're not one of them, you know." His voice was kind, not a hint of the detachment with which he'd killed her family showing.

She wondered if keeping quiet would be the better option. Ignoring him, pretending he didn't exist.

But she answered anyway. "You murdered them. They were all I had and you slaughtered them, like animals...." Her voice trailed off, not strong enough for the effort it took to keep it from breaking.

His jaw flexed. She could almost see the anger flashing in his eyes, though her back was still to him. "They are animals! Them and all their kind! Alex, they kill innocent people! They've gotten to you so you don't see it. Don't you realise you would've been next when they got tired of their cute young human plaything? Dammit, Alex, I love you! I would do anything for you."

The words cut her to her heart. Once, she'd believed. Once - it seemed a very long time ago - she'd thought that she'd love this man until the day she died, and that he felt the same.

Staying True

What is truth, anyway?

Is it in anything I say?

I swear I'll never lie -

That I'd rather die

It's so easy to believe

Even as I deceive.

Truth is a dream -

the clippetty-clip-clop

of the high heels

of a woman on the hop.

Prick-prick-pricking,

stabbing the stone

though she's walking alone

Truth is a lie

until you die.

It's all in your head,

the black and the red,

debits and credits -

nothing truly fits.

Meaningless words for the most part, but they fill my head. And it makes sense to me, somewhere, deep down inside where I'm trying to stay true to who I really am. I change so much and so often that I can barely find that truth now. You'd think that basic principles wouldn't change. Like love being sacred. Or always being truthful, no matter what the cost. Don't cheat, don't lie, don't steal. Those are basic. They don't change. Or do they? I can't tell anymore.

It's so easy to slip a little. Relax one little rule, because, really, who does it hurt? Just this time, right? We won't do it again. And the next time, it comes just that much easier. Is crime a habit? I believe it could be. You never hurt the ones you love. Or do you hurt them the most? I don't know.

We all try, we shoot for the stars, aiming for the impossible in search of the God in whose image we were created. Did God expect us to be perfect when he created us, or dependent on his love to save us from the way he made us? How fair is that anyway? To create humans with hopes and dreams, with a conscience - to design them to want to be good - no, that should be Good, with a G - and then say OK, you're not perfect, I'll forgive you if you make mistakes, you're just human. It's like saying "You have to want to be the best, but really, if you're not, it's just because I made you that way, don't worry about it - but try anyway."

Is the choice between good and evil just sport for unseen beings, or really the daily struggle to save the world that it seems to us? Is there any point to it at all?