Far From Never

"All the things you said made it harder to breathe. When I was lying on the floor, I couldn't believe you wouldn't save me. But you blame me. You cried. The fire just died -- it's gone forever. And the chance to live our lives? It's gone forever. And where we stand tonight, it's where we stand tonight. So far from never."

Ah, the angst of a good rock song. Just pulls the heartstrings, doesn't it? These lines are taken from a song called "Far From Never" by The Pretty Reckless. Don't judge -- they're quite good.

Crawl

“Why do you come here when you know they’re all gone?”

I always know she’ll be here. Even though I spend half my life running from her, half my life is spent trying to find her. And despite all the destruction she has wrought, I can’t bring her down. To kill her would mean becoming like her. And I am not her. I am not.

“I come here because you are here,” I say honestly. There is no use lying to her. She will know.

She comes softly to my side, and takes my hand. “How you stiffen at my touch,” she says. “I remember a time when you wouldn’t recoil from me.”

“That was a long time ago,” I say, taking my hand from her. I turn around to face her, but she’s already gone.

“I have a gift for you,” she says from the shadows. I hear a wet thump against the floor before that sweet smell pervades my senses. I take an involuntary step forward, but immediately step back once I hear her tinkling laughter. It’s weaker than the last time I heard her laugh.

“You’re dying,” I say, and once I do, I know it’s true.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, coming out from the darkened corner. There is blood and dirt on her face and dress, but the wicked smile is still there. She licks her fingers, and is suddenly beside me again. She strokes my face.

“I won’t die,” she says. “You won’t let me.”

I grimace because I know it’s true. I won’t let her die. Not even after I found her hunched over our parents’ bodies could I kill her. And I could have. She was weak and hungry. It would have been easy. It would have been so easy. But I couldn’t, and I can’t.

“Who is that?” I say, pointing to the body dying in front of me. That sweetness…I try not to breathe it in. I try not to give in to her.

“Oh,” she says, laughing. She sits beside the body, and takes his hand. “He was so sweet, so kind. He reminded me of you.” She looks at me, and for a second, she looks how she looked so many years ago. But then her smile becomes wicked again, and I remember who she is now is not who she was—will never be who she was. “That’s why I brought him here. He’s a present for you.”

I take more steps back. “I don’t want him,” I say.

She stands up with grace no human possesses. “I brought you a gift and this is how you show your gratitude?” She takes a few steps forward. “This is how you repay my charity?”

I see her pupils dilating and watch how her walk becomes more feline. She walks in a circle around me and I can feel her eyes wanting to shred my soul.

“Are you going to kill me?” I say.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she says. “What good are you to me, dear sister? What good are you ever to me? You and your righteousness always abandoning me only to come right back to me. Back to where it all started, where it always starts. You can’t escape me, and you don’t want to.”

“I should kill you,” I say. I feel anger build within me, feeding this parasite throbbing within me. I feel adrenaline pumping through my veins, my senses burning furiously.

“Should you?” She laughs. “You won’t kill me. You didn’t then, and you won’t now. We both know why I’m like this.” Her face darkens. “It was you, you did this.”

I clenched my fists. “I am the cause for what you are, but not what you’ve done. All those people you’ve killed… That was you. I did not make you kill them. I did not make you enjoy killing them. But you did. You enjoyed draining the life from all of them. And you won’t stop.”

She smiles. “You’re right. I won’t stop,” she says. With one swift movement, she picks up the man as if he was a doll and bares her teeth. She glances impishly at me first before she unhinges her jaw and rips out his throat, swallowing it whole. Blood rushes and splashes from the hole in his neck like an unholy waterfall.

“You know you want some,” she says, her mouth twisting into a bloodied grin. “You can’t resist him forever. You know you’ll give in.” She closes her eyes and breathes in. She snaps her eyes open and looks at me. “You’re hungry. I can feel it.”

“I can resist,” I say though I don’t believe it. “I’m no monster.”

Her grin widens. “Whatever helps you sleep during the day,” she says, and laughs.

Howl

"If you could only see the beast you've made of me. I held it in, but now it seems you've set it running free. The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hollow ground."

So one of my favorite bands of all time has to be Florence + the Machine. The lyrical and musical qualities of their albums are just breathtaking and I'm a fan of almost all their songs. These lines come from a song called "Howl."


I know what it means to me, but what does it mean to you? Write about it.

My Fire Work

When it first happened, I was only four. I was so young that, at the time, it was beautiful and fascinating and entertaining. Best of all, it was all mine. I found that I could create it whenever I wanted. I never told anyone about it because I feared they would take it away from me somehow.


But this was a gift no one could take away from me. So it turned into a curse.


I knew that my talents would eventually be found out. I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep it as my secret. Even if I had kept my mouth sealed tight, someone would have known.


Though, in retrospect, I really shouldn't have said anything at all. Even if they were going to find out. Maybe I could have hid away longer. But you can't change most things in life. Especially the past. You can't change the past.


"We said you had two hours." Her voice was so irritating. It was like nails on a chalkboard mixed with the screeching cries of starving infants. Sometimes, it just sounded like the crying infants.


"I know you heard me," she said in my ear. Then she kicked my chair. It was always violence and threats and spitting with her. She was so predictable. Everyone here was just so predictable.


"You're so lucky we have a need for you," she spit. I wiped it off the back of my neck and brushed my hand off on my jeans. They make me think of her even though I try not to. And I try really hard not to.


"Could you imagine what your life would be like if we hadn't found you?" she said.


"Yes," I said, speaking for the first time in days. "I can imagine what life would be like." My words were labored and my mouth was dry, but it felt good to say something. I'm never alone because of my gift. But when there is my gift, there are no people, and so no one to speak to. No one to tell anything to.


Do you know what that's like? To have all these friends and all this warmth surrounding you, but no one to talk to? No one to regard you as a living, breathing person? It drives some people mad, I hear. It drove many like me mad. I heard their screams the other day. Their piercing, loud, crazy screams. I think they swallowed themselves in it. In their gifts. One day they were there. Then they were gone. I think they surrendered because it's really too much. It's too much to handle for one person. The loneliness, the secrecy, the shame. It wasn't my fault for telling her. For wanting someone to share this burden with. She didn't have to do anything. All she had to do was listen. That's all she had to do. Why couldn't she do that for me? Why not?


"Boss, guys, guys, he's doing it! He's doing it now!"


I spoke to a few people about our gift. The older ones said it was linked to our emotions. That our craft would take the form of whatever we were feeling at the moment. Usually, under great stress, our gift could manifest into something dangerous. I could feel it now, feel what they feared happening right now. Every muscle in my body was tense. I felt like stone and jelly at the same time. And there was so much pressure. Just...so much pressure everywhere. At all sides. Surrounding me. I felt like I was going to suffocate under it all.


But then...I popped. All the pent up energy and fury and emotions just tumbled out of me. They just spilled. When I could open my eyes, I knew why no one could speak. What I had created was my worst and best yet.


People like me, we call them fire works. There aren't the fireworks that shoot up into the sky and explode. What we create are beings that explode within us. It's in that explosion that allows them to manifest. And when they do, when they're born, we bring them out of us. In essence, they are extensions of our souls, of our deepest desires. They are part of us, but just barely. Once they're out, they are their own.


My fire work was beautiful.


And so unpredictable.

Fire Work

"Maybe your reason why all the doors are closed so you could open one that leads you to the perfect road. Like a lightning bolt, your heart will glow, and when it's time...you'll know."

This is a little tidbit from Katy Perry's song, "Firework." Maybe it's because I've had the song on repeat for an hour now or maybe it's because I've just burned my tongue, but either way, I was just wondering what it would mean to be a firework. Or fire work. Or be able to do fire work.


That might sound weird right off the bat, but that's what I want this blog to be. I want this to be a creative forum for anyone who has comments or concerns or criticisms or curiosity. I haven't thought of a system yet of how these posts will go, but that's part of the fun, I think. I want this to be a stream of consciousness that's unbounded and open. I think openness is key.


So stay tuned for one of my musings about what I think a firework could be. Perhaps it'll be a spark for your own firework...