my creative outlet

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[creativepieces]

Do Not Step on The Dead; part 3

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” A deep voice says. That voice… I never thought I’d hear it again. I spin around and almost trip over a lump of grass. There he is, with a halo of fading sunlight around him.

           “Archer?” The name leaves my lips before I can stop it and a lopsided smirk grazes his lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against a tall gravestone with an angel propped on top, hands clasped in a praying position and empty eyes, seeing nothing, but seeming to see all at the same time.

           “In the flesh,” he says and meets my gaze. “Well… Almost.” He tilts his head to one side and studies me. Shock overtakes me and I can’t find the words to say. Tears well up in my eyes, and the relief of seeing him standing in front of me is overwhelming. It’s been years, but there he is. Alive.

           “I never thought I’d see you again,” I breathe out, not sure whether he heard me or not. He pushes himself away from the praying angel and walks slowly over to me. He stops once he’s just a few inches away from me, and I feel our breaths intertwine in the air between us.

           “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He doesn’t touch me, but he might as well have. The air is charged with old feelings that never went away, and I feel another shiver run down my spine. I look up into his golden eyes, the same shade as the sky when the sun rises over a deep turquoise ocean. “And you’re here, with me.” He leans in closer to me, our lips almost touching. “Forever.”

 Everything goes quiet. No sounds. Just eerie silence filling my ears, my head. I can just see his eyes looking into mine, and then everything else goes dark. Just black and gold. Then nothing at all.

<- Part 2

<- Part 1

[creativepieces]

Do Not Step on The Dead; part 2

I can hear the sounds of the forest echo around me, lurking between the trees, watching. A deer startles when it hears me approach and scrambles into the undergrowth and out of sight. A flock of birds takes off from a nearby canopy when they hear the deer run off, and the forest is left in a deadly silence. A wind rustles through the leaves and it almost sounds as if someone is whispering to me. ‘Don’t answer,’ I think to myself and walk on through the bushes. ‘Do not answer.’

 The stone wall surrounding the cemetery rises out of the ground, tall and looming, out of nowhere. No one comes out here anymore. The graveyard is hidden away between thickets of trees, forgotten along with the occupants still buried here. A faded memory. I walk through the rusted iron gates, and they creak in protest. A high-pitched sound that pierces through the silence like a shrill scream. Out of place. Disturbing. It sends a chill down my spine, and I shiver.

 Once inside the gate, I look around for a moment before threading carefully between the graves. I don’t come here as often as I did anymore, but it has always been a place where I find peace, comfort. Surrounded by the dead, by people, without them being able to disturb me. It doesn’t feel as crowded as the high street, but there are probably more people here than in town on a good day.

 As I step between the old graves, I only have one thought; do not step on the graves. It’s a superstition I’ve had ever since I was young. My mum told me once when we were visiting my father’s grave. I tried to stray from the paved pathway to read the gravestones and she firmly grabbed my arm and pulled me back. She knelt down in front of me and said: “Do not step on the dead, Lily, you don’t know what kind of evil is resting in the soil you step on.” I didn’t pay much thought to it then, but it has stayed with me ever since in my subconscious.

 I walk over to a grave, fenced in by chains and my mother’s words reverberates in my head. The gravestone looks new, but that would be impossible. No one has been buried here since the 17th century. There is no name or date on the pristine cross, but as I come closer, I see the inscription carved into the white stone; “Blessed are those pure in heart.” A sense of dread washes over me in a cold wave and I take a tentative step back. A cold breeze whips my hair around my face and it suddenly feels as though the temperature has dropped ten degrees. I turn around to leave when I feel another presence in the graveyard with me.

-> Part 3

<- Part 1

[creativepieces]

Do Not Step on The Dead; part 1

The shadows grow longer by the minute as the sun fades behind the trees. The sunset paints the sky with shades of bloody rubies and vibrant topazes. It’s almost as if time stands still; the only indication that time still exists is the slowly disappearing sun.

 My feet thud against the grass. Pinecones and dead leaves crunch under the soles of my feet with every step I take. The only other sounds around me are the wind blowing through the canopies and some birds’ mating call for the coming spring. It rained the night before, but even with the sun shining all day, the grass is still covered with droplets of dew, and a pale mist rises from the ground like elves dancing in the golden sunrays.

 I’m not following the forest path. The track has been carved through years of use, but are now being reclaimed by nature, and vines are growing across the soft indent in the ground. The path is a safe space, but I don’t want to be safe. There is no adventure in safe.

-> Part 2

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 6

Tears are trickling slowly down my cheek, the old pain of the memory ripped up and the scar is bleeding again. Darkness envelopes me as he takes the chair with him and turns off the light, before shutting the door behind him. He leaves me there for dead, alone, broken. All that’s left for me is the darkness and knowing that this will be the end of me.

 I can feel the clear fluid working to fog my mind again, and I know I won’t be able to fight it off, after years of trying to fight it. Instead, I surrender my consciousness to another dream.

 I’m back by the lake, but the forest around me has changed. Instead of a thick foliage of yellow and orange leaves, all the trees are bare. The air around me is frosty and there’s a white mist creeping towards me over the black lake. Nothing is the same anymore. Everything around me is either dead or dying.

 Dark clouds move slowly across the sky, even though there is no wind to move them. Everything is still, like I’m placed inside a picture. Nothing but the clouds are moving, no sound, nothing at all. Even though the sun isn’t visible through the thick layer of clouds, I somehow know it’s dusk. The woods are getting darker by the minute and shadows bleed into each other, changing the scenery around me.

 An empty feeling fills my body, spreading through every limb, every cell until all I can feel is a stinging numbness. I slip down to the forest floor, leaning against the trunk of the old oak tree as shadows wrap around me. All around me is black, the purest darkness I’ve ever seen. Even darker than the room I’m being held in, and I can feel myself drifting away. Further away from the kind of reality my dreams offer, further away from my lucid thoughts, until I’m floating in thin air, in nothingness. It’s bliss.

<- Chapter 5

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 5

*Flashback*

She is walking down the street. Her schoolbag over her shoulders, and with a light jump in her steps, she skips happily home from school. Along the pathway, it’s growing wildflowers and she stops every once in a while to pick the prettiest ones to bring back home to show to her mum. The sun is shining brightly from a cloudless, brilliant blue sky, and dogs are barking at the girl as she passes the front yards, begging for attention.

 Just as she’s about to reach out and kick at a rock, a car slows down behind her, not stopping completely, but she doesn’t seem to notice it; she is too absorbed in the flowers in the ditch. Suddenly a strong arm wraps around her tiny waist, pinning her arms down. There’s a black tattoo on his arm, a compass pointing east. A hand covers her mouth as she opens it to scream, and there’s just a muffled sound that comes out, not nearly loud enough to bring any attention to what’s happening. The wildflowers she picked for her mum drops limply to the pavement as the van drives away, leaving the street quiet once again.

-> Chapter 6

<- Chapter 4

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 4

A creaking sound makes me snap my eyes open and sit up against the concrete wall, cowering in the corner, knowing what’s about to happen. A stream of light peeks through the crack of the door, illuminating a small patch of the floor. He comes in, hauling something that could be a metal chair behind him in one hand.

“I want to go home,” I say weakly, my voice rough from not being used for a while, but I already know the answer. I say the same thing every time he comes to visit me, and every time I get the same answer.

“And I want to be president, but I can’t see that happening anytime soon. You should accept your fate, love.” He sounds weary and I can hear him rustle around the room. It makes me nervous; I know he’s going to prick my arm again, but I don’t want my head to be cloudy anymore. Dread begins to form in the pit of my stomach and my voice shakes slightly.

“Why do you keep me here?” Another thing I already know the answer to. It’s for your own good.

“It’s for your own good,” he repeats as every other time I’ve asked, and I can hear impatience seeping into his voice. He knows I already know the answer. I don’t know why I keep asking the same questions, but maybe I’m hoping for a different answer, more information, something else than what I get. Anything else than what I get.

The metal clangs against the concrete floor as he places the chair by my bed and walks back to the door. I can see him stretching his arm around the corner, and there is a moment of complete darkness, complete stillness, and then the room is filled with a blinding light once again. I whimper and hide my face in the nook of my elbows, to shield my eyes from the harsh, fluorescent light.

“So,” he starts and the sound of metal scraping against the floor indicates that he has sat down on the chair. “You probably know why I’m here today.” Is it day? It could be the middle of the night for all I know. I nod into my arm, the light still too bright for me to lift my head.

“Look at me,” he orders and I reluctantly lift my head from the crook of my elbow, my eyes still closed against the light. “Look at me!” His tone is more aggressive this time, and I open my eyes. It takes me a moment to adjust, but I can make out his dark silhouette in the white light. “Thank you,” he says with a hint of a satisfied smile in his voice. “Now, it’s time for your daily dose.” I shake my head, slowly at first and then more violently. I don’t want to do this again.

“Please, no,” I whisper and look up at him, fear crashing over me in tsunami waves. He doesn’t answer, just pulls out the syringe and bottle of clear liquid. The syringe is filled halfway and he walks towards me, the needle looming over me. As he draws nearer, he blocks out the light from the ceiling lamp, putting me in a small shadow.

“Give me your arm,” he says and stretches his hand towards me. I continue to shake my head and turn away from him as if that would make him give up and go away. It doesn’t and he grabs my shoulder, turning me to face him before taking my arm to insert the needle.

“No!” I yell and thrash in his hard grip. “No, stop! Stop!” I push and kick against him to get him away from me even though I know it’s futile. The sleeve of his shirt rises in the struggle, and my eyes lock on a spot of black ink marking his arm. I know that spot of ink. I’ve seen it only once in my life, this being the second time. My body freezes and stills in his grip, my eyes locked on the tattoo.

 The prick of the needle is barely felt as my body falls limp. My eyes roll back into my head as the liquid takes effect, streaming through my veins. All I can see is the tattoo before everything around me fades away.

I can see the scene play out in my mind’s eye, an actual memory, not a dream this time, pushed far back into my subconscious, begging to be forgotten. Now it’s pulled out, and I can’t look away. It is as if I’m standing on the sidelines, unable to intervene or warn the little girl. Unable to tell her to forget about the flowers and just run home. All I can do it watch.

-> Chapter 5

<- Chapter 3

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 3

The sky above me is bright blue, white cotton clouds floating across like small sheep. There’s a refreshing breeze rustling through the trees, blowing some of the leaves down to the forest floor. Yellow, orange and red shades cover the browns and greys of the earth. The forest is quiet, except for my feet thudding softly against the dirt and the wind blowing through the foliage above me. It’s peaceful, energizing.

 I can see a lake through the thinning line of trees, the water black and still. Not a ripple to disturb the mirror-like surface. But it’s not like any mirror I’ve seen. It doesn’t reflect the bright blue sky or the white clouds floating above it. It’s just black, like pure darkness rests beneath the surface.

 There’s a cool gust of wind whipping through the forest, and a flock of birds take off from a nearby tree. My hair is blowing into my face and I reach my hand up to move it behind my ear. The surface of the lake is quiet, even in the wind. Still and black, like nothing can disturb it. An old oak tree groans dangerously to my right in the strong wind, threatening to topple over. I get a foreboding feeling in my stomach, like something bad is going to happen. But nothing bad ever happens in my daydreams; my dreams are mine and I control it. Nothing bad can happen here…

-> Chapter 4

<- Chapter 2

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 2

The room is dark, so opening my eyes doesn’t make much difference. There’s a salty smell in the room, but I’m not sure if it’s just lingering from my dream or if the scent is real. I’ve been in here for almost as long as I can remember, only a few glimpses of memory to cling to. They’re keeping me sane.

 There’s a door in front of me. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. It’s the only thing in the room, except for the bed I have to sleep in. It’s an uncomfortable bed, but it’s better than the floor. The door opens consistently three times a day, although I can’t tell if it’s the same time every day, due to the lack of real daylight. Sometimes a plate of something is pushed through the crack, sometimes nothing, and he usually comes once a day. When he comes, that always means trouble. He always brings a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid with him, but it’s not water. He pricks my arm with the needle and pushes the fluid into my body, and it makes my mind go fuzzy and cloudy around the edges. It makes me feel funny.

 I close my eyes again, letting myself slip into another dream. Dreaming has become something of a habit the last few years. I never had much of an imagination as a child, but since I was brought here my dreams have become more vivid, more detailed, more alive.

-> Chapter 3

<- Chapter 1

[creativepieces]

Making Sense; Chapter 1

A salty wind is whirling around me, whistling through the grass and making my hair whip out behind me. The sounds of the ocean fill my ears, the shrieks of the seagulls as they dive without mercy into the white waves, hunting for fish. The gusts of wind are too strong and the birds struggle to keep themselves straight in the air. I can taste the sea salt on my lips, from the waves crashing against the beach.

 As the horizon stretches out in front of me, the greys merge together and it becomes almost impossible to distinguish where the ocean stops and where the sky begins. Dark clouds stop the evening sun from peeking through, and the air is feeling heavy against my skin. I can hear rumbling of thunder in the far distance, faint flashes of lightning occasionally making the clouds look like they’re glowing white.

 Sand finds its way between my toes and my feet are wet from the waves licking at my skin, but I don’t mind it. I close my eyes to the strong wind blowing in my face. After a while the wind dissipates, the seagulls and ocean fade away, until all that is left is a crushing silence. The dream is playing in my mind like a movie.

 I can’t escape my dreams, I learned that a long time ago, so I’ve embraced the feeling of being brought far away, because if I open my eyes, I have to face reality.

-> Chapter 2

[creativepieces]

Library

The Love We Had, The Love We Lost

1. Anemone - Forsaken

2. Rain - Sadness

3. Butterfly - Change

4. Bilberry - Treachery

5. Tiger Lily - Pride

6. Dead Leaves - Sadness

Making Sense

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Do Not Step on The Dead

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Coming Soon

Poetry

The Accident

Siren Song

Letters to my Love

[creativepieces]

6. Daisy - Innocence, purity

Damian – After

She had it coming, it was something that had loomed over her like a grey shadow ever since she took the deal.

 She tried to reach out to me before she disappeared. She left 14 voicemails to be exact, along with a string of texts, but I lost count after 23. She must’ve been pretty desperate, but as much as it pained me, I couldn’t care. I had moved on from her and didn’t want to slip back into old habits. I couldn’t go back down that rabbit hole because I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull myself out.

 So I left her to deal with her own problems, and now she’s paying for her mistake. I hope she burns in Hell.

<- Part 5

[creativepieces]

5. Tiger Lily - Pride

Catharina – now

I knew what I was getting myself into. I was prepared to do whatever it took to get the power the mirror had promised. Or at least I thought I knew what I was getting myself into and that I was prepared. Nothing could prepare me for what actually happened though.

 Even if I wanted to give up the power I had gotten, I could never go back to Damian. He would never take me back after what I did to him.

 The magic that follows the mirror is inside me, and I somehow know that I can no longer live without it. It has consumed me and just the thought of being without it fills me with a cold dread that chills me to the bone.

<- Part 4

-> Part 6

[creativepieces]

4. Bilberry - Treachery

Damian – Now

I don’t think she had any idea of the consequences she was going to face. Her whole personality changed after she got her hands on that mirror. The change was almost instant. She got arrogant, like she was above me in every other way than physical. Not even close to the shy girl standing behind the counter, blushing and speechless, the day I walked into the shop she was working at.

 The betrayal I felt when she chose the power over the love we had together was beyond words. Nothing could compare and no words could describe how crushed my heart was. I was going to propose to her that week, I even had it all planned out. We were going to her favourite coffee shop by the park, get coffees and sit in the park feeding the birds and squirrels. Then I would kneel down in front of her and ask her to marry me. Needless to say, there was a slight change of plans.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I really did, but I just couldn’t deal with her anymore. I felt myself slipping more and more away from her, at the same time as our love slowly died at our feet. It was heartbreaking to end our relationship, even though it was short-lived. The things I felt for her had faded from vibrant colours to a mix of mute grey and muddy brown, and I had to get out before the same thing happened to me. It all just got too much and in the end, I think it was the best decision for both of us.

<- Part 3

-> Part 5

[creativepieces]

3. Butterfly - Change

Catharina – one year earlier.

I’m walking down the street, just doing some grocery shopping for the weekend when I bump into someone.

           “Oh sorry,” I say automatically and turn around to see who I bumped into. It’s a guy, no older than me. He sends me a smile and a wave, before walking off. I didn’t find anything strange about the meeting until I get back to Damian’s flat and feel in my pockets. In my hand is a scratched, grey pocket mirror and a corner of the piece of paper sticking out of the crack. I open the mirror and a note falls to the floor.

           This might seem strange, but meet me in the pub by the High Street by 8 p.m tonight. I’ll tell you everything you want to know about this mirror.

-E

 The handwriting is elegant, even a bit old-fashioned. I’m unable to connect the handwriting to the guy that bumped into me in the street earlier that day, it just doesn’t seem to fit him at all. But I didn’t bump into anyone else today, so who else could it be? The note intrigues me and I’m curious to know more about this mirror, I want to know what makes it special enough to only be passed through bumping into people.

<- Part 2

-> Part 4

[creativepieces]

2. Rain - Sadness

Damian - now

Catharina hasn’t always been like she is now. When I met her, she was sweet, innocent even. She was an angel, a pure white-winged angel. The problem was she was too perceptible to other influences. Bad influences. She was an angel, but she craved chaos around her. Even though I knew the pull I had to her was wrong, I just couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her after the day I met her in the bookshop. But deep down I always knew it would never end well, for either of us.

 After I met her, it had taken everything in me to not go to her right away. I couldn’t keep my mind off of her, her eyes. Man, her eyes. Pure, liquid gold is trapped in those eyes. I never should’ve approached her again, but I couldn’t help it. I had to know her.

 I still remember the day she changed, like it was yesterday, even though it’s almost a year ago. We had been dating for about six months and she was staying at my place for the weekend, but she wanted to go out to on that Saturday. That alone should’ve been a warning sign because she wasn’t one to drink, let alone volunteer to go to a pub. But we went, and that’s when things turned for the worse.

<- Part 1

-> Part 3

[creativepieces]

1. Anemone - Forsaken

Catharina - Now

My hand digs deep into my bag, fingers grasping for my pocket mirror. The tips of my nails click against a lipstick, a notebook, and my wallet. But no mirror. Panic wells up and spread through my veins like poison, clouding my mind from any reasonable thoughts. My heart beats harder in my chest as my hand searches more frantically through the mess of my bag. It has to be in there somewhere, it just has to be. I never go anywhere without that mirror. The distinct memory of putting the mirror in the bag is quickly deteriorating as something close to fear surges through me.

 I stop abruptly in the middle of the busy street. An old man bumps into my shoulder and turns around to glare at me as he passes, grumbling about rude and disrespectful teenagers. It goes unnoticed though, as I drop to the ground so I’m able to properly search through all the receipts and rubble at the bottom of my bag. I remove my wallet and the scratched, grey edges of the mirror are exposed from underneath an umbrella I stuffed in the bag as I walked out the door that morning. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as my fingers close around the mirror and I put it in my pocket. I stand up in the busy street again, my head clear of the previous jumble of thoughts, and I lift the bag onto my shoulder again.

 None of the people on the street around me would even have the faintest idea, and I think about how nice it must be to be so oblivious to the darker sides of the world around them. I smirk to myself as I veer down a shaded alleyway, away from the busy street. A quick glance behind me reveals that nobody noticed me walking away and that nobody had decided to follow. Paranoia is something that had come along with the mirror, one of the many consequences I’m suffering. I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world though, not even for Damian.

 When I feel safely tucked away from any prying eyes, I fish the mirror out of my pocket. The fact that so much power and darkness can be hidden inside such a mundane and innocent object is still something that baffles me. The mirror itself is quite normal and I would never suspect it of anything more than having a cracked glass inside if I didn’t already know the secret behind it. But I do know about it and I can never go back to being oblivious ever again.

 The silver colour it must’ve had when it was new is faded to a pale yellow-tinted grey, the shine rubbed away after years of regular use. It’s scratched and cracked in some places, and the edges are almost completely rounded.

 My nail wedges under the split in the mirror to open it, and my own reflection stares back at me, the lower part of the mirror magnifying my face slightly.

           “Show me,” I whisper to the mirror, my voice barely audible over the police siren blaring past on the street. My reflection in the mirror vanishes and is replaced by a café, but more specific; a man. Damian. His black leather jacket slung over his chair and he runs a hand through his dark hair. The coffee shop is packed with people, but he’s the only one in colour, vibrant in the muddle of greys and browns surrounding him.

 Damian is sitting at a table by the window, overlooking the street outside, completely unaware of being watched. He lifts his steaming cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip, before turning towards the girl he’s sitting with. I didn’t even notice the girl until he turned to her, completely absorbed in him. Jealousy rages in my blood as he puts his arm around the girl and she sends him a warm smile before snuggling into him. My hands ball into fists as he places his lips against her head and kisses her hair. I can’t watch anymore and close the mirror so hard I think it might’ve cracked, but at this point, I couldn’t have cared less. Tears well up in my eyes and threaten to spill out over my cheeks, but I wipe them away. I’m not sure who I’m angrier with; him for moving on so fast after what happened, or myself for letting it hurt me.

 I would never regret the decision I made back then, but I wish I’d have known what kind of price I had to pay for my actions. They had proven to be way more extensive than I’d ever imagined.

 A tear finally rolls down my cheeks and this time I don’t bother to wipe it away. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this, and I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts before opening the mirror again.

           “Show me,” I say again, almost pleading the mirror to show me another image than Damian sitting with the girl again. The same picture reappears in the mirror; Damian and the girl deep in conversation while watching the people mill about like ants in the street outside.

           “No!” Anger flares up again and my voice echoes in the empty alley. I throw the mirror into the brick wall opposite of me and the sudden noise makes a street cat take flight from a dumpster. Glass and plastic shatters everywhere and rains down on the pavement. A sob shakes my body and I lean into the wall behind me, sliding down to the ground. I pull my knees to my chest and hides my face in my arms as I cry.

 My sobs are silent, but I’m too consumed by grief to notice the rustle of air beside me.

           “All magic comes with a price,” a mocking voice says before there’s another rustle of air. The voice makes my head snap up from my arms, but my vision is too blurred by my tears, making it impossible to distinguish anyone in the alleyway. I move to get up when my eyes fall on the white flower placed beside me, a pristine anemone. Underneath the flower is the mirror, whole like it wasn’t just thrown into a brick wall.

-> Part 2