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The Dark Things (part II)
The Dark Things had not yet unveiled these bitter stabs or burning tears, this raw, numbing pain that life entails that aged me far beyond my years. Within my ears they mute the sounds and twist dark truths to torture me. My laughter muffled, muzzled, drowned beneath the waves, I suffocate eternally. Swallow now, I feel their claws lodged deep within my throat, I gargle blood, my voice is raw and broke; to suffering their souls devote. Within the pores within my bones The Darkness binds and seals my fate. To contemplate the grave unknowns (I ache) is a task sure to debilitate. Behind my eyes they stain each scene with shades of black and grave-stone grey; this withered space, this frail seventeen has lost her mind and heart and way.
Silence hung thick above the rows of chairs. It was the kind of morning that pinched at your cheeks and forced your hands into your pockets; the kind of morning you would spend sipping tea by a fire or perhaps still tucked into bed. A small wooden lectern decorated with white flowers stood before the crowd dressed in black and waited for its first speaker. Rose slowly stood and made her way towards the wooden platform. With her trembling hand the frail figure tamed a stray strand of her silvery hair and pulled a small piece of note paper from her pocket. She begins:
“Thankyou- thank you all so much for attending this morning, it would have meant the absolute world to Tom. My husband was a generous man, a kind man who navigated through his life excited to turn every corner for the possibilities that may be waiting there. He was always the first to jump into a new adventure that came our way, and before we really even realized it we had built a home and a family. When I first met Tom we were both only sixteen, and I never would have imagined the life we were about to share, the journeys on which we would embark, or that it could ever be as impossible as it is right now to say goodbye.”
Rose’s eyelids fluttered shut as she felt the sun warm the side of her face. It had begun to rise above the trees and break though the frost. She couldn’t help but think back of the winter they bought their first home at the end of the freeway-
“Rose! Rosie!” It was still dark when she heard Tom’s voice by her left ear. She peered out from under the warm refuge of the duvet. He kissed her cheek and lifted her out of bed, “Come on, love, get up. I want to show you something.” “Tom it’s not even six o’clock yet! Can’t it wait?” But he just smiled and slipped the warmest pair of sheep skin boots on her feet and led her by the hand down the hall, through the kitchen and out into the garden. There was a strange air to the half-light at that time of morning, after the moon and stars had gone to bed but the sun was still yet to rise; a kind of privacy, secrecy, about being awake while everyone else was asleep. Tom helped Rose up a ladder and onto the roof tiles, and once he knew she was safely up he climbed up after her. They sat upon the roof in the brisk morning air until the sun awoke on the horizon and painted the clouds pink and orange and diluted the navy sky.
Pale faces, lips drained of joy, black coats and hats and dresses; all these things were what met the withered Rose’s gaze as she re-opened her eyes and returned from her nostalgia. “Sorry- sorry! I was saying, yes, well we were only sixteen when we met, and when you know someone for as long as I knew Tom and Tom knew me, well, it’s hard to imagine any kind of existence without them. He’d often joke that if anything were to happen to him he’d want me to fall in love again, but I think we both knew that neither of us could ever settle for anyone else now that we’d experienced the joy that was each other’s company. We always knew one lifetime would never be enough…”
Once again Rose paused, reflecting upon the years of her life that seemed to have disappeared whilst she busy making plans. How was it that 60 years together had gone as if it were only 60 seconds? She glanced down at the speckled and crinkled hands grasping the note paper and wondered whose hands were these? Surely not mine?
“Nothing is ever perfect, that is for sure. Tom worked hard every day so that one day we could hope for some kind of retirement, some time to take one last adventure. To be quite honest though, every moment of life with Tom was the adventure. He was always on about some new expedition- hiking the Amazon or sailing up the coast until we hit Indonesia. I loved how he made even the most insane of ideas seem completely achievable.
“But eight years ago I noticed a change in him. Nothing too extreme at first, just odd things here and there: forgetting something we’d talked about the day before, not remembering where he left things… it was no problem until about a year and a half later when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s; a disease that gradually degenerates brain function. It was only then did I really begin to realise that-” Rose tried to calm her voice from quivering, “-that it would be the start of a long and dreaded goodbye.”
The hospital was cold; the smell of disinfectant would seep into your skull and nestle in the back of your throat. This was where Rose spent most of her days, sitting by Tom’s bedside. He hadn’t seen any of his old friends in years, and hardly ever spoke of adventures anymore. When everything began to fade away, she was the one thing he clung most tightly to; but even so, as the years passed he couldn’t hold on forever. Soon there was no recognition when he looked at her face; the stories she told him from years ago had faded to a fuzzy grey in the corners of his mind. She could only watch helplessly as his world of understanding slowly crumbled, until the rubble of what used to be was all that was left. And somehow, she was lost to him.
Josephine pulled a small wooden chair out into the middle of the lawn and waited for her father, she wanted to tell him all about school today. Her mother watched from the kitchen window, eyes still red from crying. Josie heard her cry at night sometimes, too. Her aunt just told Josephine that her mother was sad, but she'll be happy again soon. She didn't eat much anymore either. Sometimes she just stood at the kitchen sink for hours, washing the same mug and staring out the window. There was a whistle from the treetops as the wind began to pick up, humming the same delicate melody her father would as he'd work in his shed. As it rushed past the windchimes, Josephine heard his keys jangle in his pocket just as they used to when he and her mother danced on the kitchen tiles. She felt his fingers lift her crimson curls from her shoulders and brush them back from her face, just like always. "Hi Daddy," the little girl whispered to the wind.
The Monsters in my Cupboard
there are monsters in my cupboard and underneath my bed, when i try to fly or run they turn my feet to lead. they're clawing at my ankles and grabbing at my wrists, i bury my face in my dreams but in my dreams they hiss: "what's the point in trying? it won't get you anywhere. stupid girl! just give up and pretend like you don't care. you can't fool me, i'm in your head, i can feel you're doubts. you know you'll always be someone the world's better off without."
Hey there! You're very beautiful and your writing is amazing! :)
hey! oh wow thankyou, that really means a lot! thanks for following <3
Deep in the garden, but no further than the gate, buried beneath a canopy of leaves, flowers and fluffy white clouds; amongst the critters that have come to be his friends, sat perched in wait a little lionheart.
"Theo!" He could recognise her voice anywhere. The sweet sing-song tones that hummed through the leaves; when she sung to him even the wind fell silent to listen. "Come out, come out wherever you are!" Of course, she already knew where he was: beneath the Lilly-Pilly bush, right where she left him. Right where she would always put him when they played hide-and-go-seek. "Found you!" Theo watched as Aggie's brown sandals emerged from the shrubbery. As she plucked him from his hide-out as if he were one of the flowers, his gaze lifted to meet hers: her green eyes seemed to glow when the sun hit them. Theo could see the happiness that radiated from her face and seemed to send her crimson hair in all directions. He could see it in the smile that spread across her face and pushed her rosy cheeks into her eyes. "If only I could smile," he thought, "I hope she knows how happy I am too."
To my little girl,
It’s hard to define ‘beautiful’. Though beauty is seen on the outside it shines from within. You could have perfect skin, perfect waistline, hair, stomach, eyes, clothes, but still not look beautiful. The people who are truly beautiful are the people who look happy; the girl whose smile lights up the room even though her teeth aren’t perfectly straight and her lips aren’t glossed. The one who when she laughs too loud, might snort a little but that just makes you all laugh even more. ‘Perfect’ is not beautiful, it’s with the little imperfections that show someone’s genuine that make you beautiful for who you are. “One of the best things about beauty is that it is subjective, otherwise we would all fall in love with the same person.” Carla Oates said that, please don’t forget it; you deserve to be someone’s subject, not someone’s object.
But sometimes it’s hard to be happy, sometimes you just don’t have the strength to smile. When things in life go wrong and disappoint you, please know that you’ll always have me. If you’re hurting please talk to me; I know it’s hard and I hate to admit it but it really is better when you tell someone. I might not be able to help but I promise you I will always, always, always be here to listen. I know what it is to feel alone, I know loss and heartbreak hopefully more than you will ever have to; but no matter how hard I fall I know I will always be able to pick myself up again. Never underestimate the strength given to you by family and friends. Never tell yourself you can go it alone because the truth is you can’t no matter how you try.
Finally, find something you love, something to make everything else worth the while. A way to express yourself and make you happy; a break from the things you have to do specifically for the things you want to do. Whether it’s a sport, dance, art, music, writing, it’s entirely up to you but so important that you have something to enjoy and keep you sane.
Though I’m writing this before you are even a little blinking light bulb above my head I am excited to one day meet you and I hope you know that you will be one of those little things that make everything else worthwhile. I have no idea where you are, where you will be when you read this or even who you are yet; but to me you will always be beautiful.
Dear Capricorn, today you must take chances; the universe is in alignment. But you have sensed that already, haven't you? Today the past must be cast aside in order for you to move towards the future you deserve. Let your anxiety be your means of letting go. There is a lot of work to do in your immediate future, and decisions that will impact your life dramatically to be made, but need not stress, for you will always have a home to return to. Though there is much hard work to focus on, there must also be a balance: do not sacrifice your happiness. Ensure you sleep long and well, dearest Capricorn, for you have been functioning on very little for too long and it is not possible to continue this way. Much change is needed in your life, welcome it.
To Fall Out Of Love (step 1)
copious distance between you and I has not stopped my mind from seeking, distractions of brilliance and punishing kinds have not cured my soul of your reaping. befriending the one who now lays by your side does not make me feel more at ease, rather I see when I look in her eyes the deepest of all my envies. so come, all matter of darkness and gloom I am ready now, fight or fall. my lungs grasp but there’s no air in the room, for your lungs have taken it all. not so close that I cannot evade should your iron grasp come seizing, but close enough to now say what I say and to hear your cold heart beating.