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The month is over already. I didn't write a single day for it. I had meant not to cheat by coming back and writing now, but I have so much I want to say... so many 100 word entries that just can't wait until tomorrow.
Where do I start?
You. Is it fair that I own you? Yes, own you. I own you just as fully (if not more) as you own me. If, on the street, a stranger were to ask, "to whom do you belong?" you would point at me and... smile? Would you frown? Hide your resentment?
I've never felt more... ahhhhh... greedy, lustful, gluttonous, envious, proud, or wrathful. Not an hint of sloth though. No, I had so much energy I was buzzing with it. My bones vibrated from it. It must have flashed out of my skin like waves of radioactive material.
I wanted it. I thirsted for it. I wanted to steal it from you and add it to my own. Sooo powerful. So beautiful. How are you better than me? How are you stronger? What have you done to surpass me?
Thief, you have the strength of another, and I want it all.
I would be naked if not for these clothes. They keep getting in the way, tangling with the sheets, twisting around me like restraints.
"Don't do this." they beg me. "Don't. Don't. Don't."
I yank the shirt off. The shorts. Fumble with my bra.
"Shut up," my fingers say, "I'll do what I want."
"Oh, no," the socks sob and try to slip off me and hide in the blanket before my hands can abuse them, "you'll really regret this, you know."
The sun peeks in through the window, shaking her head and blushing.
"Naughty girl. So very very naughty."
There are questions hiding in your skull that peek out around your irises every once in a while. They never quite open your mouth and speak, but I see them. Let me answer them. I promise to be honest.
Yes, yes, I do. Very much.
No, never even considered it. Although...honestly, I nearly did. Once. Er... twice? But it never happened.
Yes and no. I am lonely. I want freedom. You are clingy. I don't always like your mother. I want to know what an orgasm feels like. I hate that you make me the bad guy.
Do you read this? I mean, do
read this? Can you tell it's me writing these words? Do they hurt you? Do they make you smile when I say something loving?
I bet you don't. I bet you will live your entire life knowing that I write on this, even reminding me to do it every today, and never actually taking the time to read my words. So you don't know it's all about you. You have no idea that every you is
, do you?
If you read this, you would think it was about someone else anyway.
Jesus, how do I say this?
Remember in the Little Mermaid when Ursula steals Ariel's voice, that look Ariel has as her voice is torn from her throat but still sings without her? I want to give you that look.
No, there is no way to interpret that that will make it sound nice. I don't mean I want to give you legs so you can be with the man you love. There is nothing about this that is at all pleasant or happy or good.
I want to ruin you, to witness that look of absolute horror.
I've been thinking about the Three-fold Law. It is the belief that whatever energy you put out into the world will return to you three-fold. Thus, it would be foolish to put out negative energy, as it will return to you even worse. That makes.
But everything is about balance, right? How is that balanced? One does not equal three. Perhaps your energy will return to you, but how on earth did it grow to three times its size? How?
So maybe it's just another one of those tricks, created by the leaders to keep us in line.
As a child, maybe six years old, I decided to do away with society. I had observed the world tear itself apart with stupid ideas like currency and religion, violence and hate. I understood long before I should have that history repeats and always will, that as long as there are people in the world, there will be pain and grief. Humanity, I discovered, is a hopeless cause.
So I made plans to leave people behind. I wanted to live in a cave behind a waterfall on an island undiscovered and untainted. Then... I grew up. I forgot.
Fidgeting, fingers fumbling with that pentagram at your neck. Touch. Touch. Big eyes focusing on me, then glancing away. Let's be honest here, sweetie. Your power is nothing compared to mine, and you know it.
"It's strange," you mutter. "I'm not used to being around someone who's stronger than me."
I was stronger than you before I was three.
"I've never felt anything like you." you inform me. "You work differently than anyone I know."
Of course I do. I'm not bound by the same laws that govern you. There are many magicks in this world, and mine is better.
This month is an embarrassment.
I haven't taken the time to edit my entries, to hone them to precision. September has become the trashcan for my word vomit. September is such a gracious month, letting me cheat on October with it out of sheer neediness. If this were a party, I would be the girl sobbing on the couch.
"Sorry, September. You know how I get. I don't mean to always ruin your party dresses like this."
"It's ok. You're drunk. I understand. You can't help yourself."
"I'm... not actually drunk. I'm quite sober."
"You're not drunk?"
The sun had slid down the sky just enough to give the calf-high grasses their own shadows. They crowded around the bushes with their dark green leaves and thorny branches, and whispered excitedly.
"There she is. There she is!"
"Shhh," the older plants cautioned. "Don't scare her off."
Every life is silent now, focused on the crunch, crunch, crunch of her shoes marching across the sand. Her hands are outstretched at her sides as if exploring the energy with her fingertips. She grins, drunk off the attention, and dances a few steps.
Prodigies, I'm told, become addicts and alone.
There is something different about you... An edge you never had before. There are two things you could have done to earn such a sharpness, and neither are pretty.
You gave it away. You broke it to pieces and flung it away from you. You gave everything up. I don't understand your choice.
You made a deal with a devil. You signed a contract, drank his mead, ate at his table, and laughed at his jokes. His power is yours now, and your soul is his. I understand this choice less.
I'm afraid you might cut yourself on this new edge.
The desert is awake today. He has shaken the dust from his gravel skin and opened his eyes to watch these changes take place. The earth is seething with news. The trees are whispering over the heads of the oblivious humans. Something happened in the night. Everything has been affected.
Can't you feel it? The humming under your feet? The hysterical edge to the screams of playing children?
The birds are hiding from the storm. My skin is prickling. I forget to breathe in this thick, tense air.
What has happened? What has happened?! Please, just tell me what's happened!
Let me describe it to you like this:
Without warning, a man has pulled a gun on you. He is a complete stranger--doesn't hate you. You don't deserve to die (or maybe you do, but he doesn't know that). He has already begun to squeeze the trigger, and there is nothing you can do to stop him.
You may pray to your god, or listen to your brain stutter "oh god. Oh god oh god oh god" as you wait to die, but you cannot stop this from happening.
will decided whether to drop the gun or shoot.
There is...nothing more for me to say. I managed to crank out 1,300 words in two days, and now I seem to be running on empty. Whatever will I say?
Should I talk about you some more? No... The readers must be tired of you by now. I'm too abstract for them to care for long.
Shall I describe the world around me, dark and chill and full of the crying of stars? Tears, tears, tears, raining down upon us, like melted diamonds. Why so morose, my beloved sky? Why so mournful, moaning trees?
Nothing to talk about...
Have they extended the deadline for September? To think, I was prepared to put that month behind me, to bury the corpse-like entries I brutally murdered and try to live a life beyond serial killing. Alas, this is a drug much too powerful for me to refuse if offered another hit.
So here I sprawl on the living room floor, watching the ceiling fan turn and turn and turn and imagine how much more effective it would be if it had been built into the center of the room instead of so close to the far wall.
She was a tree. Willow. Tall and slender, her untrimmed hair dragging in the mud and wilting from pale green to brown at the tips. Beautiful. Lean against her, and you are hidden and protected in her embrace.
But you don't see underneath. You do not see the turmoil she causes with her roots.
Always, always searching for water, for something more. More. She needs more. Always thirsty.
With her need, she breaks apart mountains. With her need, she brings down houses. With her need, she fights with her sisters, murders her lovers.
You will be strangled by a willow.
We are so alike, you and I.
The world is never good enough for us. We need more. We need to exist in those stories we told as children.
"I'm half fairy."
"Well, I'm a witch. I can fly on a broomstick."
"I can fly without a broomstick."
"I can turn you into a frog!"
"I can turn into a dragon!"
"You're the liar, liar."
So many years later, and we're still telling ourselves lies. We're still looking for fairytale. We can't grow up. We will die young, old and withered and trapped in wheelchairs.
Black, black, black hole.
You reach out oily fingers to snatch at the ankles of unsuspecting stars. You trip them, trap them, pin them against the wall and whisper such lies into their ears. You feed them your darkness and get them hooked and watch as they stumble and implode.
"Share my loneliness."
And they do. We do. All of us. To be with you, we would let ourselves rot away. We let our earths freeze without our light. It does not matter. Nothing ever matters without your touch now that we've known it.
Drag us away from our destiny.
Things get hazy. I begin to forget what was reality and what was a fantasy. So let me tell myself the facts. Let me remember the truth.
The red candle. Remember that flicker? That was me.
The deer. Remember the warmth of another creature?
The black sulfur on my fingers and having felt no pain.
The white flashes.
The exhaustion after.
The slick, liquid surface of souls.
The tearing feeling of leaving you behind.
The burn of someone else's pendant.
The power. My god, the power...
Why can't you understand what it's like to be powerful, beautiful, amazing?
You are mine.
That's what you tell me. I stare at the text, my skin tingling. I'm not sure if the chills running up my spine are from anger or satisfaction, but I'm shaking with them. There's a odd buzzing in my head. Static. A blankness.
Yes... I suppose I am.
I belong to someone. I am owned. My happiness is dependent on you, on your mood, your whims, your texts and touches.
That is not what I had planned for my life. When I imagined love, I never got further than the wedding. Love? It is a frightening thing.
You should rid yourself of me.
I wish you would. It hurts to be pulled into so many direction by so many minds. I barely brushed you, barely touched your awareness, but I linger like the spit of a parasite, slowly paralyzing you.
You yanked me out from under your skin, and you were right to do so, but a piece of me remained. I am so sorry for that. Please, give it back?
That splinter is festering in your heart. Let me take it away.
Darling, you can never live if you don't first burn me from your soul.
I saw a panther--the true king of the jungle. Sleek and powerful, he had a nobility the lion would never be able to imitate. Yet he was a broken king, with a crippled foot and a shattered spirit.
Caught in a zoo--barely more room than a cage--he sprawled beneath his single tree, and when leaves dropped onto his head, he didn't bother to shake them off. His fur was coated with dust, and his teeth only showed when he yawned.
And he watched us humans file past with contempt.
"Once," He would say, "I was a king."
Excuse me? Excuse me, please. I'm looking for someone. It's important. She's been missing for such a long time. I'm worried about her.
Excuse me? Hello? I'm looking for a girl. Yes, a girl. No, I don't remember where I saw her last. That's not weird! She just... kinda... disappeared. It's not my fault! What do you mean, I should have been watching her better? I didn't intend to lose the brat! Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Calm down. Look, have you seen her? I need to find her. No? Damnit.
Excuse me, mister. Have you seen me? I'm very lost.
In some ways, I was still just an infant.
I didn't understand love anymore than he did. I hid my own interests and opinions from him because they disagreed with his, and in my mind, I believed it was better to make him happy than to be happy. It wasn't fair to either of us. He never knew what kind of person I really was, and I never learned how a healthy relationship should work.
I wonder if I did the same thing with you. Those pieces I've hidden from us both will come out eventually. A ticking time bomb.
I am seeped in sin.
I imagine if sin were tangible, it would take on the appearance of blackish mercury. There is a dangerous instinct to touch that pretty liquid metal. Just to feel the way it might roll around in my hands. Would it be cold? Smooth? If I submerged my entire body in it, would it drag me under or keep me afloat?
Somehow, I stumbled upon a lake of mercury sin, and though everyone warned me against it, I jumped in.
They wiped off my skin and declared me clean, but I feel death growing inside me.
I'm not trying to hurt you with these words. They don't mean I hate you. If you believe nothing else, believe I do not regret you. Not even a little.
Our parents were right, we should have waited. But at eighteen or seventy-five, it would have always been you. I regret that I did not know myself before we got married. I see our paths splitting apart for years while we discover ourselves. And I see them merging back together.
Question is, can we sleep in the same bed with a person walking an different path for those years?
I had such a delicious dream last night.
Her hands were so much softer than the calloused hands of man. Her touch was gentle and electrifying. The smell of her skin made my mouth water, made my mind reel.
Our lips touched. Our tongues. No mouth had ever tasted sweeter.
I crouched above her, my hair hiding us from the rest of the world. The scent of shampoo swirled around us, heavy with the steam of our gasps.
She kissed me in ways no man knew to kiss. She explored me in places I had long forgotten.
Who was she?
Fate watched us without amusement. Watched us struggle to break out of the path she had built us, struggle to climb over the iron walls and drop into a life meant for someone else.
She always picked us up gently and set us back where we belonged.
"Be good. Be good. I only mean you good."
But we, such stubborn creatures, fought her silken hand and thrashed within her hold. We refused to walk forward as we were meant, but ran back the way we had come, or hurled ourselves to the floor and cried.
"Give us our freedom, witch!"
There's never a feeling of closure at the end of the month.
It reminds me of when my bird died. Oh, how I detested that thing. I had loved it in the beginning, until I began to think it didn't love me back. I started to imagine resentment in its beady eyes, in the way it cocked its head, in the screech it gave whenever I put my hand close.
Stupid bird. I only wanted love from you, and all I got was a bleeding finger and droppings on the wall. Somehow, hating that bird made it harder to lose.
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