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Deep in Thought
Deep in thought, I find some peace; that knows how to please and soothe the soul. I find in my place, a sweet sensation, of pencil to paper of thoughts to words. Now, even in this world of guilt, I can find love, patience, fortitude, etc.
Now those of us who cannot find that, are the ones who are the true murderers. Those whose feelings and emotions are controlled by their unbelieving in peace and happiness. So in my belief I see a murderer who finds pleasure in killing, a more noble and righteous figure than the cynic who finds the world a cruel bag of dust. So I must say now, I am in a happy place and find that saving one cynic only creates another murderer, see here…
Pencil to paper is all I see in my world of foreign dreams. I do not know how to love or hate, only create it through characters and words. I wish I did, I wish it most, but we can only have so much in this world and I have found that the world gave me one, one good thing.
My family, my friends, I do not know such, but I find that writing, is the only thing that gives me enough. Now I hear footsteps down the eerie corridor as my gluttonous father seeks me out for his show. My heart races, but I am not about to describe that as I wait and write the last few words of my story before I am off to hell.
Now I am not going to die, it is too soon for that, but I really want to, except for the fact I have a reason to live. One thing to love is one reason to live, so I keep myself strong for my one thing to love.
Here he comes now, loud and sinister, and I breathe because that is all I could do for now. He slashes the door open as superman would (only drunk) and backhands my cheek in a rage of unknown reason.
How my life ever did come to this is inexplicable, but I do know that I am an easy target. He now gets out his most grand of toys and displays it before me like a shiny new present, but sets it down for later. The sprite hauls a lamp in my direction, but due to natural reflexes I step away.
“How…dare…you!” he scathed between gulps of scotch. Yes, I know this is inconceivable to all you others who need to go to an A.A. meeting, but he gulps scotch.
My father heads straight to his leather, repulsive whip and aims for me. He pulls it back as though it is a baseball. Here comes the pitch…une...deux…trois…and…
It wraps around my waist and I gawk at him, my natural reactions are by a slim margin off. Though I am flabbergasted by the intensity of his strength today, I feel last night’s bruises thrust upon me like the strong smell of paint as you walk by it. I felt fine, very fine like not enough butter spread across a colossal size of bread. My thin feeling had no physical meaning with weight as it compared to mental state if you were smart enough to get it.
My strong hold on philosophy in life was running short and when my father took a knife to my stomach and made little cuts I had no control over my mind. I cursed, I screamed and bellowed, I took deep…deep, deep breathes, but never suffered externally. My pain never twisted my face, nor did it open my mouth. My suffering was deluded by one character, but he was real, very much, and he was running to me now. You will see his gallant face.
“God, you are so evil you haven’t even broken the seven deadly sins, you’ve went beyond that,” he said.
And I smiled wide for him.
He jumped from the window and ran to me. “I’m sorry.” A tear ran down his cheek, “Why is the world so horrible? There is nothing good in it,” and before I could respond he hit my father over the head with a vase, scooped me up in his arms, and ran.
I glanced back at the gore of the crime scene, crimson blood poured like water from a spout from his head and his lips puckered from lack of moisture as salt now desiccated them in a desert.
We finally made it to the forest and he set me down and examined my injuries. His crystal blue eyes now lost all sadness for the cruelty of the world and replaced that with hatred for my father. His emotions were radiant in the moonlight and he seemed to change his facial expression to a ravenous, wanting approach. I understood. His fingers ran down the lines of my old scars on my stomach.
“The world is cruel. I never felt that anything could be good in it, especially when I look at you.”
I shuddered at his words.
“But do not take it for worse, because…I love you.”
I began to speak, but he lightly put his finger on my lips.
“It’s not your turn to speak yet,” and he put his hand on the small of my back.
I was in shock and I was paralyzed, but I felt fine and safe with him. Not so emaciated.
“The world is still horrible as you know, but you make that go away for a while. You taught me that it is good to love and for that, the world, I find, is a lot brighter. Thank you for teaching me that. I now love one thing and like a lot more, but my main priority now is my love.”
I was hyperventilating, but I managed this, “When you jumped through that window, I…thought you were my knight in shining armor and -- ”
He cut me short when he pulled me in for…a kiss…a soft, feather light touch on the lips. It poisoned me, but its venom was warm and welcoming, which led us on to discover its deeper meaning. This was not an infatuation. But then…it was over.
“Hmmm,” he said.
“Where will we go next?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, still very close in proximity to me. “I have a decisive plan which will work. We are going to stay here for tonight, that is all you need to worry about.”
“Very reassuring, but I need to know.”
“No you don’t,” he responded, stroking my cheek.
I closed my eyes and sighed, this was a verbal battle worth losing because it was to him.
“I love you,” I said.
“I know, and I love you too, and I am going to kiss you again.”
I smiled and he found my lips, this time it was passionate and strictly out of love, no infatuation. We then lay there, falling asleep and then hours later I hear a rustle of the leaves.
It all happened so fast, like a candle being blown out when he came out loud and sinister through the forest holding a knife in his hand. I scream now only because I now love two things and cry insanely as my love puts his arm around me.
“Don’t worry, it will all be fine.” He gets up and searches for his weapon in his denim backpack…but then, just then, it was a little too late as noises of all kinds reach the sensitivity of my ear.
I could not know what would happen next, only what I would hope as my body worked faster and faster until it could not at all. The functions of my inner workings are all now no more…
…So you see now I am in my happy place, because I am away from him. I stand upon clouds as I reach down from above finally to meet my beloved, again, and he responds to me in a way that reassures everything I knew about him. He holds me close, never to let go again.
Ithaca, New York
Hoffman Estates, Illinois
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