Twisted

The world started spinning, all I could see was a blur of black and blue. I closed my eyes in my confusion.

The spinning seemed endless and when it did end I kept my eyes glued shut. Fear poisoned my thoughts, the fear of the spinning returning once more. Maybe even the fear of seeing the world around me.

Time seemed to slow down for just a moment when she popped into my head. Her smile was the only thing I would always give everything to see, even my own life. They say curiosity killed the cat and apparently I have a lot in common with that same cat. My eyes peeled open and the world around me was dark and unfamiliar.

The world was dark and very disturbing. The room I was in smelled like death and betrayal. It was nearly pitch black but for some reason, I could see well. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something swinging from my neck. I reached down with my hand, feeling the texture of the object. It was cold and crunched against my skin. I grabbed it, bringing it up to my face allowing me to see it.

"Oh shit!" I ripped the thing from my neck and tossed it away from me. It was a severed finger, someone's cold, dead, finger. It flew across the room and hit a hollow object that looked like a stone ball at first.

Where the fuck am I? My great grandmother's stone disappeared and was replaced by some madman's idea of a joke. The room  was simple; it had four walls that formed a perfect square. There was a small door like thing on the wall opposite from me. It couldn't have been more than two feet by two feet, definitely a tight squeeze. I bent down and picked up one of the stone sticks that were scattered across the ground. I quickly realized that it was not made of stone, it was made of bone. Do bones dominate the room I'm in? Are they all the bones of those who couldn't escape?

I took a step forward and the bones crunched under my feet. Each step was followed by that same crunching noise the whole way to my freedom. Sadly however I would soon find that this room was not the end of it. I knew I was going to have trouble fitting through the door, but I swung it open and it creaked. That sound, that creak, just like back home.

"That door needs oil." She laughed as she walked through my door with a smile. God she looked so beautiful that day. The sun came out and its light shined on her; she glowed like the moon. Her eyes were a deep blue, and they had these odd golden specs in them; gold like her hair.

"I know." I laughed back, I didn't know it back then but I was madly in love with her. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. The ocean in her eyes was never stormy, it always sparkled. She was mine; she is mine. I remember stretching my hand out to her, asking her to follow me.

"Oh! What's this?" Her curiosity was as bad as mine is, only hers was a good kind.

"You'll see." I let a smirk ring across my face. I was nervous, but something told me everything was going to be okay. I knew what could have gone wrong, but I kept asking myself what the chances of that happening were. I shouldn't have been worrying about it; it all worked out.

A different stench brought me back to what seemed to be reality. I had already squeezed through the tiny door way and found myself wandering down the hallway outside. A crunch followed each step, bones littered this whole place.

        In this black I cannot go back,
       With each step comes a deafening crack, 
       Breaking some hounds delicious snack,
       All because of the light that I lack,
       In this black I cannot go back.


Making up poems in my head has always soothed me. Each line that I rhyme is music to my ears and no matter what draws near, I feel safe. After I rhyme though, it takes some time to regain control of my mind. I started to rhyme back when I was fifteen. When I met this girl through some art exchange. Even now people who still us both say that we're just like each other. That similarity was what lead her to introduce me to poetry.

At first I merely just read them, but at some point I picked up my 0.5 millimeter automatic pencil and wrote my first poem. It was no more than four lines and contained as many techniques as a children's popup book. It's lines held something I held close back in those times. It spoke of a knight who was writing about his lost light. He lost it in a fight for something he believed to be right. Sadly however, that fight was not right and he lost his light, his purity.

It's funny how now I can look back and laugh at those times. I saw myself as the real version of a fictional character from my own childhood. Back then he was no older than me, just another auburn haired, dark brown eyed, eight year old child. He was special though. He had a strength and a destiny that no one could take from him. He was a passionate flame and absolutely never gave up. He always believed in the best of people, something I long ago stopped doing.

But he's gone now and I am alone. Up ahead the rectangular hallway seemed to smooth out and become a perfectly formed circle. It seemed pretty normal except for the fact that, well, it's walls glowed a blinding light. The center of the tunnel was an absolute dark however. It was like an eclipse stood in front of me, and I had to walk through it.

What the fuck is up with this place? Nothing seems to make sense and I don't have any idea how to get out. This place is like it's right out of someone's twisted and god forsaken imagination. The worst part is that I've got this feeling that I am not alone here.

Walking through that tunnel was like a journey to the other side of hell. Screams echoed through the tunnel, knives to my ears. It half felt like they were trying to warn me, telling me to go back. I understood that they might be telling the truth, but I'd much rather die from walking into a trap than from dehydration in a room filled with bones.

                    In times of grave peril, 
                   Often the weak will hurl, 
                   For strength comes from within,
                  And is not given to him.


                 When he must fight his fears,
                  Just to find his way home, 
                  When he must fight back tears,
                   He will never be alone. 


Of course I know reciting poems in the lit dark of this tunnel won't calm the screams or even my fears, but they help me continue on. Between point 'A' and point 'B' only uncertainty can be assured. A dark evil laughter starts echoing through the tunnel and the end becomes visible. Hopefully I can get out of here!

"Come human and meet yourself!" A familiar voice called out to me. It started bugging me, who was it? I was overwhelmed with curiosity and I couldn't wait to see a familiar face. I started running and quickly forgot about my own safety.

I ended up bursting through a door I didn't even realize was there. I found myself face to face with my own worst enemy. Me. A perfect mirror image of me stood in front of me, except he had dark deep bags under eyes and hate in his heart.

"Where am I?" I asked him, certain that this was his horrid domain. He just sort of fit into the feeling of this place. He was clearly a dark being, just like me. I wondered how I ended up crossing paths with him, with myself.

"You are in a world where your first love never happened, or better yet, it did but ended far too soon. You should see what you've done since." He started grinning, the cruel bastard. "Now I think you should follow me."

The screams got louder as I followed him to god knows where. The walls in this room seemed undefined except one of them. The wall seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. It was littered with portraits of a woman that seems so familiar to me. Each portrait was different from the last but they were all from her. I felt like I should be able to recognize her. She seemed so distant, so far away from everything. I turned to him, asking who she was. A smile stretched across his face, so evil and the screams stopped.

"You know her. While you two may have grown so distant in the past years, you know her well... very well." The portraits all shared the same look in her brown eyes, fear. Her eyes were almost as dark as mine. Her hair was a mess in most of the portraits and had a slight black tint to her brown hair. Did he paint these, all of them?

"Kim?" The name slipped out as a gentle little whisper.

"Good job, now what do you think you did to her, what I did to her?" The evil smirk written on his face said it all. "We are the same after all."

"You monster! What did you do to her? She better be alright!" I can't believe I would do that to her, and yet I know I could. But I was not the same as this crazy asshole. He only looks like me; he is not the same as me!

"Or else what? Will you kill me, you whiny little baby? Will you stop my breathing and succumb to the power it gives? Or will you run away from what is right?" He mocked me and he sent needles through my heart. He knew I would try my hardest to stop myself from doing that. I need him to get back home, to escape. His laughter echoed through the room and through my mind.

I was starting to loose control; I was so angry. I've never been able to deal with anger too well, so I closed my eyes. I pictured I was somewhere else, somewhere safe. I found myself in the woods I spent most of my childhood in. It was hot, like in the summer and birds sand a beautiful song. The sun shined bright in the sky and gave this place a green glow because of all the lively leaves. Something or someone tapped me on the shoulder so, I turned around and saw who it was. With that same evil grin on his face I saw my mirror image, my dark side. "Come back to reality now, you've spent too long in this godforsaken place." He lunged at me viciously.

My eyes jolted open and I saw that he hadn't moved an inch. Maybe I brought him into my image, maybe he has no idea. "Welcome back, enjoy your time in that forest? I'm dreadfully sorry that I had to bring you back here so soon." He started laughing again, is there no end to this insanity?

He walked off and motioned for me to come to him. I followed him into another room, this one as dark as the one I was in when I got here. The room had an awful stench, almost indescribable. I got the feeling I should recognize the smell, like I had smelled it earlier. I heard him flip on a light, lighting up the entire room. I saw why I recognized the smell. "So what are you going to do about it?" He asked me, laughing.

Surely enough, Kim was lying on the floor, dead. Her body was twisted in an inhuman way. The smell of death haunted my memories and I've tried to push it away for so long. Her skin was pale and body cut and bloody. I left her in a pool of her own blood and gave her the blessing of a slow and very painful death. The knife rested on the table beside me, in arms length.

"I'm waiting." He told me, tempting me to act against him.

In a flash of red I saw myself grab the knife and stab the one who lives here, in this world in the heart. Blood oozed from the knife and he dropped to the ground and a smile stretched across his face. "You've done it again."

I closed my eyes and felt a tear go down my cheek. I opened my eyes again, I was back home in my kitchen and my wife was in front of me. She was lying down on the floor. Blood poured out of her heart, where the knife hit. I took her life, just like I did Kim's.

-Zero

Right or Wrong?

The bully's furious fist collided with my face, sending me to the cold, hard ground, both hurt and scared. His giant foot came out of no where and struck me painfully in the gut. I wanted to try and run away but I couldn't move, I was stuck on the cold sand of the playground.

I could feel the vomit trying to escape from my mouth but I didn't let it. I wanted to get away but I was determined not to let him see I was afraid. I tried not to show weakness but my body seemed to need to. If I showed that he was winning over me in more than one way, he would only make it worse.

I've never liked the taste of blood. My own was something like black licorice, a taste no one likes. I find the taste rather terrifyingly disgusting and revolting and I don't understand how anyone would willingly taste it. Then again, I am different from everyone else.

I don't understand why he hates me so much either. I've never done him any wrong, I keep to myself. I'm not stupid or nerdy. I'm just a normal kid, well for the most part. It seems like everyone just has to point and hate because I'm different.

"Fucking faggot!" He yells at me as he spits on my face. His spit is cold like his heart.

Is it because I am different that's why he hates me so much? I'm surrounded by so many people, kids from my classes and all they do is cheer him on. I count a thousand eyes looking upon my beaten down body. Am I really that bad?

They all hate me.

I slam the door and run to my room in tears. It's a small room with four walls, a window, and a closet. The walls were blue, like how you would think tears would be colored. To anyone else it might just seem like a regular 14 year olds room but to me it's a prison. At least it's a safe prison. The tears were freezing against my red face.

I am alone.

When I was in elementary school, things were so much better. I had friends back then. It's hard to believe that  it was ever like that. The same boy who beats me the most was also once my best friend. We never fought back then. There weren't any problems. We used to spend most of our time together and there was never a problem.

Until that horrendous day when he realized that I was different.

Then he became the worst of the all and it's all my fault. I'm a stupid idiot. It's all my fault that I'm different. It's all my fault and I can't seem to change. Why do things have to be so bad?

The blade was like ice to the skin.

It would all be okay soon. I would soon be joining my mother in heaven for this act will right my wrongs. This act will take away my sins. Today I repent for my sins.

The blade started to shake.

This is the only way to makes things right again. I kept telling myself that everything would be okay, but still deep down inside I was afraid. I had doubts, second thoughts. Even with all the doubt that drowns me like the ocean, I knew that I had to do this.

The blade slit my neck.

Blood seeped from the open wound; I couldn't breath. Panic engulfed me, I thought it would be instant. I started to gasp for air, and everything seemed to slow down. The pain was unbearable, and the taste made me want to vomit. I guess I do deserve to suffer but, I don't think anyone deserves this.

Then everything went black, it was over.

-Zero

It's not over.

"You stupid bitch."

A fist as angry as it was strong flew into her unprotected stomach. She bent over in immense pain, in more than one way. A second blow came soaring to the back of her head, sending her plummeting to the filthy floor.

She doesn't know or even understand why he does this to her. Is it love when one can take such a severe beating from someone or just fear? Her heart beat starts to slow down more and more everyday, it won't be long until she's dead. She believes that she needs him to live, that she needs him in her life. I've watched them for a long while and it's very obvious that he needs her, not the other way around. Any day she could just get up and leave him and actually live for once but instead she stays here, a slave to her emotions.

Love is blind.

She doesn't know how things ended up like this either, I do but I cannot tell her. She keeps asking herself if it's her fault. She has to ask herself because she's a ghost of a person. I've seen what happens to people when they end up a living ghost. They drift through day by day but don't realize that they're dead. Everyone else sees right through them and doesn't care about what happens to them at all. They much rather not think about it.

Love traps you.

I guess you can say that she's pretty much dead by now, she's been reduced to rubble. Only a few days longer can she survive naturally, unless someone saves her. She feels nothing anymore, physical pain seems almost like a tingle to her now and the taste of blood is normal. I watch him beat her now and she's like a punching bag for him, a bad day at work means she gets beat. She's always to blame it seems.

This is not love.

She's still breaking, hardly. Another fist comes and strikes her in the already black eye. He hasn't said a word this whole time. He hasn't even given her a reason.

This is pure hate.

One more blow to her broken and bruised face seemed to satisfy him, if someone can really find satisfaction in this. I could see her feel a wave of relief; she was ready to live once more.

Is it over?

He walks over to the kitchen in their one bedroom apartment and grabs the butcher knife. It's not over until she can't sing. Her eyes are closed; she is blind. He finishes off his daily bottle of vodka early tonight and smashes it against the floor.

There there, everything will be over soon.

A cruel smirk stretches across his hate-filled face. Her eyes just barely slide open to see his smirk and his knife. She attempts to get up but fails miserably and falls back down. Her beaten legs just can't hold her body anymore; she's washed up. She tries to scream but nothing comes out of her dry throat.

She is alone.

The knife doesn't slit her tiny throat, no that would be way to civil for this human. He takes the knife and chops her neck into little pieces of flesh and bone and sends them flying all over the apartment too. Blood stains the walls and his hands are red. His hands are red with hate and her blood. I walk over and steal away her soul, she would be safe with me. He's finally satisfied however.

It's not over.

The door slams against the floor and a gunshot is let loose through the apartment. He falls to the blood bathed ground and lies there with her in death. I leave his soul there begging to be taken away, and walk away laughing.

Now it's over.

-Zero

Blame the Aliens

“First it’s this then it’s that, why can’t you just make up your mind? It’s not that difficult to make a choice, why do you have to make it more complicated than it is like an idiot? You spend days, weeks, months and even years thinking about one answer and when it’s finally decided it doesn’t matter anymore!”

I am Kiana Marcus. Well at least that’s what they tell me. Sometimes I think aliens are controlling the president with mind control technology so people like me won’t be believed. I’ve seen them! I swear I have! I’m lucky to have a pencil and paper they say. The doctors say I’m not violently insane, just fear inspiring mad. I’m in a room with no corners but I’m surrounded by white walls. I like to imagine sometimes that the world just stops outside of this room but back to the story at hand.

Who was saying those things was my mom. She’s yelling at my dad right now on the other side of the big white door that’s awkwardly placed on the round wall. The doctor says I’m okay to go home but my dad isn’t sure he wants me around other people just yet. I think he’s been listening to the president talk again. The president was chosen by the people who live here to lead but I don’t get it. Why would you choose to have someone else choose for you? That’s why I think aliens are controlling everyone.

I think I’ve spent two birthdays in this room, I only know because my parents come and sing to me. They visit once or twice a month but don’t treat me the same as they did back home. I don’t get it. Why aren’t I like everyone else? It’s the aliens I bet! That’s why I’m not the same as the others! I can’t be brainwashed like the rest!

“I don’t think she’s ready to come out yet! What if she goes off on another one of her alien rants? She’s diseased for god’s sake!”

Dad has definitely been listening to the president again. I’m happy I don’t have T.V. here; the radio waves are how the aliens brainwash you. I don’t want to be brainwashed. I wish mom and dad would get along again; I don’t understand why they’re so upset. I think this room is supposed to be sound proof but the door has a little slimmer of space between it and the floor so I can hear what people say on the other side.

“She’s our daughter Steven! She deserves a life, diseased or not!”

Mom always loved me best because she doesn’t listen to the president. She used to say that the government tries to scare us so we obey like puppies. I didn’t understand it at the time but I sure did like puppies. I think I get it now, maybe the big mean old government is telling Dad that I’m diseased and to lock me away.

Back home we had two kitty-cats; one of them was called Jimmers and the other Shivers. They were the most lovable kitties in the neighborhood, everyone loved them. Well everyone but that mean old Mr. Travis. Mr. Travis was the oldest man on my street and had a house as old as the dinosaurs. He seemed to be mad at everyone all at once everyday. One day he listened to the president and hit my kitties with his big red pick up truck. Mom and Dad were very mad at him at that.

“Oh alright Mary. She’ll come home with us today, but if she scares away more nice people she ain’t leaving that room again!”

It sounds like Dad finally made up his mind and it’s time for me to go home! I stood up by the door and started hitting it with my other hand, this one’s busy writing this story. I heard the creaking sound that’s made when the door is being opened. The world almost seemed to spin but I didn’t really care, the door stayed right there. The door opened and I opened my eyes.

Mom and Dad walked in and started singing happy birthday to me again. It was all a dream and I’m still stuck in this room.

-Zero