I warn you of Dreams (Poem)

As I partook in my usual rituals,
I came across something curious.
To me, it was something habitual,
But perhaps to you, it may be more injurious.

You shut your eyes and saw me,
Whispering things to you that are not,
This, I hope, you do see,
As they are simply the most sought.

I warn you now of Dreams,
Visions of the subconscious,
That pull at our minds at the seams,
But fulfills no promise.

I have suffered from such madness,
As I know you have seen.
It brings nothing but sadness,
I'm sure you remember the night queen.

She tormented me without knowledge of it,
Rather, I was the one tormenting me.
I took a shovel and dug a pit,
And jumped in, as I could not see.

I was blinded by the false visions,
The ones conjured by my deepest desires,
The ones that caused my bad decisions,
Leading to my burning in the fires.

So thus, I warn you of the false.
These ideas are dangerous,
And abuse your every fault,
They are so treacherous.

Shelter your soft heart,
And steel your mind,
Against the subconscious's crazed art,
And the past that should be left behind.

-Zero

The Joker (Continuation of "The Price of Evil")

“If you had the opportunity to cause the destruction of a person, would you do it?”

“What are you talking about?” Emily asks me in a shocked tone. I look ahead and avoid her questioning eyes. I repeat my question.

“If you had the opportunity to cause the destruction of a person, would you do it?”

She looks up at the star-littered sky. Her head shakes from side to side in decisively. “I don't know.” Her eyes return their focus onto me. “I shouldn't, but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't.” They become questioning once more. “What is this all about?”

“You're going to think I'm either crazy or evil if I tell you.” I assure her. She shrugs and gives me a small friendly smile.

“I already think you're both.” She jokes. Seriousness returns to her face. “What's going on?”

I sigh in response. “It's her again...” I confess first. She nods at me understandably. “But that's not it. There's something else. Something worse.”

“Worse than her?” Her face becomes worried. “What is it?”

“I think it's me, but it almost feels as if it's something apart from me at the same time.” I begin to explain. Her feet shift nervously as she finds a place to sit nearby. I follow her to a nearby park bench. The world is colorless right now. Nighttime does that. The normally green leaves are simply black, or grey, and look just like everything else. The bench is cold and hard.

“Like a voice or something?” She asks once we are settled on the bench. I look up at her and nod.

“Yeah, a voice. It's dark, Emily. It tells me to destroy her. Or, rather, let her destroy herself, but help her get started.” I pause for a moment. Before she gets the chance to reply, I continue. “I was dealing with it before you showed up. For some reason, it didn't come with us.”

Her gaze is a mix of disbelief and worry. She shifts closer toward me, much to my surprise. “This isn't funny, Joker.” She says. I shake my head in response.

“I'm not kid-” I try to defend myself, but she cuts me off.

“Not you. The Joker spirit.” Her voice is as serious as I've ever heard it. She looks off into the distance and lets out a sigh. “Him and I have met before.” She stands up quickly and returns her disbelieving gaze to me. “Come. You're staying with me tonight.”

-Zero

My Love for the Empty Romance (non-fiction)

    Upon completion of a novel, titled "Strangers", I came to realize what I enjoy most in literature. I dare say that I feel it strangely fitting, if not worrisome. After all, what I enjoy most in literature is the idea of an empty, or broken romance. Simply put, I would rather a sad ending than a happy one. Perhaps I was born to prefer tragedies over love stories. Perhaps I simply take pleasure in seeing others suffer. Or perhaps it is because I see myself as the character in each one. I believe the last is the most accurate. I have been constantly bothered with memories that claim that I am to blame for the loss of those I do truly love. It has been many years now. First it began with Admeta, if you will, which is reflected in my unpublished novel "The Knife In Admeta's Back". When I had first started writing about Admeta, there was still hope in the love component, but reality hit me with a force I had not expected, making me lose any hope that I had possessed. I moved on, more or less, and continued. Of course, then came Kim, who I had fallen for even harder than I did Admeta. Our relationship would not last, leaving me empty and broken like the romance we once shared. She ended up manifesting herself in many short stories and novels ("Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" and "The Beginning of the End"), but even those that began romantic were crushed by a perpetual feeling of loneliness. There is no happy ending with Kim. And then I met Marie-Lynn, but of course, she was but a figment of my imagination; and therefore, I was tormented by the reality that I could never have her. But alas, the true Marie-Lynn has seen no ending what so ever, as she only appears in "The Beginning of the End" which is still in development. I do not know how it will end. However, after the original Marie-Lynn came the Brianna girl, who I ended up associating with Marie-Lynn in a poor attempt to realize that dream. If you have read the "Wanderer's Journal", then you should be quite aware of the second Marie-Lynn's hopeless and tragic ending. I see no break in the cycle, except for perhaps with the only one who does not exist.
     Above, as you may have noticed, is a photograph that has been edited. It is my style, I suppose, as it is mostly black with some white. I am the one who took the photograph and edited it, for those who may wonder. It was on purely artistic inspiration. I do not usually tamper with photography. But I digress. The photograph is titled "Empty Romance" and thus displays the empty, or broken, romance that I have been writing about for so long. I shall explain it, for I am afraid that some symbols may have much more meaning to myself. First, I shall speak of the empty bench in the center of the frame. Perhaps due to some other art work, the bench represents a romantic setting. In this photograph, however, it is quite small and almost transparent, similar to the romance itself. Moreover, it is empty and the entire photograph is entirely devoid of people. The trees that hang over blend together to create one large black mass, giving a sense of an overwhelming darkness. The entire purpose of this photograph is to portray the emptiness of the romances that I have so far experienced. I dare not say that it is intended to depict the emptiness of romance as a whole, while that may be an interpretation. Anyways, it is late and perhaps I ought to read more about loneliness and such. Take care, will you? Until next time,

-Zero

Marie-Lynn, My Dream (poem)

Among the life-filled trees of green,
Awaited a girl I had never seen.
Past the cobalt pond,

And beyond the stone wand,
I came across her,
And I was sure.

I knew who she was,
As one, in a dream, often does.
Her name did not escape me,
'Marie-Lynn', a quiet glee.
She knew me well,
That I could tell.

Her hair was down,
And a beautiful light-brown.
With every breeze it danced,

I was simply entranced.
It flowed down as waves,
Gentle ones that did save. 

And her eyes, I could never forget,
For they were as green as they get.
They mirrored the trees,
And made me feel at ease.
Within them lay truth,
And an eternal youth.

She was the essence of life,
And the opposite of strife.
She was my savior,
From my own behavior.
She was the light,
When all was night.

But I could not escape reality,
Or save such vitality.
For it was but a dream,
And she but a gleam. 

It has been many years,
And I have suffered many fears.

Some of which still haunt,

And scream and taunt.
I reach for quiet,

But find a riot.
Marie-Lynn, save me,
Marie-Lynn, I plea!

But I am merely ranting,
About something so enchanting.
I must realize the truth,
That she is but a dream of youth.

Her essence is a lie,
But still I ask why.

Why must she be fake?
Why can she not be awake?
Is it because of the dark,
For it corrupted my heart?
But she is my savior,
From my own behavior.

The dark is not to blame,
For it is so tame.

Perhaps it is the fire,
My deepest desire.
I saw no fire that night,
But I felt it in the light.

I know not what to say now,
Nor what to make a vow.

Except I remember this world,
In the dream, reality unfurled.
I blame not this world then,
But rather myself again.

I am to blame,
For I forgot my shame.
It was a dream,
And a false gleam. 

It got the better of me,
But now I see.

Yet, I still yearn for her,
Marie-Lynn, the one I prefer.
Perhaps I am cursed with this,
The thought of her, eternal bliss.

So I will allow her to fill me,
For reality is naught compared to she.

-Zero

The Price of Evil (Continuation of "Dark Sunrise")

     "My name amounts to nothing now." I say sadly as I re-enter the dark room after a day in a personal hell. I had done what he asked. But it was not over yet. I walk to the desk and sit down. My pen waits expectantly for contact. I hesitate before picking it up. I flip open the black notebook and wait for him to say something.

     "Not necessarily true, dear puppet." He tells me. My heart stops as I read the words on the paper over and over again. The yellow light from the lamp sudden feels blinding. "It means something to me. You should know that."

     "But what do you amount to in the end?" I question him. He disgusts me, but I don't know what else to follow.

     "Something to believe in. Something to guide you. I am the light in the dark." He replies and for a moment I can almost feel his smile. I shake my head and stand up. I stumble into the darkness of the room. I purposely hit my head against the wall.

     "What is this feeling inside of my chest?" I ask myself. A twisting motion of emotions spins throughout my body. My arms burn with an unknown rage. My legs shake from fear. My stomach churns with regret. My head fails to understand any of it.

     I get up and sit back down at the desk so that he can reply. "It is power. You took pleasure in taking her down. Once you admit it, you can begin to realize what you truly are." I stand up once more and quickly walk away.

     I put my head in my hands and rub my forehead in a poor attempt to clear my mind. Then I try to shake the ideas out of my mind. I spin around and face the desk as if he was standing there. "And what exactly am I?"

    This time, he feels no need to write it down. He merely whispers it in my ear. "You're a monster. That's what you are." I shake my head desperately, but feel a part of myself agree with him. My arms, in a fit of rage, grab the chair and throw it across the room. It hits a wall and breaks apart. Pieces fall to the ground. I look in amazement and horror. "See? That proves it." He continues.

     I reject the idea immediately. "I'm not a monster!" I begin to panic. "You... You just want to destroy me too!" I scream into the possessed and empty air.

     His voice is calm as it whispers again into my ear. "Dear puppet, you are the one who has destroyed you. You should have known the price of evil. You belong in the hell that you exist in." I drop to my knees in reply.

      "I can't... No..." I mutter pathetically as fear takes over. I fall backwards and stare at the dark ceiling that traps me in this space. I roll over and curl up into a ball. "I... I... I can escape it..." I try to convince myself, but the voice does not help.

     He laughs. The laughter pierces my heart and fills me with fear. "Embrace it and perhaps you will get used to this hell." He suggests. I consider it for a moment.

      "That... might work." I say with a sigh. I regain some of my strength and find myself sitting down. "How... do I?" I ask him weakly.

     I feel his grin pierce me like a dagger in the heart. "You have more friends. They may be weakened by you as well. You are so powerful and they do not even realize it. Destroy them and admit that you enjoy it." He whispers with a crazed and empowered tone.

      I'm about to reply when there is a knock at the door. The sound is soft and suggests that someone equally soft is at the door. I look up at the desk and wait for the voice's approval for me to open it and see who it is. He does not say anything. The visitor does, however. "Oliver? Are you there?" I recognize her voice immediately and rush to answer the door.

     I swing it open and greet the familiar woman with a smile. She gives me a sweet smile in response and brushes some of her dark green hair out of her face, revealing her matching dark green eyes. I feel the voice slowly leaving me. "Hey, Emily!" I exclaim happily.

     "Are you alright?" She replies immediately, looking at the pieces of the chair that litter the floor. She goes to step inside, but I stop her and slip on my shoes. She gives me a confused glance.

     "I am now. Let's go for a walk." I insist and then begin pulling her away from the small dark room. From the back of my head I hear the angry voice.

     "This isn't over."

-Zero

A Dark Sunrise

     "Your eyes betray you, mortal." The haunted pen scribbles, nearly illegible. The voice reappears in my head and tells me to continue. "And your ears know not what reality sounds like." I pause again, only to have the voice order me to continue. "But, I will give you true sight, and allow you to hear the truth, so long as you aid me." I stop and it waits for a reply.

     I stand up and step away from the little black book. "It's nearly full." I remind myself and then begin to pace around the darkened room, lit by a small lamp on the oak desk. The floor is empty. It had to be so that I would not trip. "I knew this would happen..." I mutter to myself. I hear the voice again in my head but I ignore it this time. "It only wants an answer."

    In a moment, I rush back to the notebook and seize the pen in a crazed wrath. It begins to speak once more. "She deserves it. You know that. They all know that." There's a pause of dead silence and dreadful suspense. "You just need to trigger it, that's all. Follow my instructions and we'll have tons of fun!"

     I throw down the pen and stand back up. "I don't want to have that sort of fun. It's... It's..." I search desperately for the word that I already have. "Evil..." I finally mutter. A dark and cruel laughter fills my mind. I walk back to the desk and pick up the pen. I examine it and find that it is still in working condition. I sit back down on the matching oak chair.

     "Evil is such a strong term. I am not asking you to commit murder, silly mortal. I am simply implying that you help that woman realize her faults." The pen writes with my hand. The black ink sinks into my notebook and tugs at my emotions for her. I shake my head furiously and drop the pen once more. I rub my forehead in a distressed confusion.

     "Won't you just leave me alone already?" I scream in frustration. The room echoes my words back at me. I quiet down. "I'm all alone..."

    My hand reaches for the pen and begins to speak to me again. "I am your conscious, silly mortal. I can never leave you alone. But I may quiet down if you do what I ask." I stare at the paper and feel a rage submerge. "Good! I like that rage of yours! Now put it to use!" The voice writes. I hit myself in the head in a poor attempt to wake up.

    "Can't you get one of the others to do it?" I plead into the darkness around me. I imagine him appearing behind me and patting me on the shoulder. I imagine what his face would look like. "She knows. She refuses to tell me..."

    "They have no power over her, not like you do. If she falls, you will be the one who pushed her, but worry not, for the blame will be placed only upon herself.  The others will not expect a thing, dear mortal. You are safe." It reassures me. I watch the ink stain the white paper black once more.

     "But she trusts me..." I reply weakly. It is winning me over; he is winning me over. I can't hold him off much longer. I stand up and am forced to sit back down and write.

     "If she truly trusted you, she would reveal my appearance. You understand that, surely you do. You are not a fool as she would try and make you. Resist you must, mortal, or she will consume you." He writes with my hand. I lose control of it and the accompanying arm.

     "But..." I go to object, but find myself at a loss for words.

     The hand goes crazy. "There is nothing left standing in your way. When the sun rises once more, her downfall will come. Then you be freed from her tyranny."

     "Sunrise?" I say as I look out of the only window in the entire room. The window is pathetically small and only provides me with a glimpse of the sky. I see the black of the sky turning to blue slowly, but surely. "That's so soon."

     "I do not wish to have your mind twisted and torn by that woman. She must fall as soon as possible so that you remain free of her tyranny!" It reassures me. I find myself believing the voice all of a sudden.

     "So what do I do?"

-Zero

Another Dream (Poem), and Update

Green eyes, they flash;

Time flies, turns to ash.

I remember you,

From last night, I do.

I saw your smile,

That's your right, and not vile.

But I wish that I was blind,

Just so I could keep my mind.

For your presence drives me crazy,

When my memory is so hazy.

But when I am awake

You're here; my head shakes.

Your green eyes, their beautiful shape,

My mind tries; I cannot escape.

Green eyes, they flash;

Time flies, turns to ash.

I remember you,

From last night, I do.

But from a dream I saw

You, the girl, my graceful flaw.

--------------------------------------------------------------

     Now, for those who have been reading my work for a while, I thank you, but I am sure you can understand this poem more than anyone else. As a quick explanation, I shall refer to a poem of mine that I commonly call 'Living Nightmares', I believe. "By day, a haunted man I wander/ By night, twisted dreams and ideas I ponder." The poem itself is about the dreams I suffered about one specific woman in my life. This is why the poem above is titled "Another Dream" for it is another dream, but atlas, about another woman, which I am inclined to take pleasure in. As you could most likely tell, but I do not wish to allow my mind to suffer from such a condition again, and thus wrote this poem almost as a way to free myself of it. Now there are other things I must address.

     First of all, as of yesterday I am a winner of the August run of Camp NaNoWriMo (a link to the website will be included at the bottom). In this run, I wrote about Innocenzio Dell'Aera from the point of view of the Great Raven, also known as death by those who are unfamiliar with my poem. The first draft of the novel was finished with the end of Camp NaNoWriMo, and is titled "The Knife In Admeta's Back". It was initially planned to be a traditional mystery novel, but atlas, I fear I deviated from the norm. Perhaps one day you will have the chance to read it. But I must be off for now, for there is work to be done. Until next time,

-Zero

Link: http://campnanowrimo.org/