Fictional Intrusion (Poem)

You are the catalyst,

The start of an uncontrollable reaction:

The Beginning and The End

Of my wandering.

I kept journals,

Recording our story,

With an inevitable end,

That of Death's forceful hand.

When we met,

I arrived at a sacred grove,

A place of belonging,

A place of life and death.

When I lost you to the grey,

I wandered through the fog,

You were a nightmare and a dream,

The mythical flame-haired woman.

Through the absence of sense,

I felt the fires,

But I grew to fear and doubt them,

And so I avoided you.

Can't you see

How our tale is theirs?

I wrote it before,

And we embodied it.

Now it is hard to say

Whether I am him,

Whether you are her,

And whether this is true.

-Zero

Wanderer's Journal #27

       This narrative tires me. The end is clear and in sight, and I hope my own death is on the horizon that I walk towards with sore feet and weak legs. Marie-Lynn refuses to leave my mind; she haunts me for what I have done to her. Her echoed and ghostly voice pleads for me to continue telling our story, but I feel as if little will change if I decide to heed to her wishes. The tale of two doomed lovers has been told before, and we did not learn before our time had passed. Nonetheless, the need to express my folly draws me as a wandering pen, recording not what is, but rather what has been. In the flames of ruin I throw my hands, hoping to feel again the warmth of Marie-Lynn, to feel her essence, only to become burnt and suffer while I scribble these endless words. Too often do I feel as if they will outrun me, outlast me, and outcast me. The memory of Marie-Lynn has become more powerful than my own existence. And here I go once more, into the annals of time to bring her to life.

       As I had written last time, I did not contain in my heart the courage to speak to the flame-haired girl, who, in the passing of time, had become a young woman. I suppose I, too, had become a young adult, although it was much less apparent in my behaviour. Sure, I was a published author, but I was a child in reality, with a great deal of what I had learned being lost. Even my familiarity with sunlight had to be relearned, and this process of becoming part of the waking-world again was one that very few people dared to get involved in. I understand why. I was strangely childish in my social interactions even though my physical appearance was one of gradual experience. It took some time, but I made process that felt dreadfully slow. All the while, I was without my dream-world, as well as Marie-Lynn.

       One day I grew passionately hateful of my own cowardice, but I was unsure as to how to go about getting in contact with Marie-Lynn. I was still a social baby after all, and I was without a caretaker in that regard. The day I speak of now marked my first experience being a wanderer in the real, waking, world. The city that had once been my home was forced back into that position as I wandered each and every street. I knew that I wanted to find her, the flame-haired woman, but I had no idea where to look. The city was vast, and held more secrets than I could ever hope to discover. However, amongst all that it held, I only wanted to find one piece of information, where I could meet Marie-Lynn again. It seemed like a pointless struggle against something that was beyond me. Whether or not I would find flames amongst the tamed cement jungle became a question that overshadowed my efforts. It tempted me to resign to passivity, but there was nothing else for me to occupy myself with. It was my only action, and so I became a true wanderer, one who experiences thirst, hunger, and exhaustion. Yet despite the endless slew of days spent searching, I found nothing. It was as if she had never existed. It seemed that the city, as an entity, could essentially paint over one's footprint with the cement of anonymity.

       Finally, after what felt like a decade of wandering the streets, both empty and not, I came across a very distinct idea. This idea threatened to call me a fool, as it dared to suggest that I had wandered with absolutely no chance of finding Marie-Lynn. It claimed that she had left the city prior to my search. I feared the idea's validity, for I sensed that perhaps it was an ultimate truth. I was unsure as to whether or not I should have continued. Through all of my searching, Marie-Lynn only seemed to be further and further away. And for all that I knew, she could have lived next door without my noticing. Her presence could not be felt in the physical world, but it was all too real in my mind. She was unshakable, although not quite as much as she is now. I wanted to return to my fiction, for it was safe to pursue imaginary figures in it. With ease she could have been a drop leaked from my imagination into reality. Contrary to that, though, was her incredible dominance of the physical realm when she was near. And so, I was left to wonder, and to debate with myself, whether the search for the flame-haired woman was worth the effort I had put into it, or whether it was not.

       By the time I had decided on relinquishing my wandering in hopes of finding Marie-Lynn, I had developed a strong bond to the act of wandering. I had become a wanderer in essence, but I still wished to find her. So I considered her many speeches about the world, about the places she would like to go. Cities in Western Europe were the most commonly mentioned, although she always complained about not having the means to make such a strip. However, there were cities much closer that she spoke about going to, usually in order to visit family. This provided her with a place to stay and a community to begin in.

       I discussed my choice to move to my family, who were rightly shocked. Money was no issue for me, due to my incredible luck to have been born to a wealthy family. Everything was arranged rather quickly, which I was grateful for. Many of my papers were left behind as remnants of an ancient era. I was to travel by train due to my own personal preference. As I boarded the train, I hoped that I was leaving to the correct location.

       After all, I was in search of Marie-Lynn, as well as myself.

-Zero

Wanderer's Journal #26

       The concept of returning haunts me like an old friend. It always whispers into my ears the ideals that I once held, the ones that seemed possible once upon a time. But to my story I will return, as it is all I can return to.

       The woman who stood before me struck me as unfamiliar, but she bore the characteristics that I often attributed to Marie-Lynn. I was nearly fooled by the lookalike, or so I thought. I found myself pondering how much time had actually passed as I worked on my world, thinking of her. Silence stole my breath away, letting nothing stand between us. Striking auburn hair burned down from her head. It parted slightly to the left of the middle. Mature looking bangs hung over her eyes, a style I had never seen Marie-Lynn possess. But her hazel eyes were illuminated by familiarity and warmth.

       “Marie-Lynn? Is that you?” My drowsiness warped reality. The waking-world was abnormally clear, and yet harder to understand. Upon her face I could see the freckles that slowly disappeared as we grew older, banished for their childish look.

       “You can't recognize me after all this time? I'm surprised. I figured you had pictures of me all over your walls.” Marie-Lynn revealed herself to my tired and confused mind. Her tone was striking and convicting. I disregarded it with an exhausted shrug.

       “How have you been? We've been apart for so long...” I was quiet and spoke with a slow drawl, waiting for the excitement to spur forth a well of energy. Time had been a small factor in my life. I simply lived as I needed to. Sleep overcame me whenever it needed to. Hunger and thirst drove me to seek sustenance, but it seemed that time had faded into nothingness. No passing was experienced. It was always the same. But time caught up to me through her. It wrapped itself around us and bound us to the mortal realm, sealing me to my demise.

       “Dissatisfied mostly. Life feels short now. It scares me. But I didn't come here to talk about that, Mr. Wanderer.” The book passed by my face as if it was in a rush to return to me. I took it as unhappiness with the content. The message was delivered to an discontented receiver. “I was surprised to find your name stapled onto the spine of a book, yet alone the cover. It intrigued me, so I bought it and read it. But I found that you had simply added a little bit to our story. You gave us a happy ending.”

       “If you're unhappy with it, I can change it. I can make it end with nothing but an overwhelming loneliness that will drive the wanderer to the point of extinction, but my people may not enjoy it.” She had been absent for so long that she was unaware of the beings that I had created in my haste to conceal my absolute loneliness and wish to bring her back into my life. This much was apparent by the confusion that came across her face as I spoke about my people, but I did not bother to explain myself before being asked to.

       “Your people? What has happened to you, Jesse? You have always been strange, but this is beyond anything before.” Marie-Lynn's eyes peered past me, into the cluttered mess that had become my life. She observed and judged my state of being, and soon she came to face the dreadful truth. I saw it in her eyes, but she refused to be the first to say it.

       “You've been gone for so long. My world was crumbling. The place that had once been my island had been opened up to human contact. You did not begin that, but you were the best of it. After you left, I didn't know what to do. No amount of trees, critters, music, or anything, could erase the emptiness that you had left behind. All the destruction that you had done could not be repaired by a simple thought of change. I was bound to it, lost to it, and so I created people of my own to try and replace you. Now that you stand before me, I realize just how much I failed.” Most of what I had wished to say had been said, the words coming out like molten rock from a volcanic eruption, save for their tenderness. I do not know what occurred in her mind at that very moment, whether she had thought it sweet, or otherwise. There was no embrace between us, but there was something.

       “Why didn't you try contacting me? Surely with all your free time, you could have gotten a hold of me.” It was at that moment that I began to wonder what she had been doing during those countless days that we had not spoken. Her words suggested that she had forgotten my naivety of the ways of the waking-world. I rejected it with my whole being, and so I became ignorant of an escape of my suffering.

       “But I did, and it worked, although I had not written it to talk to you. I've missed you so desperately, and I don't believe you've felt the same way. Every night when I close my eyes, I find myself waiting years for you to return to me. Why did you keep your distance? Why did you vanish as you did?” My words ignited a passionate response in Marie-Lynn, so much so that it appeared as if her hair quite literally was engulfed in flames.

       “Oh how I hoped you would ask me that. Jesse, you are so lost in your world, your fictional world, that you forgot reality. Neither of us can remain in the deception of our minds forever, and when I awoke that morning, I felt the difference. I had been sucked into the dream-state, just as you have been, but I chose to fight it, in fear of losing myself in the lies that I would create myself. You don't even know who I am! You've lost me in your own imagination!” Marie-Lynn tossed my novel, the story about she and I, across the room. It appeared unharmed, but the message was like a rushing river that I had accidentally fallen into. It carried me away, cutting me on its rocks, the hidden blades beneath the surface, and kept me from the safety of shore. I lost myself among the waters that seemed to lead nowhere.

       I did not return to my dream-world after that heart-wrenching event. I had purposely exiled myself into reality, a place where my wandering might have found me some actual remedies to my suffering. Only, I could not summon the courage to talk to Marie-Lynn afterwards.

-Zero

The Snow-Melting Passion (Poem)

Remember those days

When passion melted the snow?

When fires burned in our hearts,

Both of love and hate.

Dark nights on snow hills,

Watching an ex-lover leave.

Far from home,

A cold walk to follow.

It did not feel fair,

As if she stole my joy.

I thought “Death before Dishonor”,

So why was I not dead?

I wished to burn her remains;

I thought she had fallen.

My body burned with tears,

As the world grew cold.

The snow-melting passion

Did me more harm than good.

It taught me violent hate,

And I forgot selfless love.

-Zero