The Porcelain Angel (poem)

The first thing I gave her

was a little porcelain doll,

an angel for the palm of her hand.

She loved porcelain,

had a bookshelf filled with it,

anxiously awaiting the devastating earthquake.

She never told me why,

I thought she felt like porcelain,

beautiful, pale, and terribly fragile.

On the last night,

we got into an argument,

and I bumped into the shelf.

Only one fell,

just the little porcelain angel,

its stiff wings unable to break the fall.

-Zero

Lie to Protect Her (short story)

       “I can't be with you unless you're absolutely certain!” She cries out through her tears.

       “I am certain! I've told you that a thousand times tonight alone! You just won't believe me...” He replies, his head dropping in defeat with the realization that she could never be convinced.

       “I'm sorry...” She sobs. “I can't do this anymore.”

       “Okay.” He answers softly, stopping himself from sobbing. “I'm sorry. I'll go.”

       In one night came the end of an era. The two of them had been together for almost four years. They had plans together, a future filled with coffee dates and late nights. They were looking for an apartment together when he was struck with a wave of doubt. Suddenly he wasn't certain he still loved her, and subsequently doubted whether he should move in with her. So he found ways to delay it, at least until he figured it all out.

       This went on for months before one of her friends suggested to her that he might be stalling it on purpose. This idea developed in her mind until one day she could be pregnant with it no longer, and birthed it into their relationship. There was nothing he could say or do to distract her from the question and was soon forced to make a choice – to lie or to come clean. He chose the honourable route, the one that led to the end, to goodbye.

       Three months after, another sleepless night prompts them to talk. It's 3 am and the two of them are alone in their beds, their laptops open beside them. She wants to talk on the phone – to hear his voice again – but is too afraid to ask. He does too, but is afraid he won't be able to say what he wants, that he'll give into the beauty of her singing voice. So instead they chat on Skype.

       “How've you been?” He asks.

       “Alright. You?”

       “Been better.”

       She's typing something and he waits with anxious anticipation. What he wants to see is exactly what he doesn't want to see.

       “I miss you.” Blunt. Brave. Honest.

       He considers lying.

       “I miss you too.” Honest but hesitant.

       Neither of them say anything, waiting, hoping, for the other to say something. It's like they're confessing their love for the first time, holding it back praying the other will say it first, terrified of risking it all. But eventually one of them has to fold.

       “Do you still love me?” She asks.

       He starts typing, writing a long paragraph telling her everything – how he had always loved her, how he would always love her, how much he wanted her back. He writes how the moment he told her of his doubts, they disappeared, how the past three months were spent wishing he had never been so stupid. He stops and reads it over. He deletes it and replaces his confession with a lie.

       “No. I'm sorry... Goodbye.”

-Zero

Already Home (poem)

He waits at a bus stop,

watches the sun rise

over the concrete horizon,

the grey infused with fiery colors,

the cold city set aflame.

It is so beautiful,

a glorious declaration of day,

but he is so tired,

drained by insomnia

fueled by the thought of her.

He thinks of home,

his own place of belonging – her bed,

and wishes it wasn't so far,

that she had chosen to stay

instead of saying goodbye.

And he'll watch the sun rise

every morning a hundred times

before he chooses to wake up,

to rise in the sun's light,

and see that he's already home.

-Zero

Perfect again (poem)

Give me another chance,

I know I breathe disaster,

I got our ending wrong,

but I can make it perfect again.

Our relationship was made of porcelain,

so I'll be gentle with my pen

as I rewrite this masterpiece,

and erase the daisy-filled cracks.

I'll give us our own ever after,

thought we'd have it by now,

but nevermind our nuclear fallout,

I'll make this perfect again.

Consider this atonement,

for time will erase us

and all who know the truth,

leaving only our words behind.

Because to make this disaster perfect again,

we have to erase our reality.

-Zero

The Recurring Dream (short story)

      “You said you're having a recurring dream. Tell me about it.”

       It always begins with a scream, followed by silence. Suddenly I'm standing outside of her bedroom window looking in. She's motionless on the bed. She's not alone. There's this guy with her, but he's just this shadowy figure looming over her. He killed her. He turns and looks right at me. I can't see his eyes but I can feel them burning through me.

       I start running. I'm screaming for help but everyone ignores me as if I don't exist. I grab someone and turn them around to face me, to get their attention, but their eyes and mouth are sewn shut. And their ears... their ears have been sliced off. I fall back and continue running.

       “You can't escape me.” I hear him yell at me as he gains on me.

       I keep running, but as I run, the city falls apart around me. The buildings crumble and the streetlights fall. Trees burst into flames. This goes on until I'm running in and through ash. I can't see anything but I can feel him behind me. The ash gets ankle high and I slow down.

       Then all the ash turns to snow and he's gone. I can barely see it, but there's a cleared path ahead of me. I follow it, and as I do, the city reforms around me, as if erupting from the snow. The path stops at her front door. I put my hand on the doorknob, turn it, and slowly open the door. I step in. The door slams behind me and there's a scream. Then everything is silent.

       I call out to her. She doesn't reply so I investigate the apartment. Everything is clean and pristine, cleaner than I'd ever seen it. Her bedroom door is closed so after checking the rest of the apartment, I come back to it. I stand there for a bit before I open the door and walk in.

       She's lying on the bed motionless. She's dead. I stand there and stare at her until I feel eyes watching me. I look at the window to see a shadowy figure looking in at me. Then I wake up.

-Zero

The First Kiss (poem)

It was dark

and we were alone.

I gathered our coats

and you stood by the door.

But as I approached

so that we could leave,

you took your chance.

Suddenly my mind was a tempest,

lost in what I thought could only be

a mid-summer's night dream.

But there you were in my arms,

and I was wide awake.

-Zero