that's basically what love feels like.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
forever
at first you can't see where you are it's pitch black and you don't know what's going on until you realize that your eyes are closed so you try to wrench them open but nothing works until you finally focus with all your might and as they crack open the light filters through blinding you with supreme beauty that you have never seen before and you look around but still cannot see anything because of the glorious white light that seems to emanate from a single source so you decide to reach out and go for the source of the light that is so intense and blinding but you can't quite reach it for whenever you reach out towards it it gets farther away from you and only then do you realize that your other senses have failed too with your throat tightening up and your palms becoming sweaty coupled with butterflies welling up deep inside you with your heart pounding out of your chest and you can hear it inside your ears with every heavy step you take all you can hear is the throbbing of your heart and the deafening roar of the silence still unable to see anything finally getting closer to the blinding light and then you fall the ground suddenly giving way beneath your feet causing your body to plummet into the darkness again uncertainty about where you will land coursing through your body and fear begins to take its stranglehold upon your soul as you plummet further and further away from the light until you can barely see it anymore and all the thoughts in your head are jumbled into useless mush as you try to figure out what is going on and how you can stop it but then you realize that your body is starting to separate from your mind the numbness of your flesh becoming a minor detail in your life as you continue to fall alone and deserted full of despair and chaos surrounded by nothing your emotions having left you as well incapacitating your ability to think and rationalize and the pressure of disaster just presses in on you harder and harder until your feeble mind is ready to crack and then...you let go. you stop caring about what could happen or what might happen and begin to focus on the moment. feeling slowly starts to return to your body. you begin to realize that there is something at the bottom for you, something that will stop you from falling. your throat loosens, the butterflies flutter away, and your heart calms itself. your hearing slowly returns as your heart resumes its regularity. your muscles relax as you fully embrace the fall, despite not know where it will take you. but you realize you still cannot see. you call out into the uncertain darkness, empty words drifting off into silence. again you make sure your eyes are open. finally, as you look down, there is a small speck of light. you expect to hurtle towards it, but you softly float downwards. then you realize it is gliding up to meet you. slowly, surely, you meet up with the destiny in the bright light, the one person you always knew you could count on to be there for you. they catch you from your fall and you stare into the eyes of forever.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Move On
as i stand in front of this crowded room
i feel isolated, alone;
this should be the happiest day of my life,
or so that saying goes.
the music begins to waft through the pews,
and heads immediately turn,
staring to the back for all to witness the beginning
and life to start afresh.
as the bridesmaids and my men walk down
my heart pounds faster and faster,
knowing that with every step they take
you come closer to me;
and once again i return to my memories,
so wonderful and sweet,
going back for years;
makes me smile and laugh.
but you aren't there.
i see the face of the one i forever love,
that which is not you;
we shared our souls,
then "God" took her from me...forever...
it bothers me no more;
guess you'll have to do.
i feel isolated, alone;
this should be the happiest day of my life,
or so that saying goes.
the music begins to waft through the pews,
and heads immediately turn,
staring to the back for all to witness the beginning
and life to start afresh.
as the bridesmaids and my men walk down
my heart pounds faster and faster,
knowing that with every step they take
you come closer to me;
and once again i return to my memories,
so wonderful and sweet,
going back for years;
makes me smile and laugh.
but you aren't there.
i see the face of the one i forever love,
that which is not you;
we shared our souls,
then "God" took her from me...forever...
it bothers me no more;
guess you'll have to do.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Psycho
please note: this post is explicit in nature, in both violence and language; the squeamish and censored should take heed
It was the heat of the summer. I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck as I wandered out of my cruiser and up the walkway. I ducked as the deputy lifted the caution tape slightly so I could pass by into the upper half of the front yard. The door was already open, crime scene investigators beating me here; damn traffic. Just as I got to the door, I smelled that familiar iron-coated rusting odor: blood. It was everywhere, just like the previous four scenes. I was always the last to admit a serial killer when it happened, but this one was unmistakable. Everyone agreed on that matter immediately at the second scene. There was no mistaking that the same person - if they could even be called a person - was behind both.
The first one had happened only two weeks back. Five victims in two weeks; the commissioner would be breathing down my neck soon, and the press was already in a frenzy. Nothing like this had happened in the history of this city. All of my officers were hard at work, hoping to break the case and become an overnight sensation, getting promoted to another precinct with the prestige to match their newly found glory. But this was of little concern to me. Sure, I was the youngest captain in the history of the force, and everyone kept telling me I was going places. However, I felt that this was no way for me to become a celebrity, for lack of a more accurate term. This, to me, was a failure to protect and serve, allowing such a monstrosity to continue ravaging our quaint town. And as I stepped into the living room, I was reminded just how much of a monster I was dealing with.
It appeared that two more victims lay there, bringing the total up to seven. I say appeared because that is the only way to describe the scene. The bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. Limbs were torn and distorted, various body parts missing. The chest had been ripped open, the ribs shattered in the act, extending the gash down into the stomach. Where there should have been organs, there were none; everything was missing from its proper place. This fact lead us to the conclusion that the killer was after organs, to sell them on the black market. Furthermore, at the third scene, some special packaging was found, similar to that of organ packaging, to prevent them from becoming "bad". In order for a successful organ transfer to occur, though, the organ would have to be implanted within 48 hours or so, and that was with ideal, state of the art machinery. Anything sub-standard would be useless in transferring them. So the question was, where did he put all these organs? And how was he able to transport them so quickly out of the town undetected? These questions needed to be answered if there was any chance of stopping his rampage.
Even though this scene was just like the others, and I was relatively used to the smell of blood and rotting flesh, my stomach still clenched at the site of the mutilated bodies. The pool of blood covered the majority of the rug the two bodies laid upon. They used to be a happily married couple of 10 years. A pattern had been forming about the bodies, further adding to our ideas of organ stealing. All were adult Caucasians, between 25 and 35, and in excellent physical condition. None of them took drugs of any kind, drank at all, nor had they smoked a day in their life. In essence, they were the example of a perfect human being, although autopsy reports were thoroughly inconclusive because of the severe lack of organs for analysis. From what could be discerned, the victims were sedated so that the organs would still be functioning when they were removed. The bleeding was never stopped, so exsanguination was the ultimate cause of death.
The most interesting fact was that the make shift surgery seemed so primitive. Organ stealing was a hefty business and should be done by professionals, but this was so amateur. The cuts were erratic and dangerous, just like the previous victims'. There was no care taken to avoid the vital organs, making sure the more valuable ones were left whole and unscathed. Other than that, everything pointed to someone with superb skill, in addition to the craft of killing perfect examples of athletes. My daydreaming was broken by the soft cough of the coroner, who was suddenly standing next to me. "I've done everything that I can here. Like before, the vast majority of the organs are missing. I'll check the tox screen when we get back to the lab, but I expect to find substantial amounts of horse tranquilizer as in the previous victims." I nodded as his voice somewhat trailed off, allowing me to take in the scene again. Once again, nightmares would follow me home and into my sleep...
The next day brought no new leads. I was thoroughly disappointed in my own efforts. I was supposed to be the lead on this investigation and there was no results. The commissioner was breathing down my neck even harder than before, and I did not bode well under the unnecessary pressure. I tried not to take it out on my fellow officers, but it was inevitable I would snap when someone pushed me too far. In the afternoon, I went down to the morgue. As we had thought the previous day, the same tranquilizer was present in the blood stream and tissues. So the official death toll was at 7. And each day just brought him moving faster; he must be having great success. Once again, the day dragged on, nothing new developing, until it was time to go home for the night. My wife had prepared me dinner, even though I wasn't very hungry. She did what she could to comfort me,letting me rest my head on her shoulder with her blonde hair brushing my face, but the pain and torment of my job was too much; once again, i slept little, haunted by each victim's face in my dreams...
The next day was much the same, until very late in the afternoon. One of the CSIs came sprinting down the hallway, yelling in some excited gibberish that no one could understand. She skidded to a halt in front of my office door. "You won't believe this," she managed to gasp out between erratic breaths. She handed me the piece of paper she was holding; it was a read out from a DNA sequence comparison. "We found a blonde hair at the crime scene yesterday. We knew it couldn't be the husband's since he's got black hair. It roughly matched the color of the wife, so it didn't get priority processing; we had to run the blood and such first. But here's where it gets crazy. We ran the hair sample, and it had enough skin on the tag to run DNA comparison. The wife's is on the left; the hair we found at the scene is on the right." I looked down at the sheet I was now holding. I exhaled deeply. "That's right," she said, relaying my thoughts to the empty office. "No match to the wife, but still female. Our serial killer is a woman."
This was unheard of. A serial killer with so much blood lust a woman? And so much skill in the realm of a scalpel. All this news sent my head whirling, made worse by the maddening heat of the summer. "Did you run this against our databases?" She glanced down then back at me. "We just started it, but it doesn't look promising. It will most likely take all night to run." I nodded in understanding. Gathering my things, I went out into the humid air to take another drive home. The thoughts in my head would not rest very well tonight. I arrived home to an empty house. There was a note on the kitchen counter from my wife, reminding me that she was going out of town for the weekend and that leftovers were in the fridge for me. What would I do without her, I thought to myself as a I poured a glass of straight brandy and got out the cold cuts to make a sandwich. I didn't sleep that night. Sitting on the couch in the living room, I just stared mindlessly at the infomercials running in the early morning hours. Then I got the phone call...
I pushed the speedometer to 70 mph down the residential, gathering the speed I needed to get to the new crime scene. I couldn't stand it to be another; this serial killer was out of control, beginning to feed off the press. For this reason, we withheld the evidence that it was a woman. Who knew what would have happened if that information was released. I made it to the house in record time, the crime scene tape freshly added onto the perimeter. As soon as I stepped out of the car into the relatively cool night air, something felt out of place in this scene. Once inside the house, my suspicions were confirmed.
The body, although it still fit the physical description of the previous victims, was thoroughly different than before. Organs were still in place; well, some of them at least. Others were gone or mutilated beyond recognition. The blood was everywhere this time. Arterial spray caught my eye first, splattering up the walls and onto the ceiling. None of the previous victims had had this feature. I moved with the CSI and coroner to inspect the body more thoroughly when they had arrived. As my eyes fixed upon the neck, the CSI gasped at what I locked my gaze upon: bites. There were small chunks of flesh bitten out of the woman's neck. The impression left was clearly that of a human jaw, and the size was slightly indicative of the female notion of the serial killer. "This is all wrong," I stumbled out. "We had it all wrong. This was never about saving the organs to sell them...it was about saving the organs to eat them..." My voice trailed off as the magnitude of my words sunk in. My phone broke our silence.
It was the CSI from yesterday, calling about the DNA results from the hair. "We were wrong," I interrupted her before she could get a word out. "Tell everyone in the lab and station that the serial killer is a she. And tell them that she is a cannibal. This was never about selling organs; it was about eating them." The silence at the other end lasted a little too long for my comfort. "What is it?" I spat out. The voice on the other end grew quiet and eeked out a response: "The DNA results found a match...I'm so sorry...it's your wife..."
The thunderous silence that followed crushed my ears. I heard indistinct mutterings all around me and felt my phone falling from my ear. My head turned, reeled in a horrid thought. I had to know. I sprinted from the house to my car, peeling out as I sped off into the night towards my house. How could I have been so blind? Housing a serial killer all this time...
I tore my house apart, looking for anything and everything that could give her away. I couldn't find anything obvious. Then it hit me. A disgusting, repulsive thought that I could barely stomach. I went to our fridge, looking into the leftovers of stew that she had given me. For the first time, I really smelled, inhaled that rust blood smell that is indicative of only a human...
I threw the bowl across the room as the bile rose up into my throat, spewing vomit into the sink. That bitch....she fed me human flesh...my thoughts trailed off into a whirlwind of shame and doubt. Vaguely, I became aware of a distinct ringing noise. I thought I had fainted and was finally coming to, only to realize that it was my cell phone. Surprised, I answered it, having thought that I dropped it at the crime scene.
"Hello," I forced out. The voice on the other end was curt, almost non-human. "We put out a broadcast for you wife's car. It was seen about three miles up road from the last crime scene, turning off into a back road towards and abandoned farm house. We are rolling out and will be there in 5." Without a thanks or a good-bye, I hung up the phone, sprinting back to my cruiser again. Pushing the needle of the speedometer up and up, I made it to the turnoff in 3 minutes. Once S.W.A.T. got there, I was ready to go into the house.
The door was smashed and we quickly flooded inside, clearing room after room silently and swiftly. We found no one in the house, and the barn proved to be clean too. Frustration set in. We knew she was here; no one had seen her leave, and her car was still parked outside in the front yard. That's when I heard it. I couldn't tell what it was, but there was a noise that drew me to a corner of the kitchen. My last step hit a hollow spot in the floorboards. Quickly, several boards were removed to reveal a trapdoor. Without hesitation, I swung it open and descended the dimly lit staircase. Throwing caution to the wind, I ran down the narrow corridor that opened up in front of me. I came to rest at the door to another room; it was ajar. S.W.A.T. was not far behind me. I stepped into the room. What I saw, there was no words for...
There was a limp body in the middle of the room, and my mind immediately made the connection: the victim's husband. That must be why the body was so mutilated. He had come earlier than expected from the commissioner's kid's birthday party; he was the only clown for miles, although he did double as a magician too. It was as if he was attacked as soon as he got home, still wearing his outfit. But this was not the shocking part at all. My wife was hovering over him, holding his arm, blood dripping from her mouth. She had been eating his raw flesh, not even bothering to undress him or wash his makeup from his face. I saw her eyes in the now bright light of the S.W.A.T. flashlights. There was nothing there. I saw empty pools of terror, nothing at all like the wife that I knew and loved. Anger and hatred welled up inside me. Obscenities poured from my mouth, cursing her to the depths of hell, damning her to eternal torture for her vile acts against human nature.
Her eyes suddenly flickered, as if she was in a trance. Then, slowly, deliberately, she placed her teeth around the severed arm and bit deep. Blood frothed around her lips as I heard the tearing of flesh. My cursing was stronger this time as she deliberately chewed in front of me, savoring every bite. As soon as I yelled that I wished I had never met her, her face changed. It appeared to soften. I paused, wondering if I had actually gotten through to her. Waving down the guns of the officers, I walked to her as she took a couple steps towards me. I shuddered with the shiver down my spine as she was still holding the arm. Clown paint had smeared down it, which I discovered was from her eating part of his face as I glanced behind her to the body.
We stopped approaching each other with about three feet in between us. My eyes met hers. I couldn't discern what she was thinking, her mind blocked by the obvious insanity and rage that filled her body now. She startled me as she let out a heavy sigh full of some confusion. This puzzled me. Then she startled me again. She lifted the arm up to me, resting it in the air about halfway between the two of us. The horror welled in me as she smiled, flashing her blood-drenched teeth at me, flecks of flesh stuck in between them, blood matting the sides of her cheeks. The audacity of her act shocked me...she was offering me a bite, suggesting that I eat it. It was only then that I knew she had fed me human flesh before. Her smile widened as my shock and horror filled me, with gasps coming from behind me. She took another step towards me, the arm now just a foot away from my face. She opened her mouth and whispered...
"Does this taste funny to you?"
It was the heat of the summer. I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck as I wandered out of my cruiser and up the walkway. I ducked as the deputy lifted the caution tape slightly so I could pass by into the upper half of the front yard. The door was already open, crime scene investigators beating me here; damn traffic. Just as I got to the door, I smelled that familiar iron-coated rusting odor: blood. It was everywhere, just like the previous four scenes. I was always the last to admit a serial killer when it happened, but this one was unmistakable. Everyone agreed on that matter immediately at the second scene. There was no mistaking that the same person - if they could even be called a person - was behind both.
The first one had happened only two weeks back. Five victims in two weeks; the commissioner would be breathing down my neck soon, and the press was already in a frenzy. Nothing like this had happened in the history of this city. All of my officers were hard at work, hoping to break the case and become an overnight sensation, getting promoted to another precinct with the prestige to match their newly found glory. But this was of little concern to me. Sure, I was the youngest captain in the history of the force, and everyone kept telling me I was going places. However, I felt that this was no way for me to become a celebrity, for lack of a more accurate term. This, to me, was a failure to protect and serve, allowing such a monstrosity to continue ravaging our quaint town. And as I stepped into the living room, I was reminded just how much of a monster I was dealing with.
It appeared that two more victims lay there, bringing the total up to seven. I say appeared because that is the only way to describe the scene. The bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. Limbs were torn and distorted, various body parts missing. The chest had been ripped open, the ribs shattered in the act, extending the gash down into the stomach. Where there should have been organs, there were none; everything was missing from its proper place. This fact lead us to the conclusion that the killer was after organs, to sell them on the black market. Furthermore, at the third scene, some special packaging was found, similar to that of organ packaging, to prevent them from becoming "bad". In order for a successful organ transfer to occur, though, the organ would have to be implanted within 48 hours or so, and that was with ideal, state of the art machinery. Anything sub-standard would be useless in transferring them. So the question was, where did he put all these organs? And how was he able to transport them so quickly out of the town undetected? These questions needed to be answered if there was any chance of stopping his rampage.
Even though this scene was just like the others, and I was relatively used to the smell of blood and rotting flesh, my stomach still clenched at the site of the mutilated bodies. The pool of blood covered the majority of the rug the two bodies laid upon. They used to be a happily married couple of 10 years. A pattern had been forming about the bodies, further adding to our ideas of organ stealing. All were adult Caucasians, between 25 and 35, and in excellent physical condition. None of them took drugs of any kind, drank at all, nor had they smoked a day in their life. In essence, they were the example of a perfect human being, although autopsy reports were thoroughly inconclusive because of the severe lack of organs for analysis. From what could be discerned, the victims were sedated so that the organs would still be functioning when they were removed. The bleeding was never stopped, so exsanguination was the ultimate cause of death.
The most interesting fact was that the make shift surgery seemed so primitive. Organ stealing was a hefty business and should be done by professionals, but this was so amateur. The cuts were erratic and dangerous, just like the previous victims'. There was no care taken to avoid the vital organs, making sure the more valuable ones were left whole and unscathed. Other than that, everything pointed to someone with superb skill, in addition to the craft of killing perfect examples of athletes. My daydreaming was broken by the soft cough of the coroner, who was suddenly standing next to me. "I've done everything that I can here. Like before, the vast majority of the organs are missing. I'll check the tox screen when we get back to the lab, but I expect to find substantial amounts of horse tranquilizer as in the previous victims." I nodded as his voice somewhat trailed off, allowing me to take in the scene again. Once again, nightmares would follow me home and into my sleep...
The next day brought no new leads. I was thoroughly disappointed in my own efforts. I was supposed to be the lead on this investigation and there was no results. The commissioner was breathing down my neck even harder than before, and I did not bode well under the unnecessary pressure. I tried not to take it out on my fellow officers, but it was inevitable I would snap when someone pushed me too far. In the afternoon, I went down to the morgue. As we had thought the previous day, the same tranquilizer was present in the blood stream and tissues. So the official death toll was at 7. And each day just brought him moving faster; he must be having great success. Once again, the day dragged on, nothing new developing, until it was time to go home for the night. My wife had prepared me dinner, even though I wasn't very hungry. She did what she could to comfort me,letting me rest my head on her shoulder with her blonde hair brushing my face, but the pain and torment of my job was too much; once again, i slept little, haunted by each victim's face in my dreams...
The next day was much the same, until very late in the afternoon. One of the CSIs came sprinting down the hallway, yelling in some excited gibberish that no one could understand. She skidded to a halt in front of my office door. "You won't believe this," she managed to gasp out between erratic breaths. She handed me the piece of paper she was holding; it was a read out from a DNA sequence comparison. "We found a blonde hair at the crime scene yesterday. We knew it couldn't be the husband's since he's got black hair. It roughly matched the color of the wife, so it didn't get priority processing; we had to run the blood and such first. But here's where it gets crazy. We ran the hair sample, and it had enough skin on the tag to run DNA comparison. The wife's is on the left; the hair we found at the scene is on the right." I looked down at the sheet I was now holding. I exhaled deeply. "That's right," she said, relaying my thoughts to the empty office. "No match to the wife, but still female. Our serial killer is a woman."
This was unheard of. A serial killer with so much blood lust a woman? And so much skill in the realm of a scalpel. All this news sent my head whirling, made worse by the maddening heat of the summer. "Did you run this against our databases?" She glanced down then back at me. "We just started it, but it doesn't look promising. It will most likely take all night to run." I nodded in understanding. Gathering my things, I went out into the humid air to take another drive home. The thoughts in my head would not rest very well tonight. I arrived home to an empty house. There was a note on the kitchen counter from my wife, reminding me that she was going out of town for the weekend and that leftovers were in the fridge for me. What would I do without her, I thought to myself as a I poured a glass of straight brandy and got out the cold cuts to make a sandwich. I didn't sleep that night. Sitting on the couch in the living room, I just stared mindlessly at the infomercials running in the early morning hours. Then I got the phone call...
I pushed the speedometer to 70 mph down the residential, gathering the speed I needed to get to the new crime scene. I couldn't stand it to be another; this serial killer was out of control, beginning to feed off the press. For this reason, we withheld the evidence that it was a woman. Who knew what would have happened if that information was released. I made it to the house in record time, the crime scene tape freshly added onto the perimeter. As soon as I stepped out of the car into the relatively cool night air, something felt out of place in this scene. Once inside the house, my suspicions were confirmed.
The body, although it still fit the physical description of the previous victims, was thoroughly different than before. Organs were still in place; well, some of them at least. Others were gone or mutilated beyond recognition. The blood was everywhere this time. Arterial spray caught my eye first, splattering up the walls and onto the ceiling. None of the previous victims had had this feature. I moved with the CSI and coroner to inspect the body more thoroughly when they had arrived. As my eyes fixed upon the neck, the CSI gasped at what I locked my gaze upon: bites. There were small chunks of flesh bitten out of the woman's neck. The impression left was clearly that of a human jaw, and the size was slightly indicative of the female notion of the serial killer. "This is all wrong," I stumbled out. "We had it all wrong. This was never about saving the organs to sell them...it was about saving the organs to eat them..." My voice trailed off as the magnitude of my words sunk in. My phone broke our silence.
It was the CSI from yesterday, calling about the DNA results from the hair. "We were wrong," I interrupted her before she could get a word out. "Tell everyone in the lab and station that the serial killer is a she. And tell them that she is a cannibal. This was never about selling organs; it was about eating them." The silence at the other end lasted a little too long for my comfort. "What is it?" I spat out. The voice on the other end grew quiet and eeked out a response: "The DNA results found a match...I'm so sorry...it's your wife..."
The thunderous silence that followed crushed my ears. I heard indistinct mutterings all around me and felt my phone falling from my ear. My head turned, reeled in a horrid thought. I had to know. I sprinted from the house to my car, peeling out as I sped off into the night towards my house. How could I have been so blind? Housing a serial killer all this time...
I tore my house apart, looking for anything and everything that could give her away. I couldn't find anything obvious. Then it hit me. A disgusting, repulsive thought that I could barely stomach. I went to our fridge, looking into the leftovers of stew that she had given me. For the first time, I really smelled, inhaled that rust blood smell that is indicative of only a human...
I threw the bowl across the room as the bile rose up into my throat, spewing vomit into the sink. That bitch....she fed me human flesh...my thoughts trailed off into a whirlwind of shame and doubt. Vaguely, I became aware of a distinct ringing noise. I thought I had fainted and was finally coming to, only to realize that it was my cell phone. Surprised, I answered it, having thought that I dropped it at the crime scene.
"Hello," I forced out. The voice on the other end was curt, almost non-human. "We put out a broadcast for you wife's car. It was seen about three miles up road from the last crime scene, turning off into a back road towards and abandoned farm house. We are rolling out and will be there in 5." Without a thanks or a good-bye, I hung up the phone, sprinting back to my cruiser again. Pushing the needle of the speedometer up and up, I made it to the turnoff in 3 minutes. Once S.W.A.T. got there, I was ready to go into the house.
The door was smashed and we quickly flooded inside, clearing room after room silently and swiftly. We found no one in the house, and the barn proved to be clean too. Frustration set in. We knew she was here; no one had seen her leave, and her car was still parked outside in the front yard. That's when I heard it. I couldn't tell what it was, but there was a noise that drew me to a corner of the kitchen. My last step hit a hollow spot in the floorboards. Quickly, several boards were removed to reveal a trapdoor. Without hesitation, I swung it open and descended the dimly lit staircase. Throwing caution to the wind, I ran down the narrow corridor that opened up in front of me. I came to rest at the door to another room; it was ajar. S.W.A.T. was not far behind me. I stepped into the room. What I saw, there was no words for...
There was a limp body in the middle of the room, and my mind immediately made the connection: the victim's husband. That must be why the body was so mutilated. He had come earlier than expected from the commissioner's kid's birthday party; he was the only clown for miles, although he did double as a magician too. It was as if he was attacked as soon as he got home, still wearing his outfit. But this was not the shocking part at all. My wife was hovering over him, holding his arm, blood dripping from her mouth. She had been eating his raw flesh, not even bothering to undress him or wash his makeup from his face. I saw her eyes in the now bright light of the S.W.A.T. flashlights. There was nothing there. I saw empty pools of terror, nothing at all like the wife that I knew and loved. Anger and hatred welled up inside me. Obscenities poured from my mouth, cursing her to the depths of hell, damning her to eternal torture for her vile acts against human nature.
Her eyes suddenly flickered, as if she was in a trance. Then, slowly, deliberately, she placed her teeth around the severed arm and bit deep. Blood frothed around her lips as I heard the tearing of flesh. My cursing was stronger this time as she deliberately chewed in front of me, savoring every bite. As soon as I yelled that I wished I had never met her, her face changed. It appeared to soften. I paused, wondering if I had actually gotten through to her. Waving down the guns of the officers, I walked to her as she took a couple steps towards me. I shuddered with the shiver down my spine as she was still holding the arm. Clown paint had smeared down it, which I discovered was from her eating part of his face as I glanced behind her to the body.
We stopped approaching each other with about three feet in between us. My eyes met hers. I couldn't discern what she was thinking, her mind blocked by the obvious insanity and rage that filled her body now. She startled me as she let out a heavy sigh full of some confusion. This puzzled me. Then she startled me again. She lifted the arm up to me, resting it in the air about halfway between the two of us. The horror welled in me as she smiled, flashing her blood-drenched teeth at me, flecks of flesh stuck in between them, blood matting the sides of her cheeks. The audacity of her act shocked me...she was offering me a bite, suggesting that I eat it. It was only then that I knew she had fed me human flesh before. Her smile widened as my shock and horror filled me, with gasps coming from behind me. She took another step towards me, the arm now just a foot away from my face. She opened her mouth and whispered...
"Does this taste funny to you?"
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Perfection
A long time ago, there was a man who claimed to have the world's most perfect heart. He would spend many hours of the day prancing about the towns and villages he went to, showing off his perfect heart. It was flawless. Perfectly smooth, perfectly shaped, and exactly what one would think a heart to be like. All those around would marvel, coming from far and near, hearing of such a wondrous tale of the man with a perfect heart. What deeds this man must have done to be so gifted and be given such an award! It was nearly incomprehensible, even after looking at the heart, to think about. But then, as always happens, things change...
One day, while wandering through the city, a bum stumbled upon the man, showing his heart to those nearby. Something resembling a line was forming near him so that those who had not seen his heart could do so. Upon this site, the bum began to laugh. A slight giggle at first, then a nice chuckle or two. To him, surely this had to be a joke. But when the man closed the view of his heart to look at the bum, the bum suddenly realized that this was no joke; the man truly believed that he had the world's most perfect heart. Pity filled the bum's face as he looked into the man's eyes, the line of observers slowly turning into a crowd gathering near the two men.
"What is so funny?" the man asked the bum. A slight sad look in his eyes, the bum slowly shook his head. "Do you really think that your heart is perfect, my son?" This was not what the man was expecting; he took a step back like he had taken a physical blow from the bum. "Of course I do!" was the immediate knee-jerk response. The man became indignant, his perfect heart turning into stone, closed off from the bum. "How can you not think it is perfect?!"
Again, the bum just slowly shook his head. Without word, he slowly opened up to show his heart to the crowd. It was horrid. The color was all wrong, not uniform, splotchy in most places. The shape was off, slightly squished in some parts and expanded in others. But the most shocking part was that it was made of chunks. It was not one uniform piece, but rather a puzzle assembly of heart parts that didn't quite fit together. Some pieces were even missing, deep gouges through to the core. This was no perfect heart. It was a feeble and weak attempt at creating something, like trying to make a monster more human by giving it something it could never have. The sight was unbelievable in and of itself. There were several audible gasps from the crowd, one woman even covering the eyes of her child. The man looked at the "heart" taken aback, but then it was his turn to laugh. "You call that a heart? I can barely recognize it!" The man felt slightly relieved. To his surprise though, the bum smiled.
"It is not only a heart, but it is a portrait of perfection. This is what a heart is truly supposed to look like."
For some reason, no one laughed. They all thought that they should at such a preposterous, outlandish statement. But something in the way the bum said it, something in the way he smiled, made what he said feel so...human. That is the best way to describe this scene. In the silence, the bum continued:
"I have been loved, and I have loved. My heart is composed of pieces of other hearts, of everyone I have counted important to me. They surround the inner fragment of myself that I will always have, and they will protect me with their love and kindness. Not all of the pieces fit together properly. The love given is never the same as the loved return, in any instance. Sometimes, as is the case of these deep gouges, the love returned is nothing, a hollow gesture, that leads to your heart being vulnerable. This is what a heart is for: loving. There is no other purpose. It is not paraded around for all to see, but not quite hidden to one's self. It is the common ground of these two cases. Give to others, but do not overdo it yourself. The heart can only take so much before it can break, the fragile thing it is. And even then, it is impossible to put back together on your own. It is like trying to solve a Rubik's cube, but after each turn the stickers shift over, changing your move; you need that other person, maybe even several people, to hold the stickers down for you while you solve your puzzle. Many hearts are strong, but even the best can break when pressure is applied to the right spot. I've had my share of heartache, my share of given and received love, my share of betrayal, and my share of life experiences. Your heart may look perfect, but is it really perfect?"
Tears were in members of the audience at this speech. The man was stunned into momentary paralysis: he couldn't move or talk and was barely even able to think about snapping out of it. Finally, after a few moments, he slowly walked towards the bum. When he was but a couple feet away, he stopped short, a single tear resting in the corner of his eye. No longer hesitating, and no longer stunned, he opened his heart once again, for the whole world to see. But there was no pride in his face this time, no boastful nature; there was sadness and shame that he had squandered such a gift. He knew what he had to do. The man reached inside of him and pulled out a chunk of his perfect heart. He heard gasps and mutterings from the crowd, but he chose to ignore them. He gave it to the bum, who properly returned the favor.
For the first time in all his life, the man had a real relationship. For the first time in all his life, the man had made a friend that would last forever.
And now I implore you to do the same. Do not be like the man, hiding away your heart for no one to become a part of, showing it off like a trophy. Aspire to be like the bum. Spread pieces of your heart around the world. Give them to friends, who will in turn undoubtedly give them to other friends, spreading those you come into contact with. Keeping that central core piece of your own, covered by all of those that you care about and care about you in return. Do not worry for the gouges that come of it; they are a necessary part of life, unavoidable facts. It is what we do with them, who we allow to fill them up, that defines us. Please, do not hide. Take off, take a chance, and throw all caution to the wind. Everyone needs someone else. Once that person is found, give them as much of your heart as they want. Someday, you just might give away your whole heart. That day, you will go beyond love and understand true love.
One day, while wandering through the city, a bum stumbled upon the man, showing his heart to those nearby. Something resembling a line was forming near him so that those who had not seen his heart could do so. Upon this site, the bum began to laugh. A slight giggle at first, then a nice chuckle or two. To him, surely this had to be a joke. But when the man closed the view of his heart to look at the bum, the bum suddenly realized that this was no joke; the man truly believed that he had the world's most perfect heart. Pity filled the bum's face as he looked into the man's eyes, the line of observers slowly turning into a crowd gathering near the two men.
"What is so funny?" the man asked the bum. A slight sad look in his eyes, the bum slowly shook his head. "Do you really think that your heart is perfect, my son?" This was not what the man was expecting; he took a step back like he had taken a physical blow from the bum. "Of course I do!" was the immediate knee-jerk response. The man became indignant, his perfect heart turning into stone, closed off from the bum. "How can you not think it is perfect?!"
Again, the bum just slowly shook his head. Without word, he slowly opened up to show his heart to the crowd. It was horrid. The color was all wrong, not uniform, splotchy in most places. The shape was off, slightly squished in some parts and expanded in others. But the most shocking part was that it was made of chunks. It was not one uniform piece, but rather a puzzle assembly of heart parts that didn't quite fit together. Some pieces were even missing, deep gouges through to the core. This was no perfect heart. It was a feeble and weak attempt at creating something, like trying to make a monster more human by giving it something it could never have. The sight was unbelievable in and of itself. There were several audible gasps from the crowd, one woman even covering the eyes of her child. The man looked at the "heart" taken aback, but then it was his turn to laugh. "You call that a heart? I can barely recognize it!" The man felt slightly relieved. To his surprise though, the bum smiled.
"It is not only a heart, but it is a portrait of perfection. This is what a heart is truly supposed to look like."
For some reason, no one laughed. They all thought that they should at such a preposterous, outlandish statement. But something in the way the bum said it, something in the way he smiled, made what he said feel so...human. That is the best way to describe this scene. In the silence, the bum continued:
"I have been loved, and I have loved. My heart is composed of pieces of other hearts, of everyone I have counted important to me. They surround the inner fragment of myself that I will always have, and they will protect me with their love and kindness. Not all of the pieces fit together properly. The love given is never the same as the loved return, in any instance. Sometimes, as is the case of these deep gouges, the love returned is nothing, a hollow gesture, that leads to your heart being vulnerable. This is what a heart is for: loving. There is no other purpose. It is not paraded around for all to see, but not quite hidden to one's self. It is the common ground of these two cases. Give to others, but do not overdo it yourself. The heart can only take so much before it can break, the fragile thing it is. And even then, it is impossible to put back together on your own. It is like trying to solve a Rubik's cube, but after each turn the stickers shift over, changing your move; you need that other person, maybe even several people, to hold the stickers down for you while you solve your puzzle. Many hearts are strong, but even the best can break when pressure is applied to the right spot. I've had my share of heartache, my share of given and received love, my share of betrayal, and my share of life experiences. Your heart may look perfect, but is it really perfect?"
Tears were in members of the audience at this speech. The man was stunned into momentary paralysis: he couldn't move or talk and was barely even able to think about snapping out of it. Finally, after a few moments, he slowly walked towards the bum. When he was but a couple feet away, he stopped short, a single tear resting in the corner of his eye. No longer hesitating, and no longer stunned, he opened his heart once again, for the whole world to see. But there was no pride in his face this time, no boastful nature; there was sadness and shame that he had squandered such a gift. He knew what he had to do. The man reached inside of him and pulled out a chunk of his perfect heart. He heard gasps and mutterings from the crowd, but he chose to ignore them. He gave it to the bum, who properly returned the favor.
For the first time in all his life, the man had a real relationship. For the first time in all his life, the man had made a friend that would last forever.
And now I implore you to do the same. Do not be like the man, hiding away your heart for no one to become a part of, showing it off like a trophy. Aspire to be like the bum. Spread pieces of your heart around the world. Give them to friends, who will in turn undoubtedly give them to other friends, spreading those you come into contact with. Keeping that central core piece of your own, covered by all of those that you care about and care about you in return. Do not worry for the gouges that come of it; they are a necessary part of life, unavoidable facts. It is what we do with them, who we allow to fill them up, that defines us. Please, do not hide. Take off, take a chance, and throw all caution to the wind. Everyone needs someone else. Once that person is found, give them as much of your heart as they want. Someday, you just might give away your whole heart. That day, you will go beyond love and understand true love.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sounds of Appeal
no particular order; subject to addition and/or deletion
(1) a thunderous tide
(2) helicopter rotors
(3) bubble wrap popping
(4) ticket scanning at a sporting event
(5) squealing tires
(6) a banjo
(7) forceful waterfall
(8) drizzle of mist
(9) drenching downpour
(10) what my heart says
(11) silence
(12) another's thoughts
(13) a single water drop
(14) a heart beat
(15) the wind
(16) an orchestra/a symphony
(17) breath
(18) falling snow
(19) her whispering/breathing into my ear
(20) her eyes
(21) her heart
(1) a thunderous tide
(2) helicopter rotors
(3) bubble wrap popping
(4) ticket scanning at a sporting event
(5) squealing tires
(6) a banjo
(7) forceful waterfall
(8) drizzle of mist
(9) drenching downpour
(10) what my heart says
(11) silence
(12) another's thoughts
(13) a single water drop
(14) a heart beat
(15) the wind
(16) an orchestra/a symphony
(17) breath
(18) falling snow
(19) her whispering/breathing into my ear
(20) her eyes
(21) her heart
Monday, June 8, 2009
Parents
Who knew such a simple word could evoke such emotion? They are only two people in a world of 6 billion. They have such...power. They can control every aspect of your life willingly and create a hell on earth. Much of the time, that's exactly how it feels to you. Whenever you want to do something, they don't want you to. When you start growing up and maturing, they don't want you to. Everything they do is in perfect contrast to what and who you are. You recede into yourself, drawing up hate for them, despise their existence. Everything they do to you is unfair and out of spite for how they were raised. Oh yeah, that never ending "you don't know how good you have it" phrase and story gets old relatively quickly, meaning after the very first time you hear it. You can't wait to leave, you're itching to get off to college. Then you'll be free from their tyranny. But wait, it gets better: you still can't escape their grasp. One way or another, they still get you to do what they want. Sure, you have your free time to party and go crazy, get out of control. But ultimately, you have to get the grades and impress them enough so that you can stay in school. And finally, there is that undeniable feeling, that certainty that nothing you can ever do will be good enough for them. You'll never make them proud to be your parents. You'll always be viewed as a failure in their eyes because you couldn't live up to their expectations. And it is at this point that you just stop caring. You flip them the bird and give them a big eff you in your mind. You swear that one day, when you have kids of your own, you'll be the opposite. You'll give them everything that you never were able to have, everything that you couldn't have because of the dictators that are your parents.
But then it happens.
You are put in their place. You have kids of your own. Then you finally begin to understand. There was a rhyme and reason to the madness that your parents had in raising you. You come to realize you were always loved. And it turns out that there was next to nothing you could do to make your parents NOT proud of you. You recall how they didn't always express their love for you. But then you quickly realize that it was a fallacy. It wasn't that they didn't know how to express their love for you; it was that you didn't know how they expressed their love for you. Every day they loved you. Everything they did was out of that love for you. And it's true, you will never fully understand why. Even as you are going through it, you will never be able to comprehend why they are doing what they are doing, why they are acting how they are acting. But as I stated earlier, you become them by having your own kids. Then, it hits you, an epiphany of glorioius proportions. The love between parents and children, once seeminly so cryptic, has now become so simplistic. And not just out in the open, but beautiful as well. The intricate connection between parents and offspring can never be fully understood. It has the intangibles, in addition to love, that make it impossible to comprehend. Not until are you gifted with a family of your own will you understand why the decisions were made, as well as how difficult some of them actually were.
I emplore you: love your parents with all your heart. You may not understand anything about the relationship you share with them, but that is a small matter. The bond you share is inseparable, no matter how hard you may try to shake it, or how far away you may try and grow from it. Give them a call for no reason. Thank them for all they have done for you. Thank them for all that they will do for you. The first gift you are ever given by your parents is your name, the identity you shall have in this world. But the most important gifts given unto you were your life and their love. Without these, we are nothing. Without our parents, we are nobodies. So please, do not wait to thank them before it is too late. No matter what the day brings, they will always love you in the end. And no one can ask for more than that.
But then it happens.
You are put in their place. You have kids of your own. Then you finally begin to understand. There was a rhyme and reason to the madness that your parents had in raising you. You come to realize you were always loved. And it turns out that there was next to nothing you could do to make your parents NOT proud of you. You recall how they didn't always express their love for you. But then you quickly realize that it was a fallacy. It wasn't that they didn't know how to express their love for you; it was that you didn't know how they expressed their love for you. Every day they loved you. Everything they did was out of that love for you. And it's true, you will never fully understand why. Even as you are going through it, you will never be able to comprehend why they are doing what they are doing, why they are acting how they are acting. But as I stated earlier, you become them by having your own kids. Then, it hits you, an epiphany of glorioius proportions. The love between parents and children, once seeminly so cryptic, has now become so simplistic. And not just out in the open, but beautiful as well. The intricate connection between parents and offspring can never be fully understood. It has the intangibles, in addition to love, that make it impossible to comprehend. Not until are you gifted with a family of your own will you understand why the decisions were made, as well as how difficult some of them actually were.
I emplore you: love your parents with all your heart. You may not understand anything about the relationship you share with them, but that is a small matter. The bond you share is inseparable, no matter how hard you may try to shake it, or how far away you may try and grow from it. Give them a call for no reason. Thank them for all they have done for you. Thank them for all that they will do for you. The first gift you are ever given by your parents is your name, the identity you shall have in this world. But the most important gifts given unto you were your life and their love. Without these, we are nothing. Without our parents, we are nobodies. So please, do not wait to thank them before it is too late. No matter what the day brings, they will always love you in the end. And no one can ask for more than that.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Purpose of Life
It's quite simple actually. I was fortunate enough to discover the purpose of life for me at a young age. While the details may not be the same for everyone, its essence is pure and true. The purpose of life is to be just who you are, the way you are, the best you can. Everyone does this in their own special way. For me, it's laughter. I pride myself in creating happiness in others, in being the shining moment of their day. It's not all about me; it's completely about others. I was placed on earth to be a servant to everyone, to live out my days eliciting joy to all those without, those unfortunate individuals who need a boost to smile.
Now I fully understand that everyone has their own talents: leaders, athletes, scholars, politicians. Everyone has to be different, that's just the way things are. Sameness will not solve problems and will not make the world go round. Only by embracing our differences shall we truly understand our oneness; only then shall we be able to comprehend the power we share with each other. So let's just talk it out, hug it out, and come to realize the understanding we already share with one another. In this moment will we discover how perfect each one of us actually is. Mind you, we are not flawless; however, perfection is attainable as the perfect balance between the good and bad qualities of one's self, whereby the good qualities vastly outweigh the bad.
In embracing ourselves and one another, the GOAL of life is found. Another way of saying this is that THEY are found. Simply put, you fall in love; you embrace every aspect of something other than yourself. This other person becomes your lifeblood; you become inseparable, clinging to each other. Your bonds tie deeply, intricately weaving heart and soul to the other, until that point is reached where you are no more. A new individual is formed from two; a union blossoms into the fragrant fruit of a family.
As enlightening as I have been, there is one thing I still have not discovered. How does one KNOW when they have found the other? That, my friends, shall never be answered. To know that answer is to take away the greatest mystery of life, the part that makes it an adventure. And one of the most frustrating things is that you can think you have found it, only to later discover that you could not have been more wrong. Breaking the heart is a frightening matter and can lead to anyone shutting themselves off from the world. But fear not, there is much hope; for that person who braves scale that wall and tear it down from the inside out, they are the one, the one that shall be with you for all time, until the end of days. Take their hand when they take you by the heart...love will surely follow.
Now I fully understand that everyone has their own talents: leaders, athletes, scholars, politicians. Everyone has to be different, that's just the way things are. Sameness will not solve problems and will not make the world go round. Only by embracing our differences shall we truly understand our oneness; only then shall we be able to comprehend the power we share with each other. So let's just talk it out, hug it out, and come to realize the understanding we already share with one another. In this moment will we discover how perfect each one of us actually is. Mind you, we are not flawless; however, perfection is attainable as the perfect balance between the good and bad qualities of one's self, whereby the good qualities vastly outweigh the bad.
In embracing ourselves and one another, the GOAL of life is found. Another way of saying this is that THEY are found. Simply put, you fall in love; you embrace every aspect of something other than yourself. This other person becomes your lifeblood; you become inseparable, clinging to each other. Your bonds tie deeply, intricately weaving heart and soul to the other, until that point is reached where you are no more. A new individual is formed from two; a union blossoms into the fragrant fruit of a family.
As enlightening as I have been, there is one thing I still have not discovered. How does one KNOW when they have found the other? That, my friends, shall never be answered. To know that answer is to take away the greatest mystery of life, the part that makes it an adventure. And one of the most frustrating things is that you can think you have found it, only to later discover that you could not have been more wrong. Breaking the heart is a frightening matter and can lead to anyone shutting themselves off from the world. But fear not, there is much hope; for that person who braves scale that wall and tear it down from the inside out, they are the one, the one that shall be with you for all time, until the end of days. Take their hand when they take you by the heart...love will surely follow.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
yay
chance brought us together;
and now a time zone separates us;
it feels like forever since we met
that random perfect night of which
you weren't supposed to be a part.
my heart was stolen by you
after just one day together
reading all the clues we shared;
it was like love at first sight,
even with all the doubts and questions we
joined our hearts together as
one body and soul
never to be apart
ever to be together
so long as you'll have me
and now a time zone separates us;
it feels like forever since we met
that random perfect night of which
you weren't supposed to be a part.
my heart was stolen by you
after just one day together
reading all the clues we shared;
it was like love at first sight,
even with all the doubts and questions we
joined our hearts together as
one body and soul
never to be apart
ever to be together
so long as you'll have me
unique
as time goes on
and passes by,
your life gains more meaning,
your innocence dwindles and fades,
cleansing and freeing your soul to
elude the grasp of monotony
and win your own identity,
differing you from every other woman
so that i would want you alone
so i would chance everything
in the purest hope
that i could have all your love;
and never will i stray
from the inescapable gravity
of your heart.
and passes by,
your life gains more meaning,
your innocence dwindles and fades,
cleansing and freeing your soul to
elude the grasp of monotony
and win your own identity,
differing you from every other woman
so that i would want you alone
so i would chance everything
in the purest hope
that i could have all your love;
and never will i stray
from the inescapable gravity
of your heart.
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