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Literature Text
I met her in a bathtub. The water was lukewarm, like her spirit, which clung with such tenacity to me that I had to shake it free when the rest of her body would not let it go. Her color was pale red and it had nothing to do with the tint of the water in which she was partly submerged. I watched the hazy silver instrument perched on the seat of the toilet and the slow progression of the water from rose to sickening sanguine. I had never seen a soul so desperate to escape its prison, or a body so adamant on keeping it prisoner. It’s like her blood simply began to coagulate in the veins she had mistaken for arteries. Even as I gently replaced her glowing soul in her fragile body I knew I would see her again – only because she was quietly and desperately dying to meet me.
I sat and watched her for a little while longer. I wanted to say something to her, but since the beginning of time I’ve had no voice except that which you humans have given me. I don’t know why you think I have some sort of evil laugh when I visit. I never laugh. My job is not a laughing matter. The only relief I have comes when I get to leave empty-handed. I slipped into the water and gently cradled her in my arms. She didn’t see me, or feel me, but I think she noticed me, because she smiled. Her head rested against where my chest should be, and I gently stroked her hair which was now matted in her own blood, thicker than the water she was still submerged in, with a hand she couldn’t feel. She was such a pretty, broken thing.
I knew that she carried her problems in the heart she wore on her sleeve. It was an angry black color on the outside, but on the inside it was a brilliant red, glowing with life and bleeding from the wounds on her arms and thighs where no one else could see them. This time, even as her soul hugged me so desperately, so wantonly, I wanted to take her away from this. Yet I couldn’t give her what she sought so urgently – release. I could have given her a temporary leave of absence, but not absolution.
I could see her desire for closure increase while her strength waned. It would be any minute now. Her soul was frantic; I had to unwrap it from the husk I occupied in order to fully replace it in time for him. In a way, I was jealous of him, if an entity such as myself could experience – not to mention fathom – such an emotion. He would be her savior, not me. And he would be saving her from me. And she would hate him for it, but not forever. You forgive each other so easily. No one forgives me.
Years passed. A lifetime elapsed in the blink of a human eye, and I quietly went to collect her soul for the second time. I had already taken him, and he punched me square in the jaw when I did so. I couldn’t blame him. Her body was so willing this time, practically tumbling her burning spirit into my arms which automatically moved to accept her. I would not carry her upon my shoulders like the others. She belonged in my arms. Don’t think me sordid. I had no designs for this gem of a creature, so fragile and so resilient. I merely wanted to conduct her to the other side in the arms of one she sought so long ago, like an old friend. So I did, even though it was only for a few moments of her eternity. I knew she wanted me, and I wanted her, and I had her if only for a little while, but it was enough. When I left her this time, in the arms of her one-time savior, she thanked me for saving her.
My existence is not negotiable; when there is no beginning and no end, to keep from going mad, I developed a proclivity for stealing pieces of time. So when someone asks me how I do what I do (because someone always does), day in and day out, with no relief, no off-season, no vacation, I tell them that although life isn’t necessarily always fair, it is worth living for the moments of clarity, the times of absolution. It’s worth living for the glowing souls.
I sat and watched her for a little while longer. I wanted to say something to her, but since the beginning of time I’ve had no voice except that which you humans have given me. I don’t know why you think I have some sort of evil laugh when I visit. I never laugh. My job is not a laughing matter. The only relief I have comes when I get to leave empty-handed. I slipped into the water and gently cradled her in my arms. She didn’t see me, or feel me, but I think she noticed me, because she smiled. Her head rested against where my chest should be, and I gently stroked her hair which was now matted in her own blood, thicker than the water she was still submerged in, with a hand she couldn’t feel. She was such a pretty, broken thing.
I knew that she carried her problems in the heart she wore on her sleeve. It was an angry black color on the outside, but on the inside it was a brilliant red, glowing with life and bleeding from the wounds on her arms and thighs where no one else could see them. This time, even as her soul hugged me so desperately, so wantonly, I wanted to take her away from this. Yet I couldn’t give her what she sought so urgently – release. I could have given her a temporary leave of absence, but not absolution.
I could see her desire for closure increase while her strength waned. It would be any minute now. Her soul was frantic; I had to unwrap it from the husk I occupied in order to fully replace it in time for him. In a way, I was jealous of him, if an entity such as myself could experience – not to mention fathom – such an emotion. He would be her savior, not me. And he would be saving her from me. And she would hate him for it, but not forever. You forgive each other so easily. No one forgives me.
Years passed. A lifetime elapsed in the blink of a human eye, and I quietly went to collect her soul for the second time. I had already taken him, and he punched me square in the jaw when I did so. I couldn’t blame him. Her body was so willing this time, practically tumbling her burning spirit into my arms which automatically moved to accept her. I would not carry her upon my shoulders like the others. She belonged in my arms. Don’t think me sordid. I had no designs for this gem of a creature, so fragile and so resilient. I merely wanted to conduct her to the other side in the arms of one she sought so long ago, like an old friend. So I did, even though it was only for a few moments of her eternity. I knew she wanted me, and I wanted her, and I had her if only for a little while, but it was enough. When I left her this time, in the arms of her one-time savior, she thanked me for saving her.
My existence is not negotiable; when there is no beginning and no end, to keep from going mad, I developed a proclivity for stealing pieces of time. So when someone asks me how I do what I do (because someone always does), day in and day out, with no relief, no off-season, no vacation, I tell them that although life isn’t necessarily always fair, it is worth living for the moments of clarity, the times of absolution. It’s worth living for the glowing souls.
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Literature
cinco de drunko
My hair is turning tricks
on me, as the wind dances through it.
It's cinco de drunko, and
I miss you, miss you
miss you.
You're there without me,
and I'm here without you,
and the world still spins,
and the walls will still
be breathing.
Yo soy bailando un cumbia para ti,
y tus problemas.
porque ya soy el sol,
y las estrellas estan en sus ojos.
Literature
Confusion of the Soul
Confusion
All around me,
this world of rage and sin,
Engulfs. Overwhelms.
And I am forced to retreat further within.
Literature
kaleidoscope.
Even though it is said that the human eye can see about 16.8 million different colors, we're all pretty much color blind in the end.
Today, I am blue, and you are red; today the fear begins again.
The sky is a milky white and your eyes are an empty grey, but you somehow still manage a smile: this is the first thing I notice. The second is that your shoes are untied, then that your gaze seems unfocused, then that your hair is a disaster, then that your voice sounds like rain and I hate rain.
You catch my stare.
I turn away because I am afraid.
You are uncertainty and unpredictability, and for this, I hate you; the unexpected is a d
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death's point of view, loosely inspired by markus zusak's the book thief, and written in an hour uncharacterisically marked by the presence of the elusive ms muse.
a work in progress; thank you for your comments.
a work in progress; thank you for your comments.
© 2008 - 2024 wingedaccolade
Comments53
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Wow, this is really good. It made my heart feel heavy and I was anxious to reach the end. I think that's the point. It really inspires thought and it's kind of philosophical too. Sad, but poignantly relieving. Good work.