Living Dead BOY. part one.

The sky was growing dark with the onslaught of a winter storm. I heard the wind outside, but was too busy with my work to surrender to the desire of gazing out of the window. I instead gave my eyes the unelected opportunity to shift over my surroundings. The room was nauseatingly white, every surface was antiseptic in appearance, every surface seemed impersonal and unnatural, and everywhere was the colorless sanitarium, every bit florescent and synthetic. I hated that I felt more like a patient in this place than the person that helped them. Every particle in me wished for something to break the mundane, penetrate this routine that I had seamlessly incorporated into my life. I felt like I just existed, floating by, vaporous, touching everything but leaving no lasting indention of my presence. I never felt as lonely as I did in this room, isolated and trying to find a cure.

It is in this secluded white room that I sit on a stool in my white lab coat, and all encompassed with Petri dishes that watch and record the observations I encounter trying to find a cure for disease. All I do is watch these Z-cells being devoured by the medicine that I inject into them, trying to absolve them of their pestilence. Zombies are for now under quarantine, and until people like me can find a cure there is no hope for them. To be a Zombie currently is considered a disease, but is it really? And how am I really to help these unfortunates if I have never even come in contact with one? I wondered these things aloud as I hung my lab coat on the hook outside the space and locked the door. I was walking to my car, but I didn’t feel right. The wind was still mercilessly, incessantly blowing. I felt as if I was being watched. I felt out of place.

I took a warm shower when I got home. It felt so nice to allow the water to trail on my skin and wash away all of the proof that I was alive today. Sometimes, I wish I could just disappear. I constantly feel like there is no one that understands me. It is ironic that I feel something like a Zombie myself….

I still felt strange when I went to bed that night. I couldn’t tell you if it was legitimate, or if I was just being paranoid. I work alone, and live alone, and hardly speak to anyone. I never wanted to be a recluse, and by definition I’m not, but sometimes I think my imagination talks too much. I closed my eyes on the world and fell asleep soon after. But hours later, I awoke in a cold sweat and that strange feeling was even stronger. I believed to have heard a noise coming from inside my apartment. But quickly talked myself out of it, and tried to go back to sleep. Until I awoke once more, I had hoped that it was just the wind again, or I had just dreamed it. But I hadn’t, because this time I was awake, and still I heard the noise. Someone was in my apartment.

Frozen in fear as I was, I lay as still as possible hoping whatever it was wasn’t there to harm me. But I soon heard footsteps coming down the short hallway to my room. And soon my doorknob was turning slowly, as I watched terrified and paralyzed in my bed. The door opened, and I fainted.

The first thing I remember about waking up was that my room was filled with the light from my bathroom. And the shower was on, the water running hot with the steam filtering through to my bedroom. It took all the courage I could muster to go and look at who it was. Maybe my sister had come to visit? I got up slowly from my place to see who broke into my rooms, as quiet as was humanly possible. I crept to the door, expecting to find my sister’s body, but was instantly frightened to discover that what was in my shower was not related to me in the least. He was tall, and well shaped, a healthy size. His back was turned to me, but I could see through the steam that he had dark hair and sallow skin. Why was he here, in my apartment?

When the water stopped, I practically dove back into my bed, and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I listened as he opened the door, and softly spoke aloud to himself, “...where does she keep the towels?” which was soon followed by “oh, there they are.” His voice was nice, like one of a radio personality or a musician. I wasn’t surprised. Most killers seem nice at first.
I kept my right eye a slit open so that it still seemed closed in the darkness. I watched him walk cautiously into my room, and look at me carefully before gingerly seating himself at the foot of my bed. He was covered only around his waist by my burgundy towel, his pallid skin still glistening wet. He was breathing slowly, painfully it seemed. I wanted to reach out to him. I thought he was crying.

I knew that if he had wanted to harm me, he would have by now. So I made a noise like I was sighing, and when I saw him turn around, I fully opened my eyes, slowly as if from a deep sleep. The first thing I noticed when he turned around was that his eyes were a deep blue, and he had dark circles under them, like he wasn’t well. His skin was pale and he had bruises on some parts of his body. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a dark brown, like polished sepia. He was beautiful, but looked sick.

“Who are you?” I asked. “My name is Kieran," he said," I’m sorry I followed you here, but I need your help. I’m sick and I fear you are the only one that can be of any help to me. I have not yet been discovered, but I will take any help you can offer. I am infected with the Zombie sickness, and in a matter of days, I will become one. Please, you are my only hope. Without your help, I fear I will most surely die.”

the night before

We stood together at the edge.
I looked down,
and was astonished that my eyes beheld nothing.
Where will we go from here?
A quiet rain fell soft and slow.
It fell upon your face, and stained your clothes.
We kissed as the blood from our mouths ran dark into the leaves at our feet.
Are you there still, waiting as you promised me?
Hold me close, and tell me that this isn’t real; this was never real, as I was never real.
Please, just, close your eyes, and I will avert mine,
and we can have this one last time.
When the cancerous sky swallows itself and the world exhales with the fire inside me…
will you burn alongside, one last time?
Will you follow me into the nocturnal wasteland, adorned with the broken dreams
and the terrified screams of the child that cried?
Will you believe in me, now, with all of the smoke gone and false smiles dissolved?
There are no mirrors here, my dear.
Only our broken figures line the barren expansion…the desolation that longs for something,
outturning us as we searched, we the ones that can feel nothing.
Can you hear me?
I feel transparent so suddenly,
as I am sure my voice is gone, stolen by the freezing wind.
Whispers of transgression left me feeling despised,
but I walked on with you towards our inexorable demise.
You held my hand in the cold, as it desiccated with pain.
I moved ghostlike through the shadows, I was vanishing in the rain.
But you left me there with nothing, well, what else could you have gave?
I was lost without direction, and had no soul left to save.
What else could I do when you spoke your last words to me;
I thought I heard a promise from your broken effigy.
Smiles are rarely found here in this frozen land beyond the sea,
but the dead show little effort as they waste away with me.

there, some of my own poetry. a gift for you.

"may the great spirit always be with you"

i was dragging down the hallway today after AP ART class, not because i was unproductive, but because i had had time to seriously contemplate absolutely nothing, although it was mostly the fact that i had to stay after for Physics. it was the first time i have actually gotten completely enthralled in what i was doing in there because Taylor was taking a cat nap, and the Todd was speaking in hushed tones to AWalker. i thought i would leave them be. anyway, i was walking down the hallway, and Ms.Clancy was standing outside of her door. well, we began talking, and she mentioned how my artwork of a Native girl resembled me. and then i told her of how my Great Grandmother was full blooded Cherokee, and she said that we could be cousins. i laughed, but then i realized that Clancy would make a wonderful relative. she was very exited to learn of my heritage, an that it was so close in lineage. it all lead me to the ultimate thought of the fact that "my Christmas will not be quite so merry if Santa Claus does not leave me those moccasins and that satchel." and that is exactly what i said to mother.

Happy Hanukkah, readers.well, whats left of it anyway.

zombies

find the cure. its happening soon.

Hast du eine Idee?

so if anyone who reads this blog enjoyed my previous romantic interlude and would like to revel in another this holiday season, i will write whatever you suggest. leave me a comment on this blog entry, and i will elaborate based on YOUR fantasy this time. like a romance novel specifically written with you in mind, because you will be. if only everything was written that way...

anywhosen. leave your wishes in a comment. and prepare for pleasure. i feel dirty for saying that. maybe i will delete it. maybe not. i'm feeling lucky. how about you?

Harlequin mini Romance #1: Baroque Beauty

it seems that i was all at once immediately aware that my eyes were closed. i felt that soft feeling of sunlight gently kissing my eyelids. the winter breeze softly played on my eyelashes, a window was open somewhere, inviting nature into this place. i cannot recall where i am, but amazingly i feel an all encompassing safeness. i felt the urge to open my eyes, and take in the vision of my surroundings, but i wanted to let the other senses work their magic on my all too ready imagination. there was a faint scent of incense in the cold air, rich and burnt and woody. i imagined the smoke circling in the air and being carried by that cold breeze from the window, mixing the smell of a natural winter with musky sandalwood. there were candles burning, i could tell they were vanilla. and a fire was in the fireplace, i could here the wood crackling deliciously. the air tasted clean, due in part to the windows, it brought to my mind the vision of an old library, where the air has a slight twinge of dust, but before it becomes stagnant. and then it seems i was immediately brought to a start with the realization that there was someone else in the room. i could hear them breathing.

i opened my eyes to a room splendid with wealth and flooded with light. indeed there were floor length windows, open halfway to the winter chill, draped in a gold stitched tapestry reminiscent of 18th century Versailles. the room was a vast expanse of gold leafing and cherubs. smiling and round, they blushed all over the ceiling as they peered onto the scene. i found myself on a bed, draped expensively with red velvet bedclothes and satin sheets of crimson. the pillows were embellished with Venetian lace, intricate and extravagant. i blushed to think of how expensive it all was when i leaned back to glimpse the carved headboard, complete with kissing swans and roses. once the recognition that i was not alone came back to me, i was resolute on finding the phantom that held me here against my memory's hold.

i scanned the expensive furnishings for any sign of life, until i finally found him in the corner adjacent to my perch, lounging like some Adonis on a daybed. brilliant and seemingly naked, he was beautiful and smiling, his lower half draped with the same color as was on the bed, his hand absently lingering near his head on the pillow. i fancied him one of Botticelli's angels, blushing and corporeal, his luxuriant ebony curls gleaming with Heavenly light. his Alabaster chest heaved slightly with faint breath. his eyelashes gently caressed his cheekbones, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was plagued with troubled dreams. his lips were parted, as if whispering sweet entreaties of loveliness with his sighs. i realized i moved when he opened his eyes with the sound.

i gasped when his eyes met my own, they were a color of green that was quite unexpected. they were brilliant and bright, the springtime captured in human beauty. he smiled at me as if we were lovers, as if i had known him completely for half a lifetime. he spoke my name, his voice filled to overflowing with an angelic cadence, as if the Archangel Michael himself were speaking to me. he got up slowly from his place in the corner of the room. and all at once i remembered everything. he walked towards me, anticipating every step as if his very life depended on it. my eyes wide, i took in his every inch as he came towards me. he was pefect and idyllic, his soft hand on the side of my face in an instant, i closed my eyes to his touch. warm and cold at the same time, he did not seem real to me. his free hand entwined itself in my hair, pulling me closer to his lips. before his soft mouth graced mine, i breathed his name, though i had only just remembered it. his eyes wide, he swallowed my soul with one glance, with a sigh he whispered, "meus diligo, meus angelus, vereor non, exsisto etiam."

at these words i was lost to him, and knew nothing else of the world lest it be lost in his arms with me.



"my love, my angel, fear not, be still."

Neues Gedichten.

so, i was struck with an epiphany. fueled with inspiration from Vicky, i am going to publish miniature Harlequin romances through my blog. and it will be sehr sehr toll.