Ady was a troubled kid, but he didn't use to be that way. Now, he almost never smiles and happiness has become an outdated concept to him. For a seventeen year old boy, he was unusual. He sulked in the darkest thoughts of his mind, with his head held down in disdain. He had black hair and dark brown eyes that would always stare at the ground, looking at his every footstep. No solace in his life existed, for he was overwhelmed in his thoughts, lost in a world of nonconformity. He thought of himself as a slave of society, forced to be confined to the strict rules set upon him. His mind, however, adventured to break the chains of bondage, no longer detained to society’s norms.
During school, he was despondent sulking in his own thoughts, while teachers became agitated that he was falling behind. Ady knew what all the answers were, but kept quiet, so his fellow peers wouldn't look at him with repugnance. He felt that he was surrounded by ignorance, only to be comforted by himself. His thoughts teased him, pressuring him to question his every action.
He sat down in the cold seat of his English class and stared blankly at the bare wall in front of him. His headphones were blasting music, but he could still hear the remarks made by his classmates. Instead of paying attention in class, he soon dozed off into his own dark thoughts, once again.
"Why are you here, Ady? What possesses you to keep coming to class? You don't even pay attention!" His thoughts were devouring his mind once again. "Your parents have put so much pressure on you to be just like your brother. Why are you falling behind? Your parents aren't proud of you anymore. Look at you; you are nothing. You're making yourself look like a goddamn disgrace." His thoughts wouldn't stop persecuting him.
Ady whispered to himself quietly, “Please just go away. I don’t want this right now.”
”What do you not want? Me reminding you how much of a failure you are? You should know it by now, how your teachers whisper to each other about how you were such a wonderful student. Now, you are just a disappointment. No one cares about you. Your peers think you’re demented.” Snickered his thoughts, “You are only killing yourself, Ady. Doused with drugs, alcohol, and pills, you have become derelict. Might as well kill yourself now.”
"Will you just stop fucking with me!?" Ady shouted.
Suddenly, his classmates turned around in awe with wide eyes to see Ady sitting in the back. His teacher, Mrs. Beck, stopped reading Huckleberry Finn and stared at him blankly with her jaw dropped in shock. Realizing that he said this out loud, Ady grabbed his textbooks and stormed out the classroom. He sat on the nearest bench in his school’s courtyard, his palms placed upon his forehead, reminiscing on what he had just done. "Now everyone is going to think you're a disgrace and a delirious lunatic." His thoughts boasted. Tears streamed down his face with his face cradled in the palms of his hands. "Oh now Ady, don't be a coward. Why are you crying? Because you can't get rid of your thoughts or that I'm haunting you to the point of timorous suicide?
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Ady asserted, shaking his head.
"Because I am a part of you, you can never get rid of me. I will haunt you till the day you leave this Earth, which might be soon, since you're thinking of killing yourself." His thoughts teased. Ady didn't know how to respond, so he solemnly walked home in the cold November weather, with his thoughts still taunting him.
The next day, Ady returned to the class he absconded yesterday. He walked in right as the bell rang. "You're late again, Ady." Said his teacher, Mrs. Beck. Ady ignored his teacher's remarks and sat in his seat, while his fellow peers whispered about how Ady had boasted out of class yesterday.
"Do you think he's on drugs?" said one of the students.
"I don't know, but I've heard rumors he was placed in that mental institution, Holly Hills." replied another student.
Even though Ady had headphones in, he could still hear what his fellow peers thought of him.
"They're just jealous, Ady. Don't pay any mind to them; they will all pay their do's soon." His thoughts echoed in the cobwebs of his brain, even louder than they were before. Abruptly, Ady felt a slight pinch on his shoulder and saw that it was one of the girl's sitting behind him.
"Ady, are you okay?” exclaimed the young girl, "You ran out yesterday and I was worried about you, I hope you're okay now." The girl's name was Ester; she had hazel eyes that matched the freckles on her cheeks, with long light brown hair. Her lips smiled from cheek to cheek as she gazed into Ady’s eyes. She had known Ady for quite a long time, and had even gone on a couple dates with him, but it didn't turn into anything serious.
"Yeah I'm fine, thanks." said Ady whilst turning back around to face the front of the classroom. Ady knew Ester meant no harm, and that she constantly perturbed about him. But why would anyone care about him, especially her? No one else paid him any attention, except for Ester. Ady didn't know the answers to his questions, but he did find solace that someone cared for him.
3:18 A.M. Tuesday, November 18th
"Ady, wake up. It's me again. Did you hear what your friends said about you? They said you were in a mental institution and that you turn to drugs to help you cope. Are you just going to let them get away with that?" murmured his thoughts.
"They're not my friends, not even acquaintances. Why should I care now what they think of me, they've said rumors about me before." replied Ady.
"You are such an ignorant young boy. They've been doing this ever since you were in Elementary school. They think you're insane, in fact everybody thinks you are. Your parents, friends, teachers, classmates, and even Ester.”
"Shut up you have no idea what you're talking about! “Proclaimed Ady.
"Oh, but I do. You should be locked up in a mental institution, one of those padded rooms, where you can't hurt yourself. Or better yet, hurt other people. You like the idea of pain, don't you? So, why do you only inflict it upon yourself, and not others, you selfish prick!"
"Get out of my head! Get out! Why do you do this to me!? I don't want to hurt anyone!" shouted Ady. He grabbed a syringe full of Heroine from the second drawer of his nightstand and stabbed it into the inside of his elbow; he slowly injected the drug into his blood stream. His dark brown pupils dilated and soon fell from his bed to the carpeted ground, without his thoughts there to torment him.
Ady woke up around noon, and decided to go to school. However, he injected another dose of Heroine to ease his nerves, and hopefully eliminate his intrusive thoughts. He also took another bag, but his one was not full of his usual textbooks. Three G17 Gen4 9mm pistols, two Bear OPS switchblades, and one Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol. Ady, of course, obtained these weapons illegally, and kept them under his bed in his old guitar case. He wore a dark black coat and a black bandanna over his face, to make sure his identity was not revealed.
When he arrived at Saint Augustine High School, he was immediately noticed by one of the teachers, Mr. Hills. Mr Hills had been Ady’s Advance Placement Chemistry teacher, who he had known for quite a long time.
“Ady,” exclaimed Mr. Hills, “why are you dressed like that? Don’t you need to return to your third period?”
Ady slowly took out one of his 9 millimeters and aimed it at Mr. Hill’s forehead. Once he saw the gun Mr. Hills took off running, but Ady shot him directly in his spinal cord. Mr. Hills fell to the concrete sidewalk, blood escaping his body and painting the ground a crimson color that matched the autumn leaves. The sound of the gunshot was heard throughout the school, causing the emergency bell to start blasting a high pitched ring.
"Wonderful, our presence is known." His thoughts echoed. The school suddenly went into lock down, teachers started locking the doors, turning off the lights, and students frantically hid under their desks. Ady wasn't naive, he knew what was exactly going on. First, the teachers and students had been notified that there was a deranged psycho loose in their school. Second, the police and SWAT team were on their way to stop Ady in his path.
Ady proceeded down the hallways of his school, where all the doors were shut and the classrooms were dark. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, and he could hear the gasping of breath inside the classrooms as he passed them. He slowly strolled to Mrs. Beck's classroom, and jiggled the doorknob just to see if he could get a reaction. He did. With as much force as he attained, he kicked in the door. The students hid under the desks, screaming and terrified they called out "Please, don't hurt us. Please. Please have mercy." Ady smirked at the sight of their terror.
"Why should I be merciful towards you?" Ady claimed. He then took out his semi- automatic pistol from his black book bag and aimed it to the boy closest to him, who was cowering under his desk. His name was Matthew and he was one of the boys that had harassed Ady since he was eight years old. Ady then preceded to the shoot the boy in-between his green eyes. His blood plastered the wall behind him, while his head lay adjacent to the crimson wall. The whole class shrieked, not for the boy, but for who was going to be the next victim.
"The way I see it is you can either be the victim or the culprit.” said Ady, "However, you guys drove me to this, and so I think of you as both." Ady thus opened fired on the whole class. Mrs. Beck, the boy who sat next to him, and the girls who used to flirt with him. As the bullets fired, their blood piercing screams were heard throughout the school. Though, through the midst of chaos, Ester was not injured. She stood as a gleaming symbol of hope, while blood and lifeless bodies covered the tile floor. Her palms in her face, she wept hysterically under one of the desks. What had she just witnessed? Why did Ady not shoot her? Traumatized she looked around at twenty-one lifeless bodies lying around her, and then she looked at Ady. Ady gazed into her eyes and walked away. No emotions. No words. Nothing.
The police and SWAT team surrounded the school, but luckily Ady surrendered. He had gotten what he wanted. Revenge. But, revenge is not a substitute for justice. Ady was now locked up in Cherry Grove mental institution. There, he was alone with his thoughts again. He wanted to escape from everyone who had ever done him wrong. But the one person, who caused Ady to go mentally ill, in which he could never escape, was himself.
Remove my hair from my shoulders,
and slide your fingers down my neck.
Lean in and kiss me softly where it curves.
Keep your hands moving while mine find their
way to your belt.
I want you to push me against the wall and
kiss me hard because it hurts.
Kiss me hard because I'll make you.
Lose control with me because order is
I want you to laugh with me because I wont
unbutton your pants with ease, and my
bra will be an obstacle to get through.
I want you to fuck me.
I want you to bite your way down my stomach
and only keep going if I beg.
I'll make you do the same only after I'm satisfied.
I want you breathless in my bed.
I want you to let me pull you into the shower,
and let me bathe you with my mouth.
The northern lights flicker bright
across the igloos where all is quite
the fires do burn in magical glows
but only women and children
are now left at home
for the seal hunters that learned,
are now on the frozen ice packs
ready for their mammalian attack
With just flaming touches in hands
and harpoons at their command
they peer into the darkness
hoping for the call of the seals
and a reaction of eyes
in this unforgiving cold
this unkind world
of the polar abyss
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
When the light from the darkness shine's in bright like a diamond, paralleling your face is the
reflecting the moon light off your, sparkling eye's, My heart starts to beat. Our eye's
locked in love, embracing holding each other, separating only with a tug, only his arm's do you ever feel,so much love affection dreams paragliding,in forever changing winds inside my mind, Blank pictures began to feel, with seductive images that cloud the mind like a stormy day.
pillow's began to pop! as the goose feathers fall down like snow flakes on a
white Xmas,our body's began trusting sweat start to poor,we breath simultaneously as one hot oiled up hands wont stop moving across your tight but fluffy frame that keeps calling my name echoing between the sheets/ free at last/ free at last/ thank God almighty we are free at last .
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
Filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch those trains passing by
Dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands leaking, shaking
Delirium up to your chin.
Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
But you know that you talk like firecrackers
So flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore truths
popping between parentheses.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in
You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms
and I’m tired, staring up at your screen.
You're addicted to this diction
My voice is lost, screaming
these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."
Sometimes we sit soaked to the waist in nothing
Fringe Wolves snarl, drool and moan;
I’m afraid that this desert’s left them starving
They crave marrow within bone.
Dripping teeth, curled clawed toes and howling
I swear they feed every time that we breathe.
By cinderblock, flashfloods or whirlpools
Just drown us properly.
Well, one day we’ll resurface to find ghosts reborn
from hallowed shells of Fringe Wolves
Who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like you never saw what I see
When you walk away, I’m toe-tapping
to some song you kept whispering.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in.
It’s intended for men like you,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."
This clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
'Cause I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to ignite with star-gazer eyes.
So feel free to maintain your Truth
but pardon me while I burn up in Lie.
Memories like eggs
Bought from the store
Cradled in cartons
That are all to easily
My memories of you are
16 years of memories
You broke them when you
You eyes so bright, now
Hands so strong, now
Your words so sure of themselves, now
You’re not you when you’re
Your head balanced on your neck
I want to reach out and stop your
You’re not you when you’re
I knew her as the new kid
who liked music that screamed
but who sang in the choir
like a songbird on steroids.
I saw her in the hallways,
tall, but somehow so small
like a puff of air
might just topple her.
I saw her clothes get darker,
her sleeves get longer,
and her eyes retreat into her skull
because hunger drew them back in.
I heard her voice grow soft
in the choir she loved more than life,
and suddenly her lark's lilting melody
was no longer ringing in my ears.
I heard her sigh more than laugh
and I saw the stars in her eyes
get devoured by the dark,
that all consuming black inside her.
I felt the razor bite her skin
to let some of the darkness out
or maybe is was more like
she was trying to let some sunlight in.
I felt her pain
on that night where she sat on an unmade bed
with her hands around her neck
and tried to mute her beautiful voice.
I know her today as my friend
who still listens to screaming music
but sings songs of joy and love
louder than anyone else.
the Scarecrow stares straight
and never blinks
he thinks, but never speaks,
just listens to the writhing vines of bindweed:
Turn the earth, sweet arteries.
the Scarecrow was once a man.
He had hands that knew
perfect flavor of skin
And had red, winding veins of his own.
But that was a long time ago.
the Scarecrow blistered his tongue
on blunderbuss barrels;
Waged war against himself,
and lost his speech when the time came
to beg for forgiveness.
That by August, the Scarecrow's
Blood forgot to boil,
or simply didn't care anymore.
That when he found love fleeting
it was indifference, not hate,
that desiccated his chest
like prairie drought.
Dear Hollow Martyr who fears not
the white heat of sparks
or dry-weather wildfires.
Stand devout in your inertia,
bleeding apathy like canyons bleed echoes.
After all, it's all you've got to offer
except dead stillness, they say,
so callous it keeps the crows away.
I fall, helplessly into the meadow. The tall grasses embrace me with their long fingers. The soft yellow bells droop down onto my cheeks. They cover me in their sweet scent, and the warm butter sun melts onto my face. I push myself up with my arms to gaze at the sanctuary around me. A gentle breeze wisps in circles around my head. Several stray strands of hair dance on my cheeks, and catch in my eyelashes. I pull the tangles away from my face, and stand up. I am surrounded in a barrier of ancient willows and maples. They seem misplaced here, old, wrinkled, and sagging. For the rest of the meadow is a swaying sea of oddly touchable pastel flowers. I bring my hands up to my head, and touch my hair. The light is warming my agave colored hair. I step forward, and laugh melodically at the feeling beneath my feet. The soil is welcoming, and the long tentacles of the green grass tickle my toes. I realize when I look down, that my feet are bare. I forget what happened to my sandals. In a flash, the thought of how I arrived here passes through my mind. And then it’s gone.
The grass whispers and brushes, rustling a delicate sound. But apart from that, there is only one sound. Somewhere distant, somewhere unknown, my ear catches the music of my childhood. Ocean waves, pulsing against the earth. Suddenly, a current of air snags the light fabric of my dress. And with that current, like a child’s kite, I am picked up from my feet. I can feel an indescribable sensation in my stomach. It flutters like the butterflies that float around me. My feet pedal like on a bicycle, and I roll around in the magic that lifts me. My laughter rings in the sanctuary as I drift higher, up into the sky. Beyond the wall of trees, I can hardly distinguish the features of the land. Pillowy clouds lie low, and random branches from the trees sometimes peak out the tops. The horizon erupts in a splash of rose pink, mango, and turquoise. A pure, innocent beauty.
The ecstasy is abruptly interrupted. I look beneath me, and I am painfully, suddenly aware that I am floating, high above the ground beneath me. The spell is broken. My body drops, plummeting down, fast. I scrunch my eyes shut, and brace for the hit. But there is none. I cautiously open my eyes and realize I am mere inches above the ground, suspended in the current. I reach my fingers down, to kiss the earth with my fingertips. My legs and waist elegantly lower with the rest of me to the ground. I turn over onto my knees, breathing rigidly, attempting to regain my composure.
Where am I? This world, I am found in, is curious. I doubt this reality. One cannot simply escape from the world! With great doubt, I raise up my hand to cup the daffodil in my palm in front of me. It never falls into my palm. Instead, the petals begin to grain, and distort. And in a matter of seconds, it simply vanishes. In confusion, I look to the sky, and watch as the vibrant blue fades to a wan purple and cracks, like the shell of an egg.
“This can’t be real-“ I mutter to myself. The long branches of the willows evaporate their leaves, and like skeletons and bones, dry up as if submerged in acid. I stand up, and spin, desperately looking for a part of this world. Something, still alive, something animate. I twist and turn in desperation, the world around me smearing into nothing.
My breathing is rapid, and uneven. I lift my face from my pillow. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my hair sticks to my neck. I look down, still in pajamas. Lying in my bed.
I am baffled. Was this a nightmare? No. Not quite. But, was it? I scoff at my ridiculousness. Of course it wasn’t real. What am I thinking? I sigh, and lie my head back down to my pillow, and turn my head to the window. ‘Sleep again, it wasn’t real’, I tell myself. But, just as I start to shut my eyes, something catches my eye. Despite the impenetrable darkness that lurks in my bedroom, I spot something soft and yellow. Set atop my rug, lies the same delicate, yellow daffodil, waiting for me to cup it gently in my palm.
I stumbled against you at the bazaar in Alexandria one day,
a stroke of accidental closeness as we brushed hands,
and my heart shivered like the old man on the corner of Divisadero street.
And then you vanished from my mind as a dead leaf from branch,
till I saw you again in a tavern by the docks,
quill in hand and the world on your back.
We share that same dusty look, that obvious stride
that wanderers from everywhere can so easily surmise
to belong to one in kind.
The day after you were at the well by the caravanserai,
and I recognized your goatskin shoes as those
of a mariner from the North, the land of the Majus, my kin.