My vision is blurred by a pale incandescence. My focus finds the bottle green of the living leaves that are dangling on the trees above me. My fingers grasp the cool earth beneath me. My hair feels damp and my skin is cold. In the distance I hear the howl of a wild beast. The dawn is coming but I feel a calling from the night.

I feel an ache fill my hollow chest; an ache for a lost love. A cry escapes me as the darkness of distant memories holds me. The dawn spills golden light into the forest but I am already lost to the night. 

Never love a vampire.

My mind is broken. I am torn. All I want is to be left. Don’t try to fix me because I’m not okay. I never will be. Just leave me alone. How can you love me if I hate you? I hate everyone. Just let me go. Oh, fuck off. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t suffer me. I’m not your responsibility. Someone once promised me that God would carry my soul. But, you see, I don’t have a soul. I’m pale and empty and that is beauty. My hate is self inflicted. I am completely selfish. Don’t- please just don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel. Let me jump. I want to get lost in the incandescence of this breaking dawn. I will be immortal because I sold my dead soul. I will be ancient. Just don’t come with me. Leave. Just leave.

I am fractured; the flaws in me stand out like the tiny imperfections in cracked porcelain. If you look close enough you will see that my smile is a grimace, that the shine in my gaze is just a reflection of a glassy stare. My teeth are as white as a virgin’s wedding dressing, but the sharpness of them was made to penetrate you. There’s little difference between me and the night. The speckled light of the stars is just the remaining shards of my soul; scattered and distant. Their gleam is tarnished by the dark. 

It was a Sunday.

Don’t trust anyone. There’s very little in this world I care about, with the exception of myself. I would sit with my peers, gazing on. What they never understood was that my silence was plotted, picked out for pristine moments when I became invisible only to observe them, only to smirk at their stupidity and always know that I am better than any of them. They would call me an outsider and look at me sympathetically because they thought that having a shy friend like me would make them look so much sweeter. School politics. Playground etiquette. The Plastics have an odd friend, oh how sweet they are for accepting her into their group, how sweet! No one suspected me of anything.

The world would glance at me and I would glare back with all my fierce hatred and if the world were to ever notice it would recoil in terror and disgust. I have seen the deserts, the blank landscape, the abyss that falls into nothingness. I never looked for a God because God never looked for me. I never searched for my reason because I knew there was no reason. I glare back at the world with all my fierce hatred because I know there is nothing beyond what I see. God is a copy of all the empty hope that fills our empty hearts. I now know that nothing is real and I feel cheated for it.

This realisation, this horrifying revelation came to me like a dream. Whatever I do, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It was a Sunday when my peers came to my house. It was a Sunday when I pushed one of them down the stairs. It was a Sunday when, with calm serenity, I stooped over her limp body and placed the heel of my foot on her nape, applied pressure until I felt the crack and crunch of her bones. It was a Sunday when I killed her just because I could. 

This house.

This house whispers to me. Since you died I swear I can hear you moving in its walls. I want to scratch the wallpaper away and find the cracks. I want to peer in because I want to see you again, pale and transparent like mist. You only ever used to speak to me in my dreams but I haven’t slept in months.

I close the curtains because I’m frightened of the light. I sit here in the darkness waiting for you to return to me. My soul is beginning to fade into the shadows and I no longer can sense the differences between myself and the dark. 

The ghost trees.

I have been walking for days now and I am exhausted. The air has the dewy smell of dawn and all I want is to depart in its pale blue mist. My knees buckle and I collapse into the damp grass, engulfed by its wilderness. My eyes are heavenward but I can barely keep them open. I feel the breath of the living earth on my cheeks, but the silent sounds of the dead haunts me.

I feel ready and calm, and as I’m just about open my eyes the sudden sound of air whispering through the branches of trees captures me momentarily. It’s as though I have fallen into a dream. I lift my eyes to the sky to find that there are no trees at all. But I can hear the soft clatter of their leaves? The creaking of their ancient wood? I sit up and I can no longer smell the dampness of the morning. I can only see the shadows of the trees that used to be there.

Spring

Full stride. Golden, spring air and knee-high grass. I can already hear the crush of the surf as I approach the cliffs edge. From a distance it probably looks like I’m going to jump but I’m not. I sit close to the edge and peer over. This place is heaven. The skies are pale blue and I wish I could live in them for eternity. I throw my head back to admire the splendour of it all and I’m so in love that I my body falls backwards into the wilderness of the earth. I close my eyes to listen to the earth breathe in. I want to forget myself. I want to forget everything.

Tom swept down from the skies into the Earth below. He gripped into his cloud, his fingers lacing the array of damp, white gas. His wings could not adjust to this alien atmosphere.

He had forever gazed down, watching the Earth below. He watched the people for thousands of years, fascinated with their wars and dreams, their graces and their vulgarity. He thought he knew everything about existence until Imogen, like a sudden blaze in the darkness, awoke something that slumbered in his body.

One day, a young teenager with hair like fire and skin as smooth as milk glided into the angels’ vision. He could not understand why he had singled her out but he continued to watch her throughout the rest of her teenage years. She’s like a phoenix, he once thought to himself, she’s something rare and precious, rising from the shadows of her world. Sometimes he was certain she could feel him; in moments of solitude she’d suddenly tilt her head backwards and her eye’s would glance up into heaven, as if searching for him.

Over time something began to change in her; she became meek; and her flame began to flicker. She once whispered aloud, as if speaking to Tom, I feel incomplete. As soon as her words reached him he realised that perhaps they belonged together. He wanted to save her. He was taught that angels didn’t have souls, but he felt that something stirred deep inside of him; maybe she awoke a soul that hid inside of his heart.

He tore the fabric that held a divide between Heaven and Earth; between Imogen and himself. He gripped on to the clouds that surrounded him, but gravity pulled him downward ripping him away from the warmth of the light and threw him into the Earths’ atmosphere. He struck the ground with such force that he was certain he would die. The earth beneath him shuddered and concaved with the weight of his fall. He lay unable to move, his platinum wings were heavy on his back. Everything faded.

To be continued...

#2

They controlled each other; mirroring each other’s moves; watching each other intently. Their obsession with one another was continuous and crippling. He, like a fox, circled her, followed her. The first time he fucked her, she saw into his core; she saw that he could kill her. Meaning this much to him meant everything to her, more than anything. He’d whisper songs into her soul, “We’re more than human, but you make me ache for everything.”

He wanted to contain her. He wanted to eat her, keep her soul inside of him. He couldn’t understand her, why she stayed with him or why she’d look back at him in wonderment after he hurt her. He couldn’t be without but he couldn’t stand her, they way she controlled him through desire and absolute need. She wasn’t human; she was something rare and ancient.

#1

I vaguely wonder to myself whether or not anything holds any true existence. Is it all just random? I don’t think I agree. But, then again, I can’t be certain of myself.

I’m a self-made invention. I can be who I want to be, and there isn’t much more I care about. I’m a product of my influences. I have never cared much for anything and I don’t like anyone. The most glamorous thing about life is that you can choose to be an observer or to be the observed. I choose to be observed. I am the silent friend in your group, the beautiful accessory of dark coldness that you have all chosen. You feel that you have all excelled because of my silent presence, my acceptation, as though this means you all know me personally. But truthfully, no one can look into me. And truthfully, I don’t care as long as people find me interesting. The people that exist around me are all watching me, looking for something in my reactions or my feeling. At some point they will realise that I am only a ghost, an idea of a person. To them that makes me all the more interesting.