Herown

The cities light

Can be seen a mile

A way

But I don't care

For these bright lights

I want to be miles

Away

From that city gate

Before they find out

I've decided to run

Away

And he said,


" Let's just jump into my car and drive until the road ends "


" What will we do once we're there? "


" Get out and walk. "

It's like I'm racing
Through a dense
Forest.

Like a nightmare
Where I'm trying to
Run

But the monsters
Are faster than
Me.

"How stupid," she said as she threw in another serving of
fish food, "I could throw anything into this tank, and they
would eat it right up. What if this was poision instead of
little fish flakes? They would all die!"

I glance over at the ten year old glaring at three golden bodies
floating in their watery cage.

"They trust that they will not die by your hand, they trust in the
kindness that feeds them everyday. They have never been
poisioned before, why would they fear that today or anyday
would be different?"

She turns her glare towards me, "That's what I mean! How
stupid of them to trust anyone so blindly."

"I promise..."

"No. I don't want a promise, I want proof.
Promises can be broken, but actions become part of
the past. The past is real and can't be
change. You can change your mind about a promise,
but no matter how many new mind frames you
acquire the past remains unfixable, unchange. You can't
break actions, because you can't break the past. Show me
you can, don't tell me. Words mean nothing to
me anymore. I don't want a promise...

...I just want you."

Throwen up in an uneven do, the few wisps of hair that
escaped and streched toward the ceiling began to dance to the pounding
beat that drop from the speakers. Dollps of paint fell from the
frantic swipes of the brush to land on the warm flesh of
her bare feet.

A swipe of the darkest black and a splash of seafoam green,
the final step in the artist's dance, it was finished. A step
back has her criticizing her work. She drops the brush and throws
the paints. The screeching from the speakers almost cover up the screams
flying out her lungs. She grabs the painting and throws it across
the room. As the portrait crashes to the ground, broken, she slides
to the ground and crushes the picture she just recreated and destroyed
to her chest.

"Why?" The question drowns in the rough music still escaping the speakers,
but still she speaks not ever believing her questions could be answer.
"Why did you do it?"

The grip on the picture she had in her hand tighten to
a destructive pressure, "Why did you leave me?"

A glance across the room has a new wave of emotion coursing
through her blood as she stares at the face of her brother.

"I would have helped you, I could have helped you, but I
didn't know."

She collapse full into herself, the hard, concrete of her basement floor
does not allot her any comfort.

"I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know." Her soft chants
of sorrow turn in shouts of anger as once again she rises
and in a fit of unmanageable anger she grabs the closest thing
in reach and flings it away from her. The
sound of destruction does nothing to sooth the hurting woman as she
rampages around the basement crushing, throwing, ripping anything in front of her,
anything to distract her from the void in her chest that treaten
to swallow her whole. The stereo is ripped from the wall and
the music her sibling used to listen to comes to a halt
as she flings the radio at her newest creation. Another glimpse at
the painted face of her younger brother has the womans anger simmer
into wisps of smoke as the sobs take over her body. She
clutches at her own skin, unforgiving in her attempt to escape this
feeling of guilt.

"It's all my fault, if I had known or done something different..."
She crawls in the rubble of art supplies and unidentified broken peices
to the blown up face of her family member.

Gently she runs a lovingly hand across the still wet paint, smudging
the colors together.

"Why did you have to kill youself?"

Broken free of the restaining tie, the mane of unruly hair begins
to quiver from the body wrenching sobbs that drop from the woman
who clutches a picture of a boy to her chest.