Allow me to introduce myself. Again.
It was understandable that she would be wary of approaching him. The young man had been sleeping underneath the hollow tree for almost a century and showed no signs of life until recently.
The townsfolk had thought him an angel from heaven and built a stone fence around the tree with an iron plaque that read, "De solidum sed inane et sopitos Angelus plagam Eden." Or in English, The Slumbering Angel Of Hollow Eden. The young man's skin was a transparent pale with green and yellow veins visible, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable.
His body positioned as if resting in a casket, his hair a dark shade with a hint of brown. The lids of his eyes were dark purple, and if you looked closely, you could see a slight movement underneath them.
Scientists and Doctors from all over came to study the young man, but when any of them got too close, they'd start to bleed slowly from their eyes and ears before passing out in a puddle of their own sick.
So when he had awoken and opened his mouth to speak to the young women kneeling outside his stone cage. The townsfolk had quickly jumped on the opportunity to document history in the making.
Violeta Corison was a strange young woman with an odd sense of style, and she had come to visit Eden to take pictures of the town's most prized possession.
Someone is living inside my body. A stranger has taken up residence in my soul and packed their most treasured belongings in the space of my mind far from my reach.
At night, I can hear them rebuilding. Knocking down the walls of my personality and hollowing out the structure of my very being. They are replacing me with someone I haven't met, and I am genuinely terrified.
When the work is finish, I don't know who will be standing in my place. I do hope that this stranger does more good than harm.
Welcome Back, Stranger.
I can't say I've missed you, but it is nice to see you again. I've thought about you a lot lately and every part of my mind seems to cling to you. I dwell on our time together. I still hate you and I don't think I'll ever stop hating you.
You've ruined me.
He had come home late again.
His shirt twisted and stained with alcohol and lipstick, the faint smell of ginger with a hint of vanilla wafted off his body. He had gone to see the OTHER. His wife refused to call her by her name that trash did not deserve a name and would only be known as nothing but the OTHER.
Tonight, Deliah was tired. She had fussed, spit, and raged one too many times, tonight she was just tired.
Her husband crept into the house, taking off his shoes at the door, sliding his feet against the polished wood floor. Deliah sat on the kitchen counter and waited for him to pass, his silhouette bold against the darkness of the night.
"Luke," she said.
Deliah clapped her hands, and the lights turned on. Luke looked as he did most nights, his clothes twisted and skin slick with sweat.
"Don't," Deliah interrupted. "I'm tired, Luke. I'm exhausted."
Luke sighed, reaching for his wife to give her some form of comfort. Deliah pulled away, her hands trembling.
"I love you, Luke." She said, " But we can't do this anymore."
Luke looked at his wife. She was different. Her round frame had thinned, her hair knotted and damaged. Her clothes too big. She reminded him of a child playing dress-up.
"Love, I don't understand?" Luke said, "We can't do what anymore?"
Deliah gestured between the two of them, "We can't do this anymore."
"I tried, Luke. I did. I fought damn hard for us, and now I don't wanna fight no more."
It had been raining since the sun had risen, the sky was grey, and the streets flooded with murky water and bug-eyed frogs. Chyna watched sickly from the fogged glass of her living room window. Her thick curls pulled into a loose ponytail with a few strands tickling her forehead.
"Momma," She said. "How come it don't snow here?"
Her mother, a short woman with a fade and high cheekbones, looked up from her book.
"Baby, We live in the south. Ain't no snow coming here." She said, turning a page.
Chyna pouted and sat back against the couch, her little arms folded across her chest. She glanced at her mother and sighed.
"Yes, Chyna." Her mother said, not looking from her book.
The young girl said nothing and sighed again. Her mother closed the book and stared at her with a small smile gracing her lips.
"You know," Her mother said. "If I do this, it counts as a Christmas present."
Chyna frowned for a second and then shrugged. Her mother stood from the couch and raised her hands with her palms facing away from her body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, Chyna watched with excitement as the lights in the home flickered and the TV distorted, the Christmas tree bulbs popped one by one, and soon the whole house was dark.
Chyna's mother opened her eyes and frowned, "Damn."
The young girl pointed to the small jar in the window and smiled.
"One dollar in the swear jar, Momma." She said, glancing out the window.
Her mother laughed, picking up her book from the couch and sitting back down. She reached between the cushions and pulled out a small flashlight, shaking it twice before turning it on.
"Hopefully, I can fix the lights before your Daddy gets here and pitches a fit." she said, "You know he doesn't like when I do this stuff."
"I know, Momma." Chyna said, " and thank you."
Her mother smiled and returned to reading her book. Outside the home, the once murky and grey weather had cleared and in its place thick sheets of glistening snow and ice.
"Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Chyna."
It had come as a thought.
Ideally, the only voice in your head should be your own, but for some reason, there had been an intruder. Quiet at first, but then loud and unforgiving, he swam through my mind and twisted his fingers around my nerves. My body was not my own, and I watched as he invaded every aspect of my life, I cried as he destroyed my person and munched on my pain. The hollowness had set in, and I was a husk of my former self.
No thought belonged to me. I was now the property of the Stranger's voice.
She stumbled into the doorway, blood dripping from her body and her eyes full of tears. Her face bruised and gashed with pieces of glass sticking out from her cheek and forehead, every breath she took felt like fire in her lungs and acid on her breath.
"God," she whispered.
Slowly, she made her way to the couch, every step more painful than the last. She settled on the plush cushion and grabbed the blanket draped over the side and placed it over her body.
"Just a little rest," She said. "Just a little more time."
As she closed her eyes, the sound of her heartbeat filled her ears and slowly she drifted off into slumber.
Trouble lingered in the darkness, posted against the far corner of her bedroom right next to the sheer curtains. The night sky was clear and the moon shined bright, casting shadows across the foot of the bed.
And yet, he lingered in the darkness with his head bent and the hat secured over his eyes. He has no name, but the young girl in the bed cares nothing for names, her tiny body trembles against the plush fur of a stuffed animal.
"You know," he said. "Most people can't move at all."
The young girl stared, her eyes wide and full of unshed tears.
"I don't bite, Child."
"I don't believe you," She replied.
No name chuckled, "You'd be right to do so."
I'm trying to make a habit out of writing before I go to bed.
Finding and building on this craft has been more difficult as I age, inspiration seems to have drifted from hands and my imagination has come to a halt. So, this writing before bed will act as a substitute until I can gain back what I lost.
It was a normal day.
I was doing normal things and then I felt it.
I felt it slither into my gut like a snake and stretch its way into my throat.
It has been a while since I've known this feeling and felt its poison squeeze my heart. A familiar unwanted friend that waits in the shadows of my happiness and comes when the gray clouds above fill with rain.
How I despise this feeling and all it offers.
Begone devious spirit and make your home elsewhere, for this child suffers enough with the weight of her sins.
The 4th of July ended with a fight, and over the past few days, there's been tension. On the 5th of July, there was a small brawl on the streets of my childhood neighborhood.
What should have been a few kids fighting, turned into a sport of throwing metal objects, mase, and hitting people with bats? Unfortunately, I was not there and had only watched a video of my sisters and cousins get attacked by a bunch of assholes with bats, who later would showcase their "victory" on social media.
Of course, no one comes from war without a few scars. My 13-year-old cousin was hit with a bat by a 40-year-old woman with a pacemaker and loud mouth. I've been trying to deal with the situation calmly and intellectually, but anger always seeps through.
I haven't acted on my rage yet.
Now, this is part where some of you may agree with me, and others may agree with my Aunt.
Yesterday we threw a birthday party in the rain, and I listened to my Aunt tell me about how we should've just stayed out of the situation, and nothing would've happened. How WE should've called the police (somebody did) and how people would perceive us as a bunch of hoodlums with no home training who are always in search of a fight.
I. DON'T. GIVE. TWO. FUCKS.
My aunt has this holier than thou complex when it comes to my parent's children, in fact, a good portion of my Dad's side of the family are always trying to make it seems like we actively put ourselves in situations just for fun.
If the rolls were reversed and her children were attacked on the 4th of July, and her children were accosted at their home.
She would actively go out of her way to beat the asses of the people who wronged them.
It's always something when it comes down to my parent's children, and quite frankly, I'm sick of all this shit. There's more to this story, but that will have to be for another time.
There should be a feeling of peace in my soul, but as of recently, something is unsettling me.
Maybe it's the state of today's world or just my doubts creeping into the back of mind. This sense of fear from my body is keeping me from my work.
I want to write.
I want to create.
I honestly don't know what to do.
I feel stuck.
So, as I said in my last post, I went to church and it was amazing!
But something my cousin said is bothering me. On the way from church I got a phone call from my cousin’s sister and my sister, it was brief and nothing important.
We sat in silence for a few seconds and I laughed and said, “I love those two idiots.”
My cousin responded, “ I love them too. It makes me sad knowing that they won’t be able to go to heaven with me .”
(INSERT SCREECHING RECORD STOP)
So, at this point I just ramble.
Rambling is something I do to divert myself from getting into a passionate debate, but on the inside I kept thinking, ‘How do you know that they won’t get into Heaven? What definite proof do you have that these girls won’t stand at the gates of the kingdom and be granted entry!?!?’
In all honesty, we don’t know who’s going to heaven or not.
There are times where I just want to shake my cousin and have her listen. To truly just sit and listen, to hear with both her ears and her heart.
She’s stubborn and sometimes gets the big head and God knows I love her more than I do myself, but sometimes I just want her to shut up and listen.
And sometimes I wish I could just be a little argumentative instead of bottling it up and letting it fester inside me.
I went to church, I was late and the traffic was something horrible. The rain came down in sheets and my windows fogged over, I was scared.
I felt fear.
Lately, I haven’t felt much of anything and when I do I feel too much. I spent most of my younger years like this, overly high on emotions and then nothing.
How about y’all? You ever just feel ... Hollow?
Separate names with a comma.