"Tell me about something beautiful" she spoke with a gentle hum that soften the air and made the world slow down to a gradual more manageable place. I took a deep breath, my exhale washed over her arm, I could smell her sticky, salty sweet skin I wanted to breathe her smell forever, but that moment was all I had and so I saved it, locked it deep away inside my head vaults chained, stowed and protected like the most precious black opal in all existence. When I looked up into her glassy eyes I realised that her question still lingered, I watched as her blackened eyelashes splintered dust through the tiny beams of sunlight that cascaded down, speckled and messy and I waited for inspiration to guide me to the perfect response. My tongue felt swollen in my cheeks and my blood was expanding my capillaries making a redness erupt over me, pink and embarrassed I gazed deeper, past the glinting glass film into the depths of her pale blue Irises. She wetted her lips with the quick flick of her tongue and detangled the mess of our limbs, rising quickly which jaunted me into a sudden fall from pleasure. I lay sprawled on the grassy ground alone and suddenly colder. I followed her shadow as she strode in defiant loops around me. Finally she stopped. Turned her lofty head of bouncing curls towards me and spoke. ""Tell me about something beautiful so I can forget out how ugly this is." She spoke with a grimace and a disgust tainted the air but I could see the truth behind her tone, she leaked pure hatred from the love between us because the years of learning that it was wrong had concocted a mixture of confusion and hate inside her, I turned my head away to shield the tears that fell as pure as dew drops onto the grass. I didn't respond and I felt her leave as I wept alone and loudly for all the hatred in the world, but mostly for the loss of happiness that is destroyed by the ideas of wrong and right, natural and sinful,
Fast past, lightening blast. Stolen sold, lost gold. Darkness hides within the light, stories told fill the night. Danger, danger. Run from danger. Horror, horror, dwells. Singing, sung. Begin, begun. In the night, hide the light! Hide the light! Filled with fright, filled with fright. Fight, Fight! With all your might! Fight to stay the light! Don't fall prey to endless night, seek the dawn before the light.
So I dreamed a dream. It was a boy, no a man. He was perfect. He wooed me in my sleep and he won my heart. He was a beautiful creature. I'll never forget the person of my dreams. He met me at a place dear to my heart. He found me again at a place dearer to my soul. He touched those who are close to me. He won them over first and then he won me. His heart was soft and sweet. His love was genuine and true. Oh, how I wish I had not woken up. I wish he was real. But alas, some dreams are not true or meant to be. How can one love a fictional character so much? I created him subconsciously and now I can't let him go. This is a problem. I wish I could dream of him every night. If I can't have him for real, at least I can see him in my sleep. How sad though. I miss him.
I opened my eyes and remembered. You were lying next to me, immobile, not breathing. Your body was still and cold, your eyes were open and lifeless. The only witness of what had happened was all over me: your blood. I told you I wasn't right, in the head. I told you one day I was gonna snap some wiring in my brain and all the perversions living in it would come out, free. Free for the very first time in my life, to do and undo everything they wished. You always said I was okay, I was sane, I was just a bit odd. Now you are death. Murdered by my own hands. And the worst of all? I remember enjoying it, I remember the ecstasy of taking a life, of sinking that knife so deep sometimes and so shallow at times. I remember, and it makes me smile.
He said he needed it to look more real. I guess I didn't realise how real he meant. I made so many suggestions. More pumpkins. More skeletons. More actors jumping out to scare the guests. But he didn't seem satisfied with that. I didn't realise, I just didn't realise what he had in mind. He wanted guests to be scared out of their wits, not realising the true horror of what they were actually seeing. He said they did it all the time in the movies. Americans do it all the time, he said. People see something scary and it's only later that they realise what they saw was real. How real? I asked. How real could we possibly make it? I feared he wanted to use the animals on the farm and I was prepared to report him. I went right to the phone, not realising he was near. Now I'm scaring them. The guests. They scream when they see me and then laugh at their "foolishness". It's not real, they'd tell themselves, just make-up. They saw my eyes moving. They saw my hands shaking. They saw the blood trickling down my head from the supposedly fake nails in the cross. I was a crucifixion. A laugh at our Lord, apparently. But I was in agony. Slowly I could feel reality slipping away. I pleaded with my eyes but no one took a second glance at me. They would know later. They would see the reports and they'd say, yeah, I saw her! I thought she looked real but I didn't think it was. I mean, how could it be? Who does that?