Monsters

“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” -Stephen King 

There are monsters in my head. They are clawing their way out of my heart, ripping through my throat, stealing my voice, changing my sight.

I want to lash out, to fight back, to rip your throat out the way they are ripping mine.

You deserve it. I know you do. You stole my voice, punished my love. The voices in my head are yours.

Are you the monster in my head, or just a product of the monsters in yours?

I feel it, the rage, as I think of you, of all you did, of all you wanted to do to me.

It makes me sick, this cage. Maybe I should let you see all there is to me.

How long before I am just a monster too?

How long until I am just like you?

Shove me again, make it hurt.

Screw her again, we'll make it work.

Every day I want to punish you. Tear you all apart. Forget forgiveness, screw forgetting.

I see you miles away, pretending you never knew me, like you're some saint.

I see you, the monster in all their heads. The father who cages, the boyfriend who beats, the lover who cheats, the woman who surrenders herself to the hate.

Swallow my good, eat me alive, I won't let myself be a monster like you.

Somebody get these monsters out of my head. 

Get them onto the page before they destroy us all.

Bat

My roommate, Bat, has a pair of pajama pants that say "Fat and happy." She wears them all the time.

She weighs 100 pounds.

I keep cooking her food with lots of butter and it doesn't do anything. She stays thin no matter what she eats.

I think her incessant energy causes her to burn calories faster than she takes them in.

Bat is beautiful, and not just because of how thin she is, or the fact that she has this adorable delicate face. She is beautiful in the way she always can find a way to laugh, and make others laugh. 

Her beauty is expressed through the art she makes. It's all colorful and vibrant, with sharp black edges.  I think Bat sees the world like that.

I can't make visual art. My mind doesn't hold a picture long enough for me to make a pretty picture.

All I can do is sit on the couch and write down the stories of the people around me. People like Bat.

Description- Lighter

I never understood why Amy had so many lighters. It was odd, considering that she didn't smoke. Whenever she was asked, she would laugh and say, "I'm a pyro!"
This lighter was laying haphazardly on the windowsill. An incense burner sat nearby, so I assumed that the lighter had been used to fuel Amy's incense obsession. The whole apartment smelled like sandalwood and burnt flowers.
The lighter was a bic: cheap and plastic feeling. Amy was too cheap to get a zippo, though I had seen her staring hungrily at them whenever she found a display. Still, this bic suited her tastes. It was covered in artwork portraying a busty woman in a pirate's outfit. Her brown hair curled languidly around the lighter, surrounded by roses and a banner that said "A pirate's life for me" in purple lettering. The backdrop looked like aged and weathered parchment.
I flicked my thumb the smooth round roller, feeling the less smooth outer rollers bite into my skin. My thumb pressed against the red plastic button, feeling the flame so close. I watched it dance for a moment before I released the button and replaced the lighter.

Observation-Tarot Cards

Julie was drawn to something orange on the shelf. She walked near it and found that it was actually some kind of bundle wrapped in silk that had been dyed orange and yellow, with traces of an ashy gray. It looked like a flame had consumed whatever was wrapped. Julie looked behind her. Nobody was watching, so she pulled the silk off to find a deck of tarot cards.
Running her fingers along the smoothness of the oversized cards, she was overwhelmed with curiosity. She pulled a card from the deck at random: The Empress. The artwork was fascinating. A woman sat in a purple dress, looking pensively at a cluster of flowers. Mountains dotted the landscape behind the woman, who looked remarkably like Julie's mother.
Looking at the card gave Julie a weird feeling. Hurriedly, she put it with the rest of the deck, wrapped it up, and put it back on the shelf before Amy came back in.

Description- Focus Pad

Leaning against the desk is a focus pad like the ones fighters use to train. It seems out of place in her artistic feeling apartment, but then I remember her saying how she wishes she had more strength.  It is made of a black material that has been shined to look and feel like leather.  The word "Century" is emblazoned across the front in caps. A zipper runs along the bottom of the pad, seemingly as a way to remove the cover. Multiple straps run across the back.
I can see the spot where the material has been thinned from use, just underneath the word, "Century." I can imagine her coming home after a hard day, strapping the pad to something, and beating that same spot over and over until the anger is gone.

Free Write-9-16-12

You know that feeling at the end of the night when you know everything has been said and done, the doors are locked, and you are so tired that you aren’t even thinking anymore? You know that you need to sleep, but you lack the vitality to even go to your bed, to shut your eyes and end the day, so you just sit there, comfortably uncomfortable, waiting for one last dose of energy to come so that you can finally sleep.

That’s how I feel when I look at you.

Observation Free Write- 9-15-12

The glaring white of the wall was broken up occasionally with brightly colored art. One of these pieces was a tree that was created using big plastic looking stickers. 

Lara ran her fingers along the smooth sticker. It was matte and smooth, feeling more like velvet than plastic.

She liked the tree, but did the flowers have to be pink? It ruined the relaxing feeling the tree added to the room. The pink was energetic, perky, feminine-- everything that Lara was not. 

Interspersed among the brown and pink branches were bits of mirror in the shapes of flowers, branches, and owls. The mirrored elements clearly were from a different set of stickers, but they fit. Lara could see distorted reflections of the room behind her in the mirrors.

Catching a glimpse of her own reflection, Lara quickly looked away. She fingered a mirrored flower. The edges were sharp, and the flower was hard. Her fingers caught on the polished surface, leaving a smear and a fingerprint to mar it.

Ah yes, these flowers were more Lara's style.

Tracklist free write-Future story? 9-15-12

I like to listen to music on shuffle and write what images I get relating to the song and what I have already written. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it isn't.

Lead Sails and A Paper Anchor- Atreyu

She turned again, alone in the silent house. Except—was that a footstep? As she walked the dust rose, pushed up from the press of her foot like bellows on the “antique” carpet.  This place was a gem. Beautiful, old, it had character.  Even the creepiness of the building lent a sort of charm. Becca had gotten a great deal, but that didn’t help her to feel like she had to keep glancing over her shoulder every second.

Your Eyes- Rent Soundtrack

The lace curtain stirred, but that was just the wind. “Becca.” A voice whispered. A breeze brushed at her hair, drawing it around her face, tickling her nose. She sneezed, and soft laughter seemed to surround her. “Who’s there!” She shouted.

Pieces- Icon For Hire

Silence. She had just imagined it. The wind was just the wind. The house was truly empty. Becca got to work.

Free Writing 9/11/12: Classroom Horror

11:45 AM: You arrive at the classroom. It is the first day of this class. You find a seat, avoiding a chair that holds a small puddle of water.

11:50 AM: You notice that the string attached to projector screen has been tied like a noose. You take a picture and send it to many of your friends, with a few joking remarks about how this class is going to make you want to hang yourself. Everyone in the room stares at you as you take the picture. Obviously nobody else sees the remarkable similarity between the knot and a noose.

11:52 AM: You notice that by sitting between the wet chair and the wall, you have effectively isolated yourself.

11:53 AM: The instructor finally arrives. She is perky and innocent looking in a light blue cardigan.

11:55 AM: The instructor begins class early.  She locks the door as she begins talking. You vaguely think that this is odd, but you have a hard time focusing on one thing long enough for it to cause true alarm.

11:58 AM:  Your eyes begin to droop. The room seems to be getting... wavy?

12:06 PM: You absent-mindedly scratch at the scab on your arm. The scab comes off and blood begins to ooze out of the wound, contrasting bright red against your skin.

12:08 PM: The blood makes you uncomfortable. Everyone can see it. You wipe at it with your hand, doing nothing but smearing it and leaving a coppery smudge across your finger.

12:12 PM: The blood is leaving the wound in fat drops. Your hands are covered in blood, yet you can't stop wiping at it.

12:20 PM: You are holding your hand up to the wound, trying to stop the flow. A tiny torn off scab should not be bleeding this heavily! You look up, trying to find a paper towel, a kleenex, anything to clean the blood off of yourself, when you see them. At the window, there is a crowd of masked faces peering in. All of them are turned toward you. Conversely, the faces of your classmates are all turned toward the instructor, paying you no mind.

12:23 PM: You notice that all your classmates are using red pen to take their notes. No, not red pen, you realize slowly, it's blood. The smell of it permeates the room, metallic sweet.

12:28 PM: You are trying not to throw up. You have already tried to get up, but you can't move from your seat. You struggle desperately again to lift yourself from the chair. The instructor has finally noticed your plight. She sharply calls your name. You look up at her.  "Do I need to keep you after class?" You quickly, fearfully shake your head. She smiles predatorily. "Good." As she smiles, you notice that her teeth are sharp. Her grin is much too large. It literally stretches from ear to ear, making her look like Venom, or a frightening real life Cheshire Cat. This is the last straw. You need to get out. You are totally taken over by fear. You find that you can stand up, and you do, knocking over your chair. Lightning fast, every face in the room turns toward you. All the students are perfectly normal except for the blood-ink pens they hold. You run from the room.

12:39 PM: You don't stop running until you reach your apartment. You didn't see anything amiss on your run home, but you are still so afraid that you slam the door shut behind you and use every lock the door has (all four of them, including the chain). You take a deep breath, your forehead pressed against the heavy wooden door. Finally, after a few breaths, you turn around.

There are dozens of masked faces pressed against your window. You scream.

With a creak, the window begins to open.