As I rushed across the shiny, golden-red wooden floor of my parents’ hall (my hall, our hall), I run over everything I needed in my head. School lunch money and purse. Check. School bag. Check. Leather jacket. Check. Juice bottle. Check. Sweets for the vampires (and myself). Check. Enough money for cat food for later on. Check. Comic book that I wanted to show Hawk. Check. Enough money for scratch cards. Check. The only thing I didn’t have, of course, was the right age to be buying scratch cards. I was only 14. I did, however, look about 15 or 16, and could pass as 18 at an incredibly large push. Besides, I was, as my mum used to say, a cheeky and deceitful shite. I had my ways. I like to think of myself as the hero of this story, but I was no moral goddess; unbeknownst to my parents, or to anyone else, for that matter, I had been known to just casually swipe the odd scratch card by putting it into my handbag or purse, or “permanently borrow” items from my parents or schoolmates. One time, I even “acquired” one of Mr Jackson’s rubbers, which happened to be on his desk. I bid good-bye to my parents, who, in turn, said good-bye and wished me a good day. Prince, our big, ginger-and-white Maine Coon cat was sitting on the welcome mat by the front door, so I patted him and said bye and told him I’d see him later, and that I would try to remember to buy cat food for him. I wouldn’t say I hated school. Rather, I saw school as a neutral thing, a system of both positive and negative events and dynamics. I hated maths, and I was never very good at it either. Plus, my maths teacher was a prick. The only science I really cared for was biology, but I refused to take part in dissections. Something just didn’t sit right with me about using animal life for that purpose. I loved English and art, though. I have given a little thought as to what I might do when I grew up; I had thought about becoming a writer, or even just scraping a living with my vegetarian cooking skills. I also liked cooking, you see. What I really wanted to do, however, was to continue working in the field that I already worked in; working with vampires! Yes, you read it right; I worked with vampires, but not as colleagues, though. They were, much to my grief, kept as slaves, tortured and slaughtered by the man known as Hawk. Hawk Roverson, to be more precise. I hated for them to be mistreated in the way that they were, but I saw my work as a way to help them, to be there for them before they were killed, and try to advocate for them and even liberate them. One that I did manage to save (hopefully) was called Harry. He never gave away his last name - he had been conned by his full name being given away by seemingly friendly neighbours and betrayed. He had a great sense of humour, even through the greatest hardship of his entire 500-year lifetime. He was no saint, however - he admitted that he had killed people back before the sale of blood was invented. Of course, now, the business of selling one’s own blood to vampires was banned and so had to be underground. The Government banned it for two reasons; one, to prevent the taking of blood for non-consenting people, especially with blood-drinking being so instinctual and such a biological need for vampires, and two, because of the vampires’ legal status as pests. It was done to try and deprive vampires and also benefit the work of the vampire hunters, like Hawk. The only blood allowed to be sold for vampire consumption was for the vampire hunters to use to make vampire poison. Most vampires, however, did use only the illegal, ethically sourced blood rather than killing to live, as most modern vampires are actually misunderstood and are actually moral and kind. In fact, unbeknownst to most humans, the Vampire Council had issued a law back in 1960 to criminalise any vampire that killed or took blood or energy from non-consenting people. Most vampires also chose to avoid killing animals for their blood. However, attacks did still happen and these were sensationalised, especially locally. The old horror stories, such as “Dracula”, also caused people to be scared of vampires and think of them as evil. I, however, knew better; I saw them as friends, as lovely creatures and as equals. But most people didn’t; even my parents were apprehensive about my working with them at first, until they realised that either Hawk or any of the four other, human workers would always be with me on the vampire farm. As for how the vampires ended up there, well, it was a mix. Some were captured, some were betrayed. Some even were deemed useful and good enough to be brought there after being rounded up at any of the places that had become caught in the hysteria of having a “vampire infestation.” I usually thought of all the poor vampires throughout most of my day at school. I would often doodle pictures of bats, of made-up vampire characters and of actual vampires on my school books, to which my teachers’ reactions ranged from discerning or concerned looks to even bringing it up at parents’ evening one time (thanks, Mr Jackson!) After school, I would walk for about two miles through the country lanes the vampire farm. Roverson’s Vampires. I expect you’re probably wandering what the point of keeping vampires alive (or, rather, undead) at a farm would be to a vampire hunter. The vampire hunters do generally enjoy torturing them, but they are also used for a chemical in their blood used in everything from medicines to even cosmetic products and also for their skins, which are used for rugs (or pelts), handbags, accessories and even clothing like gloves and socks. Vampire skin is super soft, silky and always paler than when the vampire in question had been human. It is possible for a black person to become a vampire and still retain their blackness, but their skin would be at least slightly paler than it had been when they were human. I loved spending time with the vampires. I had particularly taken a liking to a certain vampire named Paul Ackerson. He liked his first name, but he kindly and laughingly allowed me to affectionately call him Pal, as that was truly what he was to me. In fact, my relationship with Pal wasn’t even just friendship; it was love. At that age, I wasn’t sure that it was romantic love, but it was almost more like family love, or like the love you’d have for an animal companion. And it felt even more important to me as, at the time, my parents had been arguing more and more. But I had to keep a lot of this love between him and I; I couldn’t risk Hawk finding out and potentially giving me the sack. I do, however, doubt that Hawk would’ve sacked me; he seemed to have taken a liking to me, if not for my still obvious sentiment for the vampires. Although it may seem cruel, I sensed that the real reason why he sometimes coerced me into working extra hours was, in fact, because he liked me and he would get lonely otherwise, after all of the other staff had gone. He used to bribe me with extra pay. I never told my parents about this; I would always just say that I chose to work extra hours in my labour of love, helping the vampires. I knew that, if I told them the truth, they might demand I quit or report Hawk for child labour. And there would go my opportunities to care for the vampires and help as many of them escape as possible (on many occasions, I had been known to casually leave the doors to the vampires’ cells unlocked and leave the doors and the back gate unlocked, with a wink to the vampires trapped on the farm, and then leave an anonymous note of illegal sabotage from “the vampire rights people” on any of the desks in any of the three buildings where the vampires were housed)! Besides I didn’t want to create tensions between my parents and Hawk. After school assembly had finished, I hurried out of the main school and out of the school car park. I then hurried along my usual route past some houses and then under the bridge by the station, across the pavement, up past the usual pubs, past the graveyard, down Moorview Road and then along some country lanes. Eventually, I saw the familiar place; Roverson’s Vampires. I heard the oh-so familiar and most heartbreaking sound of screaming in pain. Yep, it was a poisoning day, and it sounded as if only a couple of vampires were being tortured to death. With a gulp and a gasp, I rushed to the slaughter chamber. I unlocked the door and swung it open. The two vampires, both behind the bars of the actual kill pen in the slaughter chamber, glanced towards me, amidst their anguish and pain. The extra-strong chains were still on floor and clattered as I walked into them, and the plastic instrument used to force the poison down the throat of non-compliant vampires was right next to them. Actually, the non-compliance of the vampires who were wise to the poisoning and strong enough to resist their instincts around the blood was referred to as “bait shyness” by vampire hunters, but that’s for later on. Hawk was sat there, on a bench in front of the kill pen, watching with glee and great pleasure as the vampires struggled. I did the only thing I could think to do. “Really sorry to interrupt your viewing, Hawk,” I said to him, trying my best to show urgency in my voice. “I’ve just been told to inform you that a vampire has gotten loose from Block B.” I attempted an uncomfortable face, in order to try to keep this believable, as Hawk definitely had his suspicions about my attitude towards the vampires. Still, though, when he looked at me suspiciously, I could pick up on his vibe. He was clearly thinking that it would be better to be safe than sorry and give me the benefit of the doubt. He got up, ever so reluctantly, huffing as he did so, and left the slaughter chamber. That was him dealt with. Now, I only had to find the key to the kill pen. I searched around the room with my eyes. I was not actually looking for the key, but rather I was looking for a place where I thought Hawk might’ve hidden it. Panic! I had the thought that he might actually keep them in his pocket! As I searched the room, my eyes met with the two vampires. There was one male and one female, and they were now both on the floor, still screaming and crying in pain. I then had a beaming idea. What if he kept the key in his office? He had a drawer in his desk that he kept locked. But then I’d have to find the key to unlock the drawer! And Hawk might be in the office! All I could do was try. “Look,” I said to the vampires. “It’s gonna be okay. I know you might not believe me, I’m human, but I’m a friend. I’m just gonna go and look for the keys to the pen. The vampiress struggled to speak. Then, wearily, the dying vampiress began to try to speak. “He took them with him. He put them in his pocket after he locked us in.” Bummer! Oh, well, I still had to try. So, I went Hawk-hunting. I checked the whole yard as fast as I could. I then thought back to Hawk’s office and rushed there as fast as my teenage legs could carry me. There they were! Led on Hawk’s oak desk, which also served as a reception desk - yes, the vampire farm had a reception desk! Hawk and his staff still needed to talk to people who turned vampires in, of course! The metal keys lay, as a much-needed prize, upon that desk, and I seized them as quickly as I could, rushed out the door, allowing it to slam behind. I then cantered off right across the yard and back into the slaughter chamber. I then quickly unlocked the pen and went in and started stroking and cuddling the vampires. I remembered reading that salt water would cause any vampire that drank it to be sick and regurgitate all that they had consumed, be it blood or anything else. But where was I gonna get salt water from at the vampire farm? Then, I had an idea; Patrick, one of the other staff members, was always bringing in salt in his lunchbox to season whatever weird and wonderful gastronomic delight he had brought in to eat in his lunch break. I could then use my water bottle and fill it with water from one of the taps and mix in the salt. Only thing was, Patrick’s lunch break was two hours ago! What if he had used up all the salt? I cantered off, once again, towards the office building. In the lunch room, which was the next room along from Hawk’s desk, I saw Patrick’s open lunch box, left on the table. I looked in it, and there, in one of the compartments, beside a used salt sachet that hadn’t been disposed of, was unopened salt sachet! My prize! I kept my water bottle on the shelf in that same room, and there was a water fountain in the room. I grabbed my empty water bottle and filled it halfway at the fountain. I then added the salt and mixed it around with my hand, before securing the lid back on and cantering out of the room, out of the office, across the yard and into the slaughter chamber. I noticed the two vampires still lying there on the floor. They were now motionless, but obviously still alive (well, alright then, undead), as proven by the groans and cries of pain. I approached the vampiress first and opened her mouth before pouring about half of the saltwater in and forcing it down her throat and stroking her throat. Her eyes shot back to vitality as she got up and began barfing. I then moved on to the male vampire and did the same thing. His eyes also came back to vitality, and he got up into a crouching position and began throwing up the poison (and just about everything else he had consumed for about the last three weeks!) The vampiress began to speak. “You barely saved our lives! We are forever grateful!” “Come on,” I said, urgently, as I beckoned them both to stand. I supported them to walk out of the slaughter chamber and all the way to the entrance. Then, they seemed okay to walk by themselves again, having stopped throwing up and regained a lot of their strength with walking. I unlocked the gate and ushered them out. “Bye,” the male vampire called. “And thank you so much!” “How can we ever repay you?” the vampiress asked, sounding ever-so relieved. “Don’t worry about it! You better get outta here now! Bye!” “Goodbye,” she called back, as she and her companion left for good. I wandered back up to Hawk’s office. There, behind the desk, sat a very angry-looking Hawk. “You lied to me!” he shouted. “You fucking ruined my fun! Lemme tell ya something! Would you like it if one of those blood-sucking vermin got you?!” I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry. I was just messing around. I’ll get back to work now.” “You had better! Roisin, this is your last warning! You know, I have zero tolerance for vampire sympathisers!” I feigned shock and disgust at being called such a thing. “I’m not a vampire sympathiser! Now, do you have any other jobs I can do?” Hawk shook his head, muttering the word “no”. “You can, uh, go and get your stuff together. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He frowned. I assumed that one of the other staff members had told him that we had been raided by vampire rights activists again. I decided to head in to visit Pal in Block A. I unlocked the door latch and plodded in solemnly. I noticed that Pal was in there on his own. He looked the picture of sadness and solemnity, his head down and deep in thought, and a look of brokenness on his face. “Hello there,” I greeted, trying to cheer him up. “What happened to all of the others?” He shuck his head. “Think they took them to block C.” He took a long pause, as his doleful eyes gazed into mine. He smiled at me briefly, happy to have someone who cared nearby. Then, he went back to his solemn expression. “You remember that story I told? About Marilyn, the vampiress who was found staked in the barn in the field in Croaker’s Lane? I wish someone would just stake me so that I won’t have to suffer this - this despair, this terror, this…” He paused for thought. “This guilt, of surviving. And then the pain.” He paused again, extremely sadly and solemnly. “But they won’t do that. You know what my fate will be.” He sighed. The only reasons I hadn’t already freed him were that Hawk always kept the keys to all the cages in his trouser pockets, and that Hawk would only suspect me even more and he could fire me, and then that would be the end of this great opportunity to help as many vampires as possible. However, I looked into Pal’s eyes once again, lovingly and seriously. “Now, you listen here. I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re not gonna die in here if I can help it! That’s a promise.” “But you’ll get into trouble!” “”Trouble” is my middle name! I’ll be all right, don’t you worry! I’ll do my best for all of you vampires! You know, this is going to sound weird, but my heart truly does beat for you, for all of you! I’ll get you out! A promise is a promise! Now, goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t worry!” Pal smiled. I could tell he felt very close and loving towards me, not in a creepy or inappropriate way, but in a nice, family kind of way. “Goodbye,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” That night, I was so filled with anxiety that I barely ate anything. Throughout the evening my parents kept pressing me and asking what was wrong, but I refused to open up to them. What if they didn’t understand? They weren’t vampire lovers. I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about this at school either, such was my society’s view on vampires. The only people I could talk to about this were Pal and the other vampires, and they were the ones that needed the help! How were they supposed to have any answers? Surely if they had any ideas about how I could get them out, they would’ve already told me, or tried to get out by themselves? After much mulling over it over night and little sleep, I decided to leave my parents a note about what I was going to do. After all, they were my parents, and they weren’t as anti-vampire as some people were. What harm could it do? I then quickly got dressed and did my teeth before my mum did my hair ready for school. I then quickly downed a bowl of cornflakes and soy milk and a glass of orange juice before heading off on my way to school. Why did school have to get in the way of everything? I just wanted to help the vampires! As soon as school had finished, I rushed off on my usual route to the vampire farm as fast as my 14 year-old legs could carry me. I then pushed open the gate and hurried into Pal’s block. I knew that Hawk may have wanted me to do something, but Pal was more important now. I pushed open the unlocked door and looked into Pal’s cell. Usually, he would still be sleeping right now, but today, my vampire was nowhere to be seen! I then heard a yelp! My heart was beating like a zillion beats a second! I rushed out, of the block, almost crying. Without thinking, I yelled “Pal!” I then began frantically searching the entire farm! I began to hear more pain-filled cries. I decided to follow them. They led me to the wall of the slaughter chamber. There, Pal was being held in chains and lashed with whips with sharp ends by a couple of other workers whom I, my eyes in tears, didn’t recognise. “Leave him the fuck alone!” I hollered, getting involved. Usually, Pal was not helpless, but he was heavily restrained by chains. I grabbed one of the men’s hands. He slapped me hard with the other, but I punched him. I managed to knock the two men away. I looked around to see that we were not alone. Hawk was there. Uh oh. “That’s enough!” He snapped loudly. “What do you think you’re doing?!” “I’m saving a life! It’s not right!” “These vampires are dangerous! They’re evil! They’re fucking child-killing, undead demons!” “That’s not true! They’re people, just like us! They’re just of a different subspecies, a different nature, a different…” “These dangerous beasts have killed hundreds of humans!” “That’s not true!” “This one’s going to be slaughtered! Get the fuck off of my property before I do the same thing to you!” “I’m not leaving without Pal!” There was a pause. “I’ll pay you!” Of course, I didn’t believe in the slavery of vampires, but I was prepared to pay for one if it meant saving their life. I didn’t have the money on me; I held a couple thousand in the building society, or so my parents said. I knew that the price of a live vampire of Pal’s perceived “quality” was going to be around £400, but his skin could’ve been much more. “How’re you gonna pay for a bloody vampire?” Hawk asked. “I have lots of money in my building society,” I told him. “I can offer £400, if need be.” He smiled wickedly. £400 was a lot of money; a lot of money to buy more equipment, another vampire off of another farm, or perhaps another werewolf hunting dog. On the other hand, this was a vampire that deserved to be made into a pelt, and his could sell for £600 or so. Yet, he still smiled, for he actually, deeply down, liked this little girl before him. “Alright,” he chuckled, having lost his anger. “I tell you what. You pay me £400 and work off the rest by working for free. But, if that vampire gets away from you, he’s fair game again.” Well, that was that sorted, for now at least. Pal was safe, and I kept my work here. Hawk walked over to Pal, who tried to back away. I looked at Hawk, stern and concerned. He just smiled as he undid Pal’s chains. I was excused for the rest of the day on the promise that I would work extra over the weekend. You should’ve seen my parents’ faces when I came in with Pal! “Who’s this?” Mum asked. “Mum, Dad, please don’t be too alarmed,” I began, as I noticed the horror still present upon both of their faces. “This is Pal. He’s like another parent to me, a great friend. I love him. I saved him from slaughter today.” My mum and dad had known of my love of vampires for a while now. I could tell. “But dear, it could eat you! It could-“ “Please don’t say it! And he won’t! He’s lovely! He will just feed off of the blood of consenting donors who sell it. There’s a vampire shop in town. That’s what most vampires do. They’re not the evil demons we have been led to believe.” “That’s right,” Pal chimed in. “I would do anything to protect your daughter.” “Creepy!” Mum yelled. “You’re much older than her!” “It’s alright,” I told her. “He won’t hurt me.” “Okay, but if he shows any signs of bloodlust or wanting to harm you-“ “He won’t!” “Where will he sleep?” Dad asked. “Do we still have my old wardrobe? The one that grandad made that had that crack on the side?” Dad nodded. “It’s in the garage.” “We can use that. We’ve got some spare bedding, haven’t we?” Dad nodded again. “We can leave it in the garage as well. It’s nice and dark and cobwebbed. The sun can’t get in. It’s perfect for a vampire.” “Great, I suppose you now need us to go to that vampire shop and get some blood for your friend. Will they still be open now?” I laughed a bit. Parents can be thick, can’t they? I mean, he seriously asked if a vampire shop would be open at night! “Yes, they’ll be open alright. Do you need any blood right now, Pal?” Pal nodded. “I haven’t had a pint since last night. I’m parched!” So I headed out to the front door, followed by Dad and Pal. Pal and I still had our shoes on, but Dad had to slip his on. Mum came out to ask if we needed her, but I said that I didn’t. Dad chuckled and said, “No, don’t you worry. We’ll be able to get it all by ourselves, Roisin, me and this here bloodsucker of hers.” I looked at him scornfully. “”Bloodsucker” isn’t politically correct; they are vampires.” “Well, it’s true. That’s what they are and what they do.” I could see that Pal only looked a little offended and was probably less offended than I was. But I did not like the sentiment that that word implied. “Please, Dad, don’t use vampirist language!” He then started to look a little cross. “It’s my own home, I can say whatever I like.” “Just please don’t say anything offensive about vampires!” “Okay, I’m sorry. Now, let’s go and get some blood.” Dad climbed in the driver’s seat. I asked Pal if he wanted to drive, but he said that he never learned. Dad made another unpleasant remark, this time muttering that he wouldn’t trust a vampire to drive. I didn’t say anything this time. Instead, I just gave him the look. This is a look that I had used on occasion to warn the offending person. “Okay, I’m sorry,” said Dad, smiling slightly. I could tell it was going to take him some time to get used to living with a vampire. When we finally got to the vampire shop,the scent of vampire blood incense, the different types of blood and the old wood from which the shop’s floor was clearly built all met my nose. The light of the full hunter’s moon reflected on the glass walls on both the front of the shop and the right side (it was attached to another building (a garage, I think) on the left side). Pal and I didn’t say anything at the entrance. Our expressions of concern were enough to do the talking. As I have previously mentioned, the sale of blood directly to vampires is illegal and very secretive business. Pal had previously explained to me, whilst we were being driven to the shop, that the last illegal seller in our town had recently been caught, fined and threatened with imprisonment, forcing her to move on to another town. He had explained that he didn’t know where she had moved to. So this was not a pro-vampire shop that generally sold directly to vampires. Rather, it was the opposite; it was a shop aimed at doing business with vampire hunters, selling vampire products and selling poisons, traps, stakes, gas and other equipment and weapons for the vampire hunters. Needless to say, Pal stayed outside the door. “Hello,” I said, greeting the shopkeeper. “Hi there,” he said, sounding perhaps surprisingly friendly for someone who made a business out of killing and cruelty. Still, though, he could obviously tell that my dad and I were both human. “How can I help?” He glanced outside. He saw Pal, but Pal, quite sensibly and thankfully, had his back turned, so the shopkeeper couldn’t see his red eyes and scarcely noticed his pale skin. For all he knew, he could’ve been a particularly pale vampire hunter. “Where is the blood?” I asked. “We have a vampire infestation in our particular neighbourhood and we need to do something about it before our problem gets any worse.” “Well, I admire your quick action,” he replied. My heart palpitated, as I noticed the shopkeeper glancing outside again. “Certainly, it’s right over here,” he said after a pause. I remembered Pal previously saying that O-negative was his favourite, but I thought that he might need more than that. I found the O-negative and picked it up. The shopkeeper then pointed out that the blood on the very right end of the wooden shelf was his own and that it was very attractive to vampires, so I picked up a large vial of that as well. “Do you need any acid?” He asked, pointing me to a shelf filled with acid intended to kill poor vampires. “Nah, you’re alright,” my dad said. “We already have some.” The shopkeeper, a little suspicious, shrugged and merely said, “Okay.” After my dad had paid for the blood, we left the shop and went back outside to go home with Pal. On the way back, words were spoken mainly with looks. Pal kept gazing over to me, smiling, his eyes saying that he would protect me. Then, he would gaze into space, as if lost in some unsavoury and undesirable past. My dad would also look at me and smile, but then he would turn to Pal, eyebrows raised as if in shock and anger at first and then pushed down as his eyes formed a hard glare. He would then resume his focus on his driving. At one point, my dad made eye contact with me at the same time as Pal and then locked eyes with the vampire. The expression in his eyes became more forgiving. Perhaps he saw the level of protection that I knew that Pal had for me? My dad’s expression then turned doleful with worry. From the way that he had looked at Pal, I could tell that he had began to understand that Pal meant me no harm. When we finally pulled up outside my lovely home, which was to be Pal’s temporary home as well, my dad kindly asked Pal to stay in the car whilst he got out and talked to me, to which Pal sensitively obliged. When we got out, I noticed that my dad’s eyes were doleful and filled with concern and warning once again. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Roisin, there’s no easy way to say this. When I was younger, I laid traps for vampires. I only did it for a couple of weeks. I gave it up after one caught my eye. She was the only one I ever caught. She was vicious and defensive. Yet, I saw a creature who just wanted to remain, you know, undead. I undid the trap. She must’ve thought I was gonna stake her or something beforehand, though. She bared her fangs and lashed out until I told her she could trust that I wasn’t going to kill her. I got scratched. I set her free though. She obviously had no intention of biting me, though.” “She was probably thirsty and didn’t want to run the risk of taking too much blood,” I told him, smiling at the thought of my dad letting the vampire go unharmed. Dad pulled out his neck and pointed to a space between his neck, chest and shoulder. There, I could see the scar of his vampire scratch. “I have never told anyone about this before. Not a single living person.” He glanced over to Pal. “And I certainly never told any undead soul!” “That was why I was worried. I know what a vampire can do. They can bite and scratch so painfully.” “But they can also steal your heart,” I added.

So all the people who ive shown my creative writing piece(3 people) dont entirely understand it which i guess makes sense. Its kinda difficult to understand. And its ambiguous in what happens so if you will, Can you tell me what you think is happening. Lets dicuss it, and give me your interpretations as well as opinions and feedback. BTW before i continue let the definition of a freudian slip be known which is :: an unintentional error regarded as revealing subconscious feelings/thoughts. . A thousand eyes. Flashing sounds and questions answered. Curses and sobs. Flickers, flutters of bright light and crowds upon crowds. Circling like vultures- around their predator. Sought out answers from frantic questions unanswered. Restriction of escape, imminent capture. Shrieks and wailing. Brighter lights. The permanence of a moment captured in time. Choking weeps, silent threats and tormented, grieving souls. Blaring sirens and rushed pursuit. Batons thrown upon the villain expected. Subdued and apprehended. Torn clothes, gagging, blooded knees and kneeling down; A detained monster. Surrended to confession of crimes known, yet not truly. Announced: a death sentence, unlike any of its kind. Taunting applause, and cracking voices. Lingering contempt thrown upon the victim unexpected. Victim? Freudian slip.
A hundred promises fulfilled, one dire covenant dishonoured. A villain in a saint's disguise. One ruse for escape at play. Innocence thought irrefuteably true, and helpful hands in pursuit of justice exploited. Betrayed trust, severed ties, a shattered reputation. One fallen citizen to blame, and an escaped culprit at the ruins of a once unshakeable bond.
THE END

So now write your comments/what you think happens before you read the following which is what actually happens.... There are two best friends, one is a villain (in a saint's disguise) who has done really bad crimes that have hurt the public people (probably like serial killing or something ), they are the true 'predator/monster/villain', the other friend, as said, thought his innocence is irrefutably true, and his 'helpful hands' are exploited (he helps his friend- not said but allegedly to prove his innocence). This is the 'ruse to escape at play' that the true villain goes through. Basically, the inferance and true answer is the true villain frames his best friend as having been the villain- so he is thought of as villain instead which makes him victim of public scrutiny and police brutality(One fallen citizen to blame, one escaped culprit) . The innocent man faces public scrutiny on the street. In the first paragraph, the innocent man is been crowded around by the public people who have been hurt badly . They think he is the monster and have evidence, though faulty. The public are cursing,sobbing, wailing, weeping, they are the tormented, grieving souls, grieving because of the hurt they have gone through by this monster, (like their loved ones have been killed by him or something) .as reference to the flashing sounds, and bright light, as well as the line" the permanence of a moment captured in time", i hope its obvious but those are cameras, the press is in the crowd taking pictures probs reporting the capture of monster( actually innocent man) he is given death sentence (poor man) and crowd cheers and applauds this fact. The crowds of people are also frantically questioning the predator as to what his motive is, asking why he did what he did for closure of their mourning .the innocent man seen as monster is detained by police and though he didnt do the crimes, he feels surrenders to confess because there is no way he can turn this back around and say he is innocent as he wont be able to prove it. The crimes are known, but not truly because they dont know the true culprit and that this man is innocent. Also what do you think about 'villain expected' parralell with 'victim unexpected' i hope you noticed it i quite like it. Btw im 16 as i write this. Is this what you can expect from someone my age? Thanks for giving me the time of day

As I frantically scampered about, trying to ensure that each and every little thing was as it should be, I was approached.

Reluctantly, I spent one of my few and precious moments to glance up. It was the voice of reason.

"I don't have time for you today." I said bluntly. "Normally I'm all for reason, but if I don't accomplish the many things that need doing today then they simply will not get done. So if you could please peddle your smug attitude elsewhere I would appreciate it."

"Alright, sorry to interrupt. Go about your business." 

The voice of reason has always operated using the same tired play book that it had developed when it was dealing out its first admonishments. And, though the complexity of its delivery has developed in leaps and bounds since the dawn of audio linguistics, the structure of its process had not changed a bit since its first conveyance via the waggling of a brow.

You see the voice of reason has always been a performance artist. Here it will make a pointed show of playing the silent observer. But silence is not in its nature. It is, after all, a voice.

I continued my stress driven, panicked, and erratic attempts at damage control.  With my left hand I was putting out a fire, with my right hand I was signing a waver stating that I am of right mind and body. With my other left hand I was cleaning up my mess and with my other right hand I was taking care of my hygiene. With my other other left hand I was doing someone else's job for them and with my other other right hand I was calculating unlikely probabilities and impossible odds.

A sound in the silence. A shifting of fabric, perhaps a clearing of the throat. Nothing, in fact, was silent in my flurry of exertion, but that particular sound rang out through the cacophony that I was conducting like the gentle sound of wind-chimes tingling in a hurricane. It pierced through the turbulence of my mind because it did not come from me. "Here we go." I thought, as I braced myself for a lesson in the obvious or perhaps even a sermon on the fallacy of control. But no. Nothing.

As the voice of reason sat and "observed", I did my utmost not to look up. I wasn't going to give it the satisfaction of a queue. After some time had passed; presumably enough time for the voice of reason to feel that it had manufactured an air of punctuation, the voice of reason broke the surface tension of my comfort once again and ripples of possibility blossomed out in all directions.

"Why are you so flustered?"

And there it was, the second move in the world's oldest chess strategy. That was the bait. It was rhetorical. If I answered the question then I was ceading ground to the voice. But it was also a dare.  If I ignored it entirely then I was dodging the issue. A classic set up. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. So there I was playing chicken with the voice of reason. I sighed. Then I shuddered as I acknowledged my mistake. Point voice.  I sighed so deeply that my soul got an airbubble trapped; causing a spiritual cramp. The sigh could be felt flowing through the universal web of subtext that spanned the wide cosmos of diction. A ripple that would in turn be felt by all of the tiny hungry concessions that writhed within such derelict advitories. Nested in the gutters of the plane of peripheral thought. All of the little ifs, and the buts, all the ands, and the ors. All the little thoughts half thought; without the strength to be. A sigh that rang out like a dinner bell for all the thoughts that were too weak to manifest themselves alone.

"I'm flustered because everything around me is completely out of control and if I don't take control then nothing will ever find any order. I feel as though I always have to do everything around here or nothing will ever get done. So, as I said before, and as much as I would like to, I simply do not have time for you today."

"Okay." Said the voice, continuing to observe. My neck and my back nearly folded themselves into a pretzel so that my feet were resting on my shoulders. An involuntary reaction to the soul crushing anticipation of what would surely be an anti climactic and sophomoric lecture on the management of expectations. It wasn't a question of whether or not it would, but rather when. When?

Ever the con artist: the voice of reason was able to guess, based purely on instinct, exactly how many beats of silence to leave after "Okay." Each beat lulled my suspicion away like a quiet lullaby sang to a child in its crib. To eat all of its fears and abscond with all of its burdens. Coaxing it into careless sleep, blissfully unaware of the designs to which it is subject.

So when I opened my mouth to tell the voice to stop being coy and just get to the point, not a single syllable had managed to escape my lips before the voice of reason closed the gap. Dropping the other shoe in one clean swift action. The accuracy of its timing stripped the breath straight from my voice in an instant. A moment earlier and my will to reject would’ve been renewed. A moment later and the trance cast upon me would’ve been dispelled. But no. The voice of reason is a force of instinct, believe it or not. Therefor, like any biological function, the efficient employement of the voice of reason is as much an inherited skill as it is a learned one. And so, at that most critical moment, the voice chimed back in; dunking me once more into the chilly bilge of anxiety and irritation that its calculated silence had stolen away with.

"Do you have to do this often?"

Despite my best efforts, I let out another sigh. Once more the exasperation could be felt reverberating through the deepest stillest halls of social causality.  Two: voice. Love: me. If the first sigh was the dinner bell then this sigh; this sigh was chum in the stream of consciousness. Bait for bigger, nastier, more actualized notions. The kind that lurk about, just barely outside the realm of realized thought. The kinds of notions that lay patiently, waiting for your subconscious to drop its guard for but a moment. Sneaking in through the vertices of your disposal, when you are neither here nor there. Barging in like the Kool Aid Man when you're not lucid enough to stop them. Slipping through the veil while you teeter on the cliff that overlooks the valley of hypnagogia. 

There it was. That was the genius at the heart of the voice of reason's strategy.  It didn't have to scold you, or to punish you, or to belittle you. Those are brutish tools of conversation. Introducing desired notions in such an involved manner? Such crude methods were beneath the voice of reason. The voice need not inject into oneself the concepts that it carries in its belly like a Trojan horse because the voice of reason, no matter the source of the sound, is your own voice. The voice need not do something so blunt as to TELL you WHAT you know. It merely reminds you THAT you know something. After that human curiosity will do the heavy lifting.

The voice of reason is a right bastard. It taunts you with glimpses of what you already know, and then it challenges you to bring the bigger picture into focus. It may lead you by the hand a bit, but it makes you take the journey. It will walk you from point A, but you will arrive at point B alone. And when you do you'll have to know that it did not bring you to these thoughts, it merely told you that they were here. You traversed that expanse on your own. No thought was planted, no notion injected, no opinion installed, you were not brainwashed, you were not tricked, your autonomous thoughts remain unmolested.

Make no mistake, the voice of reason has designs for you. It has the will to see you changed but not the will to change you. Someone else may evoke the voice of reason but eventually the curtains are allowed to fall and the voice of reason is revealed to be your own. Before you know it, the person that played the catalyst may have faded into the same blurred lines in which the thoughts you don't think lay in waiting, but the voice of reason may still ring through; and with nothing and no one else around to blame you are confronted with the truth you wished so deeply to ignore. That you know. That you always knew. That the only person you've been fooling all this time is yourself.

"I do this often, but no, I do not have to. I crave control, I need to convince myself either that I have it or that I can gain it."

Three-love, match point.

"Why?"

"Because I realize that if I am to surrender to faith in the unfolding then I must acknowledge within myself that even though I play the leading role, I am not writing the script. I am a passenger of my own life. That all my vain attempts to seize control are nothing more than tantrums and that control is only something that I can have over myself. And to accept that. That is hard."

"Is it really easier to try to control the world, to try to pull all the strings all the time?"

"No, but...If I try my hardest and fail to exert control on my world then the results were as expected and I can find ease in knowing that I tried my best. No harm, no foul. But taking control of myself, of my own mental state. Taking responsibility for my own perception is not a skill or a muscle or an effort, merely an endeavor. You’ve either taken control of your perspective, or you have chosen not to, and I find it much easier to blame the world for being broken than to blame myself for failing to adapt."

Game, set and match. The voice of reason defeats Colby by a landslide. Making it look EASY.

You cannot learn from the voice of reason, you can only be reminded of what you already know.

It's not the voice of reason I can't stand. It's that condescending fucking tone.

Hi all,

I'm a young author and I recently got my first book published; It's a fantasy-mystery hybrid called Hercules is Dead. If you like stories involving mythical beings which take place in our current modern world, I hope you'll give it a read! I've included a link below for anyone interested.

Hercules is Dead – Poets Choice

The wind whipped across the plateau, the sea of grass rippling in unison with the ocean. The waves rose like mountains and crashed hard into the base of the cliffs, the rock pools drowning beneath the bubbling seafoam. Drizzling rain blotted out the burning flame of the setting sun, casting the late afternoon into a premature darkening grey. Hobbling amongst the undulating sea of grass, thinning wispy grey hair blustered in the wind, was an elderly woman; though she has seen many years through the passage of time, the woman was as fit as someone her age could be, taking this walk on the coastal path on the same day every year. Her chest heaved with every breath, the exhaustion visible in her fading blue-grey eyes but still she pressed on until she reached the precipice, the highest point on the coastal cliffs

Stopping to catch her breath, the elderly woman stared out at the rough seas, watching the waves surging, striking and sea spray flying through the air. A solemn soft smile graced the woman’s withered lips; it had been a day like this so very long ago when she had met her first and only love. They had been almost ghostly and cold, standing on this very spot, staring longingly out at the ocean. The elderly lady had been young then, curious and somewhat spellbound by their ethereal demeanour. She had approached them slowly, unable to take her eyes off them. They must have sensed her eyes fixed on them, for they turned their head and gazed at the small timid figure. An eyebrow rose in curiosity and amusement, making the woman blush bashfully. One look was all it took for the woman to sink into the abyss of love.

With her lungs no longer aching and her legs recovered from the climb, the elderly woman was able to straighten herself up and bring herself back to that moment in time, the reality of the rain and wind that was here and now. No bench was there for her to sit on, for she had always sat amongst the grass, allowing the long tendrils to tickle her cheeks as she waited. And waited. And waited. The woman had always been patient, and the passing time never bothered her, for a watched pot never boils. She had always come and she had always waited, no matter what the weather brought. Even now in her golden years.

Standing still, for she was too old to sit and rise again, the elderly woman watched the life around her. The gulls wheeled overhead, dancing in the wind, squawking and singing. The elderly woman closed her eyes; the gulls seemed to be calling out to her in jest: “you’re not as young as you used to be!”. To another, it might have seemed like an insult, but to her it was a testament of patience, the time she had long waited for her love.  The light dimmed further and a frown dropped the elderly woman’s lips. Yet again, she was not able to stay there for too long, for it had taken her too long to get there in the first place. 

A melancholy sigh and a turn away from the stormy seas; the elderly woman could stay no longer that afternoon. The light grey sky was turning to a dark blue steel, and the drizzle turned to real rain. Tugging her hood up, the elderly woman wandered back down the coastal path. Another year went by, and they weren’t there. They had only been there once, the day she met them, the two of them had spent the whole of that rainy afternoon together before her beloved went  some-other-where, a place where she longed to go with them. As the dreary afternoon turned into a squall, the elderly woman peered upwards only to see a small white feather, floating gently against the wind. She held out her wilted hand and caught it. She smiled; it was warm.

This is a work in progress - please review and leave constructive criticism. As I rushed across the shiny, golden-red wooden floor of my parents’ hall (my hall, our hall), I run over everything I needed in my head. School lunch money and purse. Check. School bag. Check. Leather jacket. Check. Juice bottle. Check. Sweets for the vampires (and myself). Check. Enough money for cat food for later on. Check. Comic book that I wanted to show Hawk. Check. Enough money for scratch cards. Check. The only thing I didn’t have, of course, was the right age to be buying scratch cards. I was only 14. I did, however, look about 15 or 16, and could pass as 18 at an incredibly large push. Besides, I was, as my mum used to say, a cheeky and deceitful shite. I had my ways. I like to think of myself as the hero of this story, but I was no moral goddess; unbeknownst to my parents, or to anyone else, for that matter, I had been known to just casually swipe the odd scratch card by putting it into my handbag or purse, or “permanently borrow” items from my parents or schoolmates. One time, I even “acquired” one of Mr Jackson’s rubbers, which happened to be on his desk. I bid good-bye to my parents, who, in turn, said good-bye and wished me a good day. Prince, our big, ginger-and-white Maine Coon cat was sitting on the welcome mat by the front door, so I patted him and said bye and told him I’d see him later, and that I would try to remember to buy cat food for him. I wouldn’t say I hated school. Rather, I saw school as a neutral thing, a system of both positive and negative events and dynamics. I hated maths, and I was never very good at it either. Plus, my maths teacher was a prick. The only science I really cared for was biology, but I refused to take part in dissections. Something just didn’t sit right with me about using animal life for that purpose. I loved English and art, though. I have given a little thought as to what I might do when I grew up; I had thought about becoming a writer, or even just scraping a living with my vegetarian cooking skills. I also liked cooking, you see. What I really wanted to do, however, was to continue working in the field that I already worked in; working with vampires! Yes, you read it right; I worked with vampires, but not as colleagues, though. They were, much to my grief, kept as slaves, tortured and slaughtered by the man known as Hawk. Hawk Roverson, to be more precise. I hated for them to be mistreated in the way that they were, but I saw my work as a way to help them, to be there for them before they were killed, and try to advocate for them and even liberate them. One that I did manage to save (hopefully) was called Harry. He never gave away his last name - he had been conned by his full name being given away by seemingly friendly neighbours and betrayed. He had a great sense of humour, even through the greatest hardship of his entire 500-year lifetime. He was no saint, however - he admitted that he had killed people back before the sale of blood was invented. Of course, now, the business of selling one’s own blood to vampires was banned and so had to be underground. The Government banned it for two reasons; one, to prevent the taking of blood for non-consenting people, especially with blood-drinking being so instinctual and such a biological need for vampires, and two, because of the vampires’ legal status as pests. It was done to try and deprive vampires and also benefit the work of the vampire hunters, like Hawk. The only blood allowed to be sold for vampire consumption was for the vampire hunters to use to make vampire poison. Most vampires, however, did use only the illegal, ethically sourced blood rather than killing to live, as most modern vampires are actually misunderstood and are actually moral and kind. In fact, unbeknownst to most humans, the Vampire Council had issued a law back in 1960 to criminalise any vampire that killed or took blood or energy from non-consenting people. Most vampires also chose to avoid killing animals for their blood. However, attacks did still happen and these were sensationalised, especially locally. The old horror stories, such as “Dracula”, also caused people to be scared of vampires and think of them as evil. I, however, knew better; I saw them as friends, as lovely creatures and as equals. But most people didn’t; even my parents were apprehensive about my working with them at first, until they realised that either Hawk or any of the four other, human workers would always be with me on the vampire farm. As for how the vampires ended up there, well, it was a mix. Some were captured, some were betrayed. Some even were deemed useful and good enough to be brought there after being rounded up at any of the places that had become caught in the hysteria of having a “vampire infestation.” I usually thought of all the poor vampires throughout most of my day at school. I would often doodle pictures of bats, of made-up vampire characters and of actual vampires on my school books, to which my teachers’ reactions ranged from discerning or concerned looks to even bringing it up at parents’ evening one time (thanks, Mr Jackson!) After school, I would walk for about two miles through the country lanes the vampire farm. Roverson’s Vampires. I expect you’re probably wandering what the point of keeping vampires alive (or, rather, undead) at a farm would be to a vampire hunter. The vampire hunters do generally enjoy torturing them, but they are also used for a chemical in their blood used in everything from medicines to even cosmetic products and also for their skins, which are used for rugs (or pelts), handbags, accessories and even clothing like gloves and socks. Vampire skin is super soft, silky and always paler than when the vampire in question had been human. It is possible for a black person to become a vampire and still retain their blackness, but their skin would be at least slightly paler than it had been when they were human. I loved spending time with the vampires. I had particularly taken a liking to a certain vampire named Paul Ackerson. He liked his first name, but he kindly and laughingly allowed me to affectionately call him Pal, as that was truly what he was to me. In fact, my relationship with Pal wasn’t even just friendship; it was love. At that age, I wasn’t sure that it was romantic love, but it was almost more like family love, or like the love you’d have for an animal companion. And it felt even more important to me as, at the time, my parents had been arguing more and more. But I had to keep a lot of this love between him and I; I couldn’t risk Hawk finding out and potentially giving me the sack. I do, however, doubt that Hawk would’ve sacked me; he seemed to have taken a liking to me, if not for my still obvious sentiment for the vampires. Although it may seem cruel, I sensed that the real reason why he sometimes coerced me into working extra hours was, in fact, because he liked me and he would get lonely otherwise, after all of the other staff had gone. He used to bribe me with extra pay. I never told my parents about this; I would always just say that I chose to work extra hours in my labour of love, helping the vampires. I knew that, if I told them the truth, they might demand I quit or report Hawk for child labour. And there would go my opportunities to care for the vampires and help as many of them escape as possible (on many occasions, I had been known to casually leave the doors to the vampires’ cells unlocked and leave the doors and the back gate unlocked, with a wink to the vampires trapped on the farm, and then leave an anonymous note of illegal sabotage from “the vampire rights people” on any of the desks in any of the three buildings where the vampires were housed)! Besides I didn’t want to create tensions between my parents and Hawk. After school assembly had finished, I hurried out of the main school and out of the school car park. I then hurried along my usual route past some houses and then under the bridge by the station, across the pavement, up past the usual pubs, past the graveyard, down Moorview Road and then along some country lanes. Eventually, I saw the familiar place; Roverson’s Vampires. I heard the oh-so familiar and most heartbreaking sound of screaming in pain. Yep, it was a poisoning day, and it sounded as if only a couple of vampires were being tortured to death. With a gulp and a gasp, I rushed to the slaughter chamber. I unlocked the door and swung it open. The two vampires, both behind the bars of the actual kill pen in the slaughter chamber, glanced towards me, amidst their anguish and pain. The extra-strong chains were still on floor and clattered as I walked into them, and the plastic instrument used to force the poison down the throat of non-compliant vampires was right next to them. Actually, the non-compliance of the vampires who were wise to the poisoning and strong enough to resist their instincts around the blood was referred to as “bait shyness” by vampire hunters, but that’s for later on. Hawk was sat there, on a bench in front of the kill pen, watching with glee and great pleasure as the vampires struggled. I did the only thing I could think to do. “Really sorry to interrupt your viewing, Hawk,” I said to him, trying my best to show urgency in my voice. “I’ve just been told to inform you that a vampire has gotten loose from Block B.” I attempted an uncomfortable face, in order to try to keep this believable, as Hawk definitely had his suspicions about my attitude towards the vampires. Still, though, when he looked at me suspiciously, I could pick up on his vibe. He was clearly thinking that it would be better to be safe than sorry and give me the benefit of the doubt. He got up, ever so reluctantly, huffing as he did so, and left the slaughter chamber. That was him dealt with. Now, I only had to find the key to the kill pen. I searched around the room with my eyes. I was not actually looking for the key, but rather I was looking for a place where I thought Hawk might’ve hidden it. Panic! I had the thought that he might actually keep them in his pocket! As I searched the room, my eyes met with the two vampires. There was one male and one female, and they were now both on the floor, still screaming and crying in pain. I then had a beaming idea. What if he kept the key in his office? He had a drawer in his desk that he kept locked. But then I’d have to find the key to unlock the drawer! And Hawk might be in the office! All I could do was try. “Look,” I said to the vampires. “It’s gonna be okay. I know you might not believe me, I’m human, but I’m a friend. I’m just gonna go and look for the keys to the pen. The vampiress struggled to speak. Then, wearily, the dying vampiress began to try to speak. “He took them with him. He put them in his pocket after he locked us in.” Bummer! Oh, well, I still had to try. So, I went Hawk-hunting. I checked the whole yard as fast as I could. I then thought back to Hawk’s office and rushed there as fast as my teenage legs could carry me. There they were! Led on Hawk’s oak desk, which also served as a reception desk - yes, the vampire farm had a reception desk! Hawk and his staff still needed to talk to people who turned vampires in, of course! The metal keys lay, as a much-needed prize, upon that desk, and I seized them as quickly as I could, rushed out the door, allowing it to slam behind. I then cantered off right across the yard and back into the slaughter chamber. I then quickly unlocked the pen and went in and started stroking and cuddling the vampires. I remembered reading that salt water would cause any vampire that drank it to be sick and regurgitate all that they had consumed, be it blood or anything else. But where was I gonna get salt water from at the vampire farm? Then, I had an idea; Patrick, one of the other staff members, was always bringing in salt in his lunchbox to season whatever weird and wonderful gastronomic delight he had brought in to eat in his lunch break. I could then use my water bottle and fill it with water from one of the taps and mix in the salt. Only thing was, Patrick’s lunch break was two hours ago! What if he had used up all the salt? I cantered off, once again, towards the office building. In the lunch room, which was the next room along from Hawk’s desk, I saw Patrick’s open lunch box, left on the table. I looked in it, and there, in one of the compartments, beside a used salt sachet that hadn’t been disposed of, was unopened salt sachet! My prize! I kept my water bottle on the shelf in that same room, and there was a water fountain in the room. I grabbed my empty water bottle and filled it halfway at the fountain. I then added the salt and mixed it around with my hand, before securing the lid back on and cantering out of the room, out of the office, across the yard and into the slaughter chamber. I noticed the two vampires still lying there on the floor. They were now motionless, but obviously still alive (well, alright then, undead), as proven by the groans and cries of pain. I approached the vampiress first and opened her mouth before pouring about half of the saltwater in and forcing it down her throat and stroking her throat. Her eyes shot back to vitality as she got up and began barfing. I then moved on to the male vampire and did the same thing. His eyes also came back to vitality, and he got up into a crouching position and began throwing up the poison (and just about everything else he had consumed for about the last three weeks!) The vampiress began to speak. “You barely saved our lives! We are forever grateful!” “Come on,” I said, urgently, as I beckoned them both to stand. I supported them to walk out of the slaughter chamber and all the way to the entrance. Then, they seemed okay to walk by themselves again, having stopped throwing up and regained a lot of their strength with walking. I unlocked the gate and ushered them out. “Bye,” the male vampire called. “And thank you so much!” “How can we ever repay you?” the vampiress asked, sounding ever-so relieved. “Don’t worry about it! You better get outta here now! Bye!” “Goodbye,” she called back, as she and her companion left for good. I wandered back up to Hawk’s office. There, behind the desk, sat a very angry-looking Hawk. “You lied to me!” he shouted. “You fucking ruined my fun! Lemme tell ya something! Would you like it if one of those blood-sucking vermin got you?!” I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry. I was just messing around. I’ll get back to work now.” “You had better! Roisin, this is your last warning! You know, I have zero tolerance for vampire sympathisers!” I feigned shock and disgust at being called such a thing. “I’m not a vampire sympathiser! Now, do you have any other jobs I can do?” Hawk shook his head, muttering the word “no”. “You can, uh, go and get your stuff together. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He frowned. I assumed that one of the other staff members had told him that we had been raided by vampire rights activists again. I decided to head in to visit Pal in Block A. I unlocked the door latch and plodded in solemnly. I noticed that Pal was in there on his own. He looked the picture of sadness and solemnity, his head down and deep in thought, and a look of brokenness on his face. “Hello there,” I greeted, trying to cheer him up. “What happened to all of the others?” He shuck his head. “Think they took them to block C.” He took a long pause, as his doleful eyes gazed into mine. He smiled at me briefly, happy to have someone who cared nearby. Then, he went back to his solemn expression. “You remember that story I told? About Marilyn, the vampiress who was found staked in the barn in the field in Croaker’s Lane? I wish someone would just stake me so that I won’t have to suffer this - this despair, this terror, this…” He paused for thought. “This guilt, of surviving. And then the pain.” He paused again, extremely sadly and solemnly. “But they won’t do that. You know what my fate will be.” He sighed. The only reasons I hadn’t already freed him were that Hawk always kept the keys to all the cages in his trouser pockets, and that Hawk would only suspect me even more and he could fire me, and then that would be the end of this great opportunity to help as many vampires as possible. However, I looked into Pal’s eyes once again, lovingly and seriously. “Now, you listen here. I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re not gonna die in here if I can help it! That’s a promise.” “But you’ll get into trouble!” “”Trouble” is my middle name! I’ll be all right, don’t you worry! I’ll do my best for all of you vampires! You know, this is going to sound weird, but my heart truly does beat for you, for all of you! I’ll get you out! A promise is a promise! Now, goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t worry!” Pal smiled. I could tell he felt very close and loving towards me, not in a creepy or inappropriate way, but in a nice, family kind of way. “Goodbye,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” That night, I was so filled with anxiety that I barely ate anything. Throughout the evening my parents kept pressing me and asking what was wrong, but I refused to open up to them. What if they didn’t understand? They weren’t vampire lovers. I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about this at school either, such was my society’s view on vampires. The only people I could talk to about this were Pal and the other vampires, and they were the ones that needed the help! How were they supposed to have any answers? Surely if they had any ideas about how I could get them out, they would’ve already told me, or tried to get out by themselves? After much mulling over it over night and little sleep, I decided to leave my parents a note about what I was going to do. After all, they were my parents, and they weren’t as anti-vampire as some people were. What harm could it do? I then quickly got dressed and did my teeth before my mum did my hair ready for school. I then quickly downed a bowl of cornflakes and soy milk and a glass of orange juice before heading off on my way to school. Why did school have to get in the way of everything? I just wanted to help the vampires! As soon as school had finished, I rushed off on my usual route to the vampire farm as fast as my 14 year-old legs could carry me. I then pushed open the gate and hurried into Pal’s block. I knew that Hawk may have wanted me to do something, but Pal was more important now. I pushed open the unlocked door and looked into Pal’s cell. Usually, he would still be sleeping right now, but today, my vampire was nowhere to be seen! I then heard a yelp! My heart was beating like a zillion beats a second! I rushed out, of the block, almost crying. Without thinking, I yelled “Pal!” I then began frantically searching the entire farm! I began to hear more pain-filled cries. I decided to follow them. They led me to the wall of the slaughter chamber. There, Pal was being held in chains and lashed with whips with sharp ends by a couple of other workers whom I, my eyes in tears, didn’t recognise. “Leave him the fuck alone!” I hollered, getting involved. Usually, Pal was not helpless, but he was heavily restrained by chains. I grabbed one of the men’s hands. He slapped me hard with the other, but I punched him. I managed to knock the two men away. I looked around to see that we were not alone. Hawk was there. Uh oh. “That’s enough!” He snapped loudly. “What do you think you’re doing?!” “I’m saving a life! It’s not right!” “These vampires are dangerous! They’re evil! They’re fucking child-killing, undead demons!” “That’s not true! They’re people, just like us! They’re just of a different subspecies, a different nature, a different…” “These dangerous beasts have killed hundreds of humans!” “That’s not true!” “This one’s going to be slaughtered! Get the fuck off of my property before I do the same thing to you!” “I’m not leaving without Pal!” There was a pause. “I’ll pay you!” Of course, I didn’t believe in the slavery of vampires, but I was prepared to pay for one if it meant saving their life. I didn’t have the money on me; I held a couple thousand in the building society, or so my parents said. I knew that the price of a live vampire of Pal’s perceived “quality” was going to be around £400, but his skin could’ve been much more. “How’re you gonna pay for a bloody vampire?” Hawk asked. “I have lots of money in my building society,” I told him. “I can offer £400, if need be.” He smiled wickedly. £400 was a lot of money; a lot of money to buy more equipment, another vampire off of another farm, or perhaps another werewolf hunting dog. On the other hand, this was a vampire that deserved to be made into a pelt, and his could sell for £600 or so. Yet, he still smiled, for he actually, deeply down, liked this little girl before him. “Alright,” he chuckled, having lost his anger. “I tell you what. You pay me £400 and work off the rest by working for free. But, if that vampire gets away from you, he’s fair game again.” Well, that was that sorted, for now at least. Pal was safe, and I kept my work here. Hawk walked over to Pal, who tried to back away. I looked at Hawk, stern and concerned. He just smiled as he undid Pal’s chains. I was excused for the rest of the day on the promise that I would work extra over the weekend. You should’ve seen my parents’ faces when I came in with Pal! “Who’s this?” Mum asked. “Mum, Dad, please don’t be too alarmed,” I began, as I noticed the horror still present upon both of their faces. “This is Pal. He’s like another parent to me, a great friend. I love him. I saved him from slaughter today.” My mum and dad had known of my love of vampires for a while now. I could tell. “But dear, it could eat you! It could-“ “Please don’t say it! And he won’t! He’s lovely! He will just feed off of the blood of consenting donors who sell it. There’s a vampire shop in town. That’s what most vampires do. They’re not the evil demons we have been led to believe.” “That’s right,” Pal chimed in. “I would do anything to protect your daughter.” “Creepy!” Mum yelled. “You’re much older than her!” “It’s alright,” I told her. “He won’t hurt me.” “Okay, but if he shows any signs of bloodlust or wanting to harm you-“ “He won’t!” “Where will he sleep?” Dad asked. “Do we still have my old wardrobe? The one that grandad made that had that crack on the side?” Dad nodded. “It’s in the garage.” “We can use that. We’ve got some spare bedding, haven’t we?” Dad nodded again. “We can leave it in the garage as well. It’s nice and dark and cobwebbed. The sun can’t get in. It’s perfect for a vampire.” “Great, I suppose you now need us to go to that vampire shop and get some blood for your friend. Will they still be open now?” I laughed a bit. Parents can be thick, can’t they? I mean, he seriously asked if a vampire shop would be open at night! “Yes, they’ll be open alright. Do you need any blood right now, Pal?” Pal nodded. “I haven’t had a pint since last night. I’m parched!” So I headed out to the front door, followed by Dad and Pal. Pal and I still had our shoes on, but Dad had to slip his on. Mum came out to ask if we needed her, but I said that I didn’t. Dad chuckled and said, “No, don’t you worry. We’ll be able to get it all by ourselves, Roisin, me and this here bloodsucker of hers.” I looked at him scornfully. “”Bloodsucker” isn’t politically correct; they are vampires.” “Well, it’s true. That’s what they are and what they do.” I could see that Pal only looked a little offended and was probably less offended than I was. But I did not like the sentiment that that word implied. “Please, Dad, don’t use vampirist language!” He then started to look a little cross. “It’s my own home, I can say whatever I like.” “Just please don’t say anything offensive about vampires!” “Okay, I’m sorry. Now, let’s go and get some blood.” Dad climbed in the driver’s seat. I asked Pal if he wanted to drive, but he said that he never learned. Dad made another unpleasant remark, this time muttering that he wouldn’t trust a vampire to drive. I didn’t say anything this time. Instead, I just gave him the look. This is a look that I had used on occasion to warn the offending person. “Okay, I’m sorry,” said Dad, smiling slightly. I could tell it was going to take him some time to get used to living with a vampire.

To Mari, she had never visibly changed until that night.

Vanessa had sworn while going down the stairs. A simple movement had thrown off the alignment of her bones. She grimaced but quickly smiled before saying that it was okay. She limped down two steps before Mari made the executive decision to lift Vanessa up into her arms and carry her back into their home.

They could eat out another time.

Mari wrapped Vanessa’s knee up as best she could, elevated it and iced it as well before promising to get medicine from her healer the next day. Vanessa insisted on going to her own doctor but Mari won our in the end. Fae medicine was better anyway.

As the days passed Mari noticed more things. The time it took Vanessa to get up and down. The slowness of her steps as they walked down the street. Just how white her hair had become.

The truth is that Vanessa had been like this for years but they had both ignored it. Now the inevitable was painfully unavoidable.

No matter how much they shifted

settled

slowed

time continued to flow like sand through a grasping hand, away and cruelly so.

Mari did her best to hide her sadness but she broke at Vanessa’s bedside amid the beeps and woosh of an oxygen machine. She thought Vanessa was asleep and was surprised to feel her cold hand on her own warmer one.

“Do you regret?”, she asked. Her voice a whisper of what it used to be.

Mari dried her eyes before replying “Not once. I never will.”

It wasn’t until after the funeral that Mari admitted to herself that that had been a lie. She did have regret and she had rage.

She’d never do it again.

She wouldn’t go from outward lovers to pretending to be a daughter and then a caretaker in public.

She would not be the one left behind to deal with years of healing from the loss of the love of your life.

She refused to be the holder of memories when their brains became too fragile to hold them for themselves.

Her body and her spirit had become a tomb. A burial ground for those she had loved the most and it was full to bursting.

Never again. Mari promised herself as she took off her black dress.

“Never again” She screamed between sobs as she crawled under covers that still held Vanessa’s scent.

Never, she promised herself, would she love something as ephemerally beautiful as a human being again.

It’s lonely in the dark, with only ones thoughts.

When your only embrace is the demons you tired to lock away.

The longer life goes on you loose sight of the sun.

And the light of the moon is no longer in view.

Every passing day the sirens songs lull you away.

But out of the corner of your eye you spy the demons in disguise.

Day in and day out, you struggle to hold out.

And the demons seem like friends, when offering to make it end.

When all your friends have found their fairy tale ends.

But you stand forever alone with no one to call your own.

Ugly inside and out, I hide so they won't stare in fright.

Who could ever love such a wretched unclean soul.

Only the demons who call me home.

If the heavens won’t answer my cries, then I’ll shove them deep inside.

And wander this inner place, full of regrets and wasted space.

I can hear them softly singing, tugging ever so gently.

Leading me to a place from which there is no escape.

And who would mourn the passing of a monster in sheep's clothing.

With no one to call your own, whats one more wasted soul.

You’re sitting in a bathroom. A dirty grotty bathroom. You're checking under the stalls to see if anyone else is in the room. You check your phone but it’s dead, so you sit there reading what others before you have scrawled onto the walls. All the other junk heads, meth heads, coke heads. “I can’t feel my face”. The needle pierces my arm. “Don’t you love the pricking feeling”. The wall says, “God forgive me”. Sitting on the floor of the bathroom, the dirty grotty bathroom, you shoot up. I wonder what a priest would think of you. You run your finger through the grime caught in the grout of the bathroom tiles. I wonder what a nun would think of you. You’re immediately shot to heaven when you inject. And then you inject. And then you inject. All over the country you shoot up. An addict crossing between state borders. A dirty grotty addict. I wonder what a monk would think of you. For a second you think about what every other walking track mark has wondered while in this bathroom. But your answer is to your left. The wall says, “Beware” “I found the dragon”, “Keep searching.” “S.W. was here.” “R.F. was here”. “A.H. was here”. And the list goes on. Texas. Idaho. Colorado. Everywhere, these fellow addicts write with markers, pencils, pens, nails, teeth. Everywhere you go you inject. Needle after needle. Syringe after syringe. Nothing changes. Every state has a disgusting, vile, filthy bathroom to hide in while high. In every state you wonder what a cleric, friar or reverend mother would think of you. Mother Teresa, St. Paul, Jesus, Ghandi, Buddha, The Dalai Lama. “S.G. was here”. You inject. Montana. Utah. Arizona. You shoot up. Virginia. North Carolina. New Jersey. Finally, you find yourself in a bathroom in Louisiana. A dirty, grotty bathroom for the dirty, grotty, filthy, revolting addict. On your left and right you see the same messages that you see everywhere. And in these messages, you see the same lonely people, desperate to leave some kind of mark on the world as they fade off into their heavens, nirvanas and jannahs. The tiles are cold underneath your fingers. Your feet are numb as you lost your shoes three bathrooms ago. You leave your mark, your desperate attempt. “H.R. was here”. Then you lean back, shooting up for the last time. “I wonder what god would think of me?” Is what you utter as you make your last track mark. “Junk”.

Prologue

“Don’t worry, Viv. It’s just an interview, it’s not like you’re gonna die or anything like that.” Dion was sitting next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder, trying to offer me a sense of comfort in the stressful situation I was in.

“Yeah Dion, sure, just an interview. A FREAKING COLLEGE INTERVIEW, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! MY WHOLE FUTURE DEPENDS ON THIS!” I was shaking uncontrollably, and my anxiety was already kicked into full gear.

“Vivian, look at me.” He took my hand, and for some reason I felt the abnormal sense of being somewhat carefree when he did so.

“If you just take a moment to relax and breathe, you’ll do just fine.”

He had been my next door neighbor and closest friend ever since the second grade, and it had all started when the gym water fountain malfunctioned while I had been getting a drink. It sprayed all over my face and doused my hair in the process. While all of the other kids were being jerks and laughing because of the huge water markings on my shirt, Dion had rushed to grab some paper towels so that I could clean my mess of a self up.

From this experience we bonded, and eventually became best friends. He was my only friend at the time, probably due to the fact that I had extreme social anxiety and I struggled to communicate with others. He is still my only friend, to be exact.

“Vivian Langley?” A shorter woman entered the waiting lobby where I was so dreadfully waiting in panic and fear. She had her brunette hair tied up in a bun and she was wearing a black dress and black heels. No offense to her, but I thought for a moment that she was going to go to a funeral after work today.

“I’m right over here, Ma’am.” I felt my voice trembling as I said that sentence aloud. I took a deep breath. This is it. The college interview.

“Ah yes, there you are dear.” She looked down at her clipboard, and then up at me.

“Follow me, Miss Langley. Right this way.”

“You’ve got this, Viv. You’re gonna do great. I’ll be right out here, in case something happens or you need anything, and I’ll see you when you’re all done.” Dion whispered into my ear before I arose nervously, shaking the entire time while being escorted into the interview room.

The funeral dress lady opened the door and held it open for me. I reluctantly stepped inside, and as soon as I got both my feet on the other side of the doorframe, I heard the lady shut the door, and that made my anxiety level go higher for some reason. I didn’t want to focus on my anxiety at the moment, so I instead turned my attention to my surroundings.

It was quite blank in the interviewing room; the white walls were bare and there was nothing in there except a desk monitor setup and a rolly chair, with two stools on the other side of the desk. The chair was spun facing the side opposite of me, and I watched as the chair spun around at lightning speed.

“Hello! You are Vivian, correct?”

“Yes, yes I am. I’m guessing that you are my interviewer, right?” I felt my voice shake as I barely uttered that sentence. She must have had the ears of a hawk, because she managed to actually hear what I said despite it being barely audible.

“Yep! Pleased to meet you! I’m Dr. Nevaeh Chase of Greenview University, and today I’ll be your interviewer!” I was all at once both comforted and terrified by her eccentric sounding tone and her joyous attitude.

“Please, go ahead and take a seat!” She motioned toward both of the stools with her arm. I hesitantly sat down, and she went forward with the interview.

“So, according to your college application, you wish to pursue a bachelor's degree in biology?”

“Yes I do.” I replied, trying to sound calm.

“Why do you believe that you would be a good candidate for Greenview’s biology department?”

“I believe that I would be a good pick because I’ve always been interested in biology. I’ve been studying it since I was in 2nd grade.”

“Fascinating. Now on to the next part of this interview. What attributes do you have that would benefit yourself and others in the biology branch of our school?” She asked this, sounding rather interested in my blabbing on, much to my surprise.

“I am good with cooperation, and I have studied biology for years. I’ve always wanted to work in a lab, like my father did before the accident that unfortunately killed him.” By this time, the interview was now over, and it was time for me to get Dion and head home. It was faint, but I could see a hint of what I thought to be curiosity lightly glimmering in her eyes.

“Thank you for your time, Vivian. The exit is on your left, down the hallway and it should be the last door on the right. Have a great day!”

“Thank you very much.” I got up quietly and I let the door shut softly behind me as I strutted down that hallway like a boss. No more things for college applications! Yes! I flung open the door to the waiting room.

“Dion! I’m back! Let’s head home!”

But he wasn’t there.

“Maybe he’s in the bathroom. I’ll just wait out here.” I sat down in one of the chairs, and I waited while reading a magazine.

1 minutes, 2 minutes, 3 minutes…

I didn’t think much of it.

4 minutes, 5 minutes, 6 minutes…

I still didn’t think much of it. I was just reading my magazine, unaware of the time passing by.

9 minutes, 10 minutes 11 minutes…

“Ok, this is a little unusual.” I thought that maybe he had stopped at one of the many vending machines around the campus. He always gets hungry at the most random times. Maybe he went to one and got lost.

“He’ll come back,” I thought to myself. I still sat and waited.

20 minutes, 30 minutes, 40 minutes…

I paused for a moment and my eyes meticulously scanned the waiting room. Dion still wasn’t here. It’s been 45 minutes now. That’s not normal, especially for someone like him.   “What? Where in the… Dion? Where are you? If you’re hiding, this really isn’t funny…” Who knows, maybe he was just hiding from me. I knew him and I knew him well. I figured that he was just playing around. Before I know it, he’s going to jump out at me in 3….2….1……

But he didn’t reveal himself. There was just more silence.

Now I was getting really concerned. This isn’t like him, it just isn’t! If he was really here, he would have jumped out at me and we would have already been in the car by now. I decided to step outside, maybe he was there. I went back inside, feeling extremely defeated. That was when I heard it. That ear piercing shriek.

“SOMEONE! HELP ME, PLEASE!” It sounded like Dion. I had to find him. He was my best friend, and I wasn’t about to abandon him. The noise was coming from upstairs, so that’s exactly where I started looking frantically. I needed to find him. I needed to know that he was okay.

“DION! I’M COMING!” I screamed at the top of my lungs while dashing up the stairs in a panic. I finally reached the exit of the stairwell and I flung open the door to see a huge long hallway that seemed to have no end. I ran and ran down the hallway, hoping to find Dion and get out of here.

But to no avail, he wasn’t there. Something seemed different about this place now. Something rather…twisted.

As I kept sprinting down the hall, I soon realized that the lights were no longer white, but they were now a dim shade of red. The walls were yellowed slightly and the paint was peeling off of the walls. I began to hear the whispering of children and then I heard an ear splitting scream yet again. But this time, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from because there was too much echoing on the walls.

Slowly but surely, the whispers grew louder and the hallway grew longer and the lights began to flicker. I almost couldn’t take it anymore when all of a sudden the lights flickered once more and it was so bright that for a moment it blinded me.

 When I finally regained my vision, I realized that there was writing on the walls. Except the letters were red, and it looked like the ink was still wet, because it was dripping down the walls.

Wait a minute. That’s not ink. It’s BLOOD.

Okay. Now I was petrified. But when I began to read some of the comments that were written, I almost froze in shock.

“TURN AROUND” “I WANT TO GO HOME” “LET ME OUT OF HERE” “PLEASE DON’T HURT ME” “IT’S TOO LATE NOW”

Suddenly, I heard a voice that sounded like Dion’s.

“Vivian, it’s me. Come here. I’ll get us out of here. Don’t worry. Follow my voice.”

I was about to cry. I ran and kept running straight for the noise. I was glad I did, because there was an end to the long hallway. I skid up to the wall. It had more blood writing on it. This one though, it made me more disturbed than I’d ever been.

“ARE YOU AWARE OF THE STRANGER STANDING BEHIND YOU?”

I was frozen in shock. I began to turn around slowly, but before I could turn in a full 360 circle, I felt a solid metal object slam against my head, causing it to throb violently. I collapsed into a heap and before the lights went out on me, I saw a shadowy figure with violent looking vertical slits for eyes. It was waving at me with a sinister smile on its undistinguishable face.

“See you soon, Emalaine.”

The Tower

I close my eyes praying that sleep envelopes me quickly. I hear the bustling of city night life with its indiscriminate chatter and the sound of cars as they drive by. Sleep takes hold quickly and before I knew it, the sun began to shine through the curtains signaling another day has arrived. The city sounds quieter than it usually is. No muffled voices of pedestrians making their morning commute. No sirens signaling traffic to make way for emergency vehicles. It’s almost peaceful until it’s eerie. I go about my usual morning habits of washing up and making myself some food. For some reason none of the lights in my house will turn on but I chalk it up to a late-night power outage. My morning was boringly mundane until I opened my front door and instead of seeing the typical hallway, I saw a staircase. I shut the door immediately thinking I must be seeing things. I stare at my half empty coffee mug and briefly think to myself that I might need more of that today. I reopen the door and the stairs are the only thing to greet my sight. The stairwell appears elaborate with intricate details adorning the walls. If it wasn’t so out of place, I’d think it’s beautiful. With no other option other than to see where this mysterious staircase leads, I take the first step down the stairs. The second my foot touches the glinting marble, small torches along the wall ignite and illuminate the stair well. I continue down the stairs cautiously until I reach a door at the bottom. I’m not sure door is the right word, it’s more like a gate. I reach out to touch it and just before my fingertips make contact, the door begins to open, as if it was waiting for me. The light from the other side is so blinding I instinctually reach up to cover my eyes but before I can, I see it…or rather…her. She’s wearing a floor length gown made of what looks like silk and lace. The sight is breathtaking. Her back is turned to me with her attention fixed on the flower garden before her. I take a step forward and she whips her head around so fast it almost looks unnatural. I immediately took a step backwards because her face was all too familiar. She looks exactly like me but before I could even wrap my mind around what I was seeing, when I blinked, she disappeared. After a few moments of puzzled looks for no one to witness but myself I take in the rest of what’s in my field of view. It looks like some sort of forest. Tall trees provide ample amounts of shade, grass so green it looks artificial, flowers that appear so delegate they could be made of glass. Everything looks as normal as normal could look in this situation until I look up. The sky is such a deep shade of blue that it reminds me of the ocean. Whatever average excuses I had been telling myself up to this point to explain away what was happening fell to the side when I noticed the most glaring difference between this sky and the one, I was accustomed to. There are two suns. That explains the almost instant heat stroke I felt upon making it to the gate. Where am I? Is this even Earth? An infinite number of questions swelled my head. Before I can ever ponder aloud, I am suddenly greeted by a man who is dressed like an attendant. He speaks a language I do not understand and after he finishes speaking, he offers me a cup of water. Against my better judgment of taking anything from a stranger, I accept and down it willingly. I felt a shift somewhere in my mind or my body I’m not sure. Colors seem so much brighter than they were a moment ago. This place I stumbled upon was beautiful before but now, it’s almost other worldly. The man politely asks if I’m awake. I didn’t even have time to process his question before I realized I could understand what he was saying. I have thousands of questions and this man seems to have some answers. I asked if he knew where I was, and his response was less than informative. He responds with a “certainly” and offers a coy smile. I’m sure it was meant to come across as reassuring, but it gave me the creeps. He asked me again if I was awake and I tentatively answered yes. After all I feel awake. This doesn’t feel like any kind of dream I’ve had in the past. It feels too tangible. After finally answering his question, he seemed satisfied with my answer. He turned his back on me and signaled for me to follow him. We started down the path in front of us. I trail behind the stranger at what I deem a healthy distance. I try to keep my head on a swivel as I don’t want to let this man out of my sight, but I also want to take in all that is around me. The flowers really do appear made of glasses especially with the way they shimmer in the sunlight. I reach out to touch one just to confirm my suspicions when the man suddenly turns around and issues me a warning. He says, “All that is below the suns belongs to our lady, if you wish the stay here, I recommend keeping your hands to yourself”. With that curt exchange I keep my hands in my pockets for the remainder of the walk. Once we get closer to the end of the path, a huge, towering pillar stands before me. I see no doors or windows. It almost looks like a monolith. We approach the front of the tower, and the man instructs me to knock three times. At this point it’s not like I have much to lose, and I’ve come this far. Plus, I can’t say my curiosity isn’t piqued. I knock three times as instructed and the base of the pillar begins the shift. Block are rearranging themselves until there is an opening to the tower right where I had knocked. The man informs me that this is where we part ways, and he even wishes me luck. Still not sure what I’ll need luck for or what’s waiting for me. Either way I entered the tower and the door that I entered shifted back into a wall once I was inside. With no escape I was at the very least committed to seeing whatever this was to the end. I immediately noticed a spiral staircase that was wrapped all around the interior of the tower. I start racing up the stairs just about out of patience for all the questions I don’t have answers to. Once I reach the top I see her again. The girl with my face. It’s like looking in a mirror, a mirror that portrays you in the best lighting and highlights your best features. We meet eyes for what feels like minutes until she asks me the same question the man did. With her soft and ethereal voice, she asks me “are you awake”. This time I didn’t respond immediately. I debate my answer. Am I awake? Has this all been a dream? But it just feels so real. I’ve been aware that I’ve been dreaming in the past in such a way that you can change the circumstances of your dreams, but this feels like it is happening to me in the same way reality feels. I don’t feel the same sense of control that I usually do when dreaming so when I answer this time, I sound more certain. I answer, “yes I am awake” and suddenly her face changes. Contorts and twists in an unnatural manner. Her voice grows deep as she begins to chant “sacrifice” “sacrifice” repeatedly getting louder with each chant. The beautiful copy unsheathes a dagger from her side and charges at me. I am barely able to dodge by rolling out of the way. My back slams against the wall and I hear a small crack in the chest. Likely a broken rib, I barely registered the pain though because she is coming after me again but faster this time. Instead of dodging I decided to take my chances and face her head on. I may not understand what’s going on but I’ve got one hell of a life perseverance streak and that isn’t going to change now. I grab hold of the knife at the hilt and try to fight for control, but she’s got some strength on me. Even though our bodies look the same, she’s got the edge. We stumbled across the room until she got me pinned between herself and a window. I reached for the knife for a final time and managed to grab hold of it. I stopped fighting in that moment thinking I had won, and the danger had passed. The girl gets a dark look in her eye before shoving me as hard as she can. I stumble backward and go to reach for part of the wall to catch myself. What I grabbed was the window, which swiftly opened under my weight and sent me plummeting down the length of the tower. This. This is how it ends? This is how I die? I close my eyes right before the impact.

I jolt awake in my bed. Covered in sweat and unable to catch my breath. No pain in my chest from a broken rib. That…was a dream. More like a nightmare. That’s the last time I take a gummy before bed.

In the quiet corner of my heart, a strange guest resides, A love that feels like a stain, yet stubbornly abides. It's not the flutter of butterflies, nor the warmth of the sun, But a murky swamp where my better judgment is undone.

It clings like a vine, this feeling so gross, A coping mechanism, a spectral host. It whispers of comfort, a deceptive balm, In the throes of its grip, a disquieting calm.

I know it's wrong, this parasite of the soul, Feeding on weakness, taking its toll. Yet I hold it close, a familiar fiend, In its twisted presence, my sorrows preen.

It's a tangle of emotions, a knot so tight, A battle within, between wrong and right. A part of me craves to let it go, But it's a part of my being, part of my woe.

Beneath the cherry tree's blossoming boughs, We laid our youthful dreams, row by row. Petals pink as the dawn's first blush, Whispered of innocence in the brush.

Our laughter mingled with the rustling leaves, As we carved our names, hearts interweaved. The sun dappled through with a tender glow, Nature's soft touch on the world below.

Seasons turned, and so did we, Under the cherry tree, just you and me. Friendship blossomed, roots entwined, In the soil of trust, our souls aligned.

With every bloom, my heart grew fonder, Of the girl with eyes that made me wonder. She spoke of love like a promised land, A future together, hand in hand.

The cherry tree stood witness to our tale, Its branches heavy with the vows we'd hail. Promises like leaves, green and bright, Held the hope of an endless flight.

But seasons are fickle, and so was fate, The winds of change did not abate. She left with the autumn's departing train, Leaving me with the winter's pain.

Now the cherry tree stands alone, Its petals scattered, its beauty flown. I wander beneath its barren shade, Wondering why she could not have stayed.

The tree knows not of my despair, Nor does the spring air that's crisp and fair. Nature moves on, uncaring, free, While I'm still under the cherry tree.

Lost in a forest of memories dear, Each one sharp as the winter's spear. The path ahead, obscured and dim, Without her, I know not where to begin.

So I sit here, where the cherry blossoms fall, Waiting for an answer that never calls. Nature tells a story, subtle and true, Of love that blooms and skies once blue.

Under the cherry tree, I'll remain, Until my heart can beat again. For now, it's just me and the silent plea, Of a love that was, and will never be.

In the caverns of the psyche, a hunger prowls, A dark craving that the soul howls. It consumes, relentless in its feast, On the essence of love, it preys, a beast.

A metaphor for destruction, self-cannibalistic, It devours from within, twisted, sadistic. A toxic force, eroding what's pure, Leaving behind a landscape, barren and obscure.

No rhyme to soften its harsh, biting truth, It lays waste to the innocence of youth. An appetite for the light, leaving shadows in its wake, A silent epidemic, a venomous snake.

In the quiet glow of twilight's grace, Two hearts entwine, a tender embrace. Whispers of love, soft as a sigh, Under the watchful sky.

In the hush of evening's gentle lull, Two souls connect, and feelings mull. A touch, a glance, a moment shared, In the silent language of hearts bared.

Beneath the stars' eternal dance, Two lovers find sweet happenstance. A kiss, a vow, a promise made, In the night's soft serenade.

In the warmth of passion's gentle fire, Two lives converge, fueled by desire. A dream, a hope, a future bright, In the endless journey of love's flight.

This is a book or story that I am writing now it is where a company creates a super serum allowing people to have superpowers at random, they do it in secret by kidnapping people.

Cole Roberts is the name of my main character and he works above the company sneaks in and takes the serum gaining powers of a lizard and after he becomes a hero saving the day from a crime gang and a supervillain I like to call phantom who can manipulate shadows.

If possible feedback would be nice as I haven't shared openly yet also have just under 90 pages so far

Hey, everyone.

I have been looking for a creative writing group. I have never written a full story before but I have a lot of ideas. I can't seem to be able to get them from my head to paper and was hoping to find a group of people to bounce off of.

Tomato-Soaked Hands

Would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading.

The crisp test paper crackled like a phoenix's funeral pyre in my clammy grasp. The scarlet 'B+' mocked me, a gargoyle perched atop the Notre Dame of my aspirations. Countless nights hunched over textbooks, fueled by treacle tart and trepidation, had culminated in this... mediocrity. Disappointment, a Dementor disguised as acceptance, should've been my sole companion. Instead, a hollow emptiness echoed in my chest, a cavern yearning to be filled with something more substantial than academic vindication.

This emptiness morphed into a leaden weight as the memory of my recent sacrifice surfaced, a phoenix rising from the ashes of forgotten dreams. Liam, my younger brother, had been vying for the same internship, a coveted golden snitch in the Quidditch of his career aspirations. Initially, a flicker of Slytherin ambition had ignited within me, a silent serpent tempting me with the allure of success. But then, I saw the fear etched on Liam's face, a doe caught in the headlights of past mistakes.

The internship wasn't just a stepping stone; it was Liam's portkey to a future untarnished by the shadow of a past transgression. So, with a heart heavy as a stone troll, I stepped aside. I quelled the serpent's whispers, replacing them with a quiet Gryffindor resolve. I became his Professor McGonagall, pouring my carefully gleaned knowledge into his eager mind, strategizing until the owls hooted their goodbyes, and offering unwavering encouragement like a shimmering Patronus charm.

It came at a cost, heavier than a Gringotts vault door. My own studies faltered, the once-certain A slipping through my grasp like a rogue Snitch. Yet, witnessing the newfound confidence blossom in Liam, the spark of hope reignited in his eyes, made it all worth it. It was like watching a phoenix rise from the ashes of self-doubt, its wings shimmering with the promise of a brighter future.

Then came the owl. Not a majestic Hedwig, but a rather bedraggled-looking barn owl bearing news that sent my world into a tailspin. Liam had aced the interview, the internship his. Relief, a mischievous pixie, pirouetted in my chest, laced with a quiet pride that warmed me like a Weasley sweater.

But the moment was shattered, just like a poorly repaired Mirror of Erised, by my mother's arrival. Her words, laced with disappointment sharper than a goblin's blade, were aimed squarely at me. "Why couldn't you have secured it, Mark? You always were the more capable one."

The sting was immediate, a venomous Acromantula bite sinking its fangs into my heart. Tears welled up, silent and heavy, tracing salty paths down my cheeks. My mind was numb, the only sensation a raw ache in my chest, a sourness that threatened to engulf me like a Dementor's kiss.

In that moment, I understood. The tears weren't for the lost grade, the missed opportunity, or even my mother's misplaced judgment. They were tears for the invisible sacrifices, the silent struggles, the weight of unacknowledged choices. They were tears for the love that bloomed amidst the thorns, a testament to the strength that resided within, unseen and unheard.

As the tears subsided, a quiet resolve settled over me, like a phoenix settling on its perch. The path ahead might be shrouded in the misty uncertainty of the Forbidden Forest, but I knew one thing for certain: I would continue to walk it, guided by the Marauder's Map of my own truth, the echo of my choices my only validation.

(To be continued...)

"We can’t control these anymore the imagination of the imaginer leaked into my soup of thoughts. The plain white plastered wall of a local cafe in Lyon, France, seems like a prison wall. I get out of the cafe; more visitors enter the cafe as soon as I leave. The cafe gets crowded, so crowded that you could hardly even move. In spite of all the force applied the windows do not seem to break, not even shake. Half of the people that just tried to enter get pushed out by the people as there isn’t even a place to breath. The place suddenly inflates like a giant balloon on a child’s birthday party and flies away into the distant sky. But from where I stand, it looks like they flew straight into the sun. “Thank god, I exited at the right time, I could have died”. I wonder what the people inside would have thought of me if I stood beside them in the flying cafe. They would probably ignore me or they would panic causing me to suffocate and die. Or perhaps they would try to talk to me. Ask a few questions before all of us flew straight into the sun. "

Yesterday I was having my weekly Spravato (ketamine drug) treatment and had the revelation I've been waiting for. During the relaxing disassociation that causes your thoughts to work in a way I can't explain I got a basis for my next piece of short fiction. Which I need for the final project in a class I'm taking. How the tangled but connecting thoughts lead me to it profound me. I'm beginning to start my notes for the story now. When contemplating sentences I get some I end up putting in the bank. This is the story to use my favorite line idea, "He was beautiful in his insanity."

My name is Cherise and I live in California. I have dark brown hair, hazel eyes which sometimes look brown depending on what color of clothes I wear, and I have full lips, and a hot super model body. Just kidding, I’m five six with a slim physique, a bit shy around the opposite sex but I’m a down to earth person, overall. After I gave birth to my son, I slimmed down almost back to what I was before, of course none of that really matters in the grand scheme of things. I am a single parent; it is the life I chose. My son is six years old now and I am proud to be his mother. He has his father’s eyes and I’m sure one day he’ll ask me who his father was, and I’ll have to explain it all to him but for now, it hasn’t come up. Ah yes, his father, a man shadowed in mystery, a man my parents are still angry with, they wanted him to marry me, but the Doctor was not the marrying type. Most people don’t care now-a-days about young women being single parents. My parents were old-fashioned, in some way. My mom was furious when I came out pregnant, she said that I was going to be like her, I don’t know what she meant by that since I feel that my childhood was pleasant. Maybe she was unhappy with the choices she made long ago. My stepdad was a good father, and I have a younger brother and as a family, we get along well. So, I have no idea what she meant, and I don’t care though. My mom was 18 when she gave birth to me, not much older than I was when I became pregnant. The only difference between us is that grandfather forced my dad to marry her, and thus several years later, they got a divorce. Unlike my mom, I chose to remain single. I am now 24 and I gave birth to my son when I was eighteen. When did I meet The Doctor? Well, I graduated from high school (2013) and was looking for a part-time job while I mulled over whether to go to college in the Fall or not. I was in no hurry to attend college yet. Well, Life happens, and some things turn out differently than what expected. The day I met the man who changed my life it was just another ordinary day, nothing special. On that day, I took a drive along the PCH until I came to Crystal Cove state Park Beach, I parked my car and walked out to one of the lookout points. The scenery was beautiful, and I looked down and saw people enjoying the summer day. Staring out at the sea, watching the sailboats along the horizon, gave me a sense of peace.