Tag Archives: death

Week 22 – Yearning

There are things I know I’m missing, which can haunt me to no end. I don’t always know what they are nor can I see them clearly at times. I’m thirsty for something, yearning for it – but what? No clue.

What can desire bring me? Will satisfying that itch, that yearning, will it make it all better? Would I be happy then? Will happiness cling to my chest and will peace take board?

I often doubt it. Sometimes when I know what it is I yearn, I know the harm and consequences that may occur. Many have tried to convince me to silence the voices that tell me not to give in to temptation. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I pride myself on saying “no”, but it’s frustrating and can be insulting when someone belittles my intelligence or beliefs. “Sure, I’ve been waiting for you to give me permission all me life.” When will it be okay to say yes?

There are times I yearn for something not so harmful (you know unless some freak accident kills me, or I contract some unknown disease that will later be named after me). Live by the ocean or the sea, camp out under the stars in the middle of nowhere. Trust a stranger and sleep on their couch. Open my heart, even if for a short while and let myself feel… try things that scare me. I yearn to live. I guess that’s the clearest image most times.

However, it’s the smaller things that can get to me at times. The day to days. The things I miss or wish for; the company, the care, the peace, the noise…the love. I find myself thinking about my mother often lately. I would think of those moments I disappointed her, or the moments I did something that hurt her in some way and I would beat myself up for not being a better a daughter. I wasn’t bad, but I still have those bad memories I thought I had forgotten or let go. It’s the love that I miss the most. I guess I beat myself up because I never showed her how much I loved her – that I appreciated her more than I’d showed.

There are moments I feel I’ve lived too long and times when I feel I haven’t lived at all; that the end will find me all too soon. I hope the end doesn’t find me too soon.

Shooting Stars

My father and I went to the market; he had suggested it since I had been frustrated with the constant crying of my newborn child. My husband, eager to help, had taken our son from my arms, and told me to take a break. I hurried along, happy to escape for a while. We were away for one hour, and as we walked back I saw my mother sitting in the balcony enjoying a tiny glass of green tea. I could see my brother playing football with the neighbor’s son on the street, my brother had been screaming “goal” and dancing. He saw us and instantly waved his hands in excitement and just as I started raising my hand to wave back, the shooting stars rained upon us.


Attempting to sit down with a couple of broken ribs was very painful, but I managed. I had to. My dad sat down next to me, wincing because he accidentally moved his broken arm. It wasn’t a comfortable place to sit, but it wasn’t like we had that much of an option. He looked at me with a smile though and hugged me with his other arm. He wouldn’t leave my side; he made sure I came with him even when I begged him to leave me behind, to save himself. We were both a mess, from burns, broken bones, cuts and bruises, but we made it.

Here I’m with my father on top of the rubble, battered as we watched the sky. We sat there in silence as we huddled close, not feeling that much of the pain. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through our bodies, at this point it didn’t matter. I sighed and laid my head on my father’s chest; I could hear his heart beating fast. It was very calming. I looked up at the sky, it was dark. I couldn’t see the stars or the moon from all the smoke; I could only see the shooting stars. They were magnificent; they flew with so much grace. Next to me my father shuddered, he was looking down at the rubble of what was once our home. If I looked closely I would still see my husband from where I sat, I smiled at his protective nature. He was covering our four months old child with his body. I could see someone’s arm too, I thought it belonged to my neighbor but I wasn’t sure. My baby brother was crushed by a car nearby. We stayed next to him till he stopped screaming and crying from the pain, till he finally took his last breath. I could hear someone screaming from under the bricks and stones but the agony eventually died out. There were scattered limbs everywhere and even someone’s brain. I had never seen a human brain before; it doesn’t look that different from a cow’s. We couldn’t find my other brothers and my mother, but we knew they didn’t survive. No one did.

I shuddered in fear as the shooting stars neared us, my father held me close. I could feel his arm trembling. He tried to be stoic to what was too come, but death is a hard enemy to face. I like to believe it wasn’t death that scared us, it was the pain. My heart jumped, beating faster; I hid my face into my father’s arm as my body shook violently. The smell of burnt flesh made it difficult to calm my racing heart. I don’t know how long it took, it could have been a second, a minute or an hour but it felt like forever. My eyes were squeezed shut. Anytime now I thought. The earth shook with the impact, I could feel it. I could see it too, behind my eyelids. Bright light pierced through them, I smiled because the shooting stars were giving me a sign that it had begun striking again. I kept my eyes shut, waiting to meet my creator. Everything went quiet and I heard my son crying, and a hand touched my back and as I turned I found my husband crouched down close to me, smiling.

“What took you so long?” he asked as he handed me our son.


Week 16 – Carla loves Frank

‘Carla loves Frank’ was scrawled on the decrepit wall. The neon pink paint still stood out through the generations of dust piled on top. Sierra gripped her SMG wondering how life must have been back then, before the Infestation. She tried to step carefully through the echoing ruins. Although she had trekked through the halls of the train station several times, today felt different. ‘Stay alert’ she kept reminding herself. She had a feeling she might have to actually use her combat training.

‘Carla loves Frank’ – Wait! Did I get turned around? She thought. Drip, drip. The writing looked darker. Drip, drip. Sierra made her way towards the graffiti. Drip, Drip. As she got closer, the colour became clearer thanks to the dregs of light shining through. She reached out and touched the scribbles. ‘Fresh…blood?’


Sierra’s heart fell into a pit and her insides shuddered – screaming at her to turn around, to run.


The sounds repeated. ‘They’re here…’ More joined in, voices rising. CLICK CLICK CLACK TUT TUT CLICK. With tiny steps, still gripping tight her SMG, she turned slowly, hoping to postpone what was to come. The dripping was now drowned out by the chatter. Sierra faced them, a horde of creatures resembling crickets and cockroaches. Antennae that seemed to move of their own accord with exoskeletons slimy and crunchy.

Sierra gulped down the last of her saliva, unable to produce more. The army stood before her. The Festants had arrived. CLICK, CLICK, CLACK, CLICK. They continued. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, attempting to escape. She knew this was probably the end. She thought about those who waited back at the camp unaware. She knew her mission. ‘I might as well go out with a bang,’ she thought. ‘At least now they’ll have a head-start.’

Gun in hand, she wailed her tribe’s war-cry. Her machine gun screamed, raining metal fury on the monsters. She continued fighting even as her magazine finished, and even as the horde overpowered her. She fought as they tore her limb from limb, but as they were just about to take her heart she thought, ‘Fuck you Carla and Frank’.

Week 15 – Sam & Misty

“I want to speak to your manager!” She screeched at me in the hotel foyer while passing guests stared.

“Maam, I’m here in his place. He’s away for the week. How may I help?”

She stared back at me holding her breath, like an infant whose parent had refused to bend to his whim. Her cheeks expanded and her face turned red, ready to burst like an overblown balloon.

“How about we comp your first night and start there?” I said, wishing I had let her suffocate and black out.

“Perfect” Her face returned to normal and she smirked, victorious. My eye twitched but I continued to smiled.

“First, I’d like…” She yammered on for a bitter hour, with each demand more frivolous and conceited as the one before. Her voice ate away at my skin. With each piercing syllable my smile grew larger.

“Got all that?”

“Of course” My smile now took up half my face.

“I’ll be sure this is reflected… positively in my husband’s review.” Her nose high and pointy.

I bit down and grinned, allowing my smile to hide the black hole waiting to consume her deep within my eyes.

“Our establishment is here to serve.” I bowed out and returned to my office.


“Misty!” There sat my best friend in my chair.

“Sammy!” She jumped up and hugged me. We screamed a little before we calmed down to human speech levels.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

“We’re gonna have some fun tonight!”


Misty and I danced among the tourists with fervour and hunger for the beat. I rode the intoxication, which wasn’t thanks to alcohol but because when Misty and I convened, we made a killer team.

“OW!” A being bumped into me, with a voice that managed to pierce through the heavy beats of the club. It was her. I shot a look to Misty and I turned to find the uptight, arrogant woman living off her husband’s influence.

Misty winked my way. She hooked her arm around the harpy guest and I followed suit. We led her out the backdoor and pushed her against the dumpster.

“This one’s mine” I informed Misty.

Our grins nearly split through our cheeks.

“How dare you?! Don’t you know who-”

“Shut it!” Misty stroked the defiant woman’s chin and grabs it. “You don’t want to lose your voice now do you?” With a final slap, the lady broke down in hysterical sobs.

“Huush, hush now” I pulled out the chopsticks holding up my hair. Misty howled. I chuckled, this all felt so nostalgic.

I twist and lock my sticks together, which allowed me to pull them apart and reveal a pencil blade. I felt my blood heating, my anger dancing around the fire, as Rumpelstiltskin did in the forest. I’m alive again. It had been far too long. I got in close to the trembling wench, I could smell her fear. Exhilarating. I ran the blade down her tear drenched cheek and traced it down to her throat. I could hear her trying to hold her breath as her eyes begged me in silence to end my madness.

“P…please..” She whimpered.

In a single firm motion I stabbed her the doomed lamb in the neck. She grabbed her jugular failing to stop the spurting blood from escaping. I took a few steps back, avoiding the rogue splatters. I watched my latest enemy’s eyes as Misty cheered on in the background. The spirit that once resided there vacated the now empty shell. My blood pumped and adrenaline rushed. The familiar satisfaction rising through from the depths.

“I missed this!” Misty jumped ecstatic. “You have a little on your cheek” She reached over and with a single smooth motion wiped it off and licked the blood.

I grabbed my dear friend’s hand and led her back into the club. This is going to be a great night!

Week 14 – The Deal: Part One

He emerged from the darkness, the dim street light barely illuminating his face. Hair styled and short, the wind couldn’t get it to dance like it did the surrounding shrubbery. His walk was sturdy and open, secure of every step he took. Although his boots were heavy, his step was light. Light struggled to reflect off his brown leather jacket, which weighed down his loose shirt. He smirked my way. It was my first time meeting him, but that smirk, although normally insulting, was comforting. A cat scurried across the road that still shimmered from the rain earlier that day.

“The house on the left” He said.

“Is the house on the right” I replied.

He smiled, completely unphased by what had just occurred. He took out an envelope from his pocket and gave it to me. I took a cursory glance at the bundle of money inside, judging that it looked about right. I nodded my head towards a nearby trash can, that hasn’t been cleaned since it was placed on that road. He walked over with a spring in his step, causing me to move back, unsure of how to read this stranger. He searched around the bin and looked my way, expressing with his hand “where?”. I gesture “underneath” and he gives me an “okay”.  The man lifts the metal bin and throws at an abandoned car, shattering the already battered windscreen. I heard the cries of a few feral creatures hiding in the dark, escaping the sudden intrusion into their urban habitat.

Momentarily distracted, I looked back at the customer, trying to keep a professional poker face. I didn’t want him to see the hoards of cells inside me screaming like people about to be massacred.

“Is it what you wanted?” I asked. Desperate to keep my voice from wavering.

He looked down at the fabric package and removed a crudely wrapped gun.

“Is it a 35 like I asked?”

“It is.” I replied.

His smile got bigger, causing the creases around his eye sockets to further hide his dark eyes. A cat screeched and dropped something heavy, startling me enough to look in its direction. My heart pounded against my ribcage trying to escape my chest, just as frightened as I was by the entire situation. I let out a staggered breath and looked back at the stranger. His smile now from ear to ear, hands out in front, legs spread out shoulder width.  I no longer faced the unhinged customer, but the barrel of the gun I had just delivered. He stood there, pointing it at me.

‘Shit’ I thought, ‘Is it loaded? Or did he load it?’. I could feel my guts telling me to run and my brain screamed MOVE! ‘FUCK! I’m going to die! I’m going to die! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!’

BANG! The sound echoed through the deserted neighbourhood.


To be continued…

Week 11 – The Break

You were fading away
Step by step
Then all at once
Taking away all traces of your existence
Like you were never a part of me.
We have fought hard
But failed miserably.
We have survived so far,
But now we are empty.

You are ice cold.
You are gone
And I am left here alone

You never told me how to survive
So how can I be without you?

I had to tell them you were gone
No longer within reach.
And every word of that sentence
Was a knife cutting away my heart.
My soul was shattering
But I was standing.
I stood tall and acted alive
Like I wasn’t dead inside

You never told me how to survive
So how can I be without you?

How can I belong anywhere but with you?
How can I find another dream to replace you?
How can I be without you?

Week 9 – Nostalgia

Sitting in front of the TV I came across a movie I hadn’t seen since I watched it years ago in the cinema. I went to see Eight Legged Freaks way back when it came out in the UK. Spiders freak me out and I remember the film Arachnophobia used to freak me the hell out (although I’ve watched it several times). However, I remember watching it with my mother in the cinema and laughing throughout the film. I mostly remembered the last bit of the film, but as it played before me today, I began getting little flashbacks. I saw actors in the movie, who were kids back then but are now stars, whether it be TV or film. “Oh My God! Scarlett Johansson was so young!”

I began to feel nostalgic for the days I went to the cinema with my mother. We saw a multitude of movies back then, including Austin Powers and 8 Miles. It was something we enjoyed doing (when we could afford it). ‘Cause my mother was there, she would often convince the ticket sellers that I was much older than my actual age – I miss those days. One of the most exhilarating things in the world; trying to convince the cinema we’re older than we really are.

My mother was probably the most influential person in my life. Which for some, I know is normal, while for others it may be a little weird. Often my mother wasn’t just the woman who brought me to this world – the person who raised, provided for and taught me; but she was also my friend and more often than one would believe, my daughter. My mother practised a manner of upbringing I like to call “You can try what you like, but with me”.

Don’t worry, she disciplined me plenty, I’d never forget those moments when I saw red in her eyes; but she also respected my intelligence and treated me with respect and a manner much older than my age. I learned the price of responsibility, freedom and independence. She would allow me to try things bit by bit, until I proved to her I can handle the weight of the freedom she gave me.

Although we had our differences, and like every mother and daughter we had our fair share of conflict, my mother tried as best she could to be the best parent possible on her own. I never truly felt I needed my father, especially as I learned the reality of who my father was and the hostility she had to endure. There really is a fine line between love and hate.

I had many firsts in my life thanks to my mother. Things that allowed me to transition into the mysterious world of adults. Thanks to her, thanks to the things she showed me, stories she told me and the experiences she allowed me to have, I was able to handle her loss with greater ease than many others my age or older. I have to admit I have not mourned nor felt pain like I did the day and years after I lost her. Even after death, I’m still learning more and more, thanks to her moments of wisdom and tales that now make more sense than ever before… Thank you Mama, for the bad and the good. Thank you.


He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. The mirror was smudged with fingerprints, cracked at the edges. He couldn’t afford something better; the rundown motel was his best option for now. Three was naked except for the towel hanging at his waist. He grew weak with each passing day; his body was filled with scars. Some of them were newly acquired welts and cuts; his right side had an angry blue bruise and a couple of broken ribs. His body throbbed with pain and exhaustion, he was a mess and so tired, all he wanted was to sleep for a very long time, but he couldn’t risk it.  He turned around to grab the pair of scissors, razors, and hair dye he bought, and headed to the bathroom. He chopped off his long light brown hair, dyed it black and shaved his stubble; after he was done he put on his pants and shirt. He tried washing them in the sink but they were too dirty for soap to clean. It was clean enough for now, so Three pulled out the hoodie and cap, he stole, from his bag.

Three moved and opened the window and as he balanced himself for the two floor jump, he scanned the outside world to make sure he wasn’t watched. He landed gracefully but his ribs burned with the exertion, he cursed his weakened state. He shook his head to get rid of the dizziness and pain, and started to move away from the motel. He had no idea where to go; money was becoming an issue as it always had been in his previous attempts of escape. Back then he didn’t understand the outside world; money was a new element that had not been part of his training. He didn’t understand that taking objects in this world meant stealing and beating another man for the so called object is called assault. There were so many foreign words he couldn’t understand, so his lack of knowledge got him and his siblings caught so easily.

Three walked focused as his brain went over the events of the past couple of weeks. He hated that he had failed to save his brothers One and Four. He hated that he trusted Two, who betrayed them; her cold eyes said it all when she stabbed Four. It took both One and Three to take her down, the crack of bones still echoing in his mind when he snapped her neck. He didn’t hesitate and the worse part he felt no need for revenge or anger towards her, it was how he was programmed. To assess danger and eliminate threats to the plan, it was as simple as that. He didn’t know what scared him more the lack of feelings toward his fallen comrade, or how easy he could snap someone’s neck.

One and Three managed to escape the institute that they were held in; they had memorized every part in it. Even though they were mostly drugged and blindfolded when moved from the training rooms and dorms, they were trained too well for it to be an obstacle in their plan. The institute was surrounded by a forest, and so they ran as fast as they could through it. Their faces were stoic with determination to survive, they had a mission and it was to leave this wrecked place. So they ran till they heard the sound of vehicles coming from both directions, they looked at each other and with a sign from One, they worked in unison. One and Three started grabbing the dirt on the ground and covering their bodies to misguide the chasing dogs, then they started to climb each a tree. As they reached the top, they started maneuvering their bodies from tree to tree and as quick as they can. It didn’t take long for the chasers to know where they were, and the shooting started. It was the expected offense, with expected losses. It didn’t take long for a bullet to pierce through One, his scream echoed as he fell to his death. Three kept moving though, unfazed with the loss of his sibling. Once he managed to reach a tree with thick bushes, he froze. Waited patiently for the search ruckus to quiet down, he didn’t take notice of the time it could have been days or could have been just hours.

The memories of his escape were of no use now, his mission was to survive and stay hidden. It had been a difficult task to achieve so far, he had done nothing but steal and sneak into places to eat and sleep. Three had to find a way to adjust to this new world, and most importantly find a place where no one asked questions, especially of his past. Perhaps he should start with changing his name, he had been thinking of this for a while. It troubled him how much thought he was putting himself through, just to choose an identity. The chosen name meant so much to him, a start of a new life. He liked the way Lucas sounded; it was a common name among the people of the outside world. He had heard it more than once. Three’s mouth twitched in an attempt to smile at his new name, as he walked down the streets and disappeared into the night.

Week 3 – Untitled

I trek the earth in less than a blink.
Speak all languages and none.
All fear me, carrying me on their back, trying to outrun the day I visit.
My list isn’t physical, but endless, names increasing all the time.
I follow tears and the scent of blood.
Most loathe me, while others desire me.
No one truly knows me, for I am the loneliest of them all.
Although I bring peace, I’m seen as violent.
I’ve seen it all. I was not born but just was.
I am. I exist.

I do not choose, I am unbiased.
That second when you meet me is destined, unquestionable.
I may take, but I give;
I give life a chance to breathe, to grow.
I give you peace and rest from the running, the fighting,
from the struggle.

Do not run, but live.
Do not fear, but welcome.
Do not count, allow;
Allow yourself to enjoy what I cannot.
I envy the freedoms you enjoy. So enjoy them for me,
So when I come, you can tell me;
Tell me your adventures and all that you’ve done.
Tell me you’re ready and it’s time.

I am not your enemy but your friend.
I will not take you before your time.
So let me motivate you, not to run, but to live.
Take each stride as it comes, don’t think about me.
It’s okay. I won’t be sad.

Don’t let it slip you by, that which I cannot enjoy,
For Darkness will come anyway.

Six Feet Under

Creatures like us have always feared the unknown, we are curious by nature though. We search for the answers and we theorize in hopes to find the truth. We can’t handle the unknown, we can’t comprehend the existence of nothing. So we choose to escape death by either ignoring its existence or by believing in the celestial being or both. However, the fear is still there, the fear of nothingness and the unknown.

The way you ignore the existence of death gives you the illusion that you could overpower it. After all most of the deaths you see or hear on the news or from friends are not close enough. So you forget and you think that it’ll never possibly hit so close to home. That you’re invincible.

Then one day it hits you so close that you break

Someone important to you is taken by the reaper. So your heart contracts in pain over the loss, you scream and cry in anguish. You hug yourself tightly, begging that your life be taken instead. Pleading with what you worship to return from the grasp of the angel of death the soul it has taken.  You remember every good thing your loved one did, and the times you spent together even if they were rare. You are angry that the world didn’t stop, it just moved on like nothing happened. You are worried that your loved one will eventually become a distant memory, a shadow in the back of your mind. Then shame overcomes you.

It’s a long road to find peace, to find that tranquility and acceptance. You come to face your mortality or you simply ignore it again. Death will always be the monster that grabs our loved ones, but to others it’s just another transition to a promised divine world.