The Angel Remliel

Untitled

2009-05-20T15:03:00.007-04:00

I’ve never seen so many beautiful flowers in such an ugly, dark place. Everyone was sad, a few were crying. I guess it was one of those situations where you are too sad to cry, or that it hasn’t really sunken in yet. All of my friends and family were there. Aunt Judy, Uncle Mark, Cousin Leo, and my younger sister Evee. I would glance at them every once in a while but it was like I wasn’t even there. Instead of looking at me, everyone seemed to look through me. They were looking, but they weren’t seeing. I never said hello. Neither did any one else. People just gave each other nods of acknowledgment, like everything that could’ve been said was spoken in one slight motion of their heads. There was a table set up with things to eat. Small sandwiches, bite sized pastries, crackers and cheese and such. The only person eating any of it was my two year old, second cousin Remy, who was too young to understand anything and to feel the grief that created a heavy fog hanging in the room like one hundred year old cob webs. The sun was out that day but it wasn’t shinning. There were no clouds to block its glorious light, but it produced more of a glow than a shine. Even though I was in a funeral parlor I didn’t know who died. I made a checklist of my family members in my head. As I moved about the room I made a mental check next to each of the names. Instead of walking, or even skulking, it felt like I was floating. I looked down at my feet to make sure they were on the ground. They were.
Everyone was here, no one was missing. I had gone over my list twice to make sure and my results didn’t change. I figured I would find out soon enough. I began to look at the flowers to try and brighten my mood. Even though it was a bit selfish of me, I figured there was no use mourning someone I didn’t even know. There were all sorts of flowers. Lilies, daisies, lupine, clavia, and fresias. The most common flowers I saw were purple orchids. Those were always my favorite. Midst the flowers there were also open cards that said things like “We will always miss her” and “She was beautiful inside and out.” Now I really wanted to know who it was who was so greatly missed. I finally came to one of the last cards. It was in my grandma’s handwriting. I read it slowly.
“Winona was my sun on a rainy day. She was a flower in a patch of weeds. I will always love her, even in death.”
I am Winona. My eyes fluttered, but my mind fluttered faster. How could this be? Am I really dead? I screamed but no one even flinched. I tried to remember. I tried to find any memory that could give me a hint as to how this happened. I tried. I did nothing but try. I didn’t succeed but I didn’t fail either. It was just a never ending cycle of trying but not getting anywhere. So I ran for the door. I reached for the door knob but I stumbled and fell through the door. I knew I had hit the pavement on the other side, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. Not the sunshine, not the breeze I could hear whistling through the trees, not anything. I crawled to the sidewalk to sit under a tree. I tried to lean against it but my head just went through that too. I just decided no to move any more. Just stop trying. People on foot and by car passed by me, but they only saw the tree and not the bottom half of a dead girl. To my surprise I thought I felt something touch my foot. I sat up and my head emerged from the tree. I looked up and saw a girl with pink and black hair, a leather jacket with studs, loose men’s pants being held up by a belt with even more studs than the jacket, big black boots that made her about five foot nine, and one more stud in her nose. People seemed to pass by her the same way they passed by me.
“So,” she said, “I guess you didn’t make it after all” her voice was scratchy and she didn’t sound like she genuinely cared.
“What do you mean? How can you see me?” I asked. Her mouth morphed into something that resembled a scowl as she punched trough the tree.
“How do you think genius?” So she was a ghost too. Maybe that’s how I felt her nudge my foot.
“So are you gonna get up or are you just gonna fall back into the tree?” her voice never seemed to change pitch. It just stayed at one even melancholy tone. As I got up I noticed that a faint beam of sunlight seemed to pierce through her head. When I was finally up right she glanced at my toes them back to my face.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Winona.” I murmured. She looked me up and down one more time then seemed to frown a bit.
“Funny, you don’t really look like a Winona.” I wasn’t quite sure whether or not I should take that as an insult or something else entirely. Then she just turned around and began walking the other way. She didn’t even look back to see if I followed her, which I did. What else was I suppose to do? Where else could I possibly go?
“The name’s Gin.” She said, like some how her name explained everything about her.
“Like the card game?” I asked. She stopped abruptly and turned her head only the slightest bit.
No stupid the drink.” Her voice had gone from despondent to sarcastic in one fell swoop. She then began to walk just as abruptly as she had stopped. I had to jog about two steps to catch up.
“What did you mean when you said ‘I guess you didn’t make it after all’?” I asked. She stopped again but this time she turned around completely. She stared at me and raised her eyebrow.
“You mean you don’t remember?” She said with a dumbfounded expression. I shook my head.
“You were hit by a car.”

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Come with me." And with that, she turned around and began walking.

"This is it," she said, lifting her arms as if she were presenting something. "This is where it happened." We were standing on the corner of Cherry Street and Harlington Lane. The stop sign was gone and there were skid marks on the road.

"You remember anything yet?" Gin asked. I looked around a little more then sighed.

"Nope," I said shaking my head. "I got nothing." Gin bit her lip and looked around.

"Try touching one of the skid marks." She said tilting her head towards the road. I gave her a confused look, but she just jerked her head again. I crept over to one of the marks and kneeled down. I stretched out my hand but looked back at Gin one more time. She was pressing her tongue to the side of her cheek and looking at her boots. I turned my head back to look at my hand. Finally, I stretched my fingers and touched the mark and to my surprise, I could feel the texture of the road. Then, everything became a blur. Things just seemed to be flying by, like when a space ship went into warp speed in Star Wars. Everything went from light to dark, light to dark, and back. Days were flying by. I counted at least twenty, almost a month. Then, things seemed to slow down. It was night time. Coming down Cherry Street I could see my small yellow punch buggie rolling along at a decent speed. I watched myself come to a stop at the corner and look both ways, taking basic driving precautions. I began to pull around the corner when a giant light came hurdling down Harlington Lane. The light smashed into my car, completely destroying the drivers side. The deathly light turned out to be a big black Hummer. A hooded figure leapt from the Hummer and ran over to my car. They looked at my dying body and reeled back. Then the coward took off running into the park. I began to scream but everything went blurry as I came hurdling back to the present. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the days fly by. I didn't want to face the reality that I, Winona Sillow, was dead.

I felt things slow down so I opened my eyes. The cars were gone and it was now day time. I could no longer feel the road. I could hear Gin behind me, kicking at the dirt with her clunky boot.

"How did you know?" I asked, not turning around. My words had come out in faint breaths. Like baby breaths. I knew she had heard me but it took her a while to answer.

"'Cause I was there." she murmured. I turned around and gave her another look of confusion. She scowled and kicked the ground harder.

"Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I can't see shit happen!" Her voice came out like a bark. She was trying to be tough, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked at me a while longer then turned her head.

"And I've been dead for a while." She whispered, but I heard her. I stood up and walked over to her.

"So how did you go?" I asked boldly. So boldly I surprised myself.

"I drowned." She stated simply. Her voice no longer came out harsh or dead. Instead it had a hint of sadness behind it, the sadness you could see swimming behind her eyes like tadpoles. Neither of us said anything after that. We both just looked at the ground. Occasionally I would look up, but Gin's gaze never left the ground. It was like she was looking down into Hell, getting lost in the flames.

"Gin," I muttered. She lifted her head, but just barely, "can I go see my family?" Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a small pout.

"Why are you asking me?" She growled. She lifted her head and the small tadpoles were gone. The flames had consumed them.

"I don't care what you do or where you go. I couldn't care less." Now her eyes matched her words. She let her eyes do the talking as she glared at me. Her angry pout disintegrated and then she turned away.

I wasn't sad as I walked away from Gin. I wasn't angry because of the way she spoke to me I actually pitied her a bit. I pitied her inability to trust those who only wanted to help. I had wanted to help her, but clearly my assistance was unwanted and in her eyes unneeded. But the more I thought about it the more I realized how little I could actually do. I would be no more than someone to talk to. I wouldn't even be able to give her advice on how to fix her situation because her situation, our situation, can not be fixed or undone. No! I told myself, shaking my head back and forth. Don't think like that. Things always happen for a reason. But what, exactly, was the reason for this? What did the universe gain from my death? I shook my head again, preferring to drop the subject of death entirely. The accident didn't happen far from my house, it was actually only two blocks away. I turn the corner and see my house. I spent all seventeen years of my life in that house and some how I feel like I'm just meeting someone for the first time. I climbed the front steps and raised a fist to knock, and stopped, remembering my encounter with the door at the funeral home. I let my arm drop and proceeded through the door. As expected, the room was gloom. The ceiling light was emitting a faint shimmer, just enough to make out the shapes and patterns of the furniture. The living room was unoccupied. As I moved on towards the kitchen I saw my mother scrubbing away at the stove. Cleaning was always her gateway to peace. "A clean house is a happy house." She'd tell Evee and I that when we were little, trying to influence us the help her dust, mop, or polish. It worked too. I stood there for a while, watching her clean, waiting for her to sense my presence. She didn't. She never looked up, not even a pause in her scrubbing. Nothing. I looked down at my shoes, a frown creeping along my face. Disappointment spread throughout my body much like a bottle of spilt paint. I could feel it staining my skin, my clothes, my hair. It was blue paint. People always picture ghosts as being white, like the person who was deceased was dipped in a vat of white paint. I think ghosts are blue, the sad ones at least. The color really depends on the emotions felt by ghost. Some are green with envy of those still living. Others are red with vengeance, while some are black. They feel nothing. Gin is purple. A misunderstood sadness floats about her.

Hu-man [hyoo-mun]

2009-05-15T14:59:00.000-04:00

-adjective
1.of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people: human frailty

What can I write,
That hasn’t already been written?
What can I say,
That hasn’t already been said?
What’s left to feel,
If I’ve felt every emotion there is?

What makes me human?
Is it the flesh,
The blood in my veins,
Or the silent heartbeat,
That thumps hard and deep,
In the chasm that is my chest,

What is inside me,
That makes me feel this way?
What is about me,
That makes you look at me that way?
What did I do,
Do deserve these invisible scars?
What can I do,
To make them go away?

Better Than Me

2009-04-03T14:59:00.001-04:00

Worthless, her words slither though my ears. Waste of flesh, oozing blemish.
“Shut up.” I growl through clenched teeth.
Unwanted, putrid sack of,
“I said shut up!” I scream. She hates being interrupted, and frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass, but as her fire engine red fingers clench, and her beautiful, flawless face, curls into an unruly scowl, I begin to remember why I usually remain silent.
Fat. She hisses the word like it’s the deadliest and most infuriating insult in the world. Which, it is.
Do you see this? Her hand lunges at the sandwich I’m holding, and takes it.
This! she jeers, waving the sandwich in my face.
Well, this turns into this! Her other hand grabs my stomach and pinches at the small bit of skin and fat, moving her hand up and down, pulling at it.
Do you want this? Hmm? Do you? I look down and poke my sore stomach.
“No.”
Well then we need to get rid of it. She sneers, tossing the sandwich into the toilet. I reach for the handle to flush the forbidden food when she clears her throat.
You need to get rid of all of it. I blankly look at her, then I turn my attention to the toilet.
You want to be skinny don’t you? Well then get rid of it! She pushes me to the ground so that my face is hovering over the toilet. I can feel her starring at my back, waiting.
“Skinny,” I mumble, “I need to be skinny.” And with that, I lift my lifeless finger to my mouth, and let the rest of the sandwich poor into the toilet.

Outside of the bathroom I’m safe, almost. She still follows me, but her words aren’t as meaningful, her sneers not as strong. But she’s still there, she’s always there. Waiting for me to slip up, watching me fall into temptation, trying to convince me all I need is a glass of water and I’ll be fine. I can’t escape. In every magazine, in every television show, she’s there. Every time I peer into a mirror she comes to life. A better form of me. The person I’m trying so hard to become. She is me, but I will never be her.

Nonsense

2009-03-18T14:55:00.001-04:00

If you could,
And you would,
Like I know you should,
Go out of your way,
To catch this falling speck,
Of dust,
To kiss this ugly,
Toad,
To walk down,
These lonely streets,
To hug this rabid,
Dog,
But you don’t,
And you won’t,
Like I knew you wouldn’t.

Funny Quote

2009-03-13T15:05:00.000-04:00

It is better to have loved and lossed than to have lived with a psycho for the rest of your life

Carnations for Stephanie Version 2

2009-03-11T14:46:00.007-04:00

“Todd?” I felt a small tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I saw it was Lilly, her red pigtails sticking straight out of her head. Lilly sat at my table when ever Ms. Ogg said it was art time. I didn’t like Lilly, she was always teasing me, but that’s only because she likes me.
“Yeah, Lilly?”
“Todd, how come you have two mommies?” In the future, I would get this question a lot, at least that’s what Stephanie told me. She also told me how to respond.
“Because I’m such a handful, that I need two mommies, and two mommies are better than one.” Stephanie’s words echoed in my head as I said them. Lilly tilted her head to the right, her pigtails flopping about as she did so.
“But, what about your daddy?” I just stared at her. Not only was she annoying me, but she was confusing me with all of her questions.
“Because,” I state matter of factly, “I don’t’ need a daddy, I have Stephanie. I try to keep this memory reverberating through my skull, but the pounding of the rain on the casket washes it away. Whether is was the lively flowers that lined her casket or the constant feeling like she was standing right behind be, resting her hand on my shoulder, it still hasn’t registered in my head that she’s gone. Gone, as in not here anymore. Not working at the garden supply store, not tending to her flowers, not standing out back ready to throw the football to relieve some stress, not anywhere.
“Todd, Todd?” Rachael’s voice felt like a bright light on my shoulder. I turned my head slightly. Not enough to actually see her, but enough to let her know that I acknowledged her.
“It’s time to go now Todd. Everyone has left.” I hadn’t realized it, but I had been staring at my feet the entire time and when I finally lifted my head I expected the crowd of family and friends to still be there. They weren’t. I then look at the lonely headstone and the freshly piled dirt.
“Stephanie Abigail Bregger, 1973-2009” I read my mom’s name under my breath. Mom. I’ve never thought of her as mom until now, I always called her Stephanie, just like I never called Rachael mom. They had introduced themselves as Stephanie and Rachael so that’s just what I called them. But there wasn’t anymore Stephanie and Rachael, there was just Rachael now.

"Let me talk to him," Lilly said softly, "I'm sure I could get him to eat something, or at least come out of his room." I couldn't see her, or Rachael, but I could tell that she had turned her head towards my door as her voice trailed off.
"Alright Lilly, but don't get your hopes up. I practically had to drag him home, this is just so," I flinched. Rachael's usually clear, sweet voice had been stifled by a small sob.
"It's okay to miss her Rachael," Lilly whispered, "but both you and Todd need each other, and I adore Todd I really do, but he needs to realize that he needs you just as much as you need him. That's where I want to help." Rachael didn't respond, but I figured she must have nodded her head since I could hear Lilly's hand on the door knob.
"Todd?", there was an awkward pause as she placed her right foot on the maroon carpet, "it's me, Lilly." Like I hadn't figured that out already. She didn't say a word as she traveled the ten feet from my door to my bed where I was laying motionless. Not one sound, just stood there at the edge of my bed, starring at me. Finally, she spoke.
"C'mon, Todd, get up," she paused "please?" Then the awkward silence came back; creating an erie, invisible, fog in the room.
"Please," she tries again, "please get up." Before the fog can creep on back, she walks over the my desk, grabs a chair, drags it back to the side of my bed, and sits down.
"Do you have any idea how selfish you're being?" Despite being filled with dread, I alow myself to chuckle inside. Tough love has always been Lilly's way.
"Rachael is filled with just as much pain as you are, if not more, but you don't see her moping in her room now do you? No, she is up and about, cooking, cleaning, taking care of you. Yet you lie here wallowing in self pitty." I can feel her eyes burning into my back. She is right, I can't deny it, but somehow I can't find the will to move. So Lilly does it for me. She grabs my left shoulder an pulls, forcing me on my back, forcing me to face her. Her face is right next to mine. So close I can feel her heat. After only ten seconds, her blazing eyes die down to a soft flame, and she sits back in the chair. The natural sofness in her face returns.
"She needs to Todd. Rachael neeeds you," she looks down at her hands, "I need you." She lifts her head and stares, not at me, but just past me.
"I'm telling you, as your best friend," her voice trails off, then lets a small, almost microscopic smile, trace her lips, "to get over yourself." I let my internal chuckle slip out, but only the slightest bit.
"There's Todd." she whispers, letting her smile grow,
"C'mon." She takes my hand jerks her head towards the door.
"Come get some food."

A Knight in Rusted Armor

2009-02-27T15:06:00.004-05:00

The claws of swallowed demons,
Slashing savagely at skin of steel,
But the stolid knight holds it in,
Blinks it away like it’s not real.

She gulps down yet another monster,
Crafted from rage in the pits hell,
She stays quiet and calm,
Not even a yelp or a yell.

As the fortress that is her core,
Is pelted with the sights her desolate eyes see,
The receptors in her black hole brain lie there distraught,
From being forever lonely,

Slashing at the fork-tongued dragon,
For many long hate filled years,
She can do nothing but bow to the Goblin princess,
Biting her swollen lip to fight back tears.

But one day the brave knight will rise,
And unsheathe her encrypted sword,
And slash off the head of the Goblin princess,
For too long has this tyrant been adored.

Next will be the dragon,
First tail then the toes,
And last will be the head then she turns and walks away,
Leaving the carcass for the crows.

And finally after a lifetime of pain,
She pulls off her helmet and lets her beautiful locks flow,
Revealing her eyes, skin, and soul
Now everyone will see, now everyone will know.

The Faker and the Renegade Strand

2009-02-20T14:44:00.002-05:00

The beauty is gone,
When there’s more makeup than flesh,
And it dies when showing skin,
Transcends being pretty.

When the lip gloss shines brighter than your eyes,
The word human is erased from your presence,
And when you wear powder as a mask,
Souls drain from polished fingers.

If the name of your bag,
Is more valuable than your own,
Or if the logo on your shirt says more than your words,
You need to wake up.

Finally, when everyone is a string, wrapped around your finger,
And there’s one strand, loose’d from all the others,
Know that that one strand,
Is me.

Gray Rainbows

2009-02-18T14:15:00.006-05:00

Am I worthy of a hello,
Or even a passing glance,
Is it worthless to hope,
Since I never had a chance.

Maybe if I smudged a little more liner,
Or if I changed my hair,
Then you might notice,
Maybe then you'd care.

I guess I'm just not enough,
Not enough to be,
The one you'd run to,
The one to hold the key.

I suppose it's useless,
Maybe I need to get a clue,
Sitting here hoping no one will hear me,
As I mutter "I love you."

Carnations for Stephanie

2009-02-06T14:39:00.007-05:00

“Todd?” Todd felt a small tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw it was Lilly, her red pigtails sticking straight out of her head. Lilly sat at Todd’s table when ever Ms. Ogg said it was art time. Todd didn’t like Lilly, she was always teasing him, but that’s only because she liked him.
“Yeah, Lilly?”
“Todd, how come you have two mommies?” In the future, Todd would get this question a lot, at least that’s what Rachael told him. She also told him how to respond.
“Because I’m such a handful, that I need two mommies, and two mommies are better than one.” Rachael’s words echoed in his head as he said them. Lilly tilted her head to the right, her pigtails flopping about as she did so.
“But, what about your daddy?” Todd just stared at her. Not only was she annoying him, but she was confusing him with all of her questions.
“Because,” Todd states matter of factly, “I don’t’ need a daddy, I have Stephanie.”

Todd stared out the window, reminiscing about his preschool days, ten years ago. It was only when a paper ball hit the back of his head that he even realized he was still in math class. The ball had landed next to his foot.
It’s probably from Lilly Todd though. Lilly had gotten over her crush on Todd about three years ago and now she was his best friend. Unfolding the paper, he came to realize, this note was not from Lilly. It had the “F” word on it, the one that rhymed with bag, and a small sick picture below it.
“Alaric.” Todd muttered. Todd has been dealing with Alaric’s taunting since around the time he figured out the relationship between Rachael and Stephanie, which was about fifth grade, and Todd brushed him off each time. Alaric couldn’t get away with much anyway, since all of the teachers looked out for Todd because of his “parental situation”, whatever that was suppose to mean.
Not many people understood Todd’s family, and how could they? They weren’t the ones who grew up holding a rainbow colored sign as they went to protest marches with Stephanie and Rachael. They weren’t the ones who woke up one day only to find that there was the “F” word spray-painted on the right side of their house. No, they had no idea what it was like. Todd took a peek around his shoulder only to see Alaric sticking out his tongue and wiggling it back and forth.
The winter wind bit at Todd’s skin, but not as hard as the word that was being screamed at the back of his head as he walked away from yet another fight.
“Hey I’m talkin’ to ya! Git back her you…” the word stung Todd’s ears more and more each time Alaric roared at him. As Todd hear the thumping of oversized shoes behind him he switched from a slumping walk to a desperate sprint. Todd was smaller, a lot smaller then Alaric, but he was also faster. Ninety percent of the time he was able to out run Alaric and his crew, the other ten percent however, he usually came home telling Rachael he was hit by a car, again, even though he knew she knew he was lying. Today however, was a ninety percent day, as Todd dashed far from their reach. Todd ran passed the identical houses that sat in a perfect line along his street. But Todd knew the people that lived behind those oh so perfect doors and knew they were nothing like their faultless homes. Behind the house with the red door lived the Bews and the father was a drunk. Behind the black door was the Quilms and the mom has depression and had tried to kill herself twice. But behind the green door were the Tulms and they were the kindest people in the entire town. Maria, the wife and mother, always came over and helped Stephanie with the garden and would sometimes paint little childish but fun pictures with Rachael. Joseph, the husband and father, use to come over and watch Todd while Stephanie and Rachael were at work. Since he was a writer and their his daughter was Lilly, he would just bring his laptop over and type away while Todd sat on the rug playing with trains, crashing them into Lilly’s dolls.
As Todd leapt up the front steps and opened the door he figured Rachael and Stephanie weren’t home yet. Rachael works at the town’s Pet Shop and Stephanie works at the Garden Supply so she can get an employer’s discount for soil, seeds, and what not. Stephanie is a very strong and powerful woman, and she has only two things feminine about her, her long blonde braid that runs down her back all the way to her tailbone and her flower garden out front. With all the rain and commonly gray skies, Stephanie’s garden brightens up all of Washington. She even put a little extendable awning over her garden so that the flowers wouldn’t get over watered. There were an assortment of flowers in her garden, pansies, alyssums, and lathyrus, but her favorite was the carnation. Stephanie had every color.
Rachael is a very delicate and dainty woman, so feminine in fact people commonly ask if the garden is hers, but Rachael always claims she doesn’t have enough patience for flowers. Instead, Rachael paints. She paints anything, boats, animals, landscapes, but she never paints people. “There are enough people in this world,” she’d say, “no need to make more of em’”, which was also why she and Stephanie decided to adopt instead of going through the whole sperm donning process. Rachael had always wanted a child but had decided it was her duty to take care of one who was already born and needed parental love and affection.
When Todd is home alone, sometimes he just walks around the house, looking for things he perhaps had overlooked. Sometimes it was a crack in the ceiling or some strange detail in one of Rachael’s paintings he never noticed. Today however it wasn’t and object or any physical thing he noticed, it was instead a feeling, a presence about the house. His house looked and felt… normal. Perhaps it was just Todd’s head that made him think that if someone took one look at him they’d know he was adopted by a homosexual couple, but he always figured people who knew expected his house to somehow be different. That there would be things about it that would make it obvious who lived there, but there wasn’t. There were paintings on the wall, dishes in the cupboard, and rugs on the floor. There was a piano in the corner of the living room with three family pictures resting on the closed top, but not even the pictures changed the feeling that floated about the house, a warm feeling, like the walls formed faces and told you that this house was well lived in.
The ring of the doorbell shook Todd from his trance and he went to go get it. Turning the corner, he could see through the storm door that it was Lilly, and she looked worried.
“Hey,” she muttered, “they didn’t catch you did they?”
“No, they were to slow.” Todd let out a little chuckle as he opened the door and the corners of Lilly’s mouth turned up a little, but only a little.
“I would’ve come to help but you know.”
“Yeah I know.” The last time Lilly tried to help they only pounded him more the next time they saw him and Lilly wasn’t around. Todd didn’t get mad; he knew she was just trying to help, as always.
“What’s wrong?” Todd asked. As always, Lilly cocked her head to the right.
“You mean they haven’t called?” Right then the phone let out a rattling ring.
“What, are you psychic?” Todd joked, trying to brighten the worrisome mood Lilly was emitting.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Todd,” Rachael’s voice quivered at the other end of the phone, “um, Todd Stephanie is in the hospital and I’m here with her.” Todd’s heart stopped.
“W-what?”
“ No, no don’t worry, she’s just getting a CAT scan because she felt uh well, she felt like there was something off about her body and the doctor just wants to take a closer look.”
Todd turned to look at Lilly for some sort of reassurance, but she was starring at the ground, biting her nails.
“Todd? Todd, are you there?”
“Yeah I’m here.” Todd stuttered as he whipped his head back around to stare at the wall.
“We’ll be back by ten tonight so order some pizza for yourself. Alright?” Todd’s throat closed up so he nodded, and then remembered he was on the phone.
“Alright.” He choked.
“Todd please don’t worry everything is alright. We love you.”
“Love you too.” Todd kept the phone next to his ear even after he heard the click of Rachael hanging up. Everything was silent. Lilly shuffled next to Todd, but he didn’t hear her, he was too focused on breathing.
“Do you want me to stay?” Lilly whispered. Todd thought about it for a while, thinking about his words, and then decided to answer.
“How come they called you first?” he asked, giving his emotions more time to decide whether or not he needed to be alone.
“Rachael said that she didn’t know how you would react so she wanted me to be here for you when she told you.” Lilly sighed, as she began to turn around.
“Wait,” Todd quivered as he stretched out his hand to grab her arm, “what kind of pizza do you want?”

Merry Christmas Liam

2009-01-14T14:53:00.004-05:00

December 23

Dear Santa,
I’m still not sure what I want for Christmas. Sometimes I’ll walk through the
Toys R’ Us near my house, but there just isn’t anything I want. I know I’m a seven year old boy and I’m supposed to want Nerf guns and Transformer action figures but I just don’t see how they would make me any happier. Every time I look at them all I see is a plastic glob of stupid. I guess you could just surprise me with something made by your elves. Maybe, maybe it could even have my name in it, you know, so I can prove to my mom that you are real.

Thanks Santa,
Love Liam
Liam folded the paper over and slipped it into the envelope, which he then sealed with a Christmas tree sticker. Shoving his letter into his jacket pocket, Liam tugged on his hat and creaked his bedroom door open. Holding his breath, he peered out the one inch wide crack. Seeing her collapsed on the couch he released his breath. She always gets angry when he goes to deliver his letters to Santa. Liam had tried asking her why Christmas made her so angry, but that only ended in another slap to the head. Tiptoeing down the miniature hallway of the trailer, he played out the map to the post office in his head. Past the trailer park sign, up the street, take a left at the stump, cut through the woods, and take a right.
“Ugghh, fshhh.” Liam froze at the sound of his mother’s drunken groans. As she lifted her head, Liam’s heart beat faster and faster. It took three seconds for her to pull her head up from the almost featherless pillow, but to Liam it felt like two hours. Her hair masked her face so Liam couldn’t see her sunken in eyes, prominent cheek bones, or her fowl spongy skin. She groaned one more time, as Liam prepared himself for the beating to come.
This is it he thought, she said one more letter to Santa and I wouldn’t be around for Christmas. She crooked her head to the right, towards him, then flopped back down. It wasn’t until Liam was outside the trailer and down the steps that he allowed himself to breath. Sprinting away from his “house”, away from her, he followed his mental map all the way to the post office.
A gust of sweet warm air rushed into his lungs as he opened the doors. It smelled like postage glue and paper. This smell was comforting to Liam, for some reason it gave him hope. The post man always smiled at him as he slipped his letters into the box. Liam was convinced this man was Santa. He looked like him and always smelled like peppermint.
“Got another letter for Santa, Liam?”
“Yes sir.” Liam responded, glee filling his throat.
“Good, I’m glad there are kids like you who still believe in him.” They shared a smile with one another for a moment, then Liam turned around and left his haven. He spent his way home wondering if she was still asleep, hoping she hadn’t noticed his absence. As he entered the trailer park, Liam’s thoughts began to scramble.
What if she was serious he thought, what if she’s really going to kill me? How’s she going to do it? Oh God, the kitchen knives! His feet felt like cinder blocks as he climbed the four steps up to the front door. The door slammed open as he placed his left foot on the last step. There she was, standing in a drunken stupor. She stood only at five foot seven, but she loomed like an eight foot viper over Liam.
“Where the hell have you been?” she growled.
“The CVS. I wanted some Sour Patch Kids.” He lied. She began eyeing Liam, inspecting him from his hair to his toes.
“Well,” she sneered, “where are they?” Liam’s jaw shook up and down, searching his mind for words.
“I… ate them.” He stammered. Her face contorted into a disgusted scowl.
“Now how could a small boy like you down all those sour patch kids all by himself.” Her question made no sense to Liam, but it didn’t matter, her questions didn’t have to make sense. In her house, she was always right, even when she was completely hammered.
“Come’ir!” she spat, clenching the front of Liam’s shirt and yanking him inside. She threw him on the floor then smashed the door closed so hard it sounded like thunder.
“I thought I told you NO MORE LETTERS TO SANTA! He doesn’t exist you hear me? HE’S NOT REAL!” her eyes grew to the size of quarters, and spit flung from her mouth as she screamed.
“Santa is too real.” Liam grumbled. She froze and crouched down.
“What,” she hissed, “did you say?” Liam huddled in a ball, pushing his chin into his chest and his face into his knees, preparing himself for the impact of her fist against his back. Her hand flashed out like a hawk’s talon and grabbed his hair.
“Answer me when I ask you something. What did you say!” she screeched as she yanked his head away from cover. She began shaking his head back and forth screaming slurred threats into his ear, bits of spit spattering against the left side of his head. Liam’s thoughts jumped around in his head in a way that was beginning to feel like a pinball in a never ending game. Finally he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was her arm. Her arm, so close to his mouth, his teeth. Liam had an idea and he acted on it. He untangled his arms from his legs, latched his fingers on the limb, stretched his mouth open as wide as it could go, and chomped down. For Liam, this felt like a frame by frame, but in reality it only took about two seconds. He felt the tension on his head leave and saw her tumble back, grasping her arm. Liam stared in disbelief, he actually did it, and he fought back. Then it dawned on him, she’s going to be twice as mad.
“YOU!” she roared, and lunged at him. Liam sprang from the ground and darted to his room. He slammed the door behind him and shoved his dresser in front of the door. He scuttled into his closet, looking for the bag. The bag he had packed and hid, incase he ever had the opening for an escape. It was when he grabbed that bag that he heard the pounding and cursing at the door. He threw the bag onto his back and went for the window. His tiny fearful fingers fumbled with the lever, but finally it opened. Liam shoved it farther up and leapt from the trailer into the pile of leaves that had been sitting out back since November. He shuffled out of the leaf pile and got to his feet. He crept to the side of the trailer and then heard the unforgiving crack of his bedroom door. She had gotten through. He knew she had seen the open window when he heard her gasp then scream a line of profanity. Then he sat there waiting until he heard the front door slam open and the sound of her feet thump down the stairs. Another line of profanities, and the door slammed shut. That’s when Liam made his break. He dashed away from the hellhole like a scared rabbit and followed the map in his head that he knew so well. He was going to the only safe haven he’d ever known. The post office. He remembered the one time the postman gave him a tour and showed him everything inside of the building. There were about three big boxes underneath the counter that created a little gap between the back of the counter and the back of the boxes. A gap big enough to fit a small boy such as himself. All he had to do was wait for the right time. Liam arrived at the post office and peered through the glass door. There was currently no one at the desk. He opened the door and eased it shut. Then, he began tip-toeing towards the desk. Peering over the edge he looked left, then right. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he hopped over and scuttled into his hiding place. The man came back, his timing had been perfect. Liam spent the next three hours sitting quietly drawing in his little sketch book, the postman never even noticing he was there. Liam finished his drawing. It was of a bottle that he associated with is mother, and it lay in pieces. He began flipping through the pages of the worn book with Thomas the Train on it. Liam didn’t even like that cartoon anymore, but it was the only notebook he had. Skimming his multiple drawings of things he had seen or imagined, a smile brightened his face. Grinning from ear to ear he realized something. These drawings were the only thing he had that she couldn’t take them from him. Granted, she could tear them up, but she could never steal his talent or his love of art. Liam ripped out a blank piece of paper and began scribbling another letter to Santa.
Liam awoke to a light pressure on his shoulder. He lifted his head and his eyes fluttered open. What he saw was a large man with round glasses, a white beard, and a plump nose.
“Santa?” Liam mumbled, the haze of sleep hanging in his words.
“No Liam I’m not Santa. I’m Mr. Cleave, the postman. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?” Liam looked at his knees and sighed. He couldn’t tell him he ran away from home to escape his abusive mother. Only Santa knows that.
“Um… I love the post office and I want to stay here forever.” Liam put on his best cute and innocent face and hoped Mr. Cleave would buy it.
“Liam, you’re mother is probably worried sick about you”
No she isn’t! Liam thought.
“Come here.” Mr. Cleave cooed. He slid his hands underneath Liam’s armpits and lifted him out of his hiding place. He leaned over the counter and placed Liam back on the other side of it.
“No Mr. Cleave,” Liam gasped, making one more attempt, “please, I don’t wanna go home please, please, please! I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to die!” Liam’s heart stopped. He didn’t mean to say it, he didn’t want to say it, but he did. Mr. Cleave’s eyes held sympathy and his usually up turned lips slowly faded into a grief filled line.
“Liam there’s something you have to understand about your mother.” Mr. Cleave sighed.
“Eight years ago, a man did something very, very cruel to your mother and she has never forgotten it. A few months later you were born and she is taking her anger against that man and unjustly forcing it upon you, but you have to understand that it’s not your fault that she hurts you. Do you understand me?” Liam didn’t say anything, he didn’t do anything, he just stared at Mr. Cleave.
“Mr. Cleave,” Liam’s voice came out like a kitten’s mew, “how do you know that?” Mr. Cleave sighed and rested his elbows on the plastic counter.
“Because, Liam, the man that hurt your mother,” he sighed one more time, “was my father, and your mother has never forgiven him or me.”
“But,” Liam whimpered, looking up at Mr. Cleave through his long childish eyelashes, “what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, but I was the one who reported my father to the police. Eventually the entire town found out. She says I ruined her reputation.” Mr. Cleave bit his lower lip as he stared blankly at his arms. Liam stared at his toes.
“Mr. Cleave?”
“Yes Liam?” he said, finally lifting his head.
“I have one more letter for Santa.” Liam pulled out the crumpled little letter he had been keeping in his coat pocket. He stretched out his arm and stood on tiptoe to slide it across the counter.
“Can you make sure he gets it?”
“I sure will.” Mr. Cleave smiled. Liam jumped at the sound of the post office door crashing open.
“LIAM!” Liam shuddered at the sound of the unforgiving screech he knew all too well. Next came the predictable pinching of fingernails latching on to his arm.
“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking all over town for you!” Liam squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for a beating, but was saved by the sound of Mr. Cleave clearing his throat.
“What do you want?” she sneered.
“Is this your little boy?” Mr. Cleave asked politely, playing the role of the ignorant postman.
“Mind your own business!” she shrieked, her voice cracking, a side affect of cigarette smoke.
“Come on Liam, we’re going home.” She said, dragging him towards the door. Liam hung limp like a rag, his pants collecting dirt and dust off the floor. Halfway through the door Liam lifted his head, only to see Mr. Cleave mouth, “I’m sorry.”

Liam’s lip throbbed and his entire body still ached from the former day’s beating. His mother’s words still rung in his ears.
“Do you know what they do with your stupid letters? They either burn them or rip them open and read them, laughing at your stupidity!”
It was Christmas morning, but as usual there were no presents underneath the nonexistent tree.
He’ll come next year, he has too. Liam thought. Then, he heard a light tapping on the front door. He crawled off his bed and limped out of his room to answer it. Through the storm door he could see two men dressed in a dark blue.
“Hello.” Liam whispered opening the door. That’s when Liam saw the two badges gleaming in the wintry sunlight.
“Hello young man is your mother home?” Liam nodded his head slowly, terrified of what might come.

“Could you go get her please. We need to talk to her.” Liam began turning around to go get her when he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked over his shoulder and the man on the right was holding a package.
“I believe this is for you. It was sitting on your front steps.” The man handed the box to Liam and he tucked it under his arm. Liam stalked over to the couch where she, as usual, was passed out.
“Mama,” Liam trembled, “there are two men here to see you.” He shook her shoulder lightly. Her head popped up and she let out a snort.
“What two men?” she growled, her dirty blonde hair hanging like a filthy curtain in front of her face.
“I don’t know but they want to talk to you.” He then turned on his heels and scampered to his room. He flung himself onto his bed and stared at the package. There was a little sticker on it that said to Liam from Santa. Liam gasped and began ripping the rough brown paper. A card was resting on top of the box. Liam opened it and began reading.

Dear Liam,
Ho, ho, ho, and merry Christmas! I got your letter just in time and my elves were able to make this just for you. I hope you like it!

Merry Christmas,
Santa
Liam gaped. After all these years Santa finally came through! All his letters finally paid off! Liam placed the card next to his foot and opened the box. Inside, there was a pack of color pencils, a pack of crayons, and a black sketchbook with the letter L I A M painted in gold on the front cover.

Mr. Cleave stood at the top of the hill looking down at the trailer park, hoping he had made the right decision as the police officers questioned Liam’s mother. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. There were flecks of gold paint on his fingers. He let his arms drop to his sides and whispered,
“Merry Christmas Liam, Merry Christmas.”

The Circus

2008-12-05T14:28:00.006-05:00

Come one come all,
To the world's greatest show,
We have freaks,
We have animals,
And a flying trapeze,
Looking at the striped tent,
You'd never know,
That this circus isn't just your average show.

I am the tattooed lady,
Pictures painting my skin,
But this human art is only a mask,
You will never know who I really am,
But look here,
A speck of flesh,
"Is this who you really are?" you ask.

I am the contortionist,
Bending myself any way you please,
"Are you happy yet?" I ask,
Shaking your head I try a new shape,
Until you are finally satisfied,
With this stranger you've created,
You'd never understand.

I am the lion,
My mouth filled with razors,
And my mane is large as can be,
Get too close and I'll release my earth shattering,
ROAR,
Never will you touch this beast,
Never will you steal my pelt,
Try and you die.

I am the elephant,
Carrying others on my back,
Strong and sturdy I may seem,
But people keep piling,
My knees are getting weak,
I can do this no more,
And when I fall,
Everyone else comes too.

I am the trapeze artist,
Graceful and together,
Standing on my platform looming over the crowd,
I take hold of my bar,
And leap,
Foolishly trusting my beloved partner,
Swing forward swing back,
He stretches out his arms,
Ready to catch me before I fall,
I let go of my bar,
Flipping through the air I extend my limbs,
Then everything slows,
As if frame by frame,
My fingers brush his,
Then gradually I watch him,
As he retracts his arms,
I do nothing but stare in disbelief,
When I realize the monster he is,
Time returns to normal,
And I fall,
Crashing to the ground.

Come one come all,
To the world's greatest show,
We have freaks,
We have animals,
And a flying trapeze,
Looking at the striped tent,
You'd never know,
That this circus isn't just your average show.

Short and Not So Sweet

2008-10-24T14:24:00.002-04:00

When you're sitting,
Alone,
In your room,
Singing to,
Yourself,
And playing your,
Guitar,
Try not to write,
A song about,
Me.

Dollface

2008-10-23T19:01:00.002-04:00

Who's that doll,

Sitting in the window,

I don't know,

Do you?

Her face is the same,

As all the others,

Porcelain smooth,

Perfect,

Smiling,

Happy,

A price tag dangling from her arm,

Up goes the facsimile doll,

To her right,

Up goes the left,

Alone in the window,

She sits,

Her fake smile,

Still plastered to her face,

The sign is flipped to,

CLOSED,

As all those living,

Leave,

This night passes,

As does the next,

And the one after that,

And hundreds more,

Alone,

She still sits,

Her painted eyes are chipped,

Her perfect smile has faded,

And one of her cold,

Lifeless fingers,

Has crashed to the floor.

Who's that doll,

Sitting in the window,

I don't know do,

You?

This Is How a Flower Grows

2008-10-22T14:31:00.003-04:00

That night was so perfect,
Just me and you,
But now I'm dead inside,
And you don't even have a,
Clue.

I thought you were the one,
The one to dry my tears,
But all you did was run,
Unwilling to help me fight,
My fears.

You told me I was beautiful,
Said you loved me from the start,
But once I opened up,
You smashed and broke,
My heart.

I no longer know what love is,
All happiness is gone,
I've locked up my heart,
And once again I have,
Withdrawn,

That sad girl has left,
And is now shriveled an dead,
Because this girl does not cry,
Lying in her,
Bed.

You are now a distant memory,
Whose kisses are now forgotten,
You were once the forbiden fruit,
Which now lays soiled,
And rotten.

Tear Drops Like Diamonds

2008-10-17T14:42:00.003-04:00

Let's turn back time,
And take a look,
At what's been done,
Hear the unspoken words,
Of the fearful,
Slash our fingers,
Trying to cradle a rose,
Open our eyes,
And see the invisible,
Get out,
Our needle and thread,
To mend some broken hearts,
Perhaps we'll learn a thing or two,
On what it means,
To be human,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
We can live,
Live life,
Live free,
And shatter the chains that bind us,
To this shallow world,
And see beyond,
What's infront,
Of our lying eyes,
And see the world,
In which we desire,
A world where each tear,
That falls,
Does not crash like glass,
And shake our foundations,
Like thunder.

Yeah,
Let's turn back time,
And take a look at what's been done,
Then turn around,
And live,
For the future,
Your future,
Our future.

The Color of Air

2008-10-15T14:50:00.016-04:00

Chapter One

The walls are a plain white, with a blue trim at the top. Every thing is spotless, even the floors are absolutely clean, so clean my sneakers squeak as I walk down the hallway holding Jadyn’s hand. He thinks Remliel is in a hospital because she’s sick; however he doesn't know just how sick she is, nor what kind of hospital. The only thing he knows is what mom told him, “Today you and Cassiel are going to go visit Remliel at the hospital.” Jadyn doesn’t know that his sister, my twin, is actually in a loony bin because one day angels told her to light a rose bush on fire so she could read their message in the flames. Jadyn doesn’t know Remliel might never get better. Jadyn doesn’t know a lot of thing, and both mom and I want to keep it that way.
We finally arrive at Remliel’s room, and just like the hallway the walls are white with the blue trim. She’s sitting in a chair looking out the window. “Remmie!” yells Jadyn as he runs over to hug her. “Hey you,” whispers Remliel as Jadyn climbs into her lap. “Jadyn, I need you to help me figure something out,” she says, “I’ve been staring at the sky for hours trying to decide, can you help me?” Jadyn shakes his head vigorously. “Ok, what color do you think the sky is today?” Jadyn laughs, “Its blue silly!”
“Yes I know it’s blue, but if it could be any other color, what color do you think that it would be?” Jadyn looks down at his fingers to think. What the hell does she think she’s doing? Is she trying to land him a place in here too? I start to walk over to the window when Jadyn comes up with his answer, “today the sky is green.” He says. “Yeah I think it is too.” Says Remliel, smiling. Green! What does he mean the sky is green?! “Um Remliel do you think I could talk to you in private for a minute?” Remiel looks down at Jadyn and carefully lifts him off of her lap and places him on the floor. “Go look at a few of those magazines for a while okay Jadyn?” I ask as I give him a light nudge in the direction of the table with the magazines on it. I squat down so I’m about eyelevel with Remliel. “Why did you ask him that?” she gives me this confused look, like I was speaking a completely different language. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I pause and take a breath, calming myself, “the sky is blue, okay Remliel? The sky is not green, it’s not pink, it’s just blue.”
“That’s not what Jadyn thinks.”
“Well he had the right answer the first time but you just had to go on and make him think like a crazy person. You know what mom would say.”
She scowls at me. “No, as a matter of fact I do not know what mom would say, and neither do you. Only mom would know what mom would say.”
“That’s not what I meant.” After that we spend about twenty seconds just staring at each other. She speaks first, “There was no right answer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said that when Jadyn said the sky was blue that he had the right answer, but you were wrong. There was no right answer.” Then she’s done, she looks out the window again and doesn’t say anything else, and she’s done. She stares out the window while I just stare at her face, my face. The only way you could ever tell the difference between us is that her left eye is a crystal clear blue, the same as my eyes, but her right eye is brown. Heterochromia, I suppose would be the proper term to explain why her eyes are the way they are. Other than her eyes, she’s an exact replica of me, maybe the other way around. I finally stop staring at her and turn around to look at Jadyn, flipping through an “In Touch” magazine, probably not understanding a word in it, but just looking at all the famous people. I turn back to Remliel, “Alright, see you next week.” I get up and walk over to Jadyn, “it’s time to go home.” He doesn’t argue just quietly stands up and slips his hand in mine. We start moving towards the door. We’ve almost left the room when I turn around and take one more look at Remliel, “Get better soon.” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage to get out. I start shutting the door when I hear her say, “I don’t need to.”
That was last Thursday, and today is Wednesday. That visit has been replaying in my mind ever since. Every word spoken, every movement made, every thought I had, has been playing over and over again in my head for about four days now kind of like a movie clip. But, I won’t see Remliel again until Saturday; the day mom has the day off. She had decided that all of us, her, me, and Jadyn, should go see Remliel, together. I’ve been thinking about Saturday all day through English, Math, History, every class I had today my mind had been doing nothing but thinking of how that day will go. I still haven’t come up with anything. The rest of my day, however, will be Remliel free. It will just be me and Caleb, Caleb and me. I pull into his driveway, his car’s there; his father’s is not. I walk right up the steps and let myself in, he’s expecting me, and to be honest, I spend more time at his house than his own dad does. I glacially make my way down the hall towards his room, looking at the walls, the ceiling, and the absence of family photos that most homes have hanging on the wall. I’ve seen this hallway and its contents more than a dozen times, but each time is different. I finally get to his room and creak open the door, “Caleb?” I whisper. I open the door a little more; just enough so I can get through, then quietly shut it. The room smells. It smells dirty; it smells like stupidity, it smells like a million secrets, but most of all it smell like weed. I walk over to his bed, and watch his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. I pull back the sheets and climb in so that my back is against his chest. This wakes him up. “Hey Cass.” he croaks yep definitely been smoking weed. “You promised.” I say sadly. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer “What are you talking about?”
“You promised me you wouldn’t smoke anymore, you promised me.” I hear him sigh after my words sink in. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t,” he sighs again, “it’s harder than you think it is.”
“Are you at least trying?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s all I’ll ask for.” The conversation stops there, and we just focus on being with each other. Then he puts his mouth near my ear, “I love you.” He breathes.
“I love you too.” I say.
“Forever?”
“Forever.” I turn my head and kiss him, and he kisses back. Then I turn around so I’m facing him and rest my hand on his arm. I let my hand feather up and down his bicep, while my eyes explore his face. I stare at his soft lips, his slightly crooked but still cute nose, and then I run my fingers through his ashy blonde hair. Then I lock my eyes on his, and just sink deeper and deeper into the emerald abyss. He breaks the silence with a low laugh. “What’s so funny?” I ask. He smiles at me and traces the edge of my ear with his finger, “you’re just so cute when you’re thinking.” I’m about to say something when he silences me with a kiss. He glides his lips over my cheek to my eye, to the other eye, my temple, to my ear. I end up forgetting what I was going to say. “Hey Cass.” Whispers Caleb. “Yeah?” I answer.
“Your name… Cassiel, what does it mean?” I smile and prop myself up on my elbow. “Cassiel is the angel of temperance.” I say. Caleb begins biting his lip, he’s thinking. After a short pause he finally asks, “What about your sister, Remliel, what does her name mean.” I groan and flop onto my back. “What? Did I do something wrong.” He asks. “No,” I sigh, “it’s just; I was hoping to keep her out of my mind for a while. My last visit with her, it was odd.” I turn my head to look at him, “Remliel is the angle of awakening, and Jadyn means God has heard.” He cocks his head and smiles, I smile back, “just figured you sere going in that general direction.”
“I was.” He laughs. He begins tracing the swirling pattern on my shirt with his finger. “So, is your mom really religious?”
“No, she just believes that children are god’s gift to the world. She said that the minute me and,” I pause, not wanting to say the name I’ve been trying to avoid.
“Remliel.” He says for me. “Yeah,” is say, “Anyway she said she just knew that we were both angles sent to her wearing the form of mortals.” After that I just look at the ceiling, exploring every crack and bump. Then I realize that Caleb is starring at me. “What?” I ask. He smiles, “Nothing, just thinking of how right your mom is, you know, about how you and your sister were and still are angels.” He keeps looking at me. “There’s something else you want to ask isn’t there?” I ask.
He laughs and nods, “I was thinking about your brother’s name, too, about how it means god has heard. Why didn’t she name him after an angel?”
“Well my mom and,” I take in a deep breath, preparing myself for “the word”, “my dad,” I let out the breath, “had been trying to have another baby for a while, but when my mom began to pray every night, she finally got pregnant. So, I guess the way she saw it, god had heard.” I turn my head to look at him and he’s still smiling. “Are you going to be asking me anymore questions or can I finally relax?” I ask.
“Don’t worry I won’t ask any more questions,” he wraps his arms around me and whispers, “my angel.”

Chapter Two

The drive home felt lonely and quiet, even with the radio blaring. I pull into the driveway, put the car in park, turn off the engine, and sit. Just sit and look at my house. I scan my eyes over the off white paneling, the small metal chimney, the screen door, and the tightly drawn curtains. The one level house looks even smaller sitting behind the giant oak tree in the front yard. For some reason, I don’t know why, the fact that that tree has been there longer than I have been alive is somewhat comforting. I run my eyes over the two rose bushes that are lined up against the base of the house. Then I look at the spot where the third rose bush use to be. I open the door to get out when I notice a dog sitting right in front of me. Just sitting there, starring, at me; almost as if he was waiting for me. We stare at each for about a minute or so when he gets up and walks away. Whatever. I slam the car door shut, and walk up the little pathway to the front door. Mom’s standing at the stove, probably cooking something for dinner. “Hey mom.”
“Hi sweetheart.”
“What are you making?”
“Spaghetti.” I begin walking to my room when she asks me to sit down at the table.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask.
“No, no, I just want to talk.”
“About what?”
“You were just with Caleb weren’t you?” I can see where this is going so I decide to beat her to the punch. “Yes, and mom, there is nothing to worry about. We haven’t done anything, well you know, what you think.” She stares at me, determining whether or not I was lying. She decides I was being truthful. “Alright, I was just making sure, but if you ever want to talk about those types of things well,” she pauses, and takes a deep breath to gather her thoughts, “you can always talk to me alright?” I nod. I get up and start heading back to my room before she can give me anymore of “the talk”. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” She yells. I give a thumbs up as a sign of my acknowledgment. I know what you’re thinking, but I was actually telling the truth. Caleb and I have done nothing that would be considered “inappropriate”. Knowing my mom worried about me kind of made me feel good made me feel wanted. I open the door to my room then close it shut behind me. Then I lock it, but I don’t know why. Like everything else in my life, my room feels different each time I enter it, but I like that about it. How it’s familiar, but not. How there are still corners I have not searched or a crack in the ceiling I never noticed until now. Yeah, I like that about it. It’s small, but it’s still my room all the same. There’s a desk, a dresser, a bookshelf, a stereo, and a bed. My favorite thing out of everything has got to be my bed frame. It’s an old iron bed frame that I found in a dump that I cleaned and polished, and I absolutely love it. It has a story, one that can’t be told, but a story nonetheless. I put in my favorite CD, press play, and collapse onto my bed, letting the slow hum of “Heart Shaped Box” envelope my mind. I try to focus on the music but I can’t help thinking about the dog. An Australian Shepard I think it was. It had a beautiful coat; a few patches of what looked like blue here and there, some white, and some brown. But it’s eyes; it’s eyes were what really had me. It’s left eye was a beautiful blue and the right eye was brown. Kind of like…” I sit up so fast I get dizzy no, I will not think about her. It helps. Then I hear my mom yell that dinner’s ready.
Dinner was a blur, and there wasn’t much talking. I rushed through my spaghetti, washed my dish, and then went to grab my coat and my shoes. “Where are you going?” asked my mom. “Oh, I just want to go for a walk. You know, get some air.” I say as I slip on my sneakers. “Alright, be home before seven.” She says.
“K.” I say, opening the door. The air was cold, bitter, and I loved it. So, the truth is, I didn’t want to go for a walk just to get some air. My real task, as ridiculous as it is, was to find the dog. I don’t know why but the first time I saw him, I got this feeling, like it had something to tell me. God I’m starting to sound like Remliel and her burning bush. But this is different; I’m not going to set anything on fire. As I walk I look at all the houses lined up on our street. They all look the same; small with faded colored paneling, but when you look closer you can see all the little details that separate one from the other. I stop in front of two houses and look at each one. One has a hint of mint green paneling while the other has faded yellow paneling. One has a fir tree on the lawn while the other has only grass, dead grass. Then I stop thinking about the houses and consider the people in them, how each of them is different. We’re all the same, yet different. Each one special in their own way. God that was corny. I turn away from the houses, and then step back. Sitting, right in front of me, was the dog. He was sitting there just looking at me, with those eyes. I look at his neck, no collar. I squat down so I’m almost at eye level with him. He doesn’t seem sick or vicious. As a matter of fact, he looked completely healthy, other than being a little underweight. I hold out my hand, and he stares at it. Then he gets up, ever so slowly, and starts walking forward. He stretches his neck, so his nose is almost touching my hand, when I hear a screen door slam open.
“Marley you damn dog get your ass in here!” I turn my head towards the yellowish house and there’s a man standing in the doorway. He has a beer stained, white tank top on, wearing only a pair of pin striped boxers for pants, and has a bottle of beer in his left hand. The dog looks at the man then looks at me. I don’t know if dogs can cry, but if they could, this dog would have been sobbing. “MARLEY!” yells the man again. The dog, Marley, turns toward the house and begins walking. When he gets up the steps and is halfway through the doorway, he looks at me again. “Please,” his eyes are saying, “please help.” Then the man kicks him, with drunken force, into the house. Marley doesn’t make a sound. The man walks, more like hobbles, inside and slams the screen door behind him. I stand up, and begin walking home, crying. Crying because Marley couldn’t.

Chapter Three

I open my eyes and all I see is white. Nothing but emptiness, just white nothing. I turn around and Marley is sitting in front of me. He has the same expression he had earlier, when his “owner” had been yelling at him. “Help me.” Says a voice, a girl’s voice. The voice had come from Marley. Then a single, silver, tear begins to roll down his face. It creeps along to his chin then falls to the ground. A wave of energy explodes from where the tear landed and everything that was white s now shiny, metallic silver. Marley begins to shake then collapses. I drop to my knees, but before I can even blink, Marley is gone. Instead, Remliel is curled up in a ball wearing her hospital gown, and shaking. When I place my hand on her shoulder she disappears into smoke. My eyes fly open and I rocket up into a sitting position. My face and hair are damp from sweat. I look at the clock. Five forty-five, five hours until mom, Jadyn, and I leave to visit Remliel. I fall back and stare at the ceiling. I suddenly realize I’m incredibly thirsty. I throw the sheets off and creep to my door. I crack open the door and poke my head out. No one else is up, and I want to keep it that way. I close the door behind me and tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen. I open the cupboard to find only one glass left. I look down to find the other glasses, along with the majority of our dishes, piled in the sink. I fill my glass with ice-cold water and chug it down. I wash it out, dry it, and then neatly place it back in the cupboard. I look down again at the other dishes in the sink. Well, I don’t plan on going back to sleep so I might as well. I begin my routine out rinsing, pouring in soap, rinsing again, then drying. Spaghetti, macaroni, and cereal coated dishes are soon spotless and dried to perfection. As I’m placing the last bowl on the shelf I look around at the rest of the kitchen. There’s a stain on the stove from when a drop of pancake batter didn’t make it all the way to the pan, the fridge is coated in a thin layer of dust, and there’s a spot on the counter from who knows what. I open the doors to the cupboard under the sink and begin pulling out every cleaning appliance and product we own from Windex and Scrubbing Bubbles to Pledge and Lysol. Every spot and stain visible to the naked eye is soon scrubbed away with a squirt of cleaner and the scrub of a sponge. About a half hour later the kitchen is shining and perfect. As I put away the last can of cleaner I catch a glimpse of the living room; there are books everywhere but the bookcase and the couch cushions are eschew. I begin working on the living room, straightening everything that is the slightest bit crooked. As I put the last book on the shelf I hear footsteps behind me. “After all this do you think you’d be motivated enough to do the bathroom too?” I hear my mom ask. “Maybe, after I take a shower.” I say, turning around to find my mom gliding her hand over the previously stained counter top. She continues towards the sink, skimming one hand over every surface, and opening the cabinet. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kitchen, this house, so clean.”
“Yeah how long do you think it will last?”
“I don’t know,” she says letting out a small chuckle, “maybe a week, two weeks tops.” We laugh together. Her smile slowly fades as she processes the unspoken reason behind my cleaning frenzy. “I didn’t realize how anxious these visits make you.”
I give her a confused look, pretending like she hasn’t figured it out.
“Ever since you were four, when you’d get nervous you would push around the mop in an attempt to clean. The last time you went on a cleaning spree was five years ago, when…” she leaves it at that. She’s always avoided talking about him as much as she can. She can’t even say his name. I begin moving towards the bathroom, when I stop to ask one final question. “What time is it?”
“Seven fifty two.” She whispers. Only three more hours left.
The trees create a green blur as we speed down the highway to Saint Jewels Clinic for the Mentally Unstable. Though most people just call it Saint Jewels. The glass is cold against my forehead, rocking every so often as the car slows down or speeds up. We take Exit 67 and pull onto Mulberry Boulevard. It’s a horrible name, but I guess that’s why Saint Jewels Mental Clinic was built on it. A horrible place on a horrible street. My mom pulls into a parking spot, not like it was that hard to find one, the lot is completely empty asides from a few employee cars. Why would anyone want to work here? We open the doors to the clinic and begin walking down the all too familiar hallways. Same white wall, same polished floors, same blue trim. We get to Remliel’s room, room 106. As I walk in I notice a suitcase on the bed, the linens striped and folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and Remliel looking out the window wearing a pair of jeans and a navy blue and white striped shirt. I turn to my mom, “What’s going on?” She bows her head and sighs, then lifts her head. “There’s a reason I wanted us all here today.” She says. “Today Remliel is coming home.” Jadyn’s eyes widen and then he lets out a high-pitched squeal, and then runs over to hug Remliel. I grab my mom’s arm and mouth “talk, now.” We walk outside into the hallway and I turn my mom so she’s looking right into my eyes. “Remliel isn’t coming home because she’s better.” It wasn’t a question it was a statement. “No, she is not.” My mom sighs. “We can’t pay the bills in order for her to stay here. I guess a nurse’s pay can only get us so far” She says, raising her head to look me in the eyes. Her eyes are sad, and tired. “If she can’t stay here how is she supposed to get better? I mean is she going to go to school?” I ask. Mom walks over to the opposite wall and rests her hand on it. “I don’t know how she’s suppose to get better, and no, she will not be attending school.” She drops her hand and stares at the wall. “Our neighbor, Mrs.Wilxon, use to be a school teacher. She has volunteered to teach Remliel, for free.” Mrs.Wilxon is a widow. Her husband died about three years ago from a stroke, so I guess teaching a crazy person all day might help her feel less alone. “Well then,” I say, “I guess it’s a good thing I tidied up a bit.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “I guess it is.”
We walk back into the room. Remliel is sitting in a chair with Jadyn on her lap. Jadyn is holding a stuffed rabbit, the same one that Remliel has had since she was two. “You know what else he told me?” whispers Remiel. “What?” Jadyn asks with wide eyes filled with curiosity. Who is she talking about? Who told her what? “He told me that one day he’ll teach me how to fly.” Remliel says, smiling wildly.
“Really? Can he teach me too? I want to fly.” Squeals Jadyn. “Umm, Remliel, who is going to teach you to fly?” I interrupt before this crazy fest goes on any longer. Jadyn holds up the rabbit “Tally is!” he shouts. My mom clears her throat to prevent two things from happening. One to prevent me from exploding with Jadyn in the room and to end the “flying lesson” conversation. “Let’s load your things into the car now okay Rem?” my mom says, with extraordinary calmness. Remliel nods and lifts Jadyn off her lap. Mom grabs Remliel’s suitcase, I take Jadyn’s hand, and we exit room 106.

Chapter Four

I can’t believe my mom. She cleaned out the studio behind my back, behind Jadyn’s back, behind my dad’s back. Before he died my dad was an artist. When he bought the house he designated one, specific, room to be his art studio, and she cleaned it out! I didn’t’ even know she had the guts to open the door, let alone touch the contents of the room. It had gone from being a beautiful studio, with an easel, boxes of paints, and walls lined with paintings to having a mattress, and even a desk and bookshelf! Before she was sent to the clinic Remliel and I shared a room, and to be honest, sometimes she scared me so bad I slept on the couch. Once the whole rose bush fiasco occurred mom packed up here things and signed her into Saint Jewels and placed the rest of her things into storage, which are now, out of storage and in dad’s studio. Once mom helped Remliel unpack her things I pulled her aside, yet again, for an explanation. “Where are his paintings?” I ask with pure anger filling my words. “Don’t worry Cassie, I would never get rid of his paintings,” she sighs, “they’re in my room in my closet.” My face hardens with every word she speaks, then I let it soften. I realize I must try to understand this mess we’re in is far harder on her than it is on me. “I’m sorry.” I whisper. My mom embraces me in a hug, “it’s okay.” She sings, “it’s okay.” I keep my head down so she doesn’t see my tears. “Can, can I…” I stutter, “Can I have them? His paintings?” mom nods. “They’re in the back of the closet.” She breathes. I turn away and begin walking towards mom’s room. I open the door and quietly shut it. Then, I run to the closet, rip open the door, and dig my way to the back. I finally find them and yank each and every one out and hold them tightly to my chest, tears streaming down my face. Five minutes later I calm down and ease the paintings away from my embrace. I lay them neatly on the ground and look at each one. There are seven in total, the seven he never sold. Four of them are abstract paintings, filled with swirling colors of how he felt that day, but the other three are truly beautiful. One of the paintings is of a beautiful woman standing in a field of flowers with her arms stretched out and fingers spread wide. The woman looks like mom. Another painting is of the old abandoned train station about a mile away. The last one isn’t as clear, but it’s my favorite. It’s of two young girls stand on a hill overlooking valleys, flowers, mountains, and they are holding hands. The confusing part though is that one girl normal, opaque, but the other, the other is translucent. You can see right through her but it’s foggy almost like she’s a ghost. I gather up the paintings and cradle them in my arms, remembering the amazing artist who created them and how unfair it was that such an understanding person could do such a thing. To do the unthinkable to themselves. I stand up, huddling over his paintings, and trudge to my room. I lay out the paintings on my bed, go over to be dresser, pull out a hammer and three nails, and begin skewering the walls. After about a minute of my pounding my mom opens the door and pokes her head in. She looks at me, at the hammer, then at the paintings. “They deserve to be hung up.” She says. I nod, and she closes the door . I first hang up the painting of the train station, then woman in the field, then the two girls, saving the best for last. I turn around and scan my eyes over them. Suddenly, a wave of anger, confusion, and immense despair washes over me. I crumble to the ground and pull my legs against my chest, sobbing. Gradually, I regain control, and I remember my dream, remember the silver tear, remember… Marley. I need Marley. I need to find him.

What are you doing at the old train station?” Caleb asks, his voice cracking from bad reception. “Just get over here, there’s someone I want you to meet.” There’s a long vacant pause at the end of the phone. “Caleb, he’s a dog.”
“Oh, alright. Wait, you want me to meet a dog?”
“Yes, now stop asking questions and haul your butt over here!”
“Fine.” He laughs, then hangs up. I slide my chin over the over the edge of the receiver and ease my phone shut. Marley turns his head to look at me when I begin stroking his glossy coat. I slide my hand down to his shoulder, along his arm, to cradle his injured paw. I don’t know what or how he did it, but somehow, that horrible man had done something to Marley’s paw, causing the poor thing to limp. Marley begins to whimper the closer my hand got to his paw. I guess he thought I was going to hurt him. “I’ll never hurt you,” I coo, “I’ll keep you safe as best I can.” He looks up at me, his sad eyes glistening, and rests his head on my thigh. Gently, I begin massaging his paw with my thumb, making tiny circular motions. He closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep, and I think. I think of how unfair it is that such a wonderful being is treated so poorly every day, I think of how desperately I want Marley to be my dog to love and cherish, and I think if the drunken man even knows or cares that Marley is somewhere out of reach, or if the only thing he cares about is his precious bottle of Budweiser. I become lost in my thoughts and time races by, when the roar of Caleb’s truck shakes me from my mental slumber. Marley raises his head and a low growl rumbles deep inside his throat. “Shh, it’s alright.” I coax, skimming my fingers down is back. Caleb climbs out of the big black Jeep and strolls over. “This the dog?” he asks. I raise my eyebrow. “Of course, sorry dumb question.” He says shaking his head and rubbing his eyebrow. I smile, take his hand, and place it on Marley’s head. Caleb softly strokes Marley. Caleb's eyelids are heavy, and he’s unsteady standing on the train tracks. “Tired?” I ask. He doesn’t look up, just keeps stroking. His mind is foggy with smoke. That sickly, foul, sweet smoke “Yes.” He stutters, his voice a perfect example of monotone. I uncross my legs and dangle them over the edge of the platform. “Caleb…” I whisper.
“Don’t.” he interrupts, anger and stress filling his voice, a tone I’ve never heard from him. He finally looks me in the eye. I take in a sharp breath. His eyelids have a red rim around the edges and his eyes are enflamed. They begin to tear and he turns away.
“Look Cassie, it’s not easy okay? It’s not, especially when it’s right in front of you all the time, and when your father.” He stops mid sentence when I recoil from his last word. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Cassie I understand it’s hard, but it’s been five years,” he lifts my chin then cradles my hands, “I just think it’s time you let go.” I drop my chin and let my hair fall like a curtain in front of my face. Marley emits a faint whimper and strokes my arm with his paw. “I suppose,” sigh, “we both have daddy issues we need to sort out.”
“Yeah, I guess we do.” He lays his hand on my knee and pushes my hair away. I look up, and receive a kiss. Fierce but feathery. Caleb pulls away. “C’mon, I’ll walk you and Marley home.”

Chapter Five

When Caleb and I got to my house my mom’s car was gone. “She’s probably at the hospital.” I say when Caleb looks at me. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Alright.” He kisses me lightly then leans down and places his lips next to my ear, “I’m gonna try harder. Alright?” I nod and he walks off. The house is completely silent when I walk in. I grab a box of Cheez-its and trudge off to my room. I slam the door shut and flop down on my bed. I hear the muffled sound of two female voices coming from the other side of the wall. I place my ear against the wall and the voices become less obscured. “But why does the answer have to be two? Why can’t it be four or three?” Remliel asks the mystery person. “Well… I suppose because that’s just the way it’s suppose to be when you do the equation correctly. That’s what was decided.” I find that the “mystery person” was Mrs.Wilxon, Remliel’s new teacher.
“But who decided on what is right and what is wrong?”
“Old grumpy men, that’s who. Old men who wanted to cage imaginative minds like yours.” There’s a long pregnant pause.
“Then why do we have to listen to what they say?” Remliel asks. God, she’s acting like a two year old.
“Because,” Mrs.Wilxon sighs, “doing what those old grumpy men tell us to do is the only way we can be accepted into society and even them some of us are rejected.” The pause that occupies the next thirty seconds is the kind of pause where even if you’re just listening you can tell they’re staring at each other.
“I don’t want to be accepted by society.” “Remliel mutters.
“And that, dear child, is why I admire you. Now back to the schoolwork at hand.” I remove my ear from the wall and once again the two of them are just muffled noises. Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I’m enveloped in my own thoughts. Swimming in my memories a slideshow of my life, with Remliel as my sister, is played out on the back of my eyelids. The pictures begin to slow down, until eventually they’re moving at a glacial pace. The slideshow ends and my eyelids glide open to reveal the ceiling. The plain, white, cracked ceiling. I’ve never understood Remliel, no one has, but I think she’s finally found the one person who does. The more I think about it, the more I wish I could be the one who understood her, that maybe I can be more like her sister, instead of acting like a disapproving mother. I hear Remliel’s bedroom door open, a faint goodbye, and then the door closes shut. I look at the clock. It’s 3:30, Remliel’s tutoring session must be over. I tumble off my bed and stride over to my bookshelf. Skimming the rows of novels, I make an attempt to recollect all the books mom had sent Remliel while she was in the hospital, I decide to select two of my favorites. The Hunch Back of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo and The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. Coddling the two books, I make my way towards Remliel’s chamber. The floor boards creak and wail beneath my feet. I raise my fist against the door, but before I can even knock, I hear a faint “Come in.” I grasp the cold brass knob and begin to turn. Creaking the door open, I poke my head in and see Remliel sitting in a chair and looking out the window. . “Hey,” I murmur, “how was your study session.”
“It went well thank you.” She states, not even turning around to look at me. I stalk over to the window and find she’s watching a rabbit munching on a bit of grass.
“Beautiful isn’t he.” Remliel coos. As I eye the rabbit I take note of the missing patches of fur, fringed ear, and cockeye. To be honest, he just may be the ugliest damn rabbit I’ve ever seen.
“I suppose.” I mutter. Remliel wraps her arms around her waist and scrunches her fingers, pulling at the cotton fabric. Tilting her head down towards the paint stained carpet she whispers, “That’s not what I meant.” I’ve come to notice that Remliel never seems to mean what she says. Either that, or everyone else doesn’t understand the meaning behind the words she speaks. “I have something for you.” I say, startling myself. I reveal the two classics I had hidden behind my back. “I figured, if you want to, you might be interested in reading these.” I stretch my arm out in front of her, hover the books in front of her crossed arms. Slowly, she untangles her fingers from her shirt, and accepts the novels. “Thank you,” she breathes, “I have a story for you as well.” She turns and places the books on her metallic desk. Unlatching a trunk, she begins to rummage around, exploring every corner and crevice to find what she desired. “Here.” She gasps excitedly, lifting her torso and head from the trunk. In her right hand she has a red leather bound journal. “I found this in under my mattress in my room at Saint Jewels. It’s not a published book or anything but I think someone who had been in the room before be had written it,” she trots over to me and shoves the journal into my unexpecting arms, “I read it myself. It’s a really good story.” I gaze at the leather bound journal, skimming my fingers over the cover. “What’s it’s title?” I question.
“It doesn’t have one, but I call it Something Like Nothing.”
“Something like nothing.” I murmur under my breath. I look up and find that Remliel is staring at me. “What?” I ask.
“You know, you and I are more alike than everyone thinks.”
“Well, of course we’re somewhat alike, we’re twins.” Remliel squints her eyes tilts her head to the right.
“That’s not what I meant.” She says. I smile and begin heading towards the door.
“Seeya.” I say.
“Goodbye.”

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