#deadtired03

My Darling, what are you doing?

Please tell me my eyes deceive me

My Darling, your act is immoral

Please tell me this isn’t you

My Darling, what have you done?

Have you no mercy? No soul? No heart?

My Darling, don’t look at me in such a way

Have you no shame? No regret? No guilt?

My Darling, how shall you proceed?

From this heinous crime of yours

My Darling, they’ll take you away

Because of this heinous crime of yours

My Darling, I shall stay

By your side, I support you

My Darling, it’ll be okay

By your side, I’ll protect you

By DeadTired03

I made a new friend, and he loves me very much. When school started and I officially became a second grader, things weren’t as easy as I’d hoped. The bad luck happened immediately, when I tripped and fell in front of everyone. I thought that someone would help me up, but they all just laughed. It was hard not to cry, but I managed to keep positive thoughts. When I got to class, I was greeted by a short, plump woman with long, curly red hair and green eyes. She had a gap in her teeth and lots of freckles; she was very pretty. I assumed she was the teacher and tried to find a seat. I found out her name was Mrs. Abigail.

The first few minutes of class were okay, but that ended when Mrs. Abigail told the class to partner up. Almost immediately, everyone ran to another person and quickly found a partner. I’d looked around nervously, not sure who to go to or if I should wait for someone. When no one moved, I tried walking to another girl without a partner. The girl, with her blond pigtails and blue eyes, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence when I walked up. It wasn’t until I meekly asked to be her partner did she finally look at me. She wrinkled her nose and furrowed her eyebrows in disgust, “Uh, no.” she said. With tears in my eyes I quietly walked back to my seat to do the assignment alone.

All day, kids would either ignore me or insult me. I couldn’t understand what I did wrong; did they think I’m ugly? Eventually, I stopped trying to talk to the other kids and instead tried to talk to Mrs. Abigail. Mrs. Abigail was very nice and said she felt sorry for the way the other kids treated me. We talked for the rest of recess, and whenever I’d get free time I’d go to Mrs. Abigail. For a week, I thought I had a friend, even if she was a teacher, but then she changed. She was still very nice, but it suddenly felt wrong. One day, during recess, she told me she wanted to show me something inside the school. When I asked what it was, she said it was a surprise and quietly led me into an empty classroom. After that, I didn’t talk to Mrs. Abigail again.

School was miserable, but home was worse. Mommy and daddy’s fighting had worsened ever since my baby sister was born, one month ago. She was very cute and tiny, but my parents hadn’t wanted her. She’d been a mistake, they told me. I loved my sister, but she was very annoying. All she ever did was cry, which gave me headaches, or sleep. Mommy and daddy always fought, and when they wouldn’t, they’d avoid each other. I think they hated each other.

I think they hated me, too, though. They’d never talk to me, and when they would they’d always be mad. I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong; I always tried to be a good girl and do everything they’d ask, but they were always angry. I prefer when they’d ignore me, because the yelling makes me feel worse. Sometimes, when she was especially angry, my mommy would hit me. When that happened, I’d hide under my bed and cry until I fell asleep. I hated making them angry, but I didn’t know how to make them happy, instead.

I was sad for a while, and I was worried that nothing would get better. But then, I met him. I’d been trying to sleep, but it was difficult to block out all the yelling coming from my parents. When I finally began to drift off, a heard a small tap at my window. The sound was so quiet I thought I’d imagined it, but then it happened again. When I ignored it, too scared to turn around, the tap sounded again. Again and again and again the tapping sound came, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer. When I turned to my other side, I was too scared to move.

There, behind my window and sitting on the branch of the tree just outside it, was some sort of creature. The creature was completely hairless with pale white skin. It was very skinny, with its ribs and spine protruding from the skin, and it’s arms were longer than my whole body. The worst was its face; two very small eyes peered back at me, completely white and bloodshot, and an unnaturally large smile stretched its cheeks. It’s teeth, which looked human-like, were incredibly large and looked like they’d crush my whole head in one bite. Lastly, It had nothing for a nose except for two holes above Its mouth.

I was so scared, I couldn’t move. What if It wanted to eat me? It sat, behind my window, in a hunched position as It stared at me, unblinking. I wanted to call for my mommy and daddy, but I was afraid I’d startle the creature. Then, after what seemed like hours, the creature’s long arm lifted to tap on the window. Did It want in? Again, It tapped on the window and, without my permission, my body began to move on its own. When I reached the window, I noticed the creature’s smile became impossibly wider. I didn’t want to, but it was as if I had no control over my arms as they lifted the window. Quickly stepping back, I watched as the creature crawled in to sit on the window sill.

We’d stared at one another for a few minutes, neither of us moving. Then, to my horror, the creature tipped Its head to the side in a curious manner. Its small, blank eyes blinked three times and, without opening Its mouth, It spoke, “Hello, there,” It said, “What is your name?” Its voice was high, not like a child, yet very low. It sounded croaky, like it was struggling to come out, and it rattled unsteadily. The sound alone would make anyone afraid, even adults.

My legs shaking and my hands sweaty, I struggled to respond, “My name is Ava . . .” Somehow, without Its face changing, I could tell It became happier at my response. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Ava . . .” It said, pausing after saying my name, “my name is Smile.” I blinked, not expecting that name; it sounded friendly enough. “Did you need something, Mr. Smile?” I asked, trying to be polite, like my mommy told me. For a second, Smile didn’t move, and then, “Why, yes, actually. You see, Ava, I am in desperate need of a friend. Would you like to be my friend?” he asked, and I was suddenly very excited. “You really want to be my friend?” I asked. “Well of course, my dear. You’d make an excellent friend.” he said, barely finishing speaking before I nodded in agreement.

For the next four weeks, Smile would appear at my window, every night. Every night, we’d talk until I could no longer stay awake. Smile was very nice; he never judged me, always listened to what I was saying, and never insulted me. Though he was scary at first, Smile quickly became the only person I’d want to see. The thought of talking to my best friend was the only thing that got me through the day, happily anticipating each night. That is, until Smile asked a certain question.

It started like any other night. Smile showed up at my window and I let him in, a big smile on my face. We began talking, as usual, when all of a sudden my parents began to shout. Normally, my parents would have already been asleep, which means that was the first time Smile had heard them fight. I tried to ignore the arguing, but Smile interrupted my speaking with a large hand, “Are those your parents, dear Ava?” I swallowed harshly, wanting to avoid a conversation about my parents, “Yeah, they always fight . . .” I admit. Smile stares at me for a few seconds, “Why is that? Are they unhappy?” he asks. I shrugged, hesitating before I began to tell him about everything. I told him about school, my failing grades, the mean kids, Mrs. Abigail, my sister, and my parents. He left without a word, and I cried myself to sleep.

The next day, I awoke feeling more exhausted than usual. I guess I burnt myself out by crying so much. I’m not sure why Smile left without saying goodbye, but I hope he doesn’t hate me. I don’t want to go to school, I’m too tired and I don’t think I can put up with anything. Nevertheless, if I don’t get ready for school, my daddy will be very angry with me. With a lot of struggle, I pull myself from my warm blanket and make my way out of my room. However, as I walk down the hallway of my house, notice something very strange.

When I was just a kid

I’d refuse to fall asleep

In fear of the Monster

Hiding under my bed

I’d feel the grip of panic

Paralyzing my body still

Unwilling to move in fear

Of the Monster under my bed

I could hear the scrape of claws

And the whispers of Her laughter

Evil and horrible sounds, coming

From the Monster under my bed

She arrived with the darkness of night

And with Her came the feeling of dread

That I’d be dead when morning comes,

By the hands of the Monster under my bed

But as I grew older, I came to love and miss Her

Because it was then that I finally realized

That the Monster hiding under my bed

Was nothing compared to the one in my head

By DeadTired03

I live in a small neighborhood known as Spring Creeks. I know most of my neighbors, but I’m not very close to them and we barely talk. There is, however, one neighbor I’m very fond of. The house to the right of mine houses a sweet old lady by the name of Ms. Edith. Ms. Edith is seventy-three years old and lives on her own after her husband, Mr. Richard, passed away five years ago. She’s a very kind old woman that everyone in the neighborhood is friends with; she’s often called on to babysit when neighborhood parents leave their children. She’s known to be very gentle and soft spoken, able to calm down the angriest person.

Though she barely leaves her house, she’s made quite the reputation in our little neighborhood. I don’t think I’ve heard a single person express any dislike toward her. How could anyone possibly dislike her, anyway? There’s not a single thing about that sweet old woman to hate. I, for one, see her as my grandmother. Everyday, as I leave early to walk to school, I pass her house and talk to her. She’s always on the front porch, sitting in her little rocking chair, as if waiting for me. We’ll talk for about five minutes before she pulls out a plate of chocolate chip cookies, seemingly from nowhere, and offers me one. Of course, I can never decline her offer; her cookies are amazing! I’ve often thought about asking for the recipe, but I can never seem to remember.

Today is no different, and it goes just as the previous days have. I always make sure to wake up early so that I have time to talk to Ms. Edith before school. Talking to her before having to endure rude teachers and bullies always helps me get through the day. I practically rush to get ready, barely pulling my shirt all the way over my head before I’m downstairs and scarfing down my breakfast. When I’m done and throw on my shoes, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and run out toward the house next to mine. She’s already sitting on her porch, as always, and turns to me with a gentle smile as I rush up to give her a hug. She really is like a grandmother to me, especially since my actual grandmother passed away a few years ago.

“Ah, Kit, how are you, sweetheart?” Ms. Edith asks warmly, tugging gently on my bright red hair. I giggle, already feeling ready to take on school.

“I’m fine as always, Ms. Edith! How are you doing?” I ask in return, smiling shyly at the kind old woman before me. I don’t mean to brag, but I really do think I’m her favorite neighbor. No one interacts with or talks to Ms. Edith as much as I do, after all.

“Oh, fine, fine. I’m even better now that you’re here!” Ms. Edith replies, relaxing back into her rocking chair. She looks so fragile with her skinny arms, short white hair done up in curls, and her little blue dress with white flowers. She also has a little bit of makeup on her face, but not much. Despite sitting down, it was obvious to anyone that she was very small in height. I often get nervous at the thought of her living on her own; if someone were to break into her house she wouldn’t stand a chance. However, I’ve never been able to bring up the subject to her.

“Ah, Ms. Edith, is that a new dress?” I ask, sparking our usual five minute discussion. Before long, Ms. Edith quickly pulls out a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies. I brighten up immediately, excited to start the day with a cookie. Politely taking one from the plate, I slowly bite into the cookie, hoping to savor it. My tastebuds are met with a nice balance of sweetness and chocolate chips. The thing I really enjoy about Ms. Edith’s cookies is how moist they are; she knows how I hate dry cookies. However, what’s so special about her cookies is a taste I’ve never experienced in any other cookie. I can’t describe it, which is quite frustrating, but what I’ll say is that it tastes amazing and makes the cookie even better.

“Mm! They’re always so good, Ms. Edith! I wish I could bake like you.” I say, a rush of happiness taking over; her cookies never fail to put me in a great mood.

“Oh, you’re such a sweet boy, Kit. You’re like the grandson I never had.” she replied, making me confused. I could’ve sworn she mentioned having a grandson, but maybe I’m thinking of something someone else said. Despite my momentary confusion, I ignore the sudden feeling of doubt and focus on finishing my cookie.

After giving me one more cookie, I reluctantly say goodbye before finally walking off to school. I can’t help but feel like I should do something for Ms. Edith in return, since she’s really nice. Maybe I can bake her something in my Home Ec. class? Then I could bring it to her on my way home. I’d do it with my mom, but she’s always so busy. Besides, I want to make Ms. Edith something as soon as possible! Now I’m even more excited to get to school. I don’t think anything could possibly ruin this day!

Several hours later, since Home Ec. is my last class of the day, I had to wait six hours before I could bake anything. I decided, after twenty minutes of struggling to make a decision, that I would bake Ms. Edith some brownies. I thought, since she’s always making cookies, that I could make something different. Luckily, I remembered her telling me that brownies are her second favorite dessert. Even if my brownies aren’t nearly as good as she’d make them I still feel like they’ll turn out good. I even had the teacher guide me more than she usually would so I wouldn’t mess up. I really hope Ms. Edith will like my dessert, since I always love her cookies.

Leaving school, I begin to feel anxious. I can’t quite imagine why I’m suddenly so nervous, since it’s just Ms. Edith. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met and I doubt there’s anything to worry about. Still, I can feel myself growing more and more excited as I make my way to Spring Creeks. Ms. Edith lives in the fifth house, on the left, and it’s painted a bright pink color. It’s very difficult to miss and I spot it as soon as I enter our little neighborhood. However, the bright pink color isn’t what immediately catches my eye.

Bright red and blue flashing lights assaults my eyes as I walk up to Ms. Edith’s house. There are around five police cars surrounding her property, with yellow caution tape spread in front of her yard. A crowd of people, whom I recognize to be the rest of my neighbors, are scattered around the shocking scene. With a jolt, I realize I’ve stopped walking. I hastily begin running forward, panicked and worried thoughts filling my head. What’s going on? Is Ms. Edith okay? Please tell me she didn’t get hurt! As I think that, I notice there are no ambulances. Then, what could possibly be wrong?

As I skid to a stop beside a man, I look just in time to see the police escort Ms. Edith out of her house in handcuffs. About four policemen walk out of her house, most of them pale and clearly disturbed. What is going on?

“I can’t believe she’d do something like this . . .” said the man I’d stood beside. Do what? What did she do? I’m so scared . . .

“Um, excuse me? What's going on? Why are they arresting Ms. Edith?” I ask, feeling a twist of dread in my stomach. The man looked down at me in surprise, clearly having not noticed I was beside him. He looked back at Ms. Edith being pushed into the police car, chewing on his nails. I waited patiently, understanding that he needed to get his thoughts together.

Gently the Butterfly flaps her wings

Happy and oblivious she remains

Unknowing of the harsh reality

Carefree and serene she seems

But she’s gone now

Snatched up by cruel hands

Crushed to death and left to rot

Her innocence now lost

Oh sweet Butterfly, fate has been cruel to you

Gone now are your beautiful colors

Left behind are the dullest of grays

No longer what you once were

You go on, but is it worth it?

Your world has been destroyed

Your value has been depleted

You are now and always will be broken

Your blue eyes, so full of tears

Your blue eyes, so full of fear

Your blue eyes, opening wider

Those blue eyes, I’m getting closer

I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes

The way they cried, from my lies

I’ve never seen such innocent eyes

I tear you apart and leave you to die

The forest is dark and quiet; peaceful

No end in sight, stretching on to oblivion

So, too, does my heart and soul stretch on

Reaching desperately for the comfort of nature

The trees, tall and mysterious

They whisper gently; cautiously

Echoing secrets amongst each other

They listen to my sorrows, empathetic

The flowers, pink and healthy

Crying tears of love and comfort

They speak sweet reassurances

Guiding me along my painful trek

The dirt of the Earth, soft and kind

Carrying the burden of my weight

Making sure the path is easy

Mourning for me the pain of loss

And here I stand in nature

Held in gentle embrace

Never have I felt so loved

Here in the Forest of Peace