The Music Box

The tiny ballerina twirled on her golden pedestal, a slight smile painted on her rosy lips. Her perfect golden locks were bound up in a bun on the top of her head, and her eyes were closed in Madonna-like bliss. She twirled and twirled, her leg bent gracefully and her arms in a perfect O above her head, heedless of everything but the Tchaikovsky waltz emanating from her music box. She did not notice the little girl who watched her with disheveled blond hair and blue eyes filled with tears, did not notice the yelling from the hall, did not notice the smell of alcohol or the sound of breaking glass. She simply twirled, oblivious to the world around her.

As Marissa watched the dancer in the music box, she sobbed. She thought back to when she got the music box, after her first ballet recital two years ago. It was a gift from her parents, back when Father laughed more than he yelled and when Mother smiled more than she cried. Everything she could remember from those days seemed magical, like a fairy tale-- no, like a dream sequence in a ballet that would never end. Now almost every night there was screaming and shattering and crying coming from the kitchen, as Marissa sat in bed holding her breath, dreading that the angry footsteps and slamming doors would find their way to her room.

One more bottle shattered, and the kitchen door slammed. Marissa heard the dreaded footsteps stomping up steps. She heard muttering now too, angry and threatening and dark. She heard the Tchaikovsky waltz still playing softly, the ballerina's dance winding down. Marissa looked at the golden dancer in the music box. "I wish--"

Marissa twirled on her golden pedestal, a slight smile on her rosy lips.  Her perfect golden locks were bound up in a bun on the top of her head, and her eyes were closed in Madonna-like bliss. She twirled and twirled, her leg bent gracefully and her arms in a perfect O above her head, heedless of everything but the Tchaikovsky waltz emanating from the music box. She did not notice the little girl slumped like a rag doll, disheveled blond hair nearly touching the floor, did not notice the muffled sobs and far-off sirens, did not notice the smell of blood or the glint of shattered glass. She simply twirled, oblivious to the world around her. 

Let's be here.

It's not until you stop to ask yourself if you're really happy that you actually start being sad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm just exaggerating.
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
"Smile, honey. Just smile. Really. It could be worse. You've been through harder times. Just smile-"
"Don't tell me to smile."
"Then don't frown."
"Let my mouth do whatever the hell it wants."
"I can't stand to see you sad."
"I'm not sad."
"Then why don't you smile?"
"I'm not happy."
"Doesn't that mean you're sad?"
"It doesn't mean anything."
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
She looked at the stars on the the ground
Spread vertically
Up and down

She knew that when the sun came up
The stars would be gone
and in their places would be a favela

But for now
She would just wish upon them
Ignore the truth behind their shine.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'll never forgive you if you jump."
"I won't forgive myself if I don't."
"Please, I'm begging you. Don't leave me here alone."
"You don't need me here, it's not doing anything good for you."
"Please. Please. Please, I need you. I can't. I can't stay here without you."
"Then you better jump after me."

She jumped
Into a sea of happiness
Joyful waves crashing into stones of satisfaction
The wind turning over a thousand new leaves.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Take a dive into life.

i need to stop watching self-help videos on youtube

clasping their hands together

they're swinging their arms widely

laughing with each other for a change

their feet silent in the midst of others

stomping and racing along this chicago sidewalk

splashing their feet in the fountains

and swinging around the trees

they're swerving through and through the people

chasing each other like a cat and a mouse

but with no ill intentions

and as they smile at each other

they ignore how one is 45 pounds underweight

and the other has over 100 scars over their body

'what do you see, what you look in the mirror?'

he breathes to her, smoke curling out of her mouth

she does not respond, her head leaning against the wall, back curled against the floor, feet kicked up towards the ceiling

'i am serious. what do you see when you look in the mirror?'

his voice grows as she stares at her, cigarette balanced between his teeth

she finally responds

'what does it matter?'

he groans and palms his face slowly

before facing her, 'so what anna-marette told me was true?'

her face goes blank, before looking away from him

'i want you to stand up.'

he declares, standing up himself and holding a hand out for her

she ignores it.

his face is suddenly distorted by anger as he reaches down

and grips her arm painfully and yanks her up

and she cries in response, a cigarette fallen to the ground

'what do you see, when you look in the mirror?'

he asks her again, and her breathe is shaking, but she glances

to the mirror to the left of them

and she sees them, covered in bruises and messy clothes

hair and makeup is everywhere, and their skin is pasty

but their noses and eyes are bright red

and she glances at him

hands on his hips staring at her defiantly

before she wets her lips nervously, before speaking,

'beauty.'

you're gazing at the fry for a few seconds, before shrugging, easily popping it into your mouth

your face is blank for a few seconds as you chew it, before suddenly your eyes are wide and your hands fly to cover your mouth

and we're watching confused and amazed all the same as you're jumping from your seat and running down the length of the table

before grabbing the garbage can with all your might, and tucking your head in

we don't need to be genius' to know what you were doing.

we just all look away awkwardly as you star there for ten seconds

20 seconds

30 seconds

before slowly you lift your head up, and stumble over to the water fountain

and by now we're glancing silently at our lunches

and he moves to throw his away

as she slowly walks back over to us, silently collapsing into her seat

face white and ashy

--lynn

response to my harry chapin addiction

Hannah and Jacob were the best of friends when they were growing up.

Their houses were right next door to each other, so it was only a matter of time before Hannah popped her head over the fence in between their houses, glanced around, and saw Jacob.

'Hey! You want to come over and play?' She called out to Jacob, who was sitting quietly on his lawn, two toy trucks in his hands.

'Play...?' He echoed. 'Play what?'

Hannah appeared to shrug her head, but since she was only appearing over the fence by hoisting herself up off the ground herself, it looked unnatural and awkward.

'I don't know! But come on, let's play!' She whined, her nose scrunching up as her arms shook, tired from holding up her body.

Jacob looked around his yard unnervingly, glancing between his red and yellow trucks, to the girls' head that was staring at him, before he shrugged his shoulders, and hopped up.

Hannah's face light up with a grin as she dropped from the fence, and Jacob dropped his toy trucks as he went around to the unusual girls front yard to do whatever.

And Hannah grins and grins, and Jacob smiles and smiles.

Years later, they're on Jacob's roof at around 2 A.M. Both of them are standing barefoot, and are clad in both jeans and ragged tank tops splattered with paint.

Hannah is laughing at a joke the D.J. pulled on the radio they're listening to that is balanced on the top of the roof. It's bright red blinking numbers are the only lights on on the entire block.

Jacob is looking around their neighborhood, before he falls backwards to sit down, not even flinching as the roof tiles dug into his palms. Hannah looks down at him, before she does a spin and falls down next to himl.

Neither of them talked as they just sit there, listening to the club music pounding on the radio next to them. It wasn't long before Jacob reached backwards and hooked his ipod into the radio, muttering how 'i don't want to listen to this electric-bass and auto-tuner shit anymore'. Hannah laughs loudly again, drumming her fingers against her knees.

After a few minutes of fiddling, Jacob swearing quietly, and Hannah admonishing him for swearing when he was such a 'perfect jesus-kid' Jacob finally righted himself, and and the sounds of two guitars started to play.

Hannah's face lit up and she laughed loudly before she hopped up on her feet, wavering only slightly before she started to sing in time with the song, 'My child arrived just the other day, he came to the world in the usual way,'

She grinned down at Jacob and smiled broadly when he slowly joined in as well.

'But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay, oh he learned to walk, while I was away'

Hannah was laughing and Jacob was laughing soon also. 'Dude, Harry Chapin? I knew you had it in you. The best folk-rock artist ever.' Jacob only scoffed and said, 'i always had his music on my ipod, you just never bothered to check'.

He finished with a wink before cupping his hands around his mouth, and shouted across the roof-tops, And the cat's in the cradle, and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man on the moon, oh when you comin' home dad? I don't know when, but we'll be together then, son.  You know we'll have a good time then.

And Hannah laughed and laughed and Jacob laughed and laughed.

Hannah is screaming in terror and her mascara is causing messy black lines to crawl down her face.

Her eyes are red from salty tears, and her throat is harsh and painful but she cannot help it. Her hands are clawing at her sides as she struggles to keep her composition, hair falling in her face.

Some of her shirt is on the ground, ripped and covered in mud and rain that continues to fall.

But her shaking eyes are still focused on the fight going on in front of her in this dark alley.

Jacob is there

Jacob is fighting.

Jacob is fighting for her. He's gritting his teeth and ducking under punches and smashing his fists and knees into the other, not holding anything back as he curses the body he's going against.

Soon, the ruckus is loud enough, what with her screams of terror and the horrible sounds of fighting that people are drawn to the alleyway, and quickly separate Jacob and the other body.

A few see Hannah standing in the back, and they see the black eye, and the split lip, and the harsh finger-shaped bruises on her sides, neck and arms. They quickly run to her, draping her in their jackets as her hands fall limply to her side, her shirt no longer providing adequate coverage of herself.

They are talking to her in hushed, rushed voices, asking her what happened, who did that to her, is she okay, what happened.

Her eyes are just only drawn to Jacob as he anxiously steps from foot to foot, adrenaline still rushing through his body as he talks to a few people, eyes accusing towards the other body which is sitting against the wall, blood pouring, a few people offering assistance, but not really helping.

Someone asks him a question, and he answers quickly, yet calmly. They nod, and repeat the information into their cellphone, and they walk away. Someone offers him a jacket, and he refuses before he slowly makes his way to the back of the alleyway.

Hannah only flinches visibly when she almost makes eye contact, and she looks towards the ground. The one standing next to her puts their arm around her for comfort, but she only inches away, fingers twisting with the zipper of one of the jackets thrown over herself.

Jacob stops in front of her, and stares at her face. He stares at the black eye that is vibrant against her pale skin. He stares at the mascara and eyeliner that makes tracks down her face, mixing with the blood from her split lip.

He stares at her silently, and she finally makes eye contact, and instantly her whole self crumples and she catapults herself at Jacob, twisting her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder loudly.

Jacob only hums into her ear, holding her up as her legs are shaking so much they are bound to collapse.

And the rain continues to fall overhead, as the people around silently circled them, or the other body against the wall, waiting for the police and ambulance to come for them.

and Hannah sobs and sobs, and Jacob hums and hums.

--lynn

It's not a problem, it's a solution.

There is that

I haven't eaten in a week

Feeling

Head feeling like a cloud

Eyes feeling like a rock

Stomach feeling like spoiled milk

Body feeling like the flu

Your mind understands that it needs to eat and your eyes are dying to eat that strawberry pie

But your stomach is fighting your head, wanting nothing but to go to sleep

And your body agrees.

There is that

I haven't eaten in a month

Feeling

Head buzzing with non existent white noise

Eyes forever searching for something they can't see

Stomach cringing from unbearable pain

Body thinning from the sickness

Your mind doesn't even care anymore, but your eyes frantically stare at the mirror, looking for a girl who's disappeared

And your stomach has it's eyes closed, dreaming about the taste of food, unaware that it's right. there.

Your body is snacking on itself, taunting your stomach who can't even enjoy the stored fat your body is nibbling.

There is that

I'm still not eating

Feeling

Mind gone

Eyes giving up on seeing a more beautiful reflection

Stomach drying up, hoping to fall from its longing position

Body hyperventilating from prospective hunger

Your mind and your eyes find the sleep once reserved for your stomach and body

And your stomach is reaching out to death

Your body is running out of supply, fat disposed of and muscle becoming sparse.

There is that

I'm dying

Feeling

Mind dreaming

Eyes blinded

Stomach smiling

Body unaware

Your mind jolts awake with the image your inner eyes visualizes:

Your body, silent and decomposing, luminescent bones finally emerging through skin

The last thought is "I'm finally going to be beautiful"

As your stomach receives its wish.


--Julie

Toil

he sat on the ground.

his back against the tiled wall.

staring.

staring transfixed at the bottle.

the transparent orange tube of pills.

the snails track of former tears covered his face.

his hands were shaking.

his eyes were bloodshot.

he wrapped his arms around his legs and tried,

tried, to calm himself.

he tried to turn away.

but he couldn't.

he knew he would eventually cave in.

so what better time than now.

his breathing rate was increasing at an inhuman pace.

he raised his hands and grabbed at his hair.

he pulled his head into his knees and let out a fresh waterfall of tears.

it was so hard.

to resist the temptation.

to give up.

he screamed. and screamed.

and screamed.

he banged his head against the wall.

perhaps the pain could distract him.

but the thought was still there. the lust was still there.

-----

the longing was still there.

and he couldn't take it.

one pill.

could end his suffering.

his pain.

his heartbreak.

one dramatic twist.

to end it all.

and begin it all again.

the painful paradox.

he couldn't give it up.

but he couldn't keep it forever.

it would have to end.

but for now,

let the addiction rule.

--mark