The Worlds Silence

The World’s Silence

People would always say that if you forgot all the bad things that happened to you that it was inevitable that you would forget all the good things, too. No one ever thought that focusing so much on the bad things would attract everything even worse. Memory after memory, thought after thought, cascading down and filling her surroundings like a dust cloud as soft as the soft music of miserable violins playing in the background. Memories of how things used to be, how just yesterday the two were children. Now they’re adults, making stupid mistakes. How just yesterday the two were living their best life together, now are fighting over what’s right and what’s wrong.

There wasn’t much she could do, the tears were already traveling down her cheeks and her makeup was smudged. The deep, hollow pain of fear, disappointment, and sorrow had made a home in her chest. The temperature in her room began to rise, despite it being winter and her floor is just as cold. She laid there on the ground and counted each tear that dropped to the wooden floor, unconcerned that she couldn’t stop crying. And for what reason? She’ll say it’s nothing, but you’re a fool in you believe her.

She could hear her phone buzzing with delight from across the room. You would think shock would take over her body. But, she didn’t have to look up, not even flinch at the sound or vibrations, she knew exactly who it was.

Someone she didn’t want to talk to.

Someone out making careless mistakes.

Someone she loves.

Now came the question of whether or not to answer. The thought of hearing his voice at that very moment made her spine shiver, her fingers curl, her eyes flood, and her heartache. Did he want to drunk talk? Had something gone wrong? Was he okay? All possible scenarios started rumbling through her thoughts and a worried spirit came to take over her body, like an evil spirit in a horror movie. She began to shake uncontrollably, fighting the urge to answer her phone.

Luckily no one was around to see her in such a state. Her parents were away, her brothers at college. She wouldn’t be caught dead having a mental break down over a boy.

As her hand began to hover over the buzzing phone, it stopped, everything stopped: the shaking, the crying, the aching. Her body numbed, her mind numbed, her soul numbed. She allowed her hand to fall to the cold wooden floor. It felt as if that cold, worrisome feeling had left, but life is just an illusion. The tears and aches came rushing back. It was like they had never gone away.

What is there to do now? Honey, the world has no answers, just silence.  

I Am From...

(in the style of George Ella Lyon)

I am from the hot cup of tea in the morning

From Barnes&Noble and Stradivarius

I am from the house on a dead end street, isolated, loving, the smell of home Irish and Italian cooking

I am from the rose bush in the garden, that sweet smell and thirst for life

I’m from Thanksgiving dinner and corny jokes

From godfather and godmother

I’m from the late movie nights and game nights

From the monster under the bed and campfire stories

I’m from silent prayers and crushed religion

I’m from New York, Ireland, and Italy

Shortbread cookies and penne

From the old chair swing in her backyard, grieving our losses

The grievance of cancer and heart problems

Walls, window sills, tables filled with pictures of you

“We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.”

‘get finished flowering’ - gabriel cornelius ritter von max (1870)

(via GIPHY)

I know it’s late buuuuuuut I have a story. This is inspired by “Six of Crows” by Leigh Bardugo. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT!!!! Anyway goodnight<3

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The Sedated Saints

People have been crafting and drinking alcohol for the past 12,000 years. And I can tell you, I can’t remember the last time he went a day without a drink. Every time he and I returned from a job or a mission, we would go back to the warehouse and pour each other a cold glass of whiskey.

“It still amazes me that you drink this,” he would say to me.

“What do you mean?”

“Whiskey, clearly a man’s drink. Grows a bit of hair on your chest,” then he would kiss the neck of the bottle.

“We’ve had this conversation before, Ardal, I’m not like the rest of the women in this gang,”

“No, no you’re not,” he’d smirk.

We would cheer our glasses and continue to talk about future missions that I would be in charge of.

In all honesty, I don’t know if I would be alive today if it weren’t for the Sedated Saints, the most feared gang in Waterside Colt. I remember the day that Ardal found me like it was yesterday. I had just run away from a gang that had attacked my home tribe, I had gone from a happy-go-lucky girl with her family to an orphan struggling to survive. The Stonemanes came out of nowhere. To this day it’s still unknown as to why they attacked, my tribe isn’t filled with savages, we’re humble people. They killed everyone in their wake, man, woman, child, everyone. I remember hearing my mama and papa screaming at me to run, to get away as far as I could. Before I knew it I heard the agonizing screams of my parents. I ran all the way to Waterside Colt, about 350 miles from where my tribe was located. I didn’t turn back and I never stopped.

When I finally reached the city I realized what a mistake I made. I had no food, no water, no money, no shelter, the only thing I had in my possession was the clothes on my back. I would sit on the side of the streets begging people for change. But in a city like Waterside Colt, there’s no such thing as kindness. The people here only care about themselves.

I had been begging on the streets for almost a year when I saw a brawl down the street from where I was sitting. This boy was fighting for his life, the city guards were really doing him in. I had never met this boy in my life, he was a complete stranger to me, but that didn’t stop me from getting up and running to save him. Back in my tribe, I was famously known for my stealthiness, I would sneak up on everyone just for the fun of it, later on, my father put me in a defense training class because I was that sneaky. As soon as I was stood behind the guard, everything was blurred, I can’t remember a single moment of it. All I remember is waking up in an isolated, dimly lit room. I had no idea where I was and my head was pounding, I felt extremely dehydrated and nausea. Suddenly, Ardal walked in the room, he was like no one I’d ever seen before. All black suit, pale skin, dark eyes, black hair, scars on his hand and face, he walked with a slight limp, probably from a fight.

“What’s your name?” he mumbled.

“Rena, Rena Saxe.”

“Well, Rena, you did quite the number on those guards. Where are you from?”

“I come from a small tribe on the outskirts of Label. We’re the Dronish.”

“You’re certainly a long way from home.”

From that point, he offered me a deal. Food, shelter, water, clothes, money. But only if I became the official assassin for the Sedated Saints. I never looked back after that.

Trinity College Library, Dublin (by Alex Block)

Delicate Flower

Drip Drop Another tear on her face She always ends up crying, nonstop And all she wants is an embrace You can see the tracks her tears have left You can see the hurt in her eyes She stands there oh so depressed She cries She tries She dies Only wanting him to apologize Just two simple words anyone can speak "I'm sorry" More tears fill her cheeks Is he even starting to worry? Drip Drop Tears fill the cracks in her heart She feels she's some kind of prop All she wants is to go back to the start Her expression is numb Her hands are cold Yet her heart still beats like a drum And she feels a bit bold For she is not as weak or stupid as she may seem She's in control Oh her tears still stream She feels it through her body and soul She has all this power But is as delicate as a flower