Stare
He comes every night. The ghost. As if we were standing on the floor and facing each other, he floats just out of reach and he stares at me. He never moves. Never speaks. Only stares. When I lie down to sleep at night, he is there. When I jolt awake from a nightmare, he is there. If I leave my room and return, he waits for me there, hovering above the bed, staring at the vacant pillow. Only when sunlight shines through the windows does he fade away, but he reappears when night falls. To stare.
I know how he died. He was stabbed in the chest. Sometimes his ripped and twisted wound drips blood on me. I wash the sheets. But he never tells me how it happened. He never tells me who it was. He looks at me as if he wants me to find out for him, perhaps to avenge him. But I do not know the ghost’s name. I do not know how long ago he lived. I believe that he used to sleep in the bed I now call my own, but he has never told me so. I can only guess. All I really know of him is his blood and his face.
I used to be afraid. The first few weeks, I barely slept. I screamed, and then I shut my eyes, and then I tried to pretend he wasn’t there, but he was, always floating, staring. He never threatened me, and soon I began to speak to him as I would to a friend. I tell him everything. I tell him of my work, of my friends, of my hopes, dreams, fears, shortcomings. I know he hears me; it is when I tell him of my love that he bleeds the most.
Sometimes I stare back. I look into his eyes. I read his face. I try to understand what is written there. It is something awful. Something painful, something desperate. Something he wants me to understand. I try to listen. I wait for a sign. For a movement of the eyes, for a breath from the lips, but nothing, nothing ever happens. He only stares with his black eyes, those dark circles beneath dark hair under which lies some dark and empty space. Something so barren and hollow, it keeps him here. It keeps him coming back every night. It is something so horrible that he can never rest until he makes me understand. But try as I might, I learn nothing new. I only sleep, and he, my nighttime guardian, watches me until morning.
I do not know how long it will be until he leaves me alone. I do not even know that I wish it. This ghost, who was once a man, with a message eternally in his eyes, may never leave. Perhaps when I die, I will join him and finally ask him what he was trying to tell me all along.
But until then, I will tell him goodnight and close my eyes while he continues staring on.
Breathe
You’ve worked hard to make it this far
but starting is the hardest work.
Don’t quit now.
Breathe for life.
Live for breath.
Inhale,
but never forget
that exhaling is half of it.
Breathe while you can.
The oxygen is all around you now
but there are places where it cannot go.
Sure,
you might not care now.
Your lungs are young
and not quite ripe
or ready to pick.
But as they expand,
you’ll learn.
so,
step to the edge.
Are you ready?
Now!
start the clock.
glance,
bend,
launch,
reach,
tip,
dive,
PLUNGE
down into the lights
immerse yourself in the fresh air
and don’t forget to smile
because Now you are alive
and this is where it all begins.
Violet
Fifth floor, room 508. This was it.
I took a deep breath and smoothed out my orange flower-print skirt and matching top. I had ten minutes here. Ten minutes, and then I would need to go down to the third floor and meet Jaden. I had plenty of time. So why was my heart pounding so fast? I pressed one hand to my chest and closed my eyes, composing myself. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was just one thing I needed to say, and then I could leave.
I knocked twice on the door.
From within, an alto voice called, “Come in.”
I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Inside, a dark curtain hung over the wide window, blotting out the orange evening sunlight. Glow-in-the-dark stars hung from the ceiling. The walls, although decorated with a variety of colorful posters and hangings, all seemed to soak in the darkness, and I wondered if they would be soft to the touch and moist with the blackness. It felt oppressive and foreboding, and did nothing to still my fears.
On one of the room’s two beds, the one doused in the most shadow, lay a thin, long-limbed girl with straight black hair that flayed out across her pillow. Everything about her whispered of beauty and a comfortable elegance. She was dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt and tall dark jeans. Her feet were bare. She looked at me blankly with lazy eyes when I entered, and she said nothing.
I rocked back and forth a few times on the heels of my shoes and kept my hands behind my back. I looked at the carpet, the desk overflowing with paper, the refrigerator humming darkly; anywhere but at the girl. But the silence quickly became uncomfortable, and I assumed that she was waiting for me to explain why I had come. “I’m… Summer Styles,” I said.
“I know,” she muttered. “Jaden told me. And we have the same English class.”
I frowned. “I… I just wanted to come here to apologize to you.”
“Apologize? What for?” She stared up at the stars.
I took a deep breath. “For what… happened. I know you and Jaden were…”
“In love?” She extended one hand toward the stars, as if trying to reach them.
“…Yeah.”
She shook her head and let her hand drop onto her chest. “Never were.”
I waited.
“He never knew what he wanted,” she said. “He was always caught in the middle. So indecisive. He always liked another girl too, I was never good enough.” She looked at me. I expected to see anger, but there was nothing there. Only a blank face, an empty face.
“I’m sorry…” I said reverently.
She shook her head and looked back up at the stars. “Don’t be. It’s for the best. If he really likes you, then he’s with who he should be. Do you like him?”
“I… yes. I do,” I admitted. “He… I don’t know if I should tell you this.”
“Go ahead, I’m fine.”
I knew that she was lying, but I didn’t know what else to say to lift her spirits. “Well, he told me that you were different from everyone else before. He really did care about you, Violet.”
“Did he really?” No emotion.
I nodded. “Yes, he did. He wishes that he treated you better.”
A small teardrop formed in one of her empty eyes, and when she spoke, he voice choked up. “Yeah. Me too.”
Despite the uncomfortable darkness and the strange situation we were both in, I couldn’t stop myself from walking over to her bed and sitting down next to her when I saw the tears start to flow. Once they started, they came stronger and stronger. I felt like the cause of this depression. Part of me wanted to just run away and avoid her, but I knew that I could not just leave her crying on her bed like this. I had to set things right. I warily placed a comforting hand on her arm, and she didn’t push me away.
“I’m sorry about this,” Violet said. Her indigo mascara was leaking like ink into her tears, but she made no effort to stop herself.
“You’re sorry? I’m the one that came to apologize!” I said, mustering as much sympathetic cheer I could.
She smiled half-heartedly. “You’re a good person, Summer. I just wish I was good enough. Not just for Jaden, but for anyone.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She sniffed. “I mean, every guy I’ve been with has left me as soon as the next best thing came along. It’s got me wondering.”
I sighed. She needed help, and this was bigger than just one boy. Every part of me wanted to reach out to her; it was in my nature. If Violet had been one of my close friends, I would have named off some of her admirable traits to debunk her theory, but, our relationship being as non-existent as it was aside from English class, I couldn’t come up with anything to say. But I had an idea. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”
She shook her head, and then smiled. “Are you going to ask me if I want to hang out?”
I returned her smile.
“Something tells me we have very different personalities.”
I shrugged. “That’s alright. I’m sure we can find plenty in common.”
“Like Jaden?”
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “Something different. Something else. We can leave him out of it.”
She thought for a moment and shrugged. “I’m free.”
I grinned. “Good. We’ll do something fun and get to know each other.”
I stood up from the bed and walked toward the door. As I grabbed the doorknob to leave, Violet spoke. “Summer?”
“Yeah?”
She gave me a sincere smile as she lay in the darkness on her bed. That tiny spark of happiness seemed to light up the air immediately around her. “Thanks for stopping by.”
I smiled, and left. As I walked toward the elevator, that smile stayed on my face. I had come to Violet’s room expecting to find an enemy; instead, I had hopefully made a new friend.
Sonnet 8
A winter breath and frozen lips have I;
while empty conversation glows bright-hot,
I stand away and watch with glinting eyes.
That flame’s a melting place; I’d rather not.
As in the dark I stood, I saw you near,
with burns – a mark for desperate company.
But I felt chilly snowflakes in your air;
I was surprised that you loved low like me.
I whispered once. You, ever list’ning, heard.
I wiped the melted ice from off your cheek,
and we spoke easily in loving words,
soft-frozen breath that kissed and made complete.
Your warmer wounds were frosted cold with love,
and comfort’s coolness eases through our blood.
Sonnet 6
This thin and choking sheet binds naked skin
as waking, I divulge my deep-set fear.
The turpentine-anointed walls take in
the whisp’ring words refusing ears might hear.
So, quaking softly, weakness I dictate
to oaken furniture and open books.
The silent currents, private airs, placate
my tongue and mist my thirsty throat – but look!
A shadow, here to listen to my tale.
A veil of blunted onyx come to watch.
Beneath the mask, two lips bled white and pale
in murky mirth, my phrase repeating, mock:
“O lover, when the proving hour doth come,
will, can you speak? Or shall your heart keep numb?”
