Bruised

From: Rachel

Sent: 9:50 PM

I swear I never wanted your dad to find out this way…

From: Rachel

Sent: 9:57 PM

Why did you intervene like that, throwing yourself in front of the punches? For me? You could have been killed, and I promise you, I’m not worth it.

From: Rachel

Sent: 9:58 PM

Hello? Can you please answer me?! I’m worried!!!

From: Rachel

Sent: 9:58 PM

I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME I’M COMING TO THE HOSPITAL SERIOUSLY WHAT ROOM ARE YOU IN????!!!!

From: Rachel

Sent: 10:00 PM

I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, I just… I love you… I’m just… scared… confused… i don’t know what to do, what to say. Please let me come see you, please please I need to see you!

From: Lillian

Sent: 10:04 PM

Don’t. I promise you, I’m fine. Please, I beg you please for your own safety, just stay away. I promise you don’t want to see me like this… I’m not myself… I’m disgusting. Plus, my dad is lurking, and you’ve seen what he can do. Please stay away.

From: Rachel

Sent: 10:07 PM

Your dad is there??!! That’s it, I’m coming down there and beating him senseless this time. I don’t care what you look like, I don’t care if he beats me to a pulp too, all I care about is if I’m with you. Matching hospital beds right? Relationship goals tbh! But in all seriousness, I’m driving over now. What room are you in?

From: Lillian

Sent: 10:19 PM

I can’t see you get hurt too…

From: Rachel

Sent: 10:21 PM

I have seen the pain he caused you, and I want to somehow soften the blow. I want to be next to you, holding your hand, whether it’s manicured or bruised. All I want is you, and I won’t let your dad get in the way of us. I love you too much to stay away. Sorry babe but you have to tell me. What. Room. Are. You. In.

From: Lillian

Sent: 10:30

No. I already told you no! You are so stubborn and this is a really dangerous situation. You could get hurt, and obviously I don’t want you getting hurt.

From: Rachel

Sent: 10:32

But you are already hurt. You have to believe that I am willing to suffer through whatever I have to in order to hold you again. I will be careful, but I have to see you somehow. Please…

From: Lillian

Sent: 10:45 PM

…Room 202, second floor. Be careful my love.

From: Rachel

Sent: 10:47 PM

I will my love, stay safe. I will be there in 15 minutes, I promise.

15 minutes later, an ambulance pulls up to the hospital. “Rachel, female, 16, caucasian. Was in a car accident, critical condition. Put her in the ICU and start operating immediately,” the EMT tech yells to the doctor.

Lillian waits for Rachel for hours, longing to see her smile, to feel her soft hands against her bruised face. Lillian waits in vain, not knowing that the last time she saw Rachel, was truly the last time. Later that night, the doctor gives her the news, and all Lillian can do is cry.

Rachel, keeping her promise, walks up to room 202. She peeks into the room and sees Lillian’s back convulsing with her sharp breaths. Rachel runs to Lillian’s side. “It’s okay Lil, I’m here my love,” she whispers, petting the girl on the back. Suddenly, she realizes Lillian hasn’t acknowledged her presence. “Lil? I’m here Lil. LIL ANSWER ME PLEASE!” She takes Lillian’s discolored hand softly, and runs her fingers over the girl’s palm. “I love you, Lil. Please come back to me.”
Lillian feels a hand on her hand, and knows whose it is instantly. She looks up, eyes shining hopefully, but hope is lost when she looks up and sees no one.

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Seeing Red

The red paint trickled down the flesh canvas, dripped over his fingertips, and formed a small puddle on the floor. The tip of the paint brush lay in the middle of the puddle, soaking in the rich color. It sat there, waiting for the paint to be released into a beautiful creation; but it waited in vain. Creativity was pouring out of the artist, but it would never be used again.

Before that, the red paint trickled down the white canvas as the artist splattered it with the paintbrush. “No good… no inspiration… no creativity… no purpose,” he muttered angrily under his breath. His violent motions became less controlled and more convulsive as the paint collected at the bottom. He began to sob, and all of his bottled up emotions suddenly took hold and came pouring out. He stopped throwing the paint and collapsed on the floor, possessed with overwhelming sadness. He looked over at the nearly empty can of red paint, glanced at his wrist; and in that moment, he decided to make his own.

Before that, the red paint trickled down the artist’s hand, as he stood stunned, tightly holding the paintbrush by the bristles. Just an hour ago, he had finished the painting, positive that this was the one; but now, clear tears painted his face as he was told once again that his work wasn’t good enough to be displayed.

Before that, the red paint trickled down the orange canvas as the artist carefully recreated a stunning sunset. He replenished the paintbrush with red and caressed his hand over the painting, all the while thinking, “This is going to be the one. I will finally be able to afford to live.”

Before that, the sunlight trickled over the artist’s face as it sank towards the horizon. He lifted his head to embrace the light, letting its warmth fill him completely. He breathed in inspiration, carefully set up his easel, and quickly opened his paint. He mixed the blood red color with a bold white, to get a more soft and vibrant tone. He took another deep breath, pressed a paintbrush onto the blank space, and watched the red paint trickle down the canvas.

Words That Are Not Okay: Faggot

Why is fag a term that is acceptable to use now a days? To some people, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just is another way to make fun of their friend. But while they are trying to call their friend stupid, another person is overhearing them use this comment, and shaking their head. Every time someone uses fag thinking its okay, we take a step backwards. We have come so far- especially with the legalization of same-sex marriage in the US- and when someone calls someone else a fag, all the progress disappears. See, even if they don’t mean it, they are still calling a sexuality stupid. Do you know how LGBT+ people feel when their sexuality, something that they can’t choose, is criticized? They get enough heat already without ignorant people loosely throwing around a term with so much history of degradation to their community. This can’t go on.

The first definition of fag(got) was on Urban Dictionary and said “an extremely annoying, inconsiderate person.” To get to the real definition, I had to scroll all the way to five. That’s five people who are blind to the fact that this term hurts. It hurt back when it was first used, it hurts now, and it will continue to hurt people. We are not being over sensitive, we are not making a huge request, we just ask that you respect us and stop disparaging us by using a term like fag. You might not see its poignancy, you might not understand it’s gravity, but I can assure you: we do. You might be able to forget the past, but that’s only because you did not have to endure the hardships that came with a term like fag.  Words hurt. Even now, words hurt. Especially this one. It’s not acceptable to use, it will never be acceptable to use, and every time it is used, it will hurt someone somehow. We ask for acceptance, and that will never come if ignorance like this is encouraged.

Lexicon Scars

Some days its hard to get out of bed

Some days its hard to live at all
Some days I don’t feel like living inside my head
Some days I’d rather be dead
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but bones will always heal
Words will always leave a scar
The voice inside my head starts screaming, ripping  me apart
Until I can feel my bleeding heart
I live petrified and broken
In fear of whats to come
And a cigarette won’t fix the situation thats begun
I drink away the sorrow, the bottle is my friend
Where will I end up in the end
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but bones will always heal
Words will always leave a scar
I am now an empty shell
Of the girl that I once was
I have fallen pray to life’s cruel and unfeeling jaws
I know not what lies ahead now
No feelings to be heard
My body’s numb and my vision’s blurred
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but bones will always heal
Words will always leave a scar
Words will always leave a scar
Some days its hard to get out of bed

The Fog

I see her look hopefully at my car, I see her pupils dilate when caught in blinding headlights through the thick fog, and I see her take a deep breath and slowly walk out into the spotlight and open her arms, ready to perform, welcoming the metal beast to her; and when it hits, I see her face turn from a painful grimace to a peaceful smile; I see her eyes lighten and show emotion, something they had not done in years; but as quickly as that light appears, it is taken away, and her eyes cloud over as she stares into the starry void above.

Mary still hasn’t gotten over the actions of her sister, and she still hasn’t forgiven me for not acting. I wake up before her and see the fog that has set in overnight. I desperately run around my house, trying to close all the curtains and shield her from the outside world, but I am too late. She drags herself into the kitchen, makes herself some steaming tea, and just stares out the window. I watch her watch the world, watch her eyes turn to mist, watch her chest rise and fall. “Call into my work and say I’m not coming in,” she whispers monotonically. “What’s the excuse?” I asks her softly. She turns to face me. “It’s foggy today.”

A Man and His Chair

He heard a loud bang and dashed into the room. The frame was not closed, wind whipped through the space, the girl laid dead on the floor. “She should have left the pane closed,” he thought. “She would not have died if she had just left it closed.” The gale tore through the room and threw the chair to the floor. He watched, but he could not act as it broke in two. He fought the rough winds and made his way to it. He did not stop to look at the girl who lay cold on the floor; his mind was on the chair. He peered down at its corpse, stood fixed on top of it, stunned. “I told her not to,” he breathed to the air. He let one tear fall on the chair, watched it sink in the brown, gnarled wood. He bent down on one knee, ran his hands through the red blood that slid past his nails, and yelled a curse to the girl who dared scoff at his words, the girl that killed his chair. He fell to the ground and hit his head. He could feel his strength leave his soul, he heard his heart slow down, he felt his blood stop in its tracks. He let one tear fall to the floor as he turned to ice. The wind left the room, the three dead lay slain.