IN THE REALM

 

 

 

The Queen has just passed me by.

 

She must choose for one to die.

 

I am glad it is not I.

 

To someone, I will say goodbye.

 

 

Someone will pay the price.

 

She will be the sacrifice.

 

Survivors live in paradise.

 

Other than this, the Queen is nice.

 

 

Forced to choose some girl’s fate,

 

Is something she does hate.

 

No one looks forward to this date.

 

But the devils, we must placate.

 

 

A year of peace costs one life.

 

The nominees live with strife.

 

The chosen will never be a wife.

 

She just gets pierced with a knife.

 

 

 

            My calendar is marked. I know I am going to be nominated. My scholastics and social skills are lacking. Although I know I am not the worst nominee, being in that group is very stress inducing. The loser dies. Even though the unselected get riches that I cannot fathom, the anxiety of the selection is torturous in its own rights.

 

 

            Nominated, like I knew I would be. I hate being in this situation. Now the Queen will choose who to sacrifice. I need to make a good impression. I do not want to die. I have hardly lived and now face the possibility of my life being over. I understand why I must be ready to die, but I would much rather not have to in this situation.

 

 

 

            Many decades ago, the Queen’s great-grandfather made a deal with the demons to sacrifice a girl annually for them not to attack us. We have not had any problems with the demons ever since. All the people who lived during the Demon Days are gone. Our History books tell of the atrocities of those times.

 

 

 

            No one living has seen a demon. Many question whether they are still out there. No one wants to take the chance not to sacrifice someone though. If they are out there and we don’t make the sacrifice, they will destroy our realm. They would kill most and make the survivors wish they were dead. It is just not a chance anyone is ready to take, but there are whispers off a research group.

 

 

 

            The day has arrived for the queen to make her selection. As she passes me over, I am overwhelmed with relief. While I feel bad for the girl chosen, my life goes on and much improved. My family gets a better house closer to the castle. We have money to get food. The long-term reward ended up being worth the short-term agony of not knowing whether I would be sacrificed.

 

 

 

            As a survivor of nomination, I no longer have to go to school. I spend my days talking to the shopkeepers and old residents. I am finding out that the research group is a real possibility, but I have not been able to find any admitted members yet. No one wants to confirm what they know, nor admit that they are a part of the group.

 

 

 

            I got lucky today. I witnessed people slowly gathering in a cellar. I go to the door and listen. I cannot hear anything. I decide to enter the cellar and hope that they allow me to join their group.

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

 

Caught in Misfortune

 

Caught in Misfortune

 

She lost her head.

Now she is dead.

Decapitated, but blood still flowing.

Crimson pool overflowing.

Didn’t see the danger approaching

Warning signs were fairly broaching.

 

He thought the gun was a prop.

The bullet would be a flop.

How wrong he was that day.

How silly to end it that way.

Now missing is half his skull.

All this from one trigger pull.

 

For the couple, things looked bright.

It came to an end in one night.

A drunken driver on the loose.

The couple tried to avoid him with no use.

The scene is littered with broken glass.

The air is scented with spilled gas.

 

People gathered to enjoy food.

The gunman was in a bad mood.

First shot was a waitress with a tray.

Others tried to run away.

Some one brave grabbed a knife.

He ended the gunman’s life.

I wrote this a while back, but thought I would run it here to see what people think. I have a few other pocket poems, but I will try not to post two oldies in a row.

The Gays and Chick-fil-a

You’re delirious.

She’s so serious.

She’s bi-curious (like you).

            The preceding is either a song or a poem that I have been working on for a few years, but it is severely incomplete. I have not been able to add more to it. Anyway, I am not here to talk about my failure to add to this, but rather the Chick-fil-a controversy.

            Like most people, hopefully all people, I have a range of friends from heterosexual to homosexual. While I hate being caught in such a hot topic, I have my opinions of what is right and who is right in all this.

            First off to all my gay friends, being against gay marriage does not equate to hate or homophobia. There are some who are against gay marriage who hate gays and/or are homophobic. Just because someone is against gay marriage, it doesn’t mean he/she is anti-gay. People want to preserve the definition of marriage. Gays have the right to marry someone of the opposite sex. Their rights are not infringed upon.

            As for me, I am against gay marriage. To a lesser extent I am against marriage. Friends said I would grow out of that viewpoint, but at 28 years old and most of my friends are either married or in long-term committed relationships; I have yet acquiesced to the thought of being locked in a life long commitment. Marriage is between a man and a woman. That is the world we were born into. If procreation happened any other way, my stance would be different. Either God or evolution defined what a relationship should be. Since I don’t want kids, marriage is not important to me.

            Again to my gay friends, boycotting Chick-fil-a is pointless and misguided. With Chick-fil-a, we at least know how this company’s president feels. There are probably companies who have anti-gay presidents and agendas, yet aren’t open and honest with the public. As for me, I enjoy businesses for their products not their politics. Chick-fil-a is getting tons of free publicity and through proper reaction, will come out ahead in the long run.

            Also, I think it is appalling what the city leaders of Boston and Chicago are trying to do. Abuse of power is nothing new for either city. Dirty politics and corruption mar the history of these metropolises. People, especially governmental leaders, bug me when they don’t do the right thing to do the political thing. Do what is right, not what will get you re-elected.

            For my straight friends, if you went to Chick-fil-a as an anti-gay show of support, shame on you. This whole situation should be about Freedom of Speech and not gay versus anti-gay. Unfortunately the gay protesters are wrong, but so are the anti-gay supporters. If you were there to support the Bill of Rights, good for you. Don’t infringe my Second Amendment and I won’t infringe your First.

            So if you like Chick-fil-a and their wonderful chicken sandwiches and waffle cut fries, then go and enjoy it with the knowledge you are not supporting any view on the gays. If you like spicy, their spicy chicken sandwich is my favorite.

Darkest Days

Their darkest days are still ahead.
	Forever changing, hanging dread.
		Scars still coming from where they bled.
	Parasites feed off the red.
Final glance they are all dead.

 

Do you feel that ghost that is calling from beyond the resting place? How do you face the fears of finality? Some say death is not the worst thing, but why do I fight to survive?

We have lived in bad conditions since this most recent war has swept our terrain into a wasteland. People think it is uninhabitable, yet we have survived. I feel that many people have given up on Government Assistance. We have not seen a representative since the most recent bombings. Although we didn’t ask for this war, it continues to affect our lives.

We let outsiders in and they betrayed us. Their fake assimilation into our society was an elaborate ploy to gain our trust and take us down from the inside. Their savior is not our savior. Their culture doesn’t mix well with our advancements. One suicide bomber can kill and injure many.

While we’re survivors, conditions are horrible. Our water is not clean, but we must drink it. We have been desperate enough to eat our beloved pets. Crops are scarce and not regenerating at the rate of consumption. How soon will we turn to cannibalism to survive?

We have no TV, no Internet, and no radio. We don’t know what is going on in the world, let alone our neighboring towns. The occasional attacks let us know we are not alone in the world.

Extremists ruined the world. Dreamers of peace and harmony ruined the world. Amnesty ruined this world. Idealism ruined this world. I survive to suffer in it.

Theme Songs

A few years ago I dated a guy who used to enjoy watching wrestling. I never got into it, but I enjoyed that the wrestlers would have theme songs that they would enter the arena with. I thought about what my theme song would be. I have created two versions one from an ex-lover and one from me. Think of these as having strong metal vocals, guitar, and drums. Now keep in mind this is more persona instead of who I really am. My preference is the ex’s version, but I wanted one for me to sing, so I did both.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
My worst dream come true.	Your worst dream come true.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
I hate everything about you.	I love everything that I do.
There was a time you were my love.	You used to think we were in love.
You were all that I dreamed of.	I shot you down like a dove.
Heart-broken, it’s tough to move on.	I am happy you are gone.
It even hurts now that you’re gone.	Now I rejoice til dawn.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
My worst dream come true.	Your worst dream come true.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
I hate everything about you.	I love everything that I do.
Wounded forever from your cold embrace.	Your damaged soul leaves a trace.
You treated me like a disgrace.	I still would love to smack your face.
I will never be the same again.	The ridding of you brought me Zen.
You are poison to all men.	You will never achieve such pleasure again.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
My worst dream come true.	Your worst dream come true.
You’re my horror story.	I’m your horror story.
I hate everything, hate everything, I hate everything about you.	I love everything that I do.

Whoriffic

Whoriffic

 

Scarier than herself which she sells, is the Hell where she dwells.

A woman who will sacrifice for anyone who will pay the price.

Even with the danger impending, the way out seems unending.

For the gal with her life on the line, she always smiles like it is fine.

 

       Life on the streets is not great. While some may say the money I make is great too much goes to my pimp and most of the rest is used to keep me attractive enough to earn a living. When the Johns don’t want to pay, I have to fight them for my money. If I don’t get paid, my pimp still expects his cut. He does not do much to protect me, but does get me clientele.

       My skills for honest work are limited. I feel so trapped in my situation that suicide looks like a good option more often than I would like to admit. My associate ladies hate each other because of the fierce competition to be the gal, who gets the business.

Even if I wanted to escape this life, there is not much I can do. My pimp would not let me. I would either have to move far away or kill him. Killing him does seem like my best option. Even if I get caught, I would get free meals and a place to stay for the rest of my life.

The course of action I was about to embark on was going to change situations for a lot of people. Most for the better and so it turned out not to be such a tough decision. My soul was already destined to Hell so it was not hard to think that my actions may actually be considered redeeming. The death of one to save the many seemed like an easy moral answer.

 

 

The night was right for the execution of her plan.

For she decided to slay the man.

A perfect opportunity rarely comes.

Carpeting red among the mums.

 

        So the date had arrived to culminate months of planning. My pimp was going to collect from me last, so no witnesses and no one else to be waiting for his arrival. He had a random schedule and none of us knew who he had collected from before and who he would see next.

       He picked me up down the road from my last client of the night. I got in as I normally do and was glad he was alone, which he usually is, so I was not considering it lucky or that everything was falling in to place perfectly. I would love to get away with his demise, but know no matter what, my life was going to improve.

       As we got to a park up the road, I jumped out knowing he would chase me. When I saw there was no one around, I slowed so he could catch me. I turned and slashed his throat before he had any idea of what was to come. His crimson splashed me. As he reached for his throat trying futile to stop the bleeding, I laughed and taunted him as he choked.

       He crawled towards me and I took a step back every time he got close enough to lunge at me. He collapsed and did not have a voluntary movement ever again. I had saved this damsel in distress, not some guy, me. I went back to the car and took the money he had collected. While it was far less than what I had given him in my career, it certainly made it so I can afford to live without working until something else came up.

 

Whose to say the police did care.

Horrible people are hard to bear.

Only some can pay the fare.

Rage can change fear to dare.

Evidence unavailable, not even a hair.

 

The police did question the other ladies and me. I don’t think anyone had a clue who had killed him, but no one tipped the police that it would have probably been one of us. The other ladies probably knew it was one of us, but were glad.

Some of the ladies went solo, while other found another pimp. I stayed out of the business. I am now a receptionist working with people who don’t know my past. The murder of my pimp remains unsolved. I am glad they didn’t try to pin it on someone else. I would have to confess then.

My life isn’t perfect, but it is so much better. I find intimate relationships difficult. I don’t talk about my past profession. I lie about who I am and what I have done. I hate the lies, but I hate the truth more. My conscience is clear with I did. I will never put myself in that position again.

 

            While I don’t really know the realistic version of prostitution, I took a stab based on all the great Hollywood glamorizations I have seen. This started with the title. I wanted to go for something horrific and conceived this prostitution tale. The first line rolled out and I thought this was going to be a poem instead of a story.

    The first segment was written a few years ago. I revisited this yesterday and decided I would finish this off.

Be With Me

Here is a poem I wrote about 5 years ago. I liked it then and still enjoy reading it. I am new here. I have been out of the blogging scene for a few years. I decided to try it again to test my creative output which has lied dormant for too long.

 

Be With Me

 

I take the blade.

Cuts are made.

Scars never fade.

Leave all debts unpaid.

 

Escape with scarlet shower glory.

Paint the walls to tell my story.

Respondents vomit, it’s too gory.

While vultures go through my inventory.

 

Though dead, I haunt you still.

Dreamlike, but way too real.

As you lay there, you get a chill.

Unlike me, for nothing I feel.

 

As you think about blading your arm.

You cry about the envisioned harm.

But no more antis from the pharm.

No refills, sound the alarm.

 

You decide you want to join me.

I moved on and that’s your envy.

Do it now, you won’t be empty.

United and damned for eternity.