Remorseful Determination

Youth is but the invisible hand of a desperate lover
Desperately attempting to grasp our hand in intertwine our fingers together
Bitterly smiling as the ghost of their hand wisps through yours
Distant eyes gazing into a world where this love could be true
Persisting against the ever flowing river of time, they reach for your hand
Affirming the wretched reality by vainly reaching out again and again
Corporeal Romeo and his ethereal Juliet
Torn seams ripping the fabric of reality
Which cloaked their bared back from the frigid bite of winter
Watching from a distance, prowling closer in the cover of shadows
The blade of crescent moons glinting ominously under the stars
Exchanging the misty hand of Time with his own skeletal one
Directing him elsewhere down the winding staircases that lead to his domain
Efficiently, despite the slight twinge of remorse echoing in his hollow chest
For perplexing Mortality had no heart, yet it had a mind
And Time’s trembling knees fell to the ground, unable to move


Hello! I just wanted to mention something about this poem. Although this may seem like a free verse poem, it is in fact a structured poem.  If you take the first letter in the first line, the second letter in the second line, the third letter in the third line, and so on, it will spell out a secret line. When counting, do not include anything other than the letters, i.e. spaces and apostrophes. Thank you so much for reading my writing. It really means everything to me, more than I can put into words, and I’m a writer. If you have any comments or critiques, please do not hesitate to leave them!

Advertisements

Eggplant

“What do you mean you’re cutting me off!?”

An outraged roar echoed through the living room as a man hastily jumped to his feet. He was either so absorbed in his anger that he did not notice, or so absorbed in his anger that he did not care, but as he rose, he had knocked over a photo of a man offering a elegant golden band to a woman overwhelmed with joyful tears, causing a jagged crack to abruptly split the couple apart.

Jacqueline cautiously placed her delicate hand over his, and he could feel her hand trembling like a sole leaf in a hurricane of horror.

“Kale, sweetheart, I know how hard it will be to quit, but we can’t afford to keep doing this anymore. If you’ll just consider rehab, I know that‒‒”

Kale let out a cacophonous wail as her forcibly thrusted Jacqueline away from him, not even sparing a glance as she let out a yelp of pain.

“No, no! You can’t do this to me, Jacqueline! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t!”

His eyes, filled with the hysterics of addiction and outlined with the dark rings of insomnia, captured hers as her seized her by her shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

“Honey, baby, you can’t do this to me!”

“Kale, you’re hurting me. Please stop.”

“Please, baby, don’t do this to me! You can’t do this to me.”

Kale’s unrelenting pleads consisting of the words “Can’t,” “Don’t,” and “Baby” slurred together in a dissonance of despair as his grip on her loosened somewhat, exposing dark, purple discoloration on her gaunt skin, dubiously in the shape of a handprint.

“Kale…” The discordant uproar was silenced by her words, trailing off with on a tender, harmonious note.

“Kale, we really can’t do this anymore. Look at the state were living in! Shambles of what could have been and still could be a brilliant life. We just need to pick the pieces up together. After all…” She inhaled a breath of courage before continuing. “We want the best for our little Junior, right?”

The silence that hung in the air threatened to suffocate her. Her knees trembled more than before and threatened to collapse under the constant pounding of her heart beat.

“You’re pregnant?

Her throat was too parched to respond, so instead she gave a slight nod of her head.

“I don’t understand why that means I have to quit.”

It took a long time before the meaning of his words finally registered in her mind.

“What do you mean you don’t understand?” She croaked, forcing the words through her constricted throat.

“I shouldn’t have to stop smoking just because you’re having a child.”

Something inside of Jacqueline snapped. She wasn’t sure what it was, desperation, hormones, parental instincts. Maybe a combination of a three. Nevertheless, nothing at that moment could stop the tsunami of thoughts from flooding out of her mouth.

“This isn’t just my child! This is our child; this is your child! Does that not mean anything to you? We should be discussing names or education plans now, not about your addiction! I know you had a rocky start with awful parents, Kale. We both did. But this is a chance to succeed where our parents failed. Don’t you want to give this child an opportunity, a chance?

“Of course I do! But that doesn’t mean—”

“Yes it does, Kale! It means you have to quit! I’m not going to support your habit anymore!”

Bang

Kale’s fingers trembled around the trigger of the gun as Jacqueline’s, and her unborn child’s, lifeless body unceremoniously hit the floor. Since the floorboards were rotten and long since warped, all of her blood pooled into a vicious crimson puddle and they splashed all over his boots as her walked over to the corpse. His fingers still trembled was he searched her person, though it was neither from remorse or despair. They trembled out of relief. For finally, finally, he would be able to get his fix: eggplant.

Influenza

Mary Ellen was just a little over twelve years old when she drew her final breath.

Even before the nurse had proclaimed her dead, a suffocating atmosphere hung amidst the hospital room, smothering the people trapped within. The only sound that could be heard was a continual ringing emanating from the electrocardiogram. No one spoke; no one wept. Not the doctor, not the father, not even the mother. The disturbing manner of it all had rendered their vocal chords ineffective.

For the corpse that laid in front of them was not one of a young girl but that of a old woman. Her hair, grayed but a month ago, was now sprawled out against her pillow, forming a monochromatic halo. Her pasty skin had warped under the immense force of time; each wrinkle forming a fragment of the story she maintained within. Beyond inquiry, she truly seemed like an individual who had intimately experienced life.

But she hadn’t. She was barely twelve, after all.

The silence was shattered by shrill screaming from Mrs. Carson.

“What happened to my baby? What happened to Mary Ellen?”

The shock of hearing another being speak stunned the room out of their silence.

Although the doctor attempted to address the situation articulately, his voice could not help but quaver a bit in despair and guilt. “Your daughter simply had the flu. It is nothing to ‒”

The father could no longer hold his tongue.“The flu? That’s a bald-faced lie!  Plenty of people have had the flu before and this didn’t happened to them!”

“Not this kind of flu.” The nurse solemnly muttered.

“What do you mean ‘this kind’?”

The doctor shot the nurse a particularly nasty look, mumbling under his breath about loose-lipped practitioners.

“The influenza virus has adapted symptoms that have eluded even the most esteemed scientists. Nonetheless, the government assures us that those scientist are diligently working towards a cure. The hospital can and will reserve the right to keep the body for observation. Furthermore, I am not at liberty to disclose the particular circumstances of your daughter’s death, so I ask for you to cease any further questioning.” Despite his best efforts, the doctor’s polite and professional demeanor seemed to crumble underneath their inquiries.

“Like hell we will! I don’t think you understand doctor,” Mr. Carson added in sarcastic emphasis. “But this isn’t your little science experiment. This is our lives you are dealing with. I don’t care about what rights your hospital has or doesn’t have. As a father, I can and will reserve the right to know what happened to my little girl. And if all I have to go through is some scrawny kid abusing his authority,” Mr. Carson sized up to the doctor, his eyes posing a silent challenge. “I will.”

The doctor seemed outwardly unfazed. “Have you just threatened me, Mr. Carson?”

“And what if I have?”

The doctor let out a weary sigh before reaching for the briefcase at the foot of the bed.

“These are the TH-7 files; the files for the variation of influenza your daughter had.”

He looked into the doctor’s steely eyes suspiciously, an unspoken question surging through his veins. Why the sudden change in heart? He began to open his mouth to request further answers, but the doctor had heard every silent word he left unspoken.

“Do you want to see these documents or not, Mr. Carson?”

The man didn’t seem to know himself anymore.

Grabbing the manilla folder with trembling fingers, the parents hastily scanned the documents within.

Mrs. Carson’s voice trembled in disbelief. “This…is impossible, right? This is chemically impossible!”

“You’ve seen the evidence with your own eyes, yet you will still deny the truth?” The masterful facade the doctor had put on earlier has completely faded away. Now the only thing that was put upfront what exhaustion

Mr. Carson’s eyes involuntarily flickered to where his daughter slept in eternal slumber.

“Is my daughter the only one?”

“Unfortunately, no. In the past years, there has been several cases of this variation internationally. To keep from global hysteria, it has been…swept under the rug, in a manner of speaking.”

“But surely some people have taken notice,” Mr. Carson interjected. “The symptoms are so distinct, it’s impossible to hide this fact from the entire world, isn’t it?”

The doctor averted his eyes, and for fleeting second, Mr. Carson could have sworn he saw guilt flare up in them.

“Indeed, you are correct, Mr. Carson. Although at first only select individuals were chosen to sustain this secret, certain people have unearthed this burden of theirs. Whether they set out to discover this or stumbled upon it in an unfortunate accident, they have figured out the hard way that curiosity eradicated the cat.”

It felt as if a serpent had slithered up Mr. Carson’s back and was now spiraled around his trachea, effectively cutting off his air supply. Terror caused his throat to become parched and he struggled to find his words.

“What do you mean?”

The doctor now refused to meet his gaze altogether. Instead, he turned to locked eyes with his nurse.

“Nurse Johnson, please inform the special operation agents that Mr. and Mrs. Carson have been snooping through our filing cabinet and have uncovered the TH-7 files. They will need to be eradicated posthaste.”

The nurse kept her poise as she vocalized her affirmative and hastily scurried towards the door.

Although Mrs. Carson still remained thoroughly baffled throughout the entirety of this affair, Mr. Carson had of relative comprehension of what was transpiring here and  understood that no amount of brawns would allow for him  to escape from here with his life intact.

Kneeling down beside her bed, Mr. Carson gently seized Mary Ellen’s now shrivelled hand. Although he had never been an exceptionally religious man, at the present moment he couldn’t help but close his eyes in prayer.

Lowering his voice Mr. Carson whispered soothingly to Mary Ellen.

“I’ll see you soon, my little girl.”