This is the beginning of my series of vignettes.

Okay, picture this:

It's 1975. I'm a rebel youth who hates her mother and seeks to escape and defy her for the first time in my life. So, what do I do? Find a destination, pack my bags, and leave. Where do I go? Well, where else? London, England: at the rise of the punk scene.

Being a foreigner and only seventeen with fifty-five dollars to your name is no way to do this. Trust me. So, in saying that, I made it to England fucked by the time zone, fucked with no place to go, and fucked because, you guessed it, my luggage got lost. What the piss could I do?

I walked around the streets for hours, confused and very lost. I have no idea where I was or what the hell I was doing here with no way to get back home safe to Mommy Dearest. The money I'd converted into pounds wasn't even half of what I'd originally had, thereby adding to the fucked factor. So, on the verge of tears, I headed into a local pub to get something to eat.

As soon as I entered the pub, I got looks from some of the men at the bar. I had on a short yellow and black plaid dress, leggings, ratty Doc Martens, and a blazer, after all. The looks were pretty much asked for because I looked like a tramp.

I did my best to avoid the wandering eyes as I stepped up to the counter to order.
"Can I get an order of fries, please?" I asked. The guy behind the counter wrinkled his nose at me and continued to clean out a bar glass.
"Wot?" he inquired in a thick Cockney accent.
"Fries. An order of fries. You have them, don't you?"
He shook his head,
"Sorry, girly. Don't speak American here."
"I, well, damn it." I sighed, defeated, and turned to go when a young guy about twenty grabbed me.
"She'll have chips." He told the man behind the counter.
"Ah, right, right!" He responded and went to get them from the fryer.

"You must be new here, then." The young guy said to me, scratching his head of shaggy, banana yellow hair. I nodded and scuffed my shoe along the floor, staring down at it.
"Yeah, just got here this morning. I don't know shit about this country, either."
My words caused him to laugh heartily.
"Ah, you're fucked, girly."
"You're telling me. I've got nothing but the clothes on my back and thirty pounds. The airport lost my luggage."
"Well, piss," he stated, eyebrows highly arched, "that's fuckin' awful. You got anywhere to stay?"
I looked up at him.
"Are you kidding? Fuck no."

A few moments passed between us before he spoke.
"Can you sing?"
"Excuse me?" I replied, taken back a bit.
"Can you sing? Me and some of my mates are tryin' to start a band. We can't find a fuckin' singer, though."
My eyes widened. Of course I could sing. I grew up on music and was pretty damn skilled with it, too.
"Hell yes, I can sing."
He smiled,
"Great! Come for an audition, after you eat them chips, that is."
"Are you serious?" I asked, incredulous.
"Absofuckinglutely, girly," He responded, still smiling.
"Okay, I will." I replied, broadening his smile.
"Great! I'm Ian, by the way. It's a pleasure." He extended his hand, so I took it.
"Flora."
"'Ey, girl! Chips are ready." The guy yelled. I started to go toward the counter, but Ian stopped me.
"It's on me, Flora. Welcome to England."
I smiled broadly.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, yeah, sure!" he responded cheerfully while passing the guy two pounds, fifty pence.

After eating the fries, Ian took me back to his small flat.
"Hey, hey!" he called upon entering. This place was pretty cruddy and a lot lower than what I was used to, but it was comfortable. Two boys around Ian's age walked into the room: one short with electric blue hair and freckles, and the other slightly taller with brown hair, brown eyes, and hip bones that could stab you if you got too close to them. These boys stood there, looking at me in awe.
"Mikey, Keith, this is Flora. She's new to England and she's going to try out for the band."

The boy with electric blue hair tried not to smile as he nodded.
"Right, right. We'll get to it. What you like?" he asked me, causing me to grimace.
"I don't know. Alice Cooper, Sabbath, stuff like that." My words forced him to break out into a smile.
"Alice Cooper! Keith, put on that record. Sing for us, Floie." Mikey urged. I felt a puke festival coming on at his words, but did as he'd instructed.

I did my best to impress these boys, who could make or break my future here in England. I flailed my arms around and stomped my foot to the beat, wailing with the record. Keith pulled the needle from the record and looked at the other guys.
"We've got a fuckin' singer." he stated as the others nodded in agreement.
"Seriously?" I questioned.
"Shit, yes. You're fucking perfect, Flo."
"And a nice piece of arse." Mikey muttered lowly to himself, but only I heard him. I smiled.
"Great! I'm excited." I exclaimed. Ian smiled.
"You can stay here if you'd like." He informed me.
"But I don't have any money." I responded.
"S'awright. Welcome to the land of squatting. Just buy us a keg every two weeks. That'll cover it."
"Okay!" I cheered, "Thank you so much."
"It's good to have you." He replied. Mikey smirked evilly to himself which caused Keith to hit him.
"Naff off, Mike." he muttered.
"Ah, fuck you, Keith!" Mikey responded.
"Lovely family." Ian stated and placed a hand on my shoulder, "and just look at what we've added to it." his words caused me to smile.

I slept on the floor in the band room with all the instruments and an old sheet as a blanket. I picked up a job at a local grocery a few streets away, offering me just enough to buy the kegs for the boys and a little clothing for myself.

"To The Clit Riders!" Ian stated, raising his glass.
"I know there's one I want to ride." Mikey muttered, lowly, and looked at me. I cringed discreetly.
"To The Clit Riders!" We drank and then Keith raised his glass again.
"To Floie, and welcome to England!"
"Floie!" They cheered.

For once in my life, I was perfectly content. I didn't have the nagging hand of my mother over me. Hell, I barely even remembered her anymore.

Good things never last. It's too true. And while our band was playing shows twice a week, there was hell at the house. I came home one night with my last paycheck from the grocery store and knew that I had to find some way to get a new job to buy the kegs. When I told Ian and the boys that I'd lost my job and was having trouble finding a new one, they told me not to worry about it. We weren't getting paid much for gigs and the boys didn't all work - how could I not worry?
"How will I make up for it?" I asked Keith. He looked at me strangely and pulled me against his razor sharp hips.
"There's a way, Floie." he said softly and pulled my face to his to kiss me roughly. So, that was it. The boys found a way for me to make up for lack of rent and passed me back and forth whenever they needed me. Everyone but Ian knew what was going on.

One night, right before our last show together, Mikey pulled me backstage and told me to be quiet. He pressed me against a wall and slid his hand up my skirt, which led me to bite my lip and grimace. I was nothing more than a cheap fuck to these boys and I should have known that from the start.
"Shh," Mikey coaxed, slipping his fingers inside of me, "you be quiet for me, Floie."
I closed my eyes, but didn't struggle. Then, Ian's voice broke the silence.
"What the fuck is going on?" He shouted, forcing Mikey to back away.
"She ain't paying rent, Ian."
I looked into Ian's eyes, shattering, and saw the same look in them.
"Go and get ready, Mikey. We're on in ten," he instructed, sending Mikey away. I turned my face from him and started to go, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.
"After all I fucking did for you, fucking slag! No fucking respect for anyone. Not even yourself."
"Ian, please, I - "
"Shut up, shut up. Just shut the fuck up! I gave you everything, and you tossed it into the rubbish."
"I'm sorry," I whimpered as he stormed away.

We played the worst show ever that night, and then Ian fucked me in the toilet.
"Did Keith fuck you this hard? Did Mikey like the feel of your mouth on his cock? Did he?" he snarled something along those lines, smacking my head against the wall as tears rolled down my face.
"Stupid cunt." he sneered and spat on me before leaving me ruined on the dirty linoleum. I sat up and grabbed some tissue to wipe the spunk off of my inner thighs, fixed myself, and walked out. The boys had already left and the next band was on: a five-piece called The Filthy Sckuf.

The lead-singer had the most obnoxious voice I have ever heard, and the band could barely play, but their presence amazed me. Convincing myself that I'd have a place to sleep that night, I ordered a pint and watched them play and almost got spit on by the bassist. When they finished, I had both a feeling of relief and a rush of uneasiness. The snide singer burped loudly and came over to the bar.
"'Ey, man, get me a pint, then." he sneered, spitting across the room. I cringed and turned away from him as he started coughing horrendously and the bar keep passed him a pint.

"How come he didn't have to pay?" I demanded, appalled.
"Cos he's a performer."
"So what? That's not fair. I played here, too."
The snide singer downed his pint and looked at me.
"Oh, fuck off. Your music's shit anyway." As he said this, my jaw dropped to the floor and I threw the rest of my pint in his face.
"Fuck you, it's all I've got! You can't even sing!"
He growled at me and pushed me, then spat on me.
"And you sing too pretty. You're a fucking fraud."

I jolted from the floor and pushed him against a wall.
"Don't you call me a fraud." I told him in an icy tone. His deep blue eyes raged with fury.
"I don't hit birds, dearie, but you're fuckin' pushin' it."
I sneered and slapped him.
"You don't have any idea what I've already been through tonight."
"Baby, you don't know what I've been through in my life." He shot back.

The bassist came over cheering, with a forty ounce beer in his hands.
"Hey, John! You gonna have it off with her, then?" He laughed and sipped his beer.
"Close yer gob, Alfie, for fuck's sake." he snapped, but Alfie didn't lose his smile.
"Right, right! Hey, Dave, Charlie, Jimbo!" He called to the other members of the band before joining them, despite the fact that they were too busy with a group of girls to notice him.

I looked back at John,
"You gonna let me go, or you gonna keep me pinned to this wall all night and waste my time?" he snarled and I raised a brow.
"What's the matter with you? You don't like being pinned to a wall by a girl? Are you too much of a pussy to push me off?"
John glared at me and pushed me hard then brushed past me.
"Cunt." he grumbled under his breath as he lumbered off towards the rest of the band, but I followed him.
"Piss off!" he shouted, "what do you care if I got a pint for free? Christ, you're blowing everything out of proportion!"
"You called me a fraud." I glowered.
"You are," he began, "but we all are in our own way. 'Cept me. I'm realer than real."
"I think you're just a cocky bastard." I retorted, coldly, sending him a mean sneer. He raised his fist, and as he was about to hit me, Alfie grabbed him arm.
"Come on, John. Stop actin' about! Buy the bird a drink."
John looked at him as though he'd lost it.
"Yeah, man! Save the abuse for a bunk-up!" Charlie, the curly blonde drummer, called before clinking his glass against the two guitarists' and downing his pint.
"I wouldn't shag this bird." John grumbled and spat on the floor in my direction.
"Oh, bollocks!" Alfie exclaimed, incredulous, "you'd hop into her knickers in a flash!"

John shook his head and started swearing to himself.
"I'm fucking out of here. I'll see you tomorrow, mates," he looked at me, "hope I never see you again." He snarled and gave me the look of death.
"You lie, John. But don't worry; I'll be at every gig you play from now on." I kissed him hard on the lips and the band cheered. When I pulled away, I noticed just how red his had become, and smirked to myself, then patted his cheek.
"Goodnight." I cooed before putting on my blazer and walking out of the club.

I left in a haughty manner, overly proud of myself for creating such a scene, but the magic didn't last. I took no more than five steps when I saw Keith approaching me with a duffle of my things.
"What's going on?" I panicked.
"Ian wants you gone. Don't come back no more, Floie."
"But, why?"
Keith threw the duffle at me.
"He don't like sharin'," be began, "wanted you for himself."
"What?"
"He wanted you for himself." He repeated and spat on my shoes before walking away.

I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, letting the news sink in. I was homeless, now. I had no money, no job, no food, no home. No one would even give a damn about that. Defeated, I sank onto the sidewalk, pressing my back against the brick, and hugged my knees tightly to my chest. I heard loud, garbled voices coming from the club, and soon, The Filthy Sckuf emerged, singing in a drunken stupor. They didn't even see me. I noticed that John was not with them, and too soon after that observation, I heard that awful cough and spit routine. He walked out of the club and spat on the sidewalk then started to walk in my direction, so I buried my head in my knees.

"What you doing down there, then?" he asked, "don't you want to go home to your boys and have a bunk-up?"
I bit my lip.
"I can't go home, and, unfortunately, I've had to fuck them for the past four months cos I couldn't get a job for rent." I said softly and looked up at him.
"You're joking," he stated, incredulous and slightly appalled.
"No, I'm not." I replied and got up then picked up my duffle, "I don't have a clue where I'm going now, but I've got to go find somewhere to go."
I began to walk away, but he called,
"Hey! Wait!" and I turned around as he rushed over to me, "you want to come to my gaff tonight? It's not much, but it's better than a gutter - well, maybe not, but, it's a place to sleep."
"You're really unpredictable, John." I told him, shaking my head, "Christ, I thought you hated me."
"No, I don't hate," he started, "I just make people think I do so they fuck off." He smiled queerly at me.
"Would you really give me a place to stay for a little while?" I questioned.
"Yeah, sure. I think I can stand you for an hour or two."
I sneered and hit him playfully.

"Come on, get the fuck, the train stops runnin' in twenty minutes." He grabbed my wrist and tugged me down the street towards the station.
"But I don't have any money." I told him.
"Christ, you've been in England for over a year and you don't know how the subway works? Watch and learn, girly." He looked quickly around the station then bolted under the turnstile, taking me with him.
"Ouch." I whimpered and rubbed my head.
"Yeah, that happens sometimes. Come on."
We rushed down to the terminal and hopped onto the train seconds before the doors shut.
"Christ, what a rush." John stated, attempting to catch his breath, "What the fuck is your name, by the way?"
"I'm Flora." I responded and he shook his head.
"Fucking Americans."

When we got to his building, I could not believe how filthy his apartment was, and how little like a home it looked. He had no real furniture other than a few ratty cushions, a television, and a tipsy cardboard box with a few half-filled bottles of booze and an ashtray.
"Ah, home," he proudly said, "you'll meet the flatmates soon enough." he informed me.
"Who else lives here?" I asked causing John to grin.
"Oh, you know, the roaches, the rats, some mice. They don't hurt you if you don't hurt them."
I cringed discreetly at his words and simply nodded.

John stretched out on the cushions and lit a cigarette, but I stood still and looked around, nervously, for the flatmates.
"Mind if I shower?" I inquired. He shrugged.
"Do what you want. Just don't leave any girly products lying about." He responded and turned on the TV.

I wanted to wash all of my skin off, just peel away the layers until I was just bone. I don't know how long I was in there, but I turned into a lobster. I just stood there and let the water hit me, just staring at the grimy tile wall. John came into the toilet and yelled,
"Hey, Flora! You've been in there for twenty minutes! Come on, then!"
But I made no response. I sank to the bottom of the tub and let the tears run down my face, washed away by the water, over and over, but they didn't stop flowing.
John called again and when I made no response, he pulled the shower curtain and saw me there, sitting down, curled up, and crying.

Something changed in his face at that moment, for he, too, looked as sore as I was. He turned off the water and wrapped me in a towel, then he helped me out of the shower.
"Don't let those cunts ruin your life, Flora. Don't let the bastards win." He urged. My head fell against his shoulder and I wrapped my arms around him, but he did not respond to me. He slowly patted me on the back and left me to dress.

A month or so went by, and I told John I was going to find another place to go since I felt I had outworn my welcome. As I opened the door and took one step out, he stopped me.
"Don't go."
I turned to look at him, but before I could say anything, he pulled me inside, slammed the door, and stared at me. "You're staying." he declared, eyes firmly fixed on mine. I went to speak, but he pulled me into his arms and kissed me fervently, honestly, and I returned the kiss in the same manner. A spark had grown into a fire between us.

I didn't leave that day, or the next, or the next. I didn't want to; because even though Johnny and I had nothing more than each other, it was all we needed. And all I'd ever wanted.

One North - based on a true story

"Motherfucker, I swear, man, if I don't get out of this place, I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."
My mother pursed her lips at my words, obviously offended, and spelled the word "dog" on the Scrabble board.
"That's the whole reason you're here," she stated, correctly. I was crazy already. I mean, who else tries to overdose on anti-depressants and mood stabilizers? I'd been miserable all week, with no reason as to why, so as an impulsive resort to pain relief, I tried to end it. Forever.

***

"Your medication, darling!" Mel exclaimed in a sing-song voice, handing me the amphetamine drive that I desired. I gladly took my second dose, bumping up the intake of my high-spirited perscription to sixty milligrams. Tom Waits crooned a sweet jazz beat in the background as Mel and I sat on the asphalt road in the dark, the glow of headlights the only light we had. My breath danced in the beams, yet I felt so warm, so alive. The plastic straw in my mouth shredded the sides of my cheeks, and I could taste metal, spitting out a combination of saliva and blood every so often. At least I wouldn't grit my teeth. Our evening together ended, and speeding whilst speeding, I made it home from Carroll County to Catonsville in twelve minutes. That weekend, I didn't sleep for fifty-two hours, and as soon as I came down, my high spirits came down, too.

Nothing mattered any longer. I found that all I did was curl on a foam mat, unmoved, watching the skies change from pink, to purple, to black, closing my eyes with my body in fetal position and wanting to be that blackness: faded, gone, forgotten. It didn't make sense to me to continue what I'd started, desiring more than anything to be rubbed out, erased. Late Wednesday, I tried to fade from existence, and the next day, I was far away from home, further than I'd ever wanted to be.

***

"Wake up, Lindsay, it's time for Group!"
Rolling over at ten in the morning on Friday, my stomach grumbled and my eyes refused to remain open. The orderlies had taken away my makeup, and I had a mug like no other, a beast of fuckin' burden. Everything was blurry as I lumbered down the hall to the Day Room, noticing how little things had changed in my five-year absence. I plopped into a hard-backed chair and struggled to focus, acknowledging the faces that sat around me.

Everyone was forced to introduce themselves and form a reachable goal after a series of rules and regulations. I met them all: the homocidal maniac, the alcoholic, the cokehead, the woman with panic attacks, the depressed bunch, the pill-popper. And there I was with a facade so fine and dandy, wanting more than anything to go home, I walked into the room with a big, cheesy bullshit grin, hoping that if I fooled them into thinking I was cured, they'd let leave and go home on Saturday, Sunday - I didn't care. I just wanted to go home.

***

"This place is so boring." I groaned, downing another cup of cranberry juice and dumping the bottle into a trashcan to join its empty twin. Edgar and I roamed the hall with nothing to do, thinking, hoping, digging through our brains for something - anything. The Fast Trak exercise machine in the hall got annoying after a while, and being incarcerated with a bunch of loons and irritable addicts, it was a bad idea to piss someone off.

***

The facility had this puzzle of the United States that I constantly put together, never fully succeeding for reasons beyond my control.
"I can't find Hawaii or Alaska. And why the hell doesn't Illinois fit near Lake Michigan?"
Needless to say, this place was as empty as the boxes to half the games.

***

"Smoke break." Joe the orderly called. I walked out the door to join those who wanted to poison their lungs. It was the only time patients could go outside and see the world as much as they could through the wooden fence. Sure, second-hand smoke has caused deaths before, but just to be outside, I didn't care. I shivered in the darkness and stared at the smoky sky, the stars barely visible. We were inside a cage, fenced in from top to bottom with no real view of anything. Moving quickly past the slats in the fence, I could see a motion picture of the hospital parking lot. God, how I yearned to taste freedom.

***

Sunday came, and Edgar the homocidal maniac, Brian the depressed NYU graduate, Jimmy the angry play-by-ear pianist, and I had knocked back three bottles of cranberry juice. We'd glugged down so much of the stuff that they had to order more of it to be sent to One North, our own personal crazy house.

"This place is an insane asylum," Steve the cokehead said as the patients transitioned into lunch.
"That's what it's supposed to be," Kathy the pill popper reminded him.
"It drives you crazy 'cuz there's shit all to do."
Nodding in agreement, I continued to work on my discharge plan. I'd be damned if I had to spend another day incarcerated in that hell.

***

Reading in my room, and epiphany for my unknown depression hit me: the speed. I'd been reading David Sedaris's work the whole time I'd been in the hospital, and while humor had been frequent, I suddenly stumbled upon it. He spoke of his life as an attempted artist, how he experimented with countless drugs, and the effects of speed: the only drug I'd ever touched, the drug I'd taken only a week beforehand. Speed, he said, sends you into an unexplained, suicidal depression, causing you to pay tenfold for all the fun you thought you were having. It made complete sense. I'd been miserable with no reason as to why, and now it made sense. I had screwed myself over with speed, and it was a lesson not to touch it ever again.

***

"I'm ready to go home." I informed the doctor, fervor in my voice. He raised his eyebrows and tapped his pen against the desk: click, click, click, click.
"I am not sure that you are." He responded, folding his large, hairy hands.
"I've completed my discharge plan and I've even made a plan to manage my time better for the week at school." I handed him the half-crumpled papers, the handwriting terribly illegible, as usual. He must have thought I was in the junkie limbo with one look at my shaky hands. I watched as he reviewed my plans, nodding occasionally, so goddamn pretentious; but these smarmy psychiatrists think they're the shit just because they can look in a book, pretend to read, and say,
"Hmmm, yes, you're depressed," without any real thought.

Placing the papers on the desk, he picked up the telephone.
"I do not know that you are really better. Have you..have you had visitors this weekend?"
"Yes, my mother and stepfather visited me."
"And...would she say that you are doing better?"
"I would think so. She saw how I've improved over the weekend."
"Hmm...I will call her."
I gave him the number and he spoke to her for five minutes, which felt like the longest five minutes of my life. The pseudo-core junkie limbo got worse as he "hmmed" and "I seed" on the phone. Her story would confirm or deny my freedom.

"She says that you have been doing well." He stated. Well, no shit, I thought, but nodded, coolly, playing the sane card. "You will be discharged today, but when you see your outpatient psychiatrist, you must talk to him about the Adderall. I am thinking of putting you on it should you become as social and lively as you say you do. I must impress the seriousness of its use. You have been using it as a street drug, and your history of drug abuse, you must stop your drug habits. I will prepare the discharge paperwork."

I thought it was complete bullshit that he said I had a history of drug abuse. I'd used amphetamines twice in a two-year span. That's one hell of a history, all right! I practically danced down the hall, finally free from this hell. My mother arrived at two-thirty and I said my goodbyes, downing a final cup of cranberry juice with the boys. Kathy hugged me, her cheeks wet with tears, giving me words of hope and encouragement. I couldn't bring myself to forget these people I had learned to love over five days' time; I don't think I ever could.

***

I looked at the entrance of the hospital from the parking lot and watched the glass door turn, the people coming and going. My mother opened the car door as I stood there fascinated as an outsider looking in, knowing just how it felt to be trapped in that sterile cage. A part of me wished that I had stayed behind with this close-knit family I had just formed, but I knew far well that I had to move on and life my life, and I couldn't live life for the others.
"Are you ready to go?" My mother called from the inside of the car. Pausing a moment, I nodded, pulling my sunglasses from my head over my eyes.
"Yeah. I'm ready."

Matchbook

From a very early age, I recognized I was not afraid of fire. In fact, I took comfort in it. I stood on the great Mount Ararat as my mother sputtered on the Earth. She whispered to me,

“Vartan, fly this place. Just keep going.”
I turned and looked at her weary body, withering into nothingness on the ground.
“You must not sleep, Mother,” I replied, “for how can I fly if you do not show me the way?”
She smiled, her eyelids closing as she did so.
“You will find the way. Have faith.”
“In such times, we cannot,” I said.
“Oh, boy, in such times, it is all we have,” she replied.

I merely sighed at her words and sank to my knees. I took a pack of matches from my pocket and examined the package:

Madner’ Miasin Gerav
Abovian Str. 17, Yerevan.

They came from my father’s restaurant. I remembered pocketing them just before this all started, before we were sent on this march through the mountains.

I went home after school to find no home at all. Mother sat on the doorstep of our house, weeping as flames engulfed it. As I approached her, she swallowed me into her arms and buried her soggy face in my neck.

“The worst of our fears has been confirmed,” she wailed, “the Turks have come for us, Vartan. Oh, Shavarsh, Shavarsh!”

I listened to my mother cry Father’s name and curse the Turks for destroying us, but my mind drifted as the flames danced before my eyes. Neither of us budged from the doorstep. This was our home. How could we ever leave it?

Our neighbor rushed out of his burning home, still in his pajamas from his afternoon nap. He screamed and choked on the thick smoke that had filled the neighborhood.

“Astuats! Oh, lord, why?” he cried, trying to pat the flames from his body. I did not budge. The fire held more intrigue to me than saving my dear friend’s life. He looked at us,

“Vartan, tsakig,” he began, “please, help.”
Mother looked up and screamed, watching the man’s flesh burn.

“Vartan,” she cried, pushing me to his aid. I stumbled and stared as the man writhed, still burning. What could I possibly do?

His charred body sank to the ground and ceased to move. I tapped him with my foot, but got no response. I looked at Mother,

“He’s asleep,” I said. She sobbed and pulled me into her arms. It was after this she told me that we had to leave.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we ran through the forest, “where is Father? Shouldn’t we wait for him?”

Mother sniffled,
“He isn’t coming,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked, slowing down a bit to catch my breath.
“He has left us,” she explained.
“He wouldn’t,” I replied.
“He could not stop, my son,” she said, “they have taken him from us.”
I blinked.
“Will he come back?” I asked. Mother wept.
“Come along, we must continue.”

We made it to the base of the mountain and decided to rest.
“They can’t get us here. It is a holy ground,” Mother said, squeezing the cross around her neck.
“When is dinner?” I asked.
“When the Lord wills it,” she answered, closing her eyes to sleep below the stars. I stayed awake and played with the matches I still had in my pocket. I lit one and watched the flame fade just before it could touch my skin. I smiled and lay down to rest beside Mother.

The next day, I built a fire to keep warm and to cook. Mother told me to put it out because the Turks would find us.
“It is too dangerous,” she insisted, “they will see the smoke and kill us. Put it out, please, before it is too late.”
“Mother, you are silly,” I said, “look how happy the flames are. Look how they dance. We should let them dance. How can we eat if they do not dance? How will we stay warm at night?”
Mother scowled. I walked away to look over our area and when I returned, Mother had stopped the flames from dancing. But for a week, I let them dance while she slept.

I lit a match as she rested on the Earth, and when I turned to speak to her, to ask her if we could ever fly again, I saw how still she had become. I dropped the match and crawled to her.
“Stop lighting those, Vartan,” she croaked, “I have told you what happens.”
“But it has not,” I said, “look how we are still safe. It has not harmed us to let them dance.”
Mother exhaled heavily and turned her head to the side. Her face rested on the Earth and her mouth was filled with it. I laughed,
“Mother, you are silly. You can’t sleep now!”
She said nothing, she just kept sleeping. I scowled and threw a match onto the pile of rotten stick I had found. I smiled as I watched them dance before my eyes.

“Look at them, Mother,” I exclaimed, “look how they dance.”
She did not reply. She kept sleeping. I frowned and ran my fingers through the flames with haste, feeling invincible. Night fell and I took my rest beside the flames.
When I woke, they had faded. I sighed and took out the package to start another fire, only to find that it was empty. I blinked and shook my head.
“Mother, we have no more matches and the fire has died,” I said. I turned to look at her only to find that she had not moved at all. She said nothing. I crawled to her and shook her.
“Mother,” I repeated, still getting no response, “what has gotten into you? Wake up, silly.”

But she slept still. I waited for her to wake, but she did not. Hunger set in and I shivered in the dark with no flames to keep warm by, to cook with, or to watch dance. Mother did not wake, and I, too, grew sleepy.
“How can I fly if you do not show me the way?” I asked. I lay down next to her and closed my eyes to sleep. I was flying right beside her.

Farewell in dreams

With eyes like hers, I knew she could capture a kingdom by merely fluttering her thick black lashes - but all of us knew she'd never try. God, she was beautiful. My hands trembled slightly above her perfect porcelain skin, somewhat graying and very cold. Slowly, so slowly, my fingertips traced her frail cheek, losing all the warmth in my body, just as she had. How could this have happened?

I yearned to kiss her more than anything. I needed to revive my Snow White, but she remained stone dead, forever removed from my grasp. I cautiously wrapped a strand of her raven hair around my fingers, curling it and preening it with utmost care. She used to love when I did this. What I'd do to hear her laugh about it again.

"She was carrying a child, son." My father told me, the evening of my wedding. She lay motionless before me, caked in blood, staining her gorgeous cream gown with carnelian parades. I looked at him, rocking her lifeless body in my arms and shook my head with fury.
"She's sleeping. It's all theatrics. It's not real. She's quite an actress!"
My mother laid a hand upon my shoulder,
"She's gone, my dear," she whispered, for her voice had gone hoarse, "and so is your child."


I never thought the woman would carry my child. She was always so terrified of committing to anything with me. Shockingly, she'd agreed to marry me, and I'd never been happier - but it took effort on my part, lots of it. I started to imagine what my child would have looked like, what it would have been, how I'd even manage to raise it...but I couldn't see anything.

I ached to vomit because of how distraught I had become. Maybe things did happen too soon between us, but she left me even sooner. I ran my fingers across the engagement ring I'd given her and brutally fought the tears that soon defeated me. Even stained with blood, she never failed to amaze me. I covered her face with the sweet lace veil that she had intended to wear for our service, and with one final holy kiss, I sealed a goodbye to both her and our baby.

God, she was beautiful.

I woke to the sound of sobbing beside me. I looked over at him and frowned with compassion. I didn't understand and didn't ask. I placed a hand softly on his spasming back and squeezed his shoulders.
"Don't leave." he whispered before pulling me into a brutal kiss. I closed my eyes.
"I'm not." I replied.
He gripped my hands so tightly that tears began to form in my eyes.
"Don't leave..."
"I'm not going to." I reassured him. He nodded and kissed me passionately, pinning me to the mattress. I closed my eyes and let him fill me.
"This could be our only chance."

Untitled garbage part durrr

They lay side-by-side in the dark, breathless and sweat-drenched. She struck a match and lit a cigarette then passed it to him just before the flame went out. He puffed in and exhaled with and accentuated moan.
"So, I've got to ask," he began. She rolled onto her side to face him in the pale moonlight that shone through the factory window.
"What's that?"
He passed the cigarette to her and she inhaled, blowing out perfect rings of smoke that danced in the moon's beams. He watched her, entranced.
"Who are you?"
She smiled and ashed on the cold concrete floor.
"That, my darling, is purely confidential."
He grinned and shook his head.
"Confidential? Sweetheart, I just spilled my DNA in you. Come on, how about a name?"

He snatched the cigarette back with his free hand and took a drag.
"No, sorry. Afraid I can't oblige," she responded in a coy manner while stroking his bare chest.
He laughed,
"Well, don't blame me when you're crying to your girlfriends about how I didn't call you. Just trying to be a gentleman, here. You know, I usually don't sleep with women after our first battle."
"Aww, how sweet," she remarked, the sarcasm painful.
"Yeah, I'm quite the catch, I suppose. Just that no one really knows how to sink their claws into me. I'm unstoppable."
"I see,"

She uncuffed him and he sat up almost instantly.
"You see, baby doll, I'm kind of a busy man. You know, knife fights on Monday, wreaking havoc on the city Tuesday afternoon -- oh, and in the evening as well -- Wednesday, I blow up a train station, maybe rob a bank, Thursday's back to the usual wreaking of havoc, and Friday, I have bridge."
"You play bridge?" she asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
"No, no, no, I blow it to smitherenes. I'll tell you something. Nothing gets me going better than dynamite, baby doll," he finished the cigarette, "mmm, but you sure look good."
"You may find me very useful."
"Useful? Do tell how?"
"We could make a great team, you and I."
"Ohh, I'm sorry, baby doll, but my work's my own. It's my craft, my baby. Hate to break it to you, but you'd really just be in the way."
"No, I assure you --"
"Trust me, I've got things to do, and when I want them done, it's either my way or...my way. I appreciate the volunteer application, really, it's so kind of you, but I have no use for you. If I get an opening, though, I'll let you know."

He got off of the floor and buttoned his shirt and pants, dusting his hands before turning on a dim light and moving back to his chair. She frowned and followed him.
"I want you," she said, causing him to laugh, maniacally.
"Didn't notice! But, as I said, I'm a very busy man, and you'd be a huge distraction. Killer body like yours coupled with what you just did to me," he whistled, "I'd never get anything done. Hate to break it to you, but I wouldn't be able to keep myself off of you."
"That's not a problem," she said, smirking.
"Maybe not for you, baby doll, but I'm just too busy. If I'm ever free and in need a of a little fire, though, you'll be first on my list." He winked.

She glared and placed her hands on her hips.
"Do we need to go through with that again for me to convince you?"
"Oh, as much as I'd absolutely love to, I'm expecting an old friend at any minute. So sorry. You may wanna get out of here."
"No," she replied, curtly.
"No? Oh, sweet baby, am I going to have to removed you myself?"
He snapped his gloves and advanced her, reaching into his pocket. She backed up against the wall, feeling her body flush with excitement.
"I'd sure hate to deprive myself of such a talented creature. But the choice is yours," he said, cornering her against the wall and pressing his body to hers, "you gonna leave? Or you gonna let me kill you?"

He pulled a pistol, cocked it, and placed the barrel to her forehead. As he did so, he felt the same against the back of his skull.
"Don't you hurt her," a low, gutteral voice demanded. He smiled broadly and turned around.
"So good of you to show up. Do you know how long I've been waiting here?" he turned to her, "I'm afraid we're going to have to rain check that leave or be killed thing. Like I said, very busy. But, um, here's my card. Give me a call sometime, beautiful. And, uh, don't forget those stems." He grinned, acknowledging her legs.
"Let's go, buddy," the dark figure insisted.
"Catch you on the flip, baby doll. Time to make this bat fly!" He laughed and snatched a baseball bat out of thin air and struck at the dark figure, only to be knocked flat on his back.

"I don't appreciate that. Gotta confess, it's a bit aggrivating. But if you insist on fighting dirty, I'll bring on the filth."
He dove across the room at the dark figure, where she could no longer see either of them. She heard grunting and scuffling, and the sound of metal clashing metal.
"All right, I'm going to take my leave," she called.
He grunted and she heard a loud crash.
"No, you stay put, missy. When I win this fight, I'll want to celebrate!" he laughed loudly.
"You won't win this one, pal," the dark figure growled. She sighed and leaned against the wall, disappointed.
Should have known better, she thought. Of course he's busy wreaking havoc and destroying things. Why would he ever have time for a woman?

She became lost in thought for a moment, and time seemed to slip away from her. All of a sudden, he grabbed her, shaking her back into reality.
"I'm taking this with me! Hang on, baby doll. We're about to go for a long, long ride down!" She screamed as he dove through the glass window, gripping her with all his might. Just as they were about to crash to the ground, she uttered a few choice words and they remained suspended in the air. He looked up and down, and then to her,
"Did you do that?"
She nodded and he grinned profusely.
"You may prove useful after all. I'll keep you. On a contingent basis, that is." He laughed and she began to float them upward and away, still clenched in his arms.

She lay her head on his shoulder as they continued to float.
"What's your destination?" she asked.
"To the moon," he responded, beaming, "and back!"
"Is that really where you want to go?" she asked, "I mean, it is possible, but, seriously."
"Let's save that for another time, hmm?"
"Yeah, sure...so, where are we going?"
"You are going to bed with me," he laughed hysterically and fiercely pressed his lips to hers. She almost screamed from terror and excitement, but returned his actions, wrapping herself even tighter around him as they floated through the evening sky.

Untitled, as usual. Part 1 of this mess

Her robe blew wistfully in the chill night wind as she ever so cautiously tip-toed outside of the window. She looked down at the traffic moving on the streets and, sighing, inhaled the evening air. Her eyes moved across the great black canvas above her, filled with glittering stars and a great honey moon.

Tonight, she thought, tonight, I'll take my prize.

With a deep breath, she released her hand from the railing and let her body tumble down towards the street. The adrenaline pumped through her veins, filling her with euphoria. The robe flew from her body and she spread her arms, sprouting for herself a set of wings. Gracefully, she landed on her bare feet, what seemed miles from her starting place.

She looked around her, only to find silence and utter desolation. Broken glass lay scattered on the ground. Trash, old newspapers, and remainders of times forgotten all lay strewn before her feet. She closed her eyes and summoned a pair of shoes - black, peep-toe stilettos, with feathering just above the toe. She smiled, pleased with her plan to pack lightly, and proceeded forward across the train tracks.

Heat rose from the ground, and she could see smoke as she drew closer to the old factory before her.
"You're here, I can sense it. I feel you in my bones."
She pointed her foot just so and tapped her toe against the steel doorway of the building. With great caution, she eased the heavy door open, as not to stir a commotion. She peered inside and saw him, sitting in a recliner with his back to her and his feet propped up in front of a large fire. She smiled and stepped forward, reaching her hands out to grab him.

"I've been expecting you," he said, tapping his fingers on the arms of the chair. She paused, confused, to ponder his statement before advancing slowly.
"Ah, ah, ah!" he warned, "not so fast. I want to savour this long awaited moment in time. Maestro!"

He clapped his hands and a forboding string quartet began to play.
"I've always been the one to add those subtle undertones that really set the mood. Now, let's dance."

He swiveled quickly in his chair, a cheshire grin implanted on his face. His eyes fell upon her and soon, it dissipated.
"Well, hello, beautiful! Not exactly the company I was hoping for, but I'll never turn down a woman's warmth to get my fire going."
He smirked at his petty joke as he stood and threw another cannister of gasoline into the blazing flames.
"Ooh, toasty!" he warmed his hands and looked at her, hungrily,
"Now, how about that dance, baby doll? Perhaps a change in the soundtrack?" The music changed to a sultry jazz tune as his snapped his fingers, "the scenery?" he slicked back his hair and magically produced a bottle of champagne and a red rose, placing them before her, "the lighting?" he snatched another cannister of the gasoline and poured it in the shape of a heart on the floor, all the while, looking at her. He lit a match and tossed it to the gasoline.
"Impressive, huh?" he grinned and advanced to her, looking her over, thoroughly,
"Now, what's a good lookin' woman dressed like you doing here with me, hmm?"
He took hold of her wrist and stroked her skin with his gloved thumb, never breaking eye contact.
"Speak to me, I never like a mute one."

She smiled and licked her lips before speaking,
"I'm here for you."
"Well, now that we've established that...ten minutes ago, let's get down to the meat of things. What do you want with me? Are you here to supposedly capture me and cart me off somewhere? Is that your plan? I'm not a fan of plans, by the way. Too predictable!"
"I prefer a bit of spontaneity myself," she replied.
"Oooh! Clever one. So, what are you gonna throw at me, baby doll? Hit me with it. Let's go."

She did not move at first. Her heart raced with fear and exhilaration.
"Come on, lovely, a man like me's got plenty of business to tend to! I don't think you've got whatever it is in you."

She glared at him and pushed him away from her and against the closest wall. He growled and attempted to pounce back at her, reaching for his knife. She pushed him back again and applied pressure with her knee to hold him in place.
"You know," he began, "I'm starting to get a little bit annoyed with you, here. And I sure wouldn't want to mess up that pretty little face of yours. But, I gotta admit, you're leaving me with very few options, here."

He pushed her aside and onto the floor, freeing the knife from his pocket. She scrambled to get up, but he plummeted to the floor, straddling her.
"Give me a big, nice smile, baby doll." He held her firmly in place, preparing the knife by her cheek. She squirmed, fighting to get him off of her, but not truly desiring him to do so. It was, indeed, a game. He moved in closer and smelled her skin.
"Mmm....I'm really gonna hate to do this, but how else are you going to learn respect?" he grinned and grabbed her throat with his left hand, steadying her head as he got ready to plunge the knife through her skin. Just as he was about to strike, she broke his grip on her and pulled his face to hers, kissing him in a bruising manner. Shocked, he dropped his knife and pulled her closer to himself, returning her fire with more of his own. She shivered as she felt the heat of his body against her, and entwined her arms around his neck.

He pulled his lips away from hers for a moment to catch his breath,
"Full of surprises, aren't you?"
She smiled, devilishly and nodded,
"Oh, honey, you don't know the half of it."

She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his again. As he reciprocated her actions, he felt cold metal snap around his wrist. He pulled away from her to find himself handcuffed to a piece of factory equipment.
"Now, that's really something, baby doll," he remarked, a blatent sneer on his face. She smiled with sweet disdain and kissed him again with twice the fervor.
"Oh, baby, we've only just begun."
She turned to the fire and with icy breath, blew out the flames, leaving them to play in the darkness.

Random ass revamped story.

I walked up to the door, nervously, hoping he wouldn't be there. Hesitantly, I knocked, and the door opened.

"Hey, come on in," she said. I walked inside to find myself surrounded by nothing more than the faint light of candles and the scent of several sticks of incense burning: sandalwood, rose, Egyptian Musk. I entered the living room, my eyes wandering, yet before I could do anything, she came up from behind me and stroked my body with her soft hands.

"What are you doing?" I asked. She grinned and shoved me onto the couch that had already been pulled out of its slumber. I noticed that her lips did not bear the same chapped feeling as they often did when she kissed me. In fact, I found them soft and warm. She licked my lips playfully. I knew far well where this would lead, and it wasn't something we hadn't already done.

While it happened, I couldn't concentrate. The physical feelings were pleasurable, to be sure, but I couldn't pay attention to them. My mind riveted in guilt. Her breath grew heavy and she turned over, smiling at me.

"What?" I asked. She pulled me closer and we started to kiss. I reached a hand out to touch her, to pull her even closer to my sweaty body. She uttered a soft cry, followed by a strange, tinny giggle.

I heard a distinct jingling sound at the door, causing me to stop dead in my actions. The door began to open, and he walked in.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he bellowed. She jumped off of me.

"You don't understand --"

"There's nothing to understand!"

He smacked her to the floor and began to pummel her with his fists. When I saw him hitting her, I did not know how to react. It angered me to see someone that beautiful being desecrated and mangled by a harsh, stoic man. I clenched my fists tightly as he left her alone and turned to accost me.

"Who are you?" he asked. My eyes had filled with enmity. I rushed to him and grabbed his throat. I would not let go if it, merely grabbed it harder, burying my nails within the skin. He let out a cry and she looked at me, tears of confusion and pain flowing from those glassy, stale eyes.

He reached out for my hands, but I dug my nails in harder, clenching his throat with all my might. His eyes rolled back until all that could be seen was the white in his sockets. His body grew limp and he collapsed to the floor. I turned to look at her,

"I'm sorry," I said.

She sank to the floor, weeping bitterly. I reached out to her, engulfing her frail, writhing body.

"Please don't cry," I whispered, "I'll wash these bloody hands...we can start a new life."

"I love you!" She yelped, grasping me with every fiber of her strength.

I told her we needed to leave. We needed to get away from this fiasco I had brought upon the both of us. I looked at the man on the ground and kicked his corpse for good measure. I entered the kitchen, a stark place of steel and fluorescent tube lights quickly burning out their fuses. I noted a bottle of vodka on the countertop, and helped myself to a generous swig, immediately ejecting it from my mouth. How awful. No wonder the man was so bitter. His alcohol sure as hell was.

She packed her bags and piled them into my old jalopy. My breath still stunk of the cheap booze, and I knew she wouldn't approve. It'd only remind her of him. Her little nose crinkled as she turned to me with inquisition and a bit of trepidation.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Anywhere," I said, "anywhere to get away from this." But I knew that even escaping murder couldn't resolve anything. We'd never escape, or at least, I sure wouldn't. She looked into my eyes and I saw a weak simper cross her face.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" she leered.

I put the car into gear and just started driving, no plan, no destination. We pulled into a dank motel in Podunk, Goat-Fuckin' Nowhere in the dead of night. I sat in silence, trying to sleep. Besides all the running upstairs of rambunctious children, the bedsprings squeaking in the room of lovers beside me, the blaring television of a man alone, and the sweet, soft breath of my girl as she slumbered, I could not fall into sleep's gentle embrace. The scenes of the day kept riveting through my mind. Over. Over again.