Haiku

Beating 'gainst the roof,
Droplets hurled down from on high,
Drenching everything.

Reflections XI

Theory holds that there are five stages of grief that an individual goes through in the aftermath of some devastating event.  It starts with denial, than proceeds with anger. Bargaining and depression soon follow. The cycle culminates in acceptance.

Acceptance, however, is a very broad term.

I dwell in a state of supreme acceptance. No event, no matter how unexpected or cruel, bothers me. As the saying goes, it slides off me like water off a duck's back. To most people, my state of superior acceptance is known as apathy.

In other words, I simply do not care. In less than a year I will end my childhood and become an adult. The word 'disfunctional' would be a euphemistic way of describing it. I am not close to my father, and was kicked out by my mother. But do I care? No. For the first time in my life, I am struggling to fit in socially at my new school. But am I bothered that I have eaten lunch every day this year by myself? No. And when asked, I lie and say that everything is fine. It's simpler this way; I don't feel like the challenge of facing the truth is even worth it.

Ain't it a funny thing?

Trumping

Around the world and back again,
We'll march until we reach the end.
By trumping trumping trumping
Trumping trumping trumping 'round.
Our feet we'll stamp into the ground,
But purpose here can taint be found.
Just trumping trumping trumping
Trumping trumping trumping 'round!

Friend, what have you done?
Innocent blood you have spilled,
To placate the crowd.

Reflections XII

I threw a rock off my city's bridge today.

It fell 215 feet, and was almost lost to sight as it hit the water. I could only just see the splash it made, could only just see the minute spray and water droplets thrown back into the air.

It was a very brave rock, far braver than I. A very brave rock.

Maverick cast revive! It was super effective!

I love some of the poems in the first pages like the "forgotten name".

Wrote this for the short story contest. The theme was 'Ample Answer'.

Cave

Just dead bones walking now. Just a bit of withered flesh suspended on an animated frame. Not too long now, and I'll join the others.

Don't know where anyone else is. Don't know where anything else is. Hell, I don't even know where I am... Which is funny, because I swear I used to know. It was me and Mark and Paulina and we had all decided to...

I don't know. But I didn't want to. But they wanted to and made me and yelled at me and hurt my feelings. Now they've gone and left me here in this cave and I've only got enough supplies to last a few days, and they're in poor enough condition.

The supplies' condition? Sh!t, what about my condition?

Poor me...

---

just me now. the darkness is starting to come in and my lamps are failing and i don't know what to do. ink in my pen is running out too so i'll keep it brief. i can hear something moving around out there, probably just some bats or some dumb animal.

yeah... bats...

but mark and... and... mark hasn't shown up and i'm still waiting and still hating him for dragging poor me to this hell hole.

shhhh! shhhhh! gotta be quiet, gotta stop writing because they can hear me scratching on the paper with my pen.

---

poor me poor me poor me why did he drag poor me here and leave me and join them and leave poor me here now im hurt and poor me and poor me and i can hear them coming and fluttering and whispering and talking and it hurts my head and the darkness is quiet and so quiet and it hurts to hear and shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhh i can hear them and they know im snitching and they dont like it but its too late now and the cave knows too and shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

---

gotz ta b queit so i kan heer them wizper to mee wat i want to heer bcuz i lik it and the darknis is nise and luvlee and preshis and the muzic wants me to leeve and go deeper and i think i wil so i will and poor me and poor me and deer god it hurts it hurts... It hurts... IT HURTS!

Reflections XIII

What happens if you push a man too far?

The short answer is any number of terrible things, all dependent upon the current state of the man.

A man is like a machine, and like any machine, only so much production can be coaxed out of it. Even if the utmost care is taken to ensure that the machine remains in peak condition, it will eventually break if too much stress is applied, or if too much is demanded from it. This doesn't mean that such a machine is a failure, or that its defective. Rather, the fault lies with the operator for failing to comprehend the physical limits of the machine in the first place.

This man I speak of is no different, and the question the same: What happens if you push him too far? What happens when you demand too much of him and eviscerate him when he inevitably fails? What happens when he, who is your responsibility I might add, is driven to such an extreme that he works no longer for profit or gain, but to simply escape the burden that is unjustly placed upon him? What happens when such a man, standing already near a sharp precipice, is driven closer and closer to the edge by an overbearing taskmaster so that he falls, or even jumps to escape the hell he is in?

What happens if you push me too far?