Beyond The Darkness

On this night where the sky is filled with the faraway stars and fireflies dance whimsically, I walk unknowingly beside you.

I am forever gone, forever invisible to you. Yet I am always with you. Nostalgia is my constant companion, as I remember the days of us together in the daylight, laughing. We were young and innocent, because darkness would never come. I truly loved this place, the warmth and beauty of nature. It's ever growing trees, protecting us from harm; they stood before us like intimidating fathers, strict and scared that someday we would get hurt. When we ran through our familiar labyrinth, boots brushed long grass, it whispered "Welcome back!". Even in our teens, we both believed in the sheer magic of this place.

It was winter when my time suddenly came. The trees naked and shaken, the grass muddied and silent, a fog lingering in the air, and in your heart. Yes, I watched you, as you grieved. In the darkest days you refused to leave your bed; preferring the numbness of sleep, the pain of hunger. The only light you would accept was Romeo's artificial light, and even then you strained your eyes, at natural light you screamed and howled. "But I am here!" I called, even though he never heard me. Helplessly I hovered over him, praying that someone would save him. "Forget me!" I cried one day, "If you forget me, you will smile again. Forget me and you will be happy." He must have heard, for the next day he left his room and went to school.

I followed him as he went back to his normal life. He stayed in lessons without causing any problems, he chatted to our friends without shouting at them. I was completely forgotten it seemed, He had moved on. I should be happy, because this is what I wanted. Stupidly, I went to a private place where I cried alone. Idiot, you are alone, no matter were you are. "If only I had lived"I thought as I cursed my fate.

Tonight he has a date. He struggles when deciding what to wear, should he go casual or formal? He goes half and half, wearing jeans but a shirt. When he tried to smoothen his hair, I imagined my living self ruffling it, saying "Why bother? It's always a mess". These days I don't bother saying anything to him, all I do is walk beside him. An expressionless, useless spirit, with no reason. Ah, when will I be relieved of this pain? When will I be allowed to move on as he has? I am nothing more than a shadow as he walks out of his house, along the neighbourhood, and into the forest. I look at him in surprise, he hasn't come here since I was here.

Nothing has changed here, The beautiful summer night is breathtaking. Everything I've been denying pours into me, filling me up. I look back at him and see he feels the same. He remembers it all. All the happiness and sadness. He remembers me. I laugh out loud, and dance around the forest in ecstasy, "He remembers me!" I shout and sing. He laughs.

Then someone shouts from the distance "Hello? Are you there?" and he responds. As he walks to her I am by his side. I look at the stars, the fireflies, his face and know it is time for my to go.
"Goodbye" I say, as we both leave darkness behind.

The Maid

At the age of fourteen, I moved away from my family and took a job as a maid in a large estate.
I didn't know much about the history of the house or the family. Though I was aware of recent things, such as the house being remodelled last year and the new baby, Henrietta Cecil, being born. I knew how clueless I was even then, illiterate and naive, my other jobs had been far smaller. However, I would become accustomed to this house, although I was doubtful of this when I took that first trip up there. I rode in a horse and cart, observing all the things around me like a small child on a field trip. The estate was immense. The majority of it was field, then there was the castle, the church and the house. The castle was no longer used, the fourteen year old me had no idea why, but it was most probably to do with it wearing away. When I first arrived, the church was one of the things I was most curious about, because outsiders were not allowed to see it, only the family and those who worked in the house. The thought that I would now be able to see something that some people had dreamed of seeing made me ecstatic. Then I arrived at the house. I could think of no words to describe it as I gawked at it.
"This is the beginning."

My name I Margret Michael, proud maid of the estate. It was tiring and hard work, but it was work I was honoured to do. I loved my uniform, I black dress and a white apron and mop hat. But I didn't know that there were those who hated that, as one evening the second footman, Mr Evans, told me how foolish I was, thinking that I was part of this house and the family cared for us. It was true that I had grown to love the children, especially Henrietta, who I hope to once become a lady's maid for. His accusations and insults really hurt me, but it was Mr Allen, first footman, who stepped in.
He told Mr Evans that he was wrong. "Look me straight in the eye and tell me that there isn't love written all over Lady Henrietta's face when she sees Margret." He said. Mr Allen was a kind man, gentle and sweet, who tried to be fair to everybody, it was strange that I almost found his warm face as intimidating as an angry one. But he was my greatest friend, calling me from across the courtyard so he could join me on the way to church.

There was only one day that I made my way to that church unaccompanied by Mr Allen. Our wedding day. I wore a traditional white dress that I had saved up for, the family insisted that I use their church, I was the happiest I had ever be. When it came for me to sign the document, I couldn't write my name, so I had to draw a little 'x' which represented me.
In generations to come, that document would be the only thing that would tie me to this place. When my descendant of six generations would come here, she would only be able to imagine what my story was, as she observed a church completely over grown with weeds.

Sentences are essential for Communication.

Who are these people?
They have kind faces, their hands stretched out towards me.
I don't want it. I hate people, I hate this world. Sadness will come again. So I turn away, and they leave.
See. Now they are gone, surely he will come back, the man who barks and shouts whenever I do something wrong. I'm sorry I made a noise, I'm sorry I caused you trouble, I'm sorry I'm alive.

Why are they back again?
I can't believe they're here for me. I have nothing anymore.
That's right, I have nothing anymore, so there is nothing to lose. Maybe I will take their hands.
It's so bright. It confuses me, the colours startle me. I don't understand, I don't understand at all. People all around me stare. Most have expressions of pain, I don't care. Then there's those too, smiling at me.

How is this happening?
They are always smiling, always welcoming me. Sometimes, I'm not to sure how to react. Perhaps I should thank them. I should definitely thank them. They seem to love it when I learn. Language is a fascinating thing, communication with others is essential. They say I am their child, and I wasn't born until I met them. The bad things that happened, they don't matter anymore, because I have them.

What is this for?
I just don't understand it, there is no reason for them do this. "There's nothing to worry about" they say, "We love you" they say. I remember the darkness from before, but it affects me less. I am recovering. We often walk around the park together, holding hands, I see beautiful things. I love to point out things to them, because that is what makes them happy. They tell me that one day I can become normal.

When did they stop smiling?
I have been learning! I have a large vocabulary now! I can name all the objects in the house. With this surely I can become normal? Is this because I can't--- sentence? Communication? Failure? But look. I can name things. Apple, Dog, Kettle, Flower, Car, Park, Potato, Fish, Bed, Eyes, Girl-

Which one do I want to live with?
Of course, I want to live with them! They smiled at me, taught me! Look I can say words now. But she left me. I saw her, she stood in the corner while that man barked at me. I can't go with her.
But they don't understand me, because I can't--- sentence? Besides, someone says, the only reason they looked after you was because you're interesting, and they are scientists. You were nothing but an experiment and you were a failure. You proved their hypothesis wrong, so there's no point with you staying with them.

Where am I going?
Don't leave me. Please. If you leave me, I will never trust the world again. I know I can't communicate, but that doesn't mean you don't love me, right? Please don't let them take me away.
I hate you all.
I hate this world, and everybody in it.

It was years later that I switched on the television, and they were there.
They were crying as pictures of me came up on the screen/
"They took her away!" They sob.
But I don't understand.
Because I am a failure.

City Night Music

As the tapping of my black heels start to form a rhythm, I can almost hear the bass in my ear.

The bass is deep, dark and secretive. Just like the city night. It is also a foundation for everything, as much as we might fear this deep sound, it is a constant comfort. Something that is familiar and essential to any music or night. 

The bass is the silence that surrounds you while you walk home, the guitar is the people you hear from a slight distance. They are always experiencing strong emotions, taking the centre of the stage with confidence that far outshines the bass. Sometimes you might even hear them sing. At times, the guitar might even go wild, for it is far more adventurous. But tonight's music is calming, illusory and appreciates the bass, and the guitar understands that. So it's higher pitch plays in the distance.

I am nothing but a member of the audience for this music. I came to this concert wearing a white t-shirt with some unknown band on the front (it's too big), my dark blue skinny jeans and my simple black heels. My hair is down, unkept, I wear no make up. You see, when people decide to join the city night and it's music, they want to impress. They believe the midnight's eyes judge them. It doesn't care, it doesn't give a damn. It's just there to play it's music. Nothing more, nothing less.

In this City night, I encounter artificial light from time to time. This is the keyboard. The street lamps and signs all bring a scene of uniqueness to the music, you never know what colour it is going to play, adding a scene of mystery. It plays tricks on you, making you believe that you're listening to something else. However, this isn't out of spite, it is simply the keyboards way. Tonight the lights dance around, happy to be part of a group. It shines brightest during these city nights.

I jolt suddenly as I hear a siren in the background. The drums are loud, intrusive and fierce. The city sounds are always on the go, never wanting to stop. It understands that it's late, and that people are trying their best to sleep, but it's considerate to it's audience, wanting them to have fun. So sometimes it breaks the rules, and cuts the nocturnal air. Of course it is scolded at by the bass, who demands that this music is calming and illusory, meaning that there is a huge contrast in sound as drums turn into bass.

When I reach the outskirts of the city I am on a higher level, meaning I can look at it with a clear view. With this hindsight, I realise that that I'm probably making no sense at all. But that is what I hear when I walk through the city night, there's no point in denying it because the city knows. But for the first time ever, I wonder what City Night's Music sounds like to the rest of the world. Is the bass essential? 

Peaceful Days

I wonder how long these peaceful days will last.
Before, there were times of trouble and sadness. Those were times where I wasn't allowed to be myself, when I had to hold back my tears. I will never forget them.
But there is no need to think of them now, because these are peaceful days.
When I wake up, it is not because of shouting, an arrogant alarm or even a nightmare, it is when the sun  has breathed it's warm and welcoming ray onto my cheek. Before my eyes even think of opening I already know that today is a good day, with a blue sky. Next my mind registers that I'm actually awake,  so I try to fall back to sleep again; Alas it is too late, I am already curious about the world of today. So I final wake up. I can almost hear the "Good morning" in my ear.
I take my time when I get ready for school, casually putting my school uniform on, carefully washing my face. When it is time for breakfast, I walk with an indifferent pace of someone who's not hungry, but would quite happily eat. They are all waiting for me at the breakfast table, because "Good morning" is a very important phrase for us. At our wooden table in a little kitchen, we all exchange morning talk, eating our typical toast and cereal. I am so happy.
Once breakfast is over, we all say "Goodbye" and "Have a safe trip" as each of us leaves, because these are also very important. As I make my way to school I observe Autumn for the first time this year. Leaves fall down lazily from the trees and I kick the ones on my path up into the air. I can almost hear a happy tune playing in my head as I meet my friend, and we walk together in the orange bliss of peaceful Autumn days I wonder how it came to be this way.
It turns out we only just made it in time, but we made it, so what is there to stress about? We all sit down for class, but I have no interest for what is being taught. No, what is truly interesting and curious is outside, because-
"Are you listening?" The teacher asks me loudly, the whole class laughs along, for this is typical me on a typical day. They continue to laugh when it is lunch time, telling people from other classes about how I was in another day dream. Does this concern me? No. They are laughing with me, not at me. Lunch is brought out, and we all share each others, because that is what we do, and once we have eaten, we talk together. It is the same when half past three arrives and it is time to go home.
When I have made it home, they are all waiting for me. "Welcome back" they say, and for the second time that day we all sit round that wooden table in our little kitchen. Each of us talks about our day, nothing is perfect of course, but these are peaceful days, so everything will be well again soon. This cannot last forever, everything will end one day. They assure me that it won't, that the past has ended, and days will continue to be like this.
Maybe they're right, I think as I gaze at the moon through my open window. Maybe it is time to forget the past and accept that peaceful days have come.

Purpose

One of the most commonly asked questions by the human race is, What is our purpose?
This is a fair enough question, if there is a God who created us, then why? To entertain? Or maybe for something greater. Perhaps each and every individual human on this planet has a reason, and the world wouldn't be the world without everyone, and as the human race we have some major role to play!
Don't be so naive.
I gaze outside my window, watching the clouds drift by slowly..... Ever so slowly.... I suppose I am like a cloud, drifting aimlessly, pathetically, slowly through life. Oh wait, I've had this thought before. How pitiful. My life has been nothing but waiting, constant waiting. Sometimes something vaguely interesting might happen, and when it does my mind likes to repeated play it when I'm bored.

My first memory is dark and cold. I lay on my freezing kitchen floor, having just collapsed for the first time, "Does this mean I won't be able to go round my friends house?" I ask my mother. I was really looking forward to that sleepover, I was going to laugh along with the over children, play with them, live with them.

Next is the first night I spent in this god forsaken room I would spend the rest of my life in. I was so scared, there was nobody to save me, not even a God. I felt abandoned, helpless, lonely, hatred. I scream and wailed and cried. So why........ Why did no one come? By the time the next day came I didn't care anymore. Honestly, I didn't give a damn.
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you daughter will not live beyond the age of seven."
Poor mother. Poor father. Poor sister. They're all crying, I wish I could stop their crying, this is all my fault right? What was my point if I was just going to make the ones cry?

"We are amazed that this has happened, everything suggested that she wouldn't survive...."
Is this true?
"But I don't think that we can expect this to go on, she'll most probably be gone before the age of ten."
Of course not.

This continued. Time and time again. Seven, Ten, Twelve. Over and over again. My sister decided it was too much, there had been to many goodbyes, so to her, I'm already dead, she has no sister. Forever and ever. Why am I here? What is my purpose?

It is snowing, haha, I hate snow.
Hey, God do you want to know what my wish is?
A beautiful death.
I guess snow would do, as much as I despise it, I have to admit that it really pretty.
Well I guess this is it...... three.... two.... one.
I hear the clock chime, symbolising my sixteenth birthday.
My eyes are heavy, my hands are cold.
What do you know? They were right.
I guess I had no purpose in the end.
Death finally comes. Many would feel scared or sad.
But I welcome it.