A mess of people
Pushing past each other,
Staring straight ahead,
Or down at their schedule,
To get to their next class.
They say that class bores them
Science is her favorite
Because the cute boy
Sits next to her in class.
Desks fill up when students
Plop themselves into the blue
Plastic seats and
Carelessly drop their backpacks
On the tiled floor.
Once eighth graders, at the top,
Freshman are back down
To the bottom.
We stare up at the tall Seniors,
We look and we think,
I'll be a Sophomore,
And we think about
They might look at us
Like the runts,
But in order to be
We all have to start as
The snow muffled the hysterical cries of the child as the ever darkening slate-like sky that had, just moments before, shown pale and indifferent between the frenetically blowing flakes, grew increasingly black. The child was pale and her cheeks were concave, and the temperatures plummeted. She yearned for someone to comfort her, and longed for someone to calm her shivering body. She wrapped her coat around her even tighter as the storm howled on. The ground was covered in blankets of snow, and was frozen solid. And the child had to use it as a floor to try desperately to find sleep.
Her hair was as black as the sky, and water that was on there recently this morning had frozen into her hair. Chilled to the bone she walked forward, only to collapse within moments. She cried out in pain, as the cold seemed to bite into her hands. Freezing them into motionless lines of bone and skin. No one would save her for she was deep within the forest, where no one could find or save her.
The thin moon glistened and curved in the sky, like a sharp serrated knife. The wind had calmed down, but the ice was still frozen even though the temperatures had risen slightly. She had been abandoned at six, and had been left on the side of a road, like an unforgotten memory. She had never experienced hunger like this before.
She had learned.
Now she huddled near a bush of berries, which she happily threw into her mouth, and broke the delicate skin of the fruit. The juice dribbled down her mouth and a moan of delight escaped her mouth. Now in the middle of winter, she wouldn’t die.
The disconsolate howling of wolves filled the air. The sound of branches cracking, the sound beckoning to close her in. She looked up from her juicy fruit and spotted her mother, the large demeanor of her body towered over her, as she was still only a child. The wolf prodded her with her nose, calling her by her name, “Caroline,” repining for her to get up to follow her.
She was too complacent though, she hadn't had berries for so long, and it was a treat from having to build a fire and braise the raw meat. She finally, after some convincing, stood up and followed her mother.
She led Caroline to a freezing cold embankment, where they soaked their scraped feet. Scraped from their previous hunt for that evening’s meal. They guzzled water and gently tried to push each other into the water.
Everything was excelling, her mother bolstered her with everything, like a mother should. She bathed her and protected her, and Caroline in return helped the pack hunt their meals, which she cooked for them. Her life was immaculate, she couldn't imagine life without her mother.
But she could imagine life without Remus, a hellish and derisive wolf who had tried to kill her, for he thought she was weak and pointless to keep alive. She was to get revenge and try to lynch him tonight, by the light of the moon. Her plan was to work exactly as she wanted, no one would try to stop her. For if they did, she would murder them. She explained to her mother that she was going into the forest to climb trees, and wouldn't be back until twilight. Her mother nodded her head in agreement, and Caroline took off into the dense forest.
She waited until night fell and rested her eyes, just for a moment, as she thought about the ingenuity of her plan. She crawled on her hands and knees back to the resting place of her mother and their pack. “You’re back!” mother whispered, very glad that she was back, even though it was past when she was supposed to be home.
Caroline suppressed a smile, for she knew her mother couldn't possibly expect what was going to happen. She waited until she heard heavy breathing from her mother, and crawled toward Remus, who was sound asleep.
She pulled out her dagger and held it right above his chest, she was about to press it into his windpipe, when she heard something. An alarm. A howl. A noise. Darkness. The howl was for if another pack of wolves was to come and trespass. They were to get up and fight whomever approached their territory.
Caroline could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she ran away and hid behind a sapling, as she was told to do if this happened. She slid her knife into her leather belt and tried to calm her racing heart.
She leaned her head out from behind the safety of the tree and watched. She watched and prepared for the worst, but the worst did not come, hunters came, for them.
The voices in my head say:
They say I'm too young,
I don't know anything yet.
To know what love even is,
to know who I even am.
Maybe they're right.
They say I need time,
to learn the truth.
They say I'm too young.
to know what reality is.
But then the voices say:
They say I'm too old.
Too old to play around.
Too old to believe.
Too old to know what's wrong.
Too old to be scared.
Sometimes my voices are too loud for me.
I don't know who I am,
because I'm too young to know,
but too old to learn.
What does this make me?
Am I too young or too old to be anything?
Who does this make me?
Am I too young or too old to be anyone?
My voices are the only thing I know.
We built our love on little white lies.
Here we are, oh how time flies.
Nobody knew we'd end up this way.
Without each other day by day.
When I see the photographs,
I smile then laugh.
Remembering how you looked at me.
Like I was all you could see.
Young and clueless,
little too foolish.
We just weren't the same.
Never again tame.
Beaten not broken.
But never reopened.
Guess it wasn't the love,
I was thinking of.
A deepening fog covering my eyes
Forces a dreadful dullness on my mind.
Is this what I’m forever doomed to be?
A creature fatigued by my existence;
A mere animal frightened of others?
Why do I blame my lack of clarity
On the peers that crowd and bustle ‘round me?
Aren’t I the debris choking the river?
The dead leaves and thick mud clogging the stream
That once flowed cleanly, beautiful and clear?
Am I stagnant amidst this busy world?
A hard, cold stone statue of marbled grey
Doomed to watch as the world frolics and plays?
Or am I moving too quickly to see?
Flying fast and seeing the world whip by,
Never able to stop and see the now?
Time is slipping by – too fast, and too slow.
I read, read to escape reality.
That is the way to survive – breathe and live
Those stories, those worlds. This world is boring.
So I read, uncaring of how quickly,
Or how slowly, this world passes me by.
But when I look up, I have to wonder:
Where is the world of fantasy I seek?
The coming of the foretold prophecies?
And above all, where is the adventure?
Perhaps to fade slowly out of this world,
Is to appear in worlds of fantasy,
Realms of nonsense where all of these people
And their projected false reality
Are not allowed, because they can’t see it.
But perhaps, for a few, it can be sensed
Just beyond reach – that world of fantasy.
It waits for eyes to open, waits for all
To wake up and dream.