Loneliness
Loneliness. How that word stares up at me and screams. It sits, so innocent to the observer who has not felt its pain, my pain. At one time I struggled to drive it away, but alas, it was a foolish and wretched endeavor. Once its icy claws had driv
en into my veins, there was no escape. I must have been insane to have thought that I had found a way out.
This loneliness can drive a woman to anything. In retrospect she will recall her actions and label them ridiculous or senseless, but do not be fooled. She does not believe her own words. She has reasons why she did it and there is no taking them ba
ck. I should know.
I sit here in the abyss and wonder why. I am not one of these lost souls who surround me in the darkness. They are sick and evil and insane. None of them understand my loneliness. No one ever did.
I have betrayed everything and everyone that was once in my life, including my own heart. I am haunted by the images of that fateful evening. I see the room so small and brown and dark. Not even a candle's flame to mend my heart with its warmth. I
t had been days since I had even bothered to feel anything. It seemed impossible that I could ever feel again. I heard a faint sound and a voice. It was the door. Some pathetic soul had come to pay their weekly dues of friendship. I could not bare to
see another so pink and full of life. I opened the drawer beside my bed and pulled out the old pocket knife. As I struggled to open it, it hatefully fell to the bare wooden floor and slid to the window. I groped after it only to meet the rigid old flo
or face first. As I began to pull myself up again I heard the relentless knocker once again, only this time they had found the key hole and a small piece of metal to insert inside it. That is when it finally happened. I caught a vision of the clear star
ry sky and I decided to join it, or so I thought.
They say my body was found face down on the sidewalk by a small old man making his way home from work. My soul ended up here, in an in-between place where even remission is denied me.
- Jenn Lay
People in all parts of the country tell stories they've heard from a friend that turn out to be outrageous tales of humor or horror? Have you ever wondered why it's the same stories in remote places, but told with different characters? And it always
seems as though the person telling the story really believes it. In order to celebrate the ubiquitous art of deliberate misconception, we bring you...
Patti, a young girl who was engaged to be married, was asked to baby-sit her young nephew, Setphen. She agreed and invited her cousin/fiance Jethro to assist her. They put the brat to bed and settled down to getting frisky on the couch. After a while the
y got playful, though, and ended up running around the house naked and giving each other piggyback rides through the empty rooms. As they passed the stairs to the basement, they heard a noise, and since Jethro was carrying Patti at the time, he decided t
o give her a good scare and walk down the creaky stairs in the darkness. Well, when they reached the bottom of the stairs and Patti was giggling softly in Jethro's ear, the lights suddenly came on and standing there yelling "Surprise" were their parents,
the minister, and all their neighbors. They had planned a surprise bridal shower for the young couple. Jethro dropped Patti on her ass, ran upstairs, grabbed his clothes and headed out of town. Jethro eventually joined the Navy, where he served dutifu
lly for a few years before blowing himself to bits, taking 15 crewmates and a gun turret with him. Patti was commited to an asylum where she colored in books and ate jello for several blissful months before hanging herself from the rafters with the sweate
r she took off on that fateful night of babysitting. Setphen became a sexual deviant and calls radio talk shows every night, pleading for approval of his current behavior.
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"Pill Bottle Epitaph"
Suicide, is your problem solved?
I'm guessing not
your girlfriend boyfriend bestfriend
family career life
is still
sleeping with your
best friend broken up with you
moved away disowning you
going nowhere wageslave
grey apartment microwave
and eating alone.
and you
ran away weak justified
flawed arguments rationalized
allergic to trying
and self-splintered, self-pitying
self-centered decided to
burn it all down.
you were not
cancer-ridden,
shrouded madness host
organic brain Parkinson
shuffle demented feeling
age take your mind soul
body (the pain is excruciating)
virused, nor plagued.
you were
weak.
- Mark Cicero
How’d you like to be a guest illustrator for a week? Or finally publish that poem you’ve been staring at all year? If you ever finish that story, we’ve got a forum for you.
Contact bjl4009@rit.edu for information.
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