Hannah: Fifteen Minutes Of Fiction

Second Chance

One day, you’ll remember.
You’ll remember the life you led,
the life you fought for,
the one you wanted, grieved for, died for.
One day, you’ll look back and know us,
those who have loved first, and last,
and always.

Some day, you’ll know what it is to feel,
but not today.
Today, you must live.
You must love, hate, learn, yearn.
You must do what you fought to do.
You gave up that life for the freedom of this,
this dark cold, this hated breath.

So pick up the pieces,
start your life again.
Do the things you’ve never done before.
The world’s waiting in the palm of your hand.
Grip it before it’s too late.
We’re waiting for you.

We who stand in shadow and light,
the mixture and contours of both,
those that have come before you
to dance in the moonlight
and sing in the sunlight.
The stars wait to share your light.

A breathing entity is always better
than that dead thing you will be
if you would lose.
But we stand, together as one, and yet separate;
Contrasts of such opposites, as to oppose even the barest senses.
But we are here to help, here to love you,
to find you,
to teach you to endure, because we know.
We know what it is to be where you are,
to stand where you stand,
to know what you know.
Because we feel, like you can’t yet.

It will only take time, and effort, and the last breath in your body,

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Forgotten Past

Memories of a twisted and broken past,
trying to break free, but they can’t, can’t.
Dances and joy, darkness and fog;
Joyful laughter ringing through the air
of a place where no evil had ever come.
A slight shift in the wind,
that spark of light, of good,
so small within me,
burning and festering brightly under your intense care.

Glitter and tapping, tapping shoes,
innocence so profound it cannot be expressed.
It is a glowing white, silver in the moonlight,
unbreakable and yet, oh, so frail and easily torn.

Foggy crystal, bouncing light off of blinking walls.
A long forgotten childhood, pushed away to survive,
the one hope for a hopeless, cold heart,
a trust profound and lost in the mist.

Why is the darkness so ever present,
sitting and waiting for Hope’s demise?
Stalking the helpless as the strong watch,
always there when trust falters,
but never helping before it is most needed,
not allowed to join in the fight
until they are truly needed,
until it really is too late.

How can I remember what my mind wants me to forget?
Why are you the only one who can help me?
The tears I shed, always caught in the palm of your hand.
Your hands on my shoulders, golden comfort never before felt.
In this cold, hard world, you’re shining, loving, bright.
You bring back the pink of innocence,
fight against the old memories that haunt me.
You tear down the walls of hate that have perpetually surrounded me,
that I have always succumbed to.
Will you always be there, a promise finally fulfilled?

How can I remember what my mind, body and heart want me to forget?

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Freedom

Wishes on stars,
a goal to achieve,
a dream to grasp in clenched fists
as tired eyes watch.

A hard worker always has a reason
for the long hours and the silent tears.
Heroes of old are long dead,
despite their deeds,
but their memories remain
in the minds of those affected by them,
in the legends passed down from generation to generation
through trinkets and stories,
hoping to know the answers to questions not yet asked.

Frustration as more hard work washes down the drain
and a day is gone without warning.

So exhausted, constantly,
but keep going,
no matter what,
never giving senses, or minds, a break,
to achieve the dream of Freedom.

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A Life Unlived

A rush of blood, a strangled scream;
a soft hello, a fabled dream,
all twist and furl in an unclosed mind,
sharp and uninhabited as a hollow rock.

A life unlived due to stress and strife,
a dream unneeded in an angry heart.

Life’s unchallenged misery,
strange but sure,
a winding pathway to an end unknown.

Endless white, pure and simple
leads the way to a destiny so desired
as to be frightening and hesitant.

Belief is needed and faith trusted,
but in times of peace
never used to help us through,
though we run back when the weather shifts.

A life unlived due to stress and strife,
a dream unneeded in an angry heart.

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Grace

Something whispering, hissing in the dark.
Sounds strange and melodic,
terrifying and yet new and exciting.

A secret,
unheard and completely unneeded,
twisting its way
into scarred and bleeding ears.

So alone, so sad, so pathetic,
trying to be so normal, boring,
and yet...

And yet still twisted and wrong,
fragile and stale,
trying to be something else...
And failing.

Laughter, loud and clear,
calling names and dates into dark abysses
and bright, silver moonlight,
a beacon in an ever-fading world.

Where is this hope, this joy, this love?
Where is the end of trials?
When will we see the reason for the pain?
The silence?
When will we feel love, joy, hope, Grace?
When?

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Words of Healing

They wrote for a purpose, unknown to them, but they could feel it hiding from sight, white teeth glinting softly in the stark moonlight. None of them had met before the first meeting, yet because of their shared pain they knew each other better than anyone else. They knew from the dreams, the flashes of deep bright flames of light and color mixed in a beautiful display of memories, and the darkness of their minds, that they’d been brought together for this. This one last shot at their hopes, long hidden behind false pretenses and shoved away by common sense.

She told them to write. Anything. Everything. And they had. Once they began to write it was hard to stop. The notebooks the facilitator gave them had changed their lives. Their anger, frustration, thoughts, hopes, fears, insights and self-loathing came out effortlessly onto the dingy scraps of paper, and it felt incredible to have some power over their lives back. More than incredible. When you lose yourself as each of them had, it takes much to get some kind of sense of self back. Many tears, mistakes and fits of anger were usually the path for people on the road they were stumbling down, but not now. They finally found their niche.

The writing was art, pure and simple. The words brought beauty and love into an ugly existence. The art of writing was beautiful and yet heartbreaking, fulfilling to the core and the answer to many prayers. The prayers begging for a change in their lives they knew wouldn’t come unless they had help. Writing was a gateway to their own hearts and led them along the path of understanding others’ difficulties, instead of only focusing on their small, blind points of view. It took them from their excessive, mundane existence into the world of words, where they chose where they went from where they were.

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Unsensible

A thought, a word, a touch, send me reeling towards you.
A sigh, breath stolen, just by your presence.
I touch my hair, pull at my clothes,
and nervousness enfolds me as I try to be all I can be.
You smile and all sensible thought flees.

Don't make me laugh, it just makes me want to kiss you.
Don't make me cry 'cause you know how much I love you.
I really need you tonight, so please pay attention,
'cause you're my world and I want your affection.

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Healer

Can't catch a break, can't win.
Who do you want me to be?
I'm all that I am and all that you're not,
so why must you say these things?

Heaven cast a light on me,
'cause I can't see in this dark.
It's blinding me and sending me back
to memories of despair and fear.
You know your words hurt but you don't care.
You know you're wrong.
Why can't you say the words aloud?

A hunger so deep I can barely speak
and yet you sit on your throne and laugh in scorn.
I'll never be enough for you.
Why can't I give up?
The hate of the Lonely threatens me.
Where can I go?

You don't see, you don't understand
what I do to keep you happy.
My fingers are chaffed and bleeding
and my heart torn.
A simple word could go a long way
but you won't do it.
I am the healer and try so hard
to keep us together...

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Memories

The dawn of youth fades as swiftly as a rose,
one minute fully bloomed,
the next shriveled and gone like dust in the wind.
Its petals drift and die,
leaving their mark only as bright splashes of color in memory.
The memories soon fade, dark and decrepit,
as all things inevitably do, as another takes its place.

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Perfect

They fight her,
tell her she's wrong.
They try to bring her down,
throw her in the dust.
They tell her they're better
and that she should just give up.
They know better than she does.
He's not good enough,
he's made too many mistakes.
She can't.
Never.
That's not who she is.
She's better than that.
She won't give up on him.
He's her beacon in the darkness,
her hope in a hopeless world.
He's the air that she breathes
and the beauty she sees.
He's her perfect match
in every way.
Their fighting is only of stupid things,
what she says,
what he does.
She keeps her head held high.
She fights for her love.
It's not perfect
but nothing is in this world.
That's why we're here.
He tries,
as does she,
and that's all that matters.
She has to show them
who she is.
Who he is.
They won't hurt her again.
She won't let them.

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