Those things I hear.

those things I have seen,

saddened my heart,

trying to bring Christmas cheer.

To witness adults,

their children, too,

all on my list,

their names I scratch off,

for a Christmas they will miss.

Needless pain, horrible death.

children shot, adults die from meth,

yet soon my sleigh will ride through the air,

shouting to all Merry Christmas or is that but a dare?

From the Sub-Office Station 173

North Pole

Subject: Concern

The elves have a concern,

Santa's thoughts in turn,

like our own does burn

deeply in our minds and fear,

Christmas may end after this year.

He hasn't been his jovial self,

and we elves fear for his health.

It is an arduous task he does each year,

spreading all the joy and cheer,

but we worry he has lost the way to enjoy

bringing smiles to all the little girls and boys.

We pray, we hope, he survives his pain,

that he may continue bringing children happiness,

over and over again.

Worrying

That's all I do

I worry that you're all I have to lose

That all my fears are facts of life

Every scenario of all the bad

An escape plan for when things go wrong

A negative whisper in my ear

For all the things people don't say

And every time I take a step into the light

Cold hands embrace me and drag me back

Shielding me from sight

So around in circles, I go

A road unknown ahead

But I'm always stuck here

My head tells me it's best not to follow

And I know it's right

but I desperately want to feel the light

She watched her reflection

I watched her fall apart

She got sicker, she never breathed

The air like me

And we ran,

before we walked,

before we crawled,

before we lay

Swam before she learned,

before she'd even seen the waves

I want the best and nothing less,

I led her out so far,

I took her deep

And let the water have its way

Maybe I'm waking up today

The dark room inside my head,

is developing images I'd rather forget

And every night I look out my window,

Afraid she might return for more

'Don't come back for me'

I had her hands

And everything was good

She could float just like I could

On our backs

And everything was gold

Should’ve never let her go

I knew she couldn’t float on her own

Now I can hardly breathe

And one more kiss

Could take her life

She's back inside my dreams

Broken bones and empty screams

Sleepless nights in burning sheets

Let the moonlight, keep me from the darkness

Well, soon I'll sleep beneath the ocean,

With lost souls, wandering in and out of love

But I can't stop, wondering how long it will be

Till I stop wandering...

Till I stop wondering,

If she was ever here at all

And they wear me out

All the demons underneath the tide

And she sinks like stone

all the weight of these dreams of mine

And I wish her well

I can't save someone too far to find

But it's wearing me out

all the weight of these dreams of mine

And it's stormy in the sea tonight

She'll always be the lost one

I'll teach myself to swim again, and live in my head

And make sense of all my thoughts

And if I never reach the land or live again

I'll drift until I'm dead,

and until then,

She'll be the lost one

The wind pulled my hair, rain slammed into my skin, shivers crept up my spine, all while I ignored the boy attempting to cuddle me.

"You know that you're blocking the wind for me, right? If you're so cold you need to move to the other side," I said. I pulled on the tangle of strings in my lap, trying to ignore the feelings his touch were giving me. He shifted over to the opposite side of me, closer to the tree where his kite was stuck.

"It's never getting out of there," he said.

"We can get it out! We just need to find a really long stick," I said.

"It's never getting out of that tree," he said. He let out a long sigh and rested his head on my shoulder. "And it was my favorite kite!"

"We literally just bought these kites at the store. How can it be your favorite kite?" I said, looking over at him.

He smiled.

"It's my favorite kite I've bought in the last 2 hours," he said. He changed positions just enough to no longer be touching me. I immediately missed the contact.

The wind picked up again, messing up my carefully ordered mess of strings covering my lap.

"You know that you don't have to untangle that, right?" he said.

"Yeah, I just like to untangle kite stings that boys get all tangled up while trying to fly a kite in the biggest rainstorm we've seen all spring," I said.

"Oh so you do this a lot," he said.

"Nope. First time," I said. His smile drew out one of my own. "Do you think we should give up? I don't think this rain is gonna stop any time soon and now we only have my kite."

"I think that is a great plan. I am very cold," he said. He shifted closer to me again.

"I do have some jackets in my car," I said. "Lets go get you one."

"What about you?" he asked.

"Who do you think I am? I have at least two in there," I said.

"Sam! I forgot I left my kite on the ground over there! Would you go grab it before it blows away?" I said. I was liking his closeness a little too much. He was just my friend.

Like the gentleman he was, he got up and ran over to where I left my kite. He tried to pick it up but the wind caught it and sent it flying across the field. I sat up straighter, getting ready to run over to save it when Sam threw himself on top of the kite, stopping its escape attempt.

I started laughing. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing it he tried to cuddle me again.

Naru was trembling at the podium, giving her shaky testimony. Poor girl. She was only 6. But it wasn't her fault she was in this situation.

It was mine.

Well...Not really, I suppose.

But it was me who threw a tantrum. It was me who was mad at mom. It was me who opened the door.

I didn't know him well when he knocked at the front door, but I'd seen him once or twice around the neighborhood, so mom must know him, right? Maisey was on the couch, watching me let him into our house. He was nice. He gave us candy. I wanted to be nice, so I took it, but he gave me a mint candy that I hate, so I just smiled and tucked it into my pocket. He asked if my mom was home, and I said yes. I skipped around the corner to look for her.

But then I heard a thump.

And a scream.

I froze, and peeked around the corner in the hallway in time to see my sister fall on the ground in a heap, motionless.

My breath caught in my throat, and I didn't move a muscle. I couldn't. I was paralyzed. I was only a kid. And then my mother came running. She screamed at the sight, and I remembered myself, hitting the panic button on the wall. With the man turned away from me, I caught my mom's eye. She mouthed a word. I couldn't tell what it was, but I ran anyway. I hid under my bed. All I heard was the screaming.

Soon the police came. Two lives. Just me and my second sister were left.

So here we were. In a courtroom. With him. all the evidence was there. We were going to win. He didn't have a prayer. But what do we even get from this? Having to think about this whole mess even longer? It's been over a year, and nearly nothing has happened, even though he has no redeeming evidence. He acts sorry. Like he accidentally broke my sister's neck and stabbed my mom.

I don't believe him.

But even if we do win (which we will), all we get is two new siblings. Two more people to unknowingly remind us of what their "father" did. I don't want new siblings. I want to go home. But I can't. All of this has to be over first. Then they will contact me and Naru's new family, tell them that they will be receiving four new children. Us two, and the two babies they will cultivate to replace the lives lost. That's what the caseworker said. She said that we were lucky that we didn't have to go live with strangers forever, that we should be glad were related. Distantly. But they don't care about us. I've never met them. Just like I've never met the man who killed them.

My 'Father'.

My father killed his ex-wife and child.

He'd never even met Maisey.

He killed a child he'd never even met.\

I watched in silence as Naru began to cry. I don't know why they were hounding her so much. She was at daycare all day, and our carpooler dropped her off right after the police arrived. All she saw was the man being led away, and peeks at the aftermath.

The session was over eventually, and we were sent to our foster home. I was told the trial would be over soon. The sentencing would be next week.

~One Week Later~

Two life sentences.

And two new lives.

They'll take him to prison. Lock him up, away from us. They'll take his DNA, make us two new siblings. Force him to carry them, as part of the punishment for murder. To 'compensate'. As if anything could compensate for the loss of mom and Maisey. It's like rubbing it in our faces, that he lives on in them, and our family is dead. I heard some people name them after the victims. Even I know that's sick. And if they have the ability to make these children, why can't they just make as many stupid babies as they want? Or maybe take care of people and avoid mass dyings in the first place. I don't care what happens to those babies. They aren't my siblings, and nothing will change that.

~Seven Years Later~

Today is the twin's birthday.

They're seven.

Seven years ago today, we were sent to our new family with two new boys, Leo and Levy. One of Aunt Sarah's girls picked the names.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my father hadn't come to our house that day. If I hadn't opened the door. If my mom and sister were still here. But that won't happen. I can't change that. He ended up dying in prison. Hung himself. Left a note saying he was sorry. I don't think I believe him. He got off easy.

The only thing he ever did for us was give us Leo and Levy. I got to watch them grow up. They really are my family, even if I wish I never had to take them. Naru is so grown up now-- 14! I can tell she resents the twins, but I know that she understands that it isn't their fault.

I love my family. Naru. Leo. Levy. Even my little cousins. I still miss you though, mom. I think I always will. I'm constantly torn between loving the boys more than anything, and wishing you were here instead. But I know you always wanted a big family. I know you would be happy with our lives.

I love you, mom. Forever. Even after eight years, I still miss you.

Thanks for everything you've given me. I'll keep writing this journal, but these entries are for you. Keep them safe. I'm letting everything go, starting with these. And I'm sorry for throwing away this life that you gave me, but I have to. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't want to be like my father. I don't want to see you dying every night. I can't. I'm trying. I swear I am. And I'll keep trying. For at least a little. But just in case, make a place for me when I see you again.

I love you,

Corynne.

The town was made of ravens. You could find them everywhere, from the power lines to the porches of the abandon farmhouses, and there were a lot of them. The town was small, only a few people lived there, and those who did knew each other like they had grown up in the same house.

There were as many ravens as there were stars in the sky, and every time someone passed away, it was said that there was a new raven. The raven was born of their skin. On the night that the Jeremy brothers were murdered, two identical ravens, both with blue eyes, the same as the brothers, sat on their graves.

There was an old lady who lived at the end of a one lane road. She fed the ravens; they swarmed her in town, when she went. No one ever saw her collecting groceries, and she only came to town once a month, the ravens following her. The town’s people called her the Raven Queen.

It is said she once told a girl that she created the ravens, that she was the queen of them. That girl had gone missing five years ago, and so had half the ravens. Some believed that the Raven Queen had taken a liking to her and the ravens would protect her... wherever she was.

The sky is raining. Or so it seems. You see the sky opened up in my living room. I am in a puddle of water wondering how to plug up the clouds so they don't come in here again.

Then I see that the rain are my tears and I am just wishing for it to be anything other than me- to hide the truth of my sadness that is right in front of me- falling like rain on my window pane. The sad thing is today was beautiful. Sunny without a cloud in the sky.

I hate being sad on days like today. The wind felt good against my cheek and I was reminded that I am still here. The road was warm on my bare feet and I wonder why I have bouts of sadness on days like today when most of my days are so good.

I then wonder what it means to have sorrow stick to your ribs like cement so every step feels like you are anchoring yourself more and more to the earth. My shoulders droop and my body aches. I am sick. I have been sick. And it is hard to tell what is wrong with me.

But my body is begging me to find an answer. So when I am bedridden and I look out at that beautiful sky I am reminded that I am so very here. Inside with aching ribs with the air in my room smelling like sickness. I do not know how else to describe it other than that.

And then I wonder if on days like today why it is so much easier to write when sorrow is my companion? It makes me sadder still, and even more than that it terrifies me.

I do not want to thirst for dark things so my pen can flow like water in a stream. I wish I was just the current itself. A constant thrum of creativity- but this would make me some god. I am no god. I am struggling living life as a human as it is.

I kiss my pillow with my eyelids, I turn over look at my ceiling with the glow in the dark stars- I will be 30 in about a week- and still love the childish wonder in certain things. Glow in the dark stars is one of them. So I will take this as my trophy tonight as I try to sleep.

Sorrow left an impression but did not drown me.

Because I will open my eyes tomorrow and do the very thing it would never expect:

I will try. One foot in front of the other. I will move forward.

"Crisan? So that's what you're calling yourself?"

"Yeah, I will go by Crisan from here on out." The gentleman that now had a name told the voice, the voice that had guided him here from the dark, empty parking lot. "That's ok with you I presume?"

"Sure, doesn't bother me." The voice replied. "Any reason you went with that name?"

"Just made it up, maybe a slight play on the word crisis, since this qualifies as one." Crisan answered. "I'm in a story where there's no plan to the plot, I have no idea who I am before all of this, my only comrade is a voice whose agenda I don't know either. Why, does Crisan mean something else?"

"I guess a Google search will determine that."

"Wait, you have access to Google?"

"I have access to a lot of things." The voice chuckled. "Ha ha ha ha, the name you chose is the same as a hair strengthening oil product!"

"Well, I seem to have some great hair, so I guess that's fine." Crisan said sheepishly. "Now the more important thing is finding out where I am, and what to do next. It looks like I'm in some kind of bedroom right now."

"Indeed." The voice said slightly mockingly, as Crisan's observation seemed fairly obvious.

"Well being in a random bedroom can mean a lot of things!" Crisan said with a slight annoyance at the voice's condescending tone. "That yellow door likely put me in some kind of suburban area. This room is furnished, which means someone probably lives here. And if that person is home, they probably won't be too pleased that a random dude is in their house. They probably won't believe that a random door from a strange parking lot sent me here. So the best action would be to get out of here, and see what the outside world looks like."

"I suppose you're right. Apologies for my rudeness."

"So wait, do you know more about this world?"

"I can only see what you see Crisan. This being a story without a plan, I know about as much as you."

"Ok, fine."

Crisan stepped off of the bed he found himself sitting on after going through the door from the dark parking lot. He observed a small TV on the dresser with an old school gaming system set up next to it. He was tempted to look at the games on the shelf nearby, but he ultimately decided that sticking around a random person's house looking at their stuff wouldn't be a great idea.

Crisan stepped through the bedroom door and found himself on an outdoor racetrack. In front of him sat a small go-cart.

"What kind of house is this?" Crisan asked incredulously. He went back and checked the door he had just come through, and sure enough, the bedroom was still there.

"Looks like you can play some video games in the room, or drive on that track in the go-cart. I know your memory is still shot, but does either activity stir anything up within?"

"Well, the gaming system is one I have played before, but I can't remember anything besides that. I don't remember ever driving a go-kart, but it seems oddly familar to me. As fun as it would be to hunker down to some games, I still don't know if the person who lives here is around, and it would appear that I have to navigate this race course to get out of here."

"Sounds about right Crisan, do what you feel is the right call."

Crisan hopped into the go-kart and checked for keys. Once he was in, the car started driving on its own. The go-kart navigated loop de loops, leaps over pits, and even drove past other carts on the course. Eventually Crisan's go-kart crossed over a black and white checkered finish line, and in front of him was a hardwood door. Crisan hopped out of the go-kart and opened the door. Beyond the door was a typical hallway that could be found in a small apartment. Crisan stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He looked around and observed a small kitchen, a couple more closed doors that could lead to other bedrooms, and a living room with an impressive bookshelf, a large screen TV, and several modern systems hooked up to it. Like the old school system from the bedroom, Crisan had fleeting memories of playing these systems too. He also recognized some of the books on the shelf.

"So, what are your thoughts on this room Crisan?"

"It looks like a nice apartment. I've actually read some of these books, and played some of those game systems. But I don't have any other context past that."

"Why don't you play some games or page through the books? Maybe it will stir up some more of your memories."

"Maybe, but I don't feel right being in someone else's apartment. The exit appears to be over there. I think it's time to see what it looks like outside."

"Are you certain? It could be more dangerous than taking your chances in this apartment."

"I'm certain. Although I am a little jealous. I would love to race on a go-kart track anytime I wanted to go to my bedroom."

Crisan headed for the door that would lead him out of the apartment, when he suddenly froze in fear. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Escape was too late.

To be continued....

October, the month of screams, spooks, and scares, is upon us. You know what that means. In case you are new and are unsure allow me to explain: it also means a whole month of theme challenges created by yours truly. Yes, this is the sixth annual series of theme challenges I like to call the Rainbow of Terror. Some of you are probably wondering why I call this the Rainbow of Terror. Whenever I create these challenges I attach them to a portal (horror, poetry, fantasy, etc.), and these portals have a different color to them. Blue for poetry, purple for fiction, pink for LGBT, and the like. Thus this makes a rainbow. And since the main theme of each challenge is about Halloween and horror (which is my favorite genre), it has become a Rainbow of Terror.

Unfortunately, due to an error of Prose's side I cannot seem to load more portals when I try to create a challenge, so my portal choices are sort of limit. So sadly there won't be any challenges for portals such as Paranormal, Gaming, History, Six Word Story, and the like. Which is a shame since my Guess Boo challenges seem to be extremely popular each year. I've tried informing Prose and IT about this months ago but nothing has been done about it. However, I won't let a technical error stop my creativeness. There are 11 terrifying challenges that I believe you might enjoy, as well as send shivers up your spines.

I understand that horror isn't everybody's cup of tea. Hell, some of you probably don't even like Halloween for personal reasons. But the purpose of these challenges isn't so much to celebrate Halloween (although they kinda are). It is to inspire creativity. So you don't need to be a fan of horror or Halloween to participate in these challenges. You just need to have imagination. And you just need to give it a shot. I especially extend a hand out to all newcomers on Prose in participating in each of these challenges. This is a good way to get others to recognize your writing talents and to become part of this extraordinary community.

All challenges will end on October 28. Enter one, enter two, or enter in all of these fantastic and ghoulish horror/Halloween theme challenges. If you have any questions about these challenges or what I may be looking for in these challenges, please feel free to send a message and ask me any time. And, of course, don't forget to tag me.

Good luck, write on, and scare away. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

HORROR

Title: The Greatest Horror Story Ever Told

Description: Give me the best horror story you can come up with. No word count or length restrictions for this. The one that scares me the most wins and gets a prize!

Word Count: Unlimited

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13452

FICTION

Title: Horror Prompt

Description: Try to come up with a prompt or a synopsis for a horror story you wish to tell. This can be for a future novel, a movie, a show, a video game, a one shot or campaign for a table-top role-playing game, etc. Two to four paragraphs, if you please.

Word Count: 15-250

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13451

POETRY

Title: Poems of the Fall

Description: This is for those that aren't a fan of the horror genre. Halloween is set in fall, probably my favorite time of the year. So instead of writing a spooky poem, see if you can write a poem about fall. Write about what you love about this time of year.

Word Count: 25-250

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13450

FANTASY

Title: Fairy Tale Terrors

Description: Rewrite a popular fairy tale but make it much more darker and twisted than the original.

Word Count: 15-1500

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13449

SCIENCE FICTION

Title: The Science of Madness

Description: Write about a mad scientist whose latest experiment either goes horribly right or horribly wrong (depending on how the scientist sees it).

Word Count: 15-1500

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13448

LGBT

Title: A True Rainbow of Terror

Description: Write a horror story/poem with LGBT themes.

Word Count: 15-1500

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13447

ROMANCE

Title: Tear My Heart Out

Description: Instead of a traditional horror, write about someone falling in love with a monster and/or vice versa. The monster in question is your choice. A vampire, a werewolf, Frankenstein's monster, a grotesque alien, a serial killer, whatever you can come up with. Tell me if it ends happily or horribly. You are free to write in any style you so choose. If you want to turn it into erotica that's you're choice. Just make sure to add a content warning.

Word Count: 50-5000

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13446

NONFICTION

Title: True Terror

Description: What's a ghost story or urban legend you may have heard about growing up in your community?

Word Count: 15-1000

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13445

HAIKU

Title: Haiku-ween

Description: See if you can write a haiku or two about Halloween.

Word Count: 15-25

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13444

REVIEW

Title: Do you like scary movies?

Description: Are you a fan of scary movies? If yes, what's your favorite scary movie and why? Got more than one favorite scary movie, make a list. If you don't like scary movies, what genre do you prefer then?

Word Count: 15-150

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13443

JOURNAL

Title: The Last Entry of the Last Person on Earth

Description: Imagine yourself as the last person on Earth (or so you believe). Humanity has been devastated by a cataclysmic event, such as a deadly plague, an alien invasion, the rise of a new dominate species, whatever you can think of. What would your last journal entry be?

Word Count: 100-1000

Link: www.theprose.com/challenge/13442

#themechallenges #halloween #horror #fun #writing #happyhalloween #RainbowofTerror

I think Fear would be a man. They would appear differently to different people but I think Fear would be a man, if it one day appeared to me. I think it would be an old, bearded man with too wide eyes and a white cloak like the man in the book I read about in Secondary School. The moment I saw him my breath would catch in my throat and I'd fall to the floor because he's had a hold of me for so many years, you'd think I'd be used to it but somehow... Not quite.

I also think Fear would be faceless. Because it's taken so much from so many, who could ever give it a face. Fear and its only kryptonite, Courage. It exists to teach us how to meet his counterpart but many don't and who can blame us? Sometimes, in the process of desperately struggling to just survive, we lose the ability to simply live.

I think Love would be a woman. A pretty black woman who is the size of a building, with wide hips and giant hair in the biggest afro known to man. It would sit on her head like the sun and her smile would make the littlest thing swoon. Her body would be soft and round all over, a tummy swelled with love and chocolate, hips adorned in gold and silver and rose petals, the familiarity of an old friend that will never quite leave the memory.

I think Happiness is a child. Because who else would one imagine? To me, one stops being a child the moment the weight on the world begins to be felt. The moment the demands of society and the need to conform grow. And if that is a child, many of us became adults much too young. Much too young. Happiness is a child with flowers in her hair and freckles on her cheeks, running and whopping and shouting and never stopping, no matter how silly they look. He has pretty fair hair and glowing eyes that never, ever lose their sparkle. If only they could stay a while longer. He is the colour of yellows and whites and pinks, the colour of teddy bears and sleepovers and wide smiles a person tries to but can't hide, the colour of the sun itself. Never a dull day with that one, fills you up to the very depths.

But so does Sadness. So do Empty and Numb, the brothers two, spreading tales of woe. To be empty, to be numb, is to be dead in a living body. At least, that's what it feels like. They are there for a reason, of course. When life is not being lived enough, they slide right over, to remind us we must feel it. To remind us this is existence and to exist is to simply be, sometimes, no matter how quiet or still or painful. They are always silent. For some, they are old friends, for some, they are strangers, but we all know them don't we?

Anger then is the colour red, by popular demand. All hot and burning and consuming. I'd rather think of Anger as black. Like tar. Dripping, scorching tar. That's how it appears to me. Slinks in, he, holding out his hand for me to finally give in for once. Because I don't experience her as much as it would like me to. I choose to suck it in and the darkness pollutes my heart, burns me in an all-consuming fire and I pretend all is well. So our friendship goes, ever pretending we do not know each other.

Colours are fun. I started wondering about them when I read a book where everyone was assigned their colour by the narrator. I wonder which one I would be. I'd love to be a pretty pink or a pure white. An earthy rich brown, a peaceful light blue, a warm orange a yellow. I'd like to be elegant like purple or bright and passioned like a trail of reds. Today I am grey. And that's alright, too. I greet Empty and Numb like old friends. They whisper "live" and I whisper "no, not right now, loves, I can hardly move today" and we repeat our old routine that we all know by heart.

Maybe I'll dance with the yellow of Happiness some day. Joy is such a bright, pretty colour, isn't he? Maybe I'll tango in the depths of fire and brimstone with my red Anger, blinding my eyes as we try and fail to avoid the heat. Maybe I'll dance fluidly, smoothly with Calm. They are peace. They are wisps of smoke from an old, small, sage green teapot and the silent rustle of air through the trees. Colourless, most times. They remind you of the brothers two but much kinder, much more comforting.

Perhaps I'll be unlucky. Perhaps Fear and I, or Anxiety, as I call him, will speak once again. I try to keep my distance but there's not much you can do when all you've ever known from the very start of life as you know it is to be in unease, discomfort, waiting, treading lightly on a tightrope of your own design as your inevitable demise inches closer and closer with no warning.

I like this shade of blue, though. I think every human has a rainbow inside them. We are all capable of every single colour, it just depends on what each colour means to you and how well you can tell. I am currently a shade of blue. This particular hue is commonly given to Sadness, although mine is too grey to be called any other colour most times. Today, my Sadness is blue, for once. A light blue, a sad blue, a tired blue. It's warm and comforting in its dull familiarity. It asked me to write this and I did as told, hoping it would make sense, hoping it would help, hoping I could understand myself for even a moment, even at all.

My Sadness is blue and so am I. My inner child is blue too, but not the colour. Blue in the way it feels sick to the stomach, nauseous and unable to breathe. Their face is blue from holding back screaming. If you keep holding yourself back from feeling all the reds, blacks and greys, all the creeping dark shades in the room, you will always end up throwing it all up or suffocate it till something in you dies, if you'd like. Because something must die if you're held under too long, don't you agree? I let her die. She loves me but I couldn't save her, and every time I kill her again, she shows again the next time with a smile on her face and forgiveness in her eyes. Too kind. Much too kind. In a world that never deserved her kindness.

My inner child and every other part of who or what I am is a rainbow trapped in chains. That is my colour, that is why I can't tell you for sure which I am most times. I tell them it's too much colour and add yet another shackle to myself. For the good of the world, I tell myself. I'm only trying to protect you, I tell myself. The old man rears his ugly head and smiles at me. Fear is a smoke with no flame that I have followed a long time. I met them as a child and eagerly let them in. Because I was promised safety. They broke that promise. But they have grown too familiar to leave and that is where the colours will forever stay. Trapped, as I am. I gain nothing and lose nothing, just hang treacherously in the balance.

Perhaps if I was a different hue this fateful day, I'd have written a prettier tune. But this mess is a part of me and I a part of it. And with that, I wish you a good day, one full of rainbows and rainbows alone.