I'm freezing.

My blanket covering me does nothing.

My feet feel like ice.

My hands feel like fire.

My body...

It produces heat in places it's not needed.

Yet keeps the places where I'm cold...

Cold.

I know.

You say you love my warm body.

You say it's cute how your cold...

But I'm warm.

I hate it.

I'm not all warm.

Most of me is cold...

Damp and cold.

My mind aches from how cold my body is

My muscles are week and tight.

I'm suffering everyday...

Just from being cold.

You with your cold hands...

Ironically,

You're what warms me up.

Without you I'm freezing.

I love you.

Thank you for warming my body,

My mind,

And my heart.

Look.

I'm sitting outside my school thinking about the people around me. Which isn't saying much seeing as there is no one around. But! There are the people who were here. The kids waiting for the bus. Those waiting for their parents, and those with after school activities. I'm shoved in with the kids waiting for their parents. As I watched all these kids I thought about what their story might be. Who they go home to everyday. How they're feeling... it's possibly one of the best things to do while you're waiting alone.

There were these two boys sitting up by this wall in the shade. They were talking about video games and mythical characters from books and movies. I knew both of these boys so I knew a little bit of what they were like. The more talkative ones name was...let's call him Hobbes. And the less talkative but more attentive one was...hmm...night. I'm using these names as a sort of joke. Hobbes begins talking about a hydra and the way to kill one. He drones on and on and...on. He keeps making jokes about the people who think the only way to kill one is by cutting off their heads. Silly people.

Soon the Night pops in with watching movies before reading the books. I thought this was odd. Who watches the movie...and then reads the book?? Well apparently Hobbes does. I know, I'm laughing too. They just don't seem to put down the conversation.

Just from seeing who talks more, and who listens, and who pays more attention, and who gets more exited about certain topics, I form a story.

Hobbes: you're a very outgoing guy around your friends...but when you start a conversation with someone you like you get flustered easily. You aren't as confident in yourself. When you're around strangers you're just quiet. You try to warm up to them but it's hard. You like to think you're a happy person. But deep down in your heart you know you're not that happy. You have problems that are hard to deal with, you're a very sensitive person. When we talk you always seem so calm and happy...but I see sadness in your eyes...I don't see true happiness. Whatever you're going through...I'm sorry.

Night: You may be quiet...but you're not a very good person. You know how fragile Hobbes is...but you really don't seem to care about what he has to say. You listen...but you don't...listen. Look I know that you may not be interested in much of what he seems to say, but get off your damn phone while your friend, who thinks your his best friend, is speaking to you. Look him in the eye. AT LEAST SHOW THAT YOU CARE. Hobbes has a heart as pure as gold...but you decide you want to sell it for money. Give it away so you can gain from it. When he was crying over being rejected by a woman he thought he loved you just sat there and ignored him. Told him to get over it. You're a disrespectful asshole. You don't deserve someone like him. So Night? Get the fuck away from Hobbes.

Hobbes and Night are friends...but I don't see the friendliness coming from one of them. I hope Hobbes can see it too.

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "