Escape Room
He needed to get out of here. He was running out of time.
It was dark. No, it was beyond that. Darkness had a prescence. But what was resting in his field of vision didn't have that.
He felt around, desparate. The key had to be here somewhere. He longed to wrap his fingers around its chilling metal.
His foot collided with what he suspected was cardboard.
He kneeled down, and ventured into what he now knew was a box.
Inside, he could tell, were books. He shook them out, one by one, their soft rustling like the flutter of wings. Their covers were raised, and he traced his hands over the words. He couldn't tell what they were.
He gave up on the books, temporarily. While his seconds were sparse, he could always scavenge and find a few more. He could search, search, and search again.
As he stood up, his anxiety kicked in. His chest tightened, his breath constricted. The ache in his mind was now raging, and the key was the only cure.
He put his arms out, and felt warped wood and gilded knobs. A cupboard. The knob's detailing dug into his palms as the doors squeaked open. The hinges need oil. But that wasn't a concern right now.
The inside was a void. Empty, with nothing that his fingers could detect. The dust floating around made the air thick, like his hands were drifting through water.
The world was closing in on him. He couldn't see it, but he could sense it.
As various emotions burned him to the core, he swept his hand across the cupboard's top. It flew across, so quickly that he barely registered the collision with the vase.
It tumbled through silence, then ripped it to shreds as it exploded into a thousand tiny diamonds.
But there was something else. Something that didn't belong to the vase. A light, metallic echo.
The key.
On his knees, he patted around, trying to be delicate so ruby red ribbons were not stitched onto his hands. The surface was the consistent, the same, sharp and grainy.
And then a brief absence of texture.
He had found it.
He had found freedom.
It felt like a promise in his hands. He went to the door and located the lock. Each click was a sweet note of music.
He turned the handle. Took a few cautious, unbelieving steps.
The breeze was warm. He could hear birds twittering on fenceposts, snatches of distant conversation. The possibility was overwhelmingly beautiful.
He still couldn't see anything.
What had he expected?
He'd been blind since birth.
last train
and as the last train approached the station,
i thought i saw her in the blur of people–
men in grey blazers, women in plain suits,
children curled up in the cold seats asleep–
i thought i saw her in a ripped-up blouson dress,
champagne gold the station almost felt warm.
my fingernails dug into my train ticket,
locations unknown, without a time of arrival.
the back of her hand pressed against the window,
her head slumped into her palm unmoving;
firm, slender fingers entangled with waves
of soft black hair scattered on her lean shoulders;
in the crests and valleys of her undraped neck
i found the answer to the endless moments
in my head and the coldness worth suffering for.
(on the station display was no longer today’s date)
the ticket slipped from my fingers onto the tracks,
just as her last train drifted away from time–
- deathetix
In loving memory
Your death haunted me for over a decade. Indeed, I am not certain that it doesn’t still. I spent some eight years writing (and re-writing) a novel to exorcise you from my mind. As I wrote it, I vacillated between who would die in the end. Would it reflect real life or would art have its way? I sat in a tub with a razor to see if I too could cut short a little-loved life. I couldn’t. I found I loved those who love me too much to stop trying.
And so, it was always you who put the gun in your mouth and blew a hole through the back of your head such that the casket was closed to the full cathedral of family, former students and former colleagues – both teachers from the high school where we taught and priests from the order you had left behind – all of whom had loved you and still deny to those who will listen any hint that you did not die of natural causes. At 32.
It wasn’t very good. The novel, that is. And I guess it didn’t really help since I continue to ask myself if there was something I could have said to change your mind.
That last day we ever spoke, we stood chatting about poorly functioning copy machines and summer plans and professional aspirations. You complained about bureaucracy and red tape and unnecessary hoops you had to jump through in order to teach summer school. I asked you the name of your cologne so I could buy it for my husband. Kouros. The next day you were dead. I never bought the cologne.
I have wondered over and over till I am sick with grief, what I missed. What clue did you offer that your mind was a kaleidoscope of pain, your soul slowly cracked, about to shatter? What could I have said or done to give you hope? To help you hold on until not holding on was never an option?
Was there something, anything, I could have said?
I’ll never know.
insanity
beep; white walls closing in from all sides
white clothes chained onto white beds
beep; white handle draining red from skin
sharp blade and rivers of deep crimson
shadows on the white walls i could see your haunted silhouette three years ago when i drowned in eyes made of heavenly poetry and darkness like raven feathers under moonlight and ink with flecks of gold and forgotten cities an hour before dawn that felt like another universe and a thousand sleepless nights later i dream of a death in your eyes
beep; slowly the world became dead silent
existing in the loudest echoing scream
beep; kaleidoscope of lights flashed around
conscious escaping this realm to cope
in breathless whispers all i’ve wanted in this short life was to worship your smile feeling late night drives in the sound of wind blowing against glass panes and endless sunsets of cold dreams painting the faded sky in a haze for you were an angel fallen in the rain and your smile was interwoven with empty glass bottles and enchanting secrets of the universe
beep; back to the immaculate white walls suffocating space
and i close my eyes wishing to disappear in these lights
beep; between the frozen air i wanted to feel something
fresh blood, more red, and more and more and more
shattered veins and i miss the sharpness of the metallic key engraved on my fingertips that tasted yours in a moment and i saw waves the color of moonlight through blue-stained glass crashing against rough granite cliffs creating carpets of white bubbles that bloomed without ever knowing your voice and the way it broke me but for you i would go insane
beep; it’s ok i understand
i’ll never be enough
bee– you’re just a girl
and so am i
i’ll be waiting even if forever would never be enough to paint constellations in the night sky and to dissolve my hollow being in rivers of tiffany blue as i memorize every part of your existence for even after my life became a blur all i knew was you so come find me at the end of the flatline and i promise i’ll be waiting for your response until the end of time
- deathetix
disappear
moonlight from the window
illuminated fingerprints
painted blood-stained glass
casted shadows intertwined
on the white concrete wall
her dark shadow i can’t erase
stone-paved road under the
bleeding soles of my bare feet
left a trail as red as her lipstick
leading to where the quiet sky
kissed the drunk waves of the
sapphire ocean under a galaxy
starlit depths of her shadow
my empty body dissolving
in cold waves crystals break
for her i’ll di s a p p e a r
dreaming in these waters
as i drown myself to life
- deathetix
Remember
'Do you remember
when we all were bored
when we all were sad
when we all were confused
that was for our safety
And thats why I trust
that even though we are bored
or sad
or mad
we’ll be here
for decades to come.
We can tell others
we stayed alive
during this time
and thats whats most important
than anything else.'