Escaprism

image by life takes crayons

I hit him back. I couldn't believe that my tiny fist had been a wrecking ball in Adrien crux's arrogant features. " you just...." he stumbled back as though in a dazed drunk stupor. Last year we had been face to face, nose to nose, and the knife he prodded near my round stomache, I was not pregnant just larger than the girls he was used to dating. I knew I wasn't as pretty.
" have you lost your mind?" He raised himself to his full height his handsome features mutilated. Swiping the blood from his nostrils. " if I left you,"
" if you left me who would love me right?" I slunk back against the wall, expecting the slaps I was familiar with. It came like the thrash of a whip. My grey eyes tearing as his brown eyes encompassed in shadow. " I stuck by you when nobody else did,"
" you drive them all away," I mumbled the terror still ripe in my throat.
" they weren't the right people for you,"
" I was strange, that's what you said. It's been three years of you were strange, I'm still strange."
" I do love you, you know." I wanted to claw his fucking eyes out. Maybe it was all the self help books I'd been reading lately, having to sneak to my friend Marietta's wedding because he'd had a problem with her, said she was easy despite being hypnotised by her full bosom whenever we spoke. She'd appear in my home shifty in turtlenecks, tying her crow black hair in a neat bun. Adrian's words they don't sting you at the time the way they sport when your alone with thoughts.
 " I see this shit in tv you know," I glanced at the tear streaked windows. The pitta parts of rain begging an escape. " I swore I'd never be one of those girls, they look so fragile, their voices come out like air burps, they walks like nuns and dress up like Muslim wives hiding everything."
"Is it the Afro, you can put it back in," he defended.
"it's not up to you, " I swallowed hard " I packed your stuff two days ago, it's in the downstairs cupboard."
" I unpacked it." he challenged his voice now smoothe and soothing.
" This isn't the man I met at the fair that day, " I ran my hands through my cornrows, " I think he lives in my head." No he didn't, but after the lies, being on trial with family and those who i was accustomed to, maybe he did. Was i asking for perfection? Adrien was a law student, dapper, handsome, girls oohed when he walked past the halls, i ahhed when we had our first conversation. The worst thing was, i remembered exactly what he'd said, those first few words in that deep chocolate voice. " I like eclairs,"  it was a strange sentence to open with. " I dont eat them, i just buy them for pretty girls like you." I, Annabella Ramone was not used to the word pretty in association with me. My sister was she had the looks, yet i had befriended every single book in the library to hide from the shallow world of men. " I wouldn't call myself pretty," i announced honestly, his smile already having an effect. " Just lonely enough to need a companion to things like Gala's, museums, and Fredericko Mustiq's concerto at Prism palace. " Much had changed since that day, i had changed, and as i grabbed the remnance of my belongings from the narrow sitting room, i finally confessed i hadn't wanted to. He wouldn't beg. Not for me i was too plain for him, but the calls would come later on in that week, or as the months followed, as i edged closer to my freedom. For i wasn't plain, i had come to realise, i was familiar, and he was too weak to let go, incase a better man got things right. I shoved my suitcase into the car, i paused pondering only for a minute before diving in, pressing down on the clutch and driving to my freedom. Once again i owned myself, and i wasnt claimed by a man's weakness or his jealousy. Somehow in his warped delusions i belonged to him, and now i knew i could never belong to anyone. I took out the hair band letting my hair fly with the wildness he hated, ignored the stone burried in my stomach and put the car into gear.

Chrissys love

image from pinterest

" it's because he loves you that he left," I swept my armada curls, metal and ink behind the curve of a pointed lobe. I wanted to fight her, my mother for not being honest to herself. For allowing him to tiptoe into the house his scent staining a map I had suddenly begun to figure out.
" he'll be back again," her fudge tinted eyes lit like candles. " How does someone love you so much they leave, "
" grown ups need space." we were on the edge of my bed, a bunk bed that once invited companions. I glared hard face at the pis coloured walls, once I danced in this room, now it was yellow and somehow it was blue. The scent of candle wax and gin hung in the air like a veil. Mother had rouge lipstick on. Mother did this to pep herself up Everytime he left because once upon a time she'd been told my father was too pretty for her, that once upon a time stayed. It dug into her confidence scraping the gleam out of her eyes as young girls with glowing skin, and pert buttocks strolled by our street. " gulf gulf is still here."
"I thought I'd fry her soon enough but the way she moves in that tank, " she would now say the movements of a multicoloured fish in a crowded yet isolated tank was like Mozart.
" your beautiful you know, enough not to open doors for strange men,"
She clamped skinny hands on my chin " he's not a stranger he's your father."
My mother reminded me of an old Picasso copy cat is seen in dalton market, buoyant with colour, jagged edge and sharp features. Her nose was strong enough to be a hacksaw, lips politely pulsed, hair as red as a policemans siren, but she was beautiful to me. For I knew her smell, and her smell wasn't tobacco, marijuana or the selfish stamp of bailey.
" let's look through the album again," I. Piped wanting her to feel better. My words sounded blocky to me in my stiletto tone. She needed to remember her youth, and the ghost of her laughter still echoed within the walls. " Chrissy, " she gulped. " your sixteen you know little of what love really is. Don't change the locks on him again okay?" I nodded the lie apparent only to me.
I would change them as soon as the sky lit orange, and the nightingale slept soundly in her nest.

Renee Zellwegger plastic surgery

I understand growing up and needing to upgrade your image but what renee Zellwegger has done, i believe will ultimately cost her her career. She was beautiful before. Absolutely stunning. Those eyes that sparkled those apple cheeks, she had that girl next door look and she would have grown into that woman next door look. Shes unrecognizable. I know her industry is tough, but we want to see the real Renee, the face we recognise, she was an asset to the film industry, that girl next door look really worked. Now she looks like something of real housewives, Renee....this is not happiness. What message is she sending to women her age and young girls.

Scapes

Slinky eyes
and bedroom talk
All our fears
They take a walk
Shadowed corners
Private Scapes
From this trap
Ones no escape
You are self
and self as I
My morning juice
My lullabye

Su Hill: Short story

image from  evanira.deviantart.com

"Your crazy you know that, this is acid rock hardcore shit it eats you." I shrugged at Adrien Molex, swiped playfully at his fringe. We were sitting on the highest precipice of nature's den, a place perfect for climbers.
"Your really gonna do this to beat her."
"I'd do anything to beat that fucking," His malteser eyes swallowed me, a thick finger pressed against my pulsing mouth. We were alive together. Fire in our veins, alcohol drowning our curling Oesophogus. Danger on the tongue. The bitch we were talking about was my twin sister Rhia. He was banging her, because that's how men communicate with her immaculate features, and slender shape. Then when he knocked on our door, the third time, there was a moment, like a bubble had swallowed us and we were in our hub. " It's ridiculous to think a man like you could love someone like her," i'd seethed internally.My eyes sparked with jealous rage, and then an orgasm of calm exploded as he placed a hand gently on my square shoulders. Millitant yet terrified of the world outside.
"I didn't know Rhia had a twin, she's very beautiful," funnily enough id always known i wasnt. It was like god had picked the petals of mothers womb, remaining was me, a shapeless stem. Lean enough to be gangly, short spiky hair which never agreed with order or hairbrushes. One kid once said i was deformed in comparison to my sister. It bit me at the time, and then i began to accept it. " Rhia looks latino, Spanish,is she mixed?" Stupid questions, stupid strangers asked. It sucked so hard being compared to my glamorous twin. At schools, girls ran their hands seductively through her endless main of wild, curly hair. Stubbornly she had managed to grow it to near her ankles. Rhia Evans looked like a painting, and i the younger twin looked more ....regular. I hated that. I never felt regular , i felt odd in my skin, like i belonged in a spaceship somewhere, martians please invite me.
"You can take the first hit," He flashed a dimpled smile waving hands appart,
"No way, i like being smart. These are the freezers, he scanned the almost empty moss green cliffs.
" I really want to kiss you right now, make you come to your senses,"
"it's a trip, i need a trip, people lean in when she utters a sentence, hungry for her adventures," i sighed, " im the salad or the green peas the child plays with on his plate. Lena the troublesome one. \Lena the meth head, and lena the product of an artist who barely came to completion. I pulled the white stick to my lips, sucking it in as it entered my chest, and teased in like a belly dancer. suddenly i felt a sharp prick in my lungs, fire and heat , i began coughing dramatically choking as i grappled for air. My eyes bulged, i could feel the veins popping out, it felt as though my body was preparing to shatter into a million pieces."what is this?"
I spat nervously, panic strangling my every breath. " People aren't what you assume."
"What is this?" I put my hands to my throat trying to cough out its contents.
"Something unpredictable. Your sister is waiting for me over there," he pointed a finger at curdwells narrow street. " It will look like you committed suicide."

The Musk

Kissing dust
The one i trust
i never showed you
the mess of us
how when you lean
we  scatter
Sherbet Kisses
  air
 this mirage
says harps just dont care
Though hands are thick and locked like chains
Find me in the arc near your shadow
Preparing the tedium
Of your tomorrow
Wiping windows
sprawled out on desk
an itching flesh
It needs caressing
Kissing
Kissing
Kissing dust
This self i love
this you
i trust
for fingers do not
own the musk.

Let me in

Soul brother
systems ink
Brain is scrambled these
thoughts i think
I catapult myself
into the hub
of your arms
thick and strong
you are the branches
Where Tree whispers
song
Fish Calypso
in this Ocean dew
I have seen
Yet am blind
to the worst of you
With each tiptoe
Fingers tiptoe across your skin
Mr Chocolate
let me in

The pain of other peoples lies

There's nothing more frustrating than the pain of other people's lies. It's not so much what they do, but the fact they dare to think they can do it, lie about it, and make you appear emotionally unstable to those around you. Cruelty which stems from envy, the need to have a sense of power and control over others and the lives they live. These things are done consistently and then they gaslight you. Gas lighting is a form of emotional abuse when someone close to you or in your viccinity, humiliates or degrades you over a period of time, making you feel less than adequate, then convincing you it's all in your head. That you imagined such things. It's disgusting, cowardly, hurtful, but above all it's the most malicious form of abuse there is. They systematically bully and attempt to convince you, its all in your head, when you and others witnessed what was taking place. We often wonder how such people live with themselves, how they justify such cruelty, and how with such a weak spirit. They embrace a feeling of strength. If someone is degrading you, humiliating you, ridiculing you in some way, not once in a while, it is consistent but it is done cleverly and insidiously, you may think you are loosing your mind, think your on tilted edge. They want you to believe you imagined these things and they came out of thin air, why would you invent such cruelty out of thin air, for the love of it? For the fun of it? Because life isn't full of any other problems or disputes? People who feel weak. Want to make you look weak and they want as much as possible to convince those around them that your the problem. It's not what they were doing to you secretly that was the problem, its you and your state of mind. They can go as far as convincing you, that you are crazy.

Here is where you win. When they lie, they weaken a part of themselves. When they look in the mirror, it's the lies they see, and there's a sense of disgust at themselves for having to lie in the first place. Gas lighting is cruel, its sick, sadistic, but most of all it's weak. It takes a strong person to look you dead in the eye and say, "this is what you did to me, this is why i did it to you." With honesty there is resolution. Yet when someone is too weak to be honest, it tells you all you need to know about them, and who they are really.

Evacuating from emotional abusers

When your not supposed to be with someone your not supposed to be with them. You dont want them and no amount of bullying harassment or wearing you down systematically should divine that this one person is who you turn to. I once came across a guy who betrayed me in the worst way, after reaching out to him because i thought potentially he might make a good friend, i got the shock of my life. First i was ridiculed and humiliated by those around him so he'd feel better about himselves, but when is started moving past that. Getting my self confidence back,other guys began to find me attractive. He became extremely jealous as though i were a posession, as though i belonged to him. The more i struggled to build my self esteem the more he'd desperately tear it down, he was your archetypal psychopath. If i recieved phone calls from other men, he'd spread lies amongst neighbours and friends, ensure the people who i had once connected to were involved that i was loose or whorish. Despite it being extremely apparent to me that he had an interest in me beyond subtle niceties, this guy turned into my worst nightmare. Producing lies to alienate and Ostracize me from as many people as possible, it was done very cleverly by pretending as though it were a joke. I was just humor for him and his friends but there was something evil, sinister and psychotic about it. At one point out of sheer envy he came up with a plan to convince those that i was close to that i was mentally unstable. To friends i was described as 'the ugly one' he'd tell whatever affairs he'd listened too about me and my family to ensure we were looked down upon. Yet i'd see it in his bizarre reactions, when male friends came to visit, when id get a phone number from an attractive or confident guy, when i was alone he would happen to be near or tiptoe towards the same vicinity, pretending to get things from booths of cars, if i was moving about a certain time, he was suddenly moving about at that time, closing the front door quietly as he tiptoed back in. I hated him, because he had felt unsure of himself and inadequate his goal had been to destroy any ounce of confidence i had. When he sensed it coming back, the insults would begin again. He was psychotic.

Emotional abuse is psychological. Many of the things he did were sadistic and cruel, an abuser will use such strategies as comparing you to someone else to make you feel less adequate, insulting things that are precious to you, your skin tone the way you look, your features, whilst strategically trying desperately to control you. His problem wasn't that i had done, this that or the other, being someone with extremely low self esteem himself his problem was the fact that he couldn't control me. More so still because i had never ventured into a relationship with him. What would i say to women all over the world about men like this, the controllers, the Gaslighters, the emotionally abusive individuals who seem to believe human relationships is all about Millitant control. Run. People often argue points such as keep your distance if you value your self esteem, that's great, but what your looking at is a Suicide bomber and there are how many degrees of separation. We debate whether physical abuse is worse than psychological abuse, a wound will heal, but the mental scars heighten things you may already suffer from, paranoia, fear of trusting people and reaching out building , close relationships. They will counter their defense by belittling your emotions, calling you oversensitive, ensuring that those around you think it's in your head, yet if your so damaged and so lowly to them why the hell wont they leave you alone. It's simple on the surface they appear to be functional people, yet as time unfolds other people can see how damaged they really are. Relationships dont last unless it's a pretense, a man who may have a partner and a child, instead of being focused on planning that child's future, what school he or she goes to, what type of friends they'll have, where they'll be taken for the holidays and core things that deal with focusing on someone who is pivotal. It may not be a child, it may be a business and you have to be smart enough to be able to acknowledge why. I was called ugly systematically, nicknamed the embarassment, potential friends were warned of how supposedly loose i was. The abuse was insiduos and only took place whenever i was alone. Whenever other men appeared beside me and wanted to draw the situation to a close, he'd close the blinds, feeding more lies, at one point he had ensured those close to him spread a rumor that i had aids and was an ex prostitute, simply because i wouldn't sleep with him. He'd say things to friends such as "i wouldn't touch her with a barge pole," then beg consistently to others to convince me to have sex with him. " One night. Just one night." He'd try and make me feel inferior to family by saying such things as "No you just sleep with the dark skinned one, but the light skinned one you marry," Knowing how desperately i wanted things like marriage, a long term partner. He would assign those close to him to make jokes about how dark skinned i was, making it appear as though i was too black to be loved. Then one day it became too much and as i was at my lowest point, he'd encourage things like slit your wrist and cut your throat, hang yourself. Kill yourself. He's defence consistently remained "i was just messing about,i was joking." The worse thing about people like this is they appear to be consistently innocent. People close to me refused to believe it because they seem as though butter wouldn't melt. Butter doesn't just melt their soaked in it.

If you come across a systematically abusive person it's not just about you.Something in them is damaged and destroyed. A lot of the time, they want to be close to you whilst envying things about you.

Create distance
Find someone you can confide in be it a therapist, a counsellor, a friend
Out them at all cost, because what their doing isn't just sick, it's weak, their using you to make themselves feel emotionally strong. Do not allow yourself to be humiliated, if you were so flawed they would leave you alone.and focus on accumulating a better life, a happier life. You are not the embarassment they are. This individual refused to admit any interest in me because i was too dark skinned, not conventionally pretty, wasn't as popular as i had been as a child. Sing like a wolf. Howl like an Owl tell everyone, it will shame them into doing it less, because other people know about it. They can't defend it as easily, others would have witnessed it. The funny thing is for years despite the things i had accomplished even whilst dealing with a disability, ultimately i realised why he was doing this to me. I was seen as a strong person, and he wanted to humble me in the worst way possible.  I'd hear that supposedly " i fancied myself," when i'd speak up " he'd defend that i was paranoid, almost making me appear delusional." I began to feel unlovable. When people empathised with me, or he sensed it rather than admitting to his guilt, he would say things such as " i was playing up, performing, being an attention seeker." Whenever i tried to move away or create distance he became psychotic, " asking people strategically to slow me down. Dont let her get away, she runs away from everything." Yet i realised why he was doing this, in a show when i was watching the real housewives, one of the wives had said to the other, " i am your story,you need me just to talk about me just to get an interview, just to get a radio lookin, just to make a headline." That's how it felt with him, he needed me as a platform to have a topic of discussion with friends, family, anyone, he needed me to make him appear interesting. If i wasn't around him and those around him had absolutely nothing to share with others. To lure them in.

When you stand up to an emotionally abusive person, you will be told that your being a drama queen, manipulative, your always doing this, The problem isn't you it's the way they feel about themselves. Something about you makes them feel so emasculated they have to attempt to break your spirit.

Second thing women can be extremely dumb. One of my frustrations with the situation wasn't just what he was doing, but the fact that there were women who went along with it. Why didn't they speak up because whether they liked me or not a part of them knew it was wrong, that's why they kept it so hidden. That's why i was humiliated only when i was alone, then when other people were around me they'd make excuses for why they wouldn't create such a scene in front of others. It was much too much drama yet they'd expelled poison about those around me.

I also thought things such as all those young men who bought in just because they wanted to be part of a group, have a brotherhood, be part of something, what if that were there sister, or daughters they tuck into bed. Every woman has a side, every person has a past. Your past unless your a serial killer or an axe murderer your past should belong to you. It's not you, whether the abuser is a woman or a man, it's them. There are several degrees of pain separation, and sadly you may never know why your being punished for that one woman once upon a time that rejected him/her, for the childhood friend or sibling he/she could never measure up to. If someone is emotionally and mentally abusive don't pick the battle, pick the war. An exit is your best strategy. You will need your strength for all the tough things that life has coming your way, your self esteem is your armor. For men never be this guy, he does these things because he's broken. For women be strong enough not to encourage this guy, he is no pack leader. Your not being manipulative, your being honest.

365 days: Short story

painting by Franz Von


Smells, i cant put my finger on it cinnamon leaks through your nostrils, mint slides down your lungs. The hair.Short shiny bob, rich eyes a purple blue hue, lean frame, she was something you awed at. She looked like the others, the others look like mother when she was young, pretty happy, with her shiny black bob and retail uniform. She was dead in the eyes, I had to kill her. I had to kill them, it was my favour to the world, their beauty was a stain on it. It doesn't make sense, 365 days, 24 hours, i finish work at 9:30, their eyes are glued to me, those spirits, they watch my every move, she was other worldly. I had to bury her before i burried her. It started in a dream, unravelling like a scarf, 365 days, 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week, she was a poltergeist haunting my thoughts. They speak in hushed tones when i march into the office, whisper, gulping down words that are delicious to only them. It's girls like her, i dated a girl that looked just like Madison Grey once, she wasn't as trendy. She was braces, and didn't swivel her hips when she walked. Instead she marched. Pretty girl, no one can blame me about the blood. It's them, they make you hungry. Your not scared of newspapers, or magazine articles or being exposed, you find tidy places, plots to bury. You ignore the sobs of howling parents on flatscreen tv's, or flyers saying have you seen this girl? Madison was the last. I swore she would be the last to me, she had to be, police were not as dumb as they looked. I was a concerned neighbour with brown hair and caterpillar moustache, concerned hippy who noticed a few things out of place. I was tired of my ingenius IQ. I'm ten steps ahead of myself it's been years, and it's gotten boring. Those stupid police officers look for bodies the way barbie dolls look for vintage classics. What's so precious about this life? You come you go. Yet Jason was lying to himself, he lied often it was the potential that they could find love, the potential they could find happiness something his mother never had. She wasn't battered physically, but life. Such pretty things they were, when he buried them he lined them up like neat Chinese dolls. " 365 days, 24 hours in a day," mother had piped every morning. " What would you do with yourself?" The sadness in her eyes was like a blunt object carving it's way through your core. She was dying, every day your alive your closer to dying anyway, but unlike the women in the groups, and the hubs, mother was dying of something else, a bitterness had eaten it's way into her core. Her smiles were plastic. It was a strange thing. To be so happy and so sad all at the same time, Then the idea had come to him  when he'd seen that fox out on pitchmans Grey, it was writhing and dying, it's teeth were visible as though it were trying to smile, he'd marched straight up to the house where the bread knife was plunged it into the heart of the animal. Somehow that made so much sense, perfect sense such a pretty thing, what if someone healed it, bandaged it up and it was different. It happened on Tuesday, Tuesday the 4th of October. "365 days in a year, 24-" she hadn't seen it, it was the old screwdriver in the toolbox he drove in deep into her navel over and over again. " Liar!" he tossed the word, feeling the poison within. " Your not happy you never were. No more smiles." Hunched over he stood back and finished his cereal as he watched her bleed all over the kitchen floor. It was a strange emotion, dark, empty, numbing, the world seemed quiet but the clink of his spoon on the blue oriental bowl." I hate that sentence. I hate pretenders." He burried her in the shed, they didn't have many friends but whenever anyone called she had relocated, was living with a sister for a while. Until he disconnected the phones and with her savings moved. " 365 days in a year, 24" that sentence always came to him when he saw them, the copycats of mum. It made him erect, his veins pulse, he'd speak to himself in hushed tones as he followed them around chelsea, kingscross in London one in Bermuda, 365 days, they were sick, he was fixing their lives.

Slaughter of secrets

image from the daily mail


"Flipkart,"
"Yeah my dad runs flipkart." Alistair was lying as usual, but in our circle you pretend like Alistair doesn't lie. Alistair does nothing wrong, because it was the week of the chosen one, and this week Alistair Roosevelt that short piece of spit on the back of my shoe, was a chosen one in our fraternity.
" I'm not drinking blood," he panicked.
" We pass the cup around you sip it, it's not like your gulping it, most of it is Ribena,"
My eyes circled the small hedge of trees in our small wood. Arsehole, how the fuck did he get in with my friends anyway, he had these like i call it, the pencil dot eyes, and these huge glasses which seemed to suffocate his pert nose. He was pale and freckled, and his new hair do reminded me of a hedgehog. A brown furry hedgehog. Shit, who am i kidding, he wasn't short he'd sprung up, was tall with bulky arms and this deep throaty voice that made girls swoon. The worse thing about being a teenager wasn't the pimples, the period pains, because somehow i was a tomboy hanging out with a guys fraternity. It was this. This! When i saw him, this! and my eyes did this shit because he'd changed so much, and so had i, i had changed. Not like Tracy Elderly who had huge bust and basically looked like Jessica Rabbit, i felt out of a skin that had once completely belonged to me. Suddenly there were high heels, platforms, girls in bikini strap blouses low cleavage, and i wasn't just looking at the guys anymore, i was looking at the girls and it scared me. Yet him.
"So no gulping?"
" You have to wear the crown as well," Jesus this bastard had a crown. He'd literally terrorised me in first year of high school, in french, my favorite subject, he'd learned to read the whole bible Genesis through to Exodus in complete Francais, in Maths this arsewipe could calculate equations in under 60 seconds, and here he was pretending to be part of the dumbest fraternity in Elkley high. Worse he liked Chrissy tambert, and even worse he still stared at me, im talking eating you with huge brown eyes, they weren't dots i lied i hate him. This bitch has legs from here to British Airport, and speaks in this really clipped speedy tone, like a bird on acid. " I saw Chrissy in German, " i announced, knowing my sudden social affiliation with one of the most popular girls in school made me as much asset as i was commodity. Chrissy was big news, "she asked about you." Not really, she talked about her trip to Sweeden, and daddy's new Bentley, along with how painful the boob job she'd done still throbbed in certain places. I scanned his expression, the loathsome look tiptoeing in my green eyes. I'm more plain than her i'm aware, but my father said like a shot of Tequila my personality gives me some kick.
" I think she likes you," i lied, wanting to connect in some way, yet hating that i did.
" Most girls like me, it's the hair he beamed." Cunt. Instead i smiled
" Actually she's got this plan to merge the fraternity's and host this huge barbecue to raise money for some charity,"
" Which one," he retorted in a bored tone.
" People with one leg and shit." Expecting a rise out of him, i leaned back grinning at the circle of boys. Tunde Bosch, who wasn't actually called Tunde Bosche quirked a thick brow, his husky tone revealing he knew exactly what i was doing. Alistair's brother lost a leg in the army, or was it a car crash he refused to cut it off. He'd said cutting his leg off would be like cutting his dick off, that just didn't make sense to me. Sadness lit his eyes, Alistair Roosevelt had really long lashes for a guy, and i blame the dimple or was it the scar behind his ear. The one only i knew about, like without realising he'd let me into his World, uninvited, and invited. I knew where it came from, an angry slap from an older brother had sent him crumbling to the floor. He'd cut himself on a loose nail, i'd watched from the window, stunned....and yet i moved. I came closer to the window, it was outside the gates of the playground, "bastard!" I spat, i was surprised by how angry i was, the pencil in my trembling hands had turned to blade. I was drawn back into the moment as Alistair sipped from the gold cup, i looked at my twin brother Ricky. He'd dyed his hair green, i'd dyed mine a bright pink, it was on dads birthday we did it making some sort of rebellion against his uniformity. He winked at me knowingly, he'd read the journal. I tilted my top lip with disgust. " Welcome to the Alpha fraternity." The group chorused collectively. A choir of outcast. He was always doing stupid shit to piss me off, but two years from now i had no idea i'd be looking for his body in these woods. We find him three months later, overdosed on pills. There's only two people who are convinced he didn't commit suicide, me and the new prince of the Fraternity.Secrets, can be murder.

Mothers Melting pot: Short story

image from pinterest

My mother had the right idea about self destruction. Being a narcissist the whole world seemed to be soaked into her vigil, worshiping her timeless countenance of ill constructed self narrative. It was about her. Her dagger green eyes, the arrogant tilt of her chin, her Moccha skin and the smile with bladed dimples. Men fawned at her feet, people asked stupid questions just to ask questions in the first place and now at 33 i was still the little girl tugging at the hem of a flowing skirt. Ida Rhodes never wore trousers, they were too masculine for her. Everything had to be everything, and in her orb, the world was me as well worshiping at the foot of a goddess.  " New changes." She spoke in her clipped diction, as the car swiped sweat beads of rain in traffic. " A blue car."
"Yes mother a blue car."
" What happened to red it used to be your favourite colour?"
" I'm not sixteen anymore."
"Your hairs still red."
I bit back a rising comment, decided to toss it in as a salad.
" How's husband number three?"
" Pretty on my arm." She patted her fro with a beaming smile, " all those jealous women in the neighbourhood, you should see their crow eyes look at me," she took a gap as a memory lit across her smug expression." Island saw him, it was beautiful, that yellow street hussy,"
"She's not a street hussy." I defended. My mother had a kryptonite, it was the envy that seeped into the distant wounds of a broken heart, she never told anyone about the heart. It made her sound weak, that a man could do this to her, off all the billionaires, politicians, and trust fund teenagers she dated, someone had gotten close enough. Where there was ice, he had destroyed her. His name....father. A penniless drunk, a first love, a bruised eye, a battered lip and psychological mind games. "Has he called recently?" The silence was heavy. I clicked on the indicator, circled the car, weaving through the metropolis that had now become mothers paradise. She knew i was talking about my father. Dad rarely called me and remi apart from to open some half baked discussion about an idea, which needed funding from us. " Friday," she spoke flatly. I was ruining her groove. He was still as handsome as he was when they were teenagers, his deep voice still made her insides throb with loneliness, and whoever shared the bed, was simply shadow. My father walked directly off the page of a glossy Magazine, he modeled for Vogue once, i still remember the leopard print hat, and the hipsters. They looked ridiculous, but he looked good. The other women....always about the other women...who saw, who knew, who heard, as she clipped her arms around his lean frame there was a pride which followed her, as though she had just recieved an Mbe. "What did he say?"
" M.i.a" another flat response. " If someone loved me they'd find a way to keep him out of our lives....for good." Mother had made this request before often ignored. " He makes me feel unlovable. I touch my lips still feeling invisible stitches. " Mother pulled out a skinny Cigarette shoving it in her mouth, lighting it with a match, rather than a the lighter she knew was in the glove compartment. Her fingers trembled, she took long meditation breaths, i bit my lips angrily.
" If he's that bad you wouldn't be sleeping with him still,"
" Sleeping with him," she put a hand to her cheek, the lie apparent in her eyes
" Your so judgemental. I'm the mother. You treat me like a fucking child sometimes," she rolled down the window, letting the cold air slip in like a musk. Outside was chaos. The traffic was making my hands clammy, and the news, the good ironically great yet somehow puzzling news made me grip the steering wheel tightly. I had secret gum rolling in my tongue. Mother hated that. I took a long shallow breath, the way you would if you were preparing to autopsy a body. I could hear a funeral march band somewhere in my mind. I scanned the red dress she had clinging to her lengthy frame, her bosom bounced over it. It was 'strange' they said...neighbours, catty people, she was so beautiful, the way you'd study a painting of a woman. Look at the structures and the ink, dancing upon the page , the contrast of dark and light. My brother Remi had my fathers cleft and his immaculate looks, cocoa eyes that studied you with the intensity of a laser, voluptuos mouth, coffee meets cream skin tone, polite freckles like raisins dotting his flesh, and that mischievous smile. Remi had mothers charisma. Outside it was thick and hot, pedestrians moved with intent, in my mind i wondered about my own intentions. My stomach rotated, back flipped, i felt sick. Sick because i loved her so much, and angry because i remembered the kids at school and how we were treated because of mothers past. They'd called her the escort, the slut, the whore, it leaked into my eardrums as i slid past conversations like oil. I had hated her then, until i'd seen the cuts, heard the sobbing two o clock in the morning when i sneaked into the living room to watch recorded episodes of toon time. Yet, that part of me loathed her, for the childhood i'd missed. " Why this dress?" I gulped nervously "were going to the park."
"Your hiding something." She turned three o clock her eyes narrowed to face me, her eyes dashes now.  " Your hiding something." Another shallow breath. The air smelt like ice cream. Things had started to change for us in the early teens when mum decided to upgrade herself, dating politicians, and Olivier Craft, the business Tycoon who had made the rich list. Suddenly neighbours were leaving baskets of fruits, inviting themselves in, children were told to befriend us or sit near the Rhodes kids during all the lessons. I realised the truth was a painful thing to know. None of their daughters or sons had actually liked us, me especially, Remi was sound, he'd always been the majestic one. " I'm pregnant." The Slap was quick as a whip, i put my hand to my cheek.
"You know what mama Ashante said about your line, why would you get yourself in such a mess."  I knew what it was really about, the anger resurfaced, with more bite. " She said if you had children you'd die."
My mother leaned inwards to scan for what i knew were potential wrinkles. This wasn't about me, it was about age, and her terror of it. " Did her predictions come true?"
I nodded. " You hadn't even realized i'd put on the weight."
"Quadruplets?"
"Quintuplets." Her eyes were like fire.
"Selfish girl you're body can't take such things."
As if it was about me. " I need you to stop lying mother,"
"lying about what?!" she spat already itching to get out of my small Toyota
"Before your next line comes, tell me i need to know where my father is," i returned her loathsome gaze. " I know, i've known for a long time. Not Remi's.....MINE!!" I knew what she'd say next,
"where the fuck are my pills."

This is hysterical: A look of why the right men keep making themselves look like the wrong men

Brilliant and hysterical.

Fighting fat: Dance as a form of release

Fighting fat for all the sisters out there. Colour, flamboyance, Rhythm, discipline and culture. This work out will leave men  druling, dance as a form of creativity. A workout, but most of all .....it's fun, Scola Dondo you rock. Dance as expression, the kukere workout, it's fab.