“Well sweet Daniel did you give her the vengeful Flitz treatment…?”

“There has to be more to the story…”

Such simple words, but now they seem to bother me. Am i that bad? Maybe i am. Maybe my words were harsher than I’d believed.

Thank you for the reminder of how sharp my tongue can be.

Though you’re gone, you never stray far from my heart. I wish you all the best as you pass into you third decade this day.

Happy birthday. May you continue burning brightly, always.

…i knew there was something big today that i couldn’t place. some reason 0717 was standing out.

happy birthday, briana.

Today should have been happy and celebratory, but it won’t be. Never again, actually. So eager we were, so hot, and so impassioned.

But everything broke, and everything fell apart. Visions cracked, and lies were strewn, and somehow in the middle of it all the one common goal was overlooked.

Well, such is the way of things.

Happy fucking anniversary. Be happy without another year shared, and be happy with a life forked prematurely.

Today…would you even remember? Very fucking doubtful.

And another…this dream I’ve seen before and I remember it, I was trapped inside a locked house that laundered money, the sham was they held and hosted parties, no one ever remembers, the missing people flyers were stapled in their safe room, but someone else was there, others were in the room, who the fuck were they? She said “this happened before, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the money I’ve got. We made it out of this, and we told ourselves what happened and how to save what we find, especially the money, so when we grow up we have it, and when this happens again we will be prepared. There is a half dug hole in the floor from previous escape, and then I finally see the doors, the large animal they’ve got for a guard. I swear the rott is part lion. Maybe it’s a lion who knows. And the roof, this is the part I forgot last time, the safe room is above the place, and I was going to stab through the ceiling to look for it this time. I saw the busted window I used last time, the hole in the floor I’d broken and dug out from. But not the ceiling. The animal was pounding at the door so I never had time. I still didn’t.

And before this, as I was believing things were ok, the people I loved were in this party room, but things were crooked. Things weren’t quite right. What were you saying, I can’t remember. And then the Red Death. First on the phone, then we had to speak, and she kept hesitating, she fluttered her eyes and was unsure. But I knew, it didnt matter this time. It was all a dance, and I stopped the music. She told me how horrible I am, again, but stopped me as I walked away, and as she tried explaining the story, I remember hearing it before. It’s too far gone now, but there is someone, a lady, who believes I’m evil, sees it, and refuses to let her near me again. The lady however, refuses ever to speak to me and I’ve no clue who she is. Everytime I ask to meet her it is refused. I’m held at bay by magic words from an unseen person who has convinced her I’m not who I say I am. Circular logic I say. And while talking further, I drift, hearing lies, excuses, and even retellings of our most magical times, and I’m writing on the ceiling. It becomes almost like stop motion, or time lapse, as I’m scrawling words illegible only to me, and then my movements become artistic, colorful, painted even…and how I wish I could remember what I’d just written on that ceiling.

It’s all fading again, my head is aching and eyes are fighting me, this has indeed been a very strange night.

Large wooden door, inner city that I don’t recognize. I knock. I’m answered by a smirk, and a door slam, and then the door locked from the outside, followed by yelling and a pile of things I don’t recognize. Two seconds prior, I have her pants. They are green, dark green, corduroy. This isn’t real, because this would never be her pants. How? Inside the pocket appears to be a license. No, it’s a credit card with her photo, I remember she is leaned back. This is why I walk to the door. And I’m met with anger and yelling.

“I gathered everything that reminds me of you, what the fuck do you have of mine?

Then why the FUCK are you here? I called you and hung up each time to show you it was me and to bring everything back. I also called each of tour best friends and hung up on them before deleting them.

I want you gone. That’s why I called you here. I want all of this gone. How the fuck will it look if it is still here when we get back from vacation?”

The yelling has made me stagger, and I’ve lost balance and composure. I’m weakening, and I can feel myself going elsewhere. I blink and move away quickly, and the walls are red brick. I hear her continue yelling, and very nearby. I see a pile of things I still have, but this isn’t right, I’ve never seen them before. I look at the credit card with the picture, wanting to keep it out of spite just to cause her a hassle. I’m staring at it, and see the picture is then a video. She isn’t leaning back, it is near a boxing ring or training gym. There is video, almost like an animation, and it is a string of “fighters” pretending each to hit her with boxing gloves and gear, and she pretends to be struck. The fighters morph between a cast of characters as if from a traveling show, featured fighters, and by the end she feigns a knockout and falls backwards laughing, arms outspread. She wasn’t leaned, she was posing sprawled from this memory of some boxing or MMA show. I hear the words in my head about how he is better with these things than I’ll ever be, that I’d never have the talent to make a video like that.

I’m still staring at this “credit card” when the stinging gets stronger, and then again it’s more pain. It’s too soon though, because I have no fucking clue where I am or what is going on, and especially WHY this is being shown this way. But I’ll not figure it out, the pain hits again.

It is my finger. I cant move the finger that’s in a sling, but I can move the finger that is taped. The breathing comes back next, followed by the jagged pains of my ribcage. The last thing I notice before waking entirely is a shuffling of feet from the hallway, stomping, and then past me, then back again. Angry, pouty footsteps, but it can’t be footsteps. It can only be my imagination, because now I’m awake, and I’m huddled in pain again with two throbbing broken fingers being pumped full of blood after being numbed from sleep, and a separated rib screaming for me to move my elbow away from my side.

Where was I seeing this? And still, why so much anger? Is this what haunts me and is still latched on deeply that I can’t remove? When I find it I’m going to cut it out.

And now I’ve got to go back to sleep.

Thank you, little Tigershark 🙂

You’re right, I DO win. May sound silly, but I think those are just the words I was looking for.

It’s a very, very mad world.

Hey Brooke, thanks for breaking my other middle finger! Now I’m fucking Mickey mouse with middle/ring taped together.

I’m going to punch karma in the balls.