The First Flight

My name is Anna, age 21, a veteran Phoenix. I've spent three years in battle, three years narrowly avoiding death and fighting for what is right. Three years is considered a long time to most of my colleagues, most recruits die within the first six months, many of them in their first conflict. My father lasted four years, my brother just less than five. I coughed up a bit of a chuckle, I guess we're stubborn.

I still remember my father's strong back, his rugged face and full mustache. He always had cigarettes with him, even if he went weeks without smoking. To this day the smell still calms me down and makes me feel at home. Guess that's how I picked up the habit. People say it makes your body slow down, makes you weaker but I had bigger concerns. Smoke wasn't going to kill me, if my lungs we going to collapse it would be a bullet or dagger that did the trick.

Most of my childhood I spent with my brothers, Evan and Adam. Evan was quiet and respectful. If mom or dad asked something of him, he did it. No questions asked. I always admired his resolve and stoic personality. He was 16 when our father left. He spoke through action, spending most of his time making sure we would be alright and that Adam knew how to pick up where he would leave off. The day he turned 18 he left to join the Phoenix revolution. Mother begged him not to, Adam took her side but I was so proud of him for fighting for what he thought was right.

Adam was 14 when father left. He handled it a lot worse than any of us, save my mother. I would come into his room every once in awhile to see what he was up. More often than not I would find him in a ball, crying or sleeping, sometimes both. It was around the time my mother fell ill with tuberculous that Adam became the man of the house. He was no fighter, he didn't care about the cause, all he cared about was his family. I could understand his feelings but I couldn't help but feel a bit disgusted with him at times. I thought he was a coward.

I was three years younger than Adam, 11 when my father left. I was the youngest child and the only daughter. Around the time I turned 17 my mother passed away. It affected me less than I would have liked, there were times I would have liked to cry or mourn her but it never felt that way. Instead I felt an overwhelming rage building inside me. My mother could have been saved, she should have been cured but at the end of the day people are more interested in money than lives. In this country you either die in battle or die of exposure. I was going down kicking and screaming.

As a child, teenager, even now as a young adult I never asked for much. Whatever I wanted I fought for, I got it myself. If I needed clothes I would make them or pick up a job to buy them. If I was hungry I went hunting. If I was sick I would ignore it and carry on as if everything was normal. Money was scarce in my town, everyone was fighting just to survive.

Survival is something any creature can do, I wanted to see my people thrive. The day I turned 18 I decided to follow in Evan's footsteps and join the cause. I pleaded with Adam to come with me but he had become something I couldn't even recognize. He spent his days working, drinking, depressed and trapped in the past. As far as I could tell he was already dead, a ghost. No ambition, no reason to be alive, just haunting the house with nothing left but regrets.

I knew the road ahead of me was going to be hard but I wasn't scared, I was excited. We can't continue like this any longer, the people know it, the government knows it and those pulling the strings couldn't care less. I will purge the evil from these lands. I will call this land my country once again. I am not the voice of the people, I am not the hand of justice: I am the blade of the forgotten.

Two Months

I don't have to run away to move on,

Two months I've been gone.

I don't feel remorse or depressed

Because all of my feelings have been expressed.

I don't have to care or be involved,

All my problems have been resolved.

I don't need you to forgive me,

Can't you see?

You don't need my love to love yourself

And I don't need another reason to hate myself.

You won't find the truth buried in lies

And I won't listen to your cries.

You started all of this

And somehow convinced yourself it was bliss.

You can't find light in a nightmare

But I would have helped you get there.

You never even gave me a chance

And I think I knew at first glace

That two months later, I'd be gone.

But somehow I loved you all along.

I guess it's something I can't ignore

 But all that ended when I found the door.

Pseudo-Love

The first time I let those three words escape my lips I said them with tears instead of a smile. Why did I choose to love her? It's amazing how love can blind you so quickly, as soon as you admit to it you're trapped, ensnared. Say goodbye to logic and reality, you now live in a world of delusional dreams. I guess I thought those letters I wrote might change her mind or convince her but perhaps I was just manipulating her or trying to convince myself. She never loved me and no matter how deep my feelings and desires were you can't force another person.

Every time we got together we fell apart within hours. Each time I convinced her she lost faith within a day. When I wrote those letters I got further away from the truth than I was before. I guess you can only put up with so much shit even if you're in love with someone. I shouldn't have ever loved her, all it brought me was agony, and that isn't what love is.

I once wrote to her to tell her what love was, and I know what it is, it isn't her. Love is uncertain, that is true, you never know where it will take you but you should feel strongly enough to face it together. How could I ever retain my sanity and weather the storm when she jumped ship with every cloud? I wanted to run away so many times but she made me strong enough, or perhaps crazy enough to take on the whole world. I didn't care what people thought or what happened to me, all that mattered was her happiness.

Sometimes I wish I could be more selfish, I'm always the one sacrificing for others. I'm always the one pouring my heart and soul into everything just to have it trampled by others. And after it's dead and gone I'm the one whose apologetic when I should really be bitter and angry. Even now, all I want is for her to be happy and safe but that's two-thousand miles behind me now.

Someone told me the other day that it was stupid to leave because I was running away from my problems. At first it really hurt to hear that, I was beginning to think it was true but if I really think about it, I'm not running away, I'm chasing something more. I could of had the girl, I didn't want her. I got the promotion, I didn't want it. I found a school, I wasn't interested. 

No, I'm not running, I'm chasing something more, something called happiness and, as far as I can tell, it wouldn't be found there. There is no girl, no friend, no job or amount of money that would make me want to stay. And while this is the end of a chapter I can't help but feel it is the beginning of an adventure. My life starts at its end. Even if I have to carry on with this weight on my shoulders forever I know I'll become a better man because of it.

And I'll find her, I'll find it, whatever the hell it is. One day I'll fall in love with someone who wants me as much as I want them. Someone I don't have to sacrifice or settle for, or someone who makes it worth it. Someone who wants to make me smile as much as I want to make them laugh. Someone who appreciates my body and mind and enjoys my sarcasm and personality rather than just puts up with it. That person is out there for all of us, I know it!

Phantom Pains

I really wonder if I was supposed to die that day, maybe I did. Things have changed so much since that one foolish night and I can't help but wonder, if I died what is this? I don't believe in heaven or hell but I've been entertaining the idea, trying to figure out which I might be in. In some ways I'm very happy, I feel like I'm accepted but in another way I'm so unsure, insecure and worried about everything around me.

I look back in awe at how fast you can lose everything you hold dear to you. How fast you can disappear from a place and from the hearts and minds of those who occupy it. Was I loved until the end? Do they still think about me? I've been driven to tears just thinking of their faces, realizing I'll probably never seem them again, but what do they really feel? People say they won't forget you but a week later I haven't heard from anyone.

I feel like a ghost, only haunting myself. Why is it that you can be experiencing so many new things in a whole different world and still be completely invested somewhere else? My jobs might be transferable, my body and assets can relocate but all I'm left with is phantom pains and a shell of what I used to be. What do I need, what will put my soul to rest?

Looking back on the life I had I can't help but feel remorse that I ended it. My whole life was there, I had great friends, two jobs that I really liked going to, and I could have had the girl of my dreams, even if I've realized they were nightmares. I personally destroyed every relationship that I spent the last six months building. All the time I spent texting, talking, comforting, encouraging. All the hours I spent at those jobs building my reputation, the devotion and planning... I can never go back now. I can never fix it and I think for the first time in my life I feel I'm going to leave behind regrets.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died that night in the hospital bed. I guess I'm a coward, I would rather have people miss me than to miss them myself. I wonder though, would it have caused more pain or less if I hadn't woken up? Those friends would have forgotten me either way, a week later they would probably never think of me again. But me... I can never forget their faces, I don't know if I'll ever be able to let go.

The mementos and memories left behind don't help but I'm far too sentimental to let go of them. When my friend gave me her lighter, which she probably only gave to me because it was the only thing she had on her, I wanted to keep it forever. I think I only smoke that pack of empty dreams just to remember her. I disappeared just like the smoke, gone in seconds and forgotten even faster.

As I move into my new life and jobs I know that pain will draw me back but I'll recover. The bullet has to be removed before the wound can truly heal. If I kept going on the infection may have spread, perhaps amputation was the right choice. Yet I still feel those phantom pains in my heart and the only thing I can think of to ease the pain is the same poison that landed me here.

The Destruction of Disorder...

People are apathetic and can't stand to see someone excited and happy. It seems like every time I grasp onto a little bit of happiness someone or something wants to kick the inspiration right out of me. Am I wrong to be happy, to be interested in everything? Why don't they find beauty in everything? Why have they stopped indulging their curiosity?

It seems like people find it better, or perhaps easier, to feel nothing rather than to feel happiness of some kind. It comes in all different shapes and sizes, colors and textures. You can find it in that shitty retail job you work, you can find it in the blistering cold or while moping the floor. All it takes is a little personality and a sense of humor.

If you don't like who you are, change it. Use your imagination, make up a new persona or personality. It isn't a disorder to have a few different sides of you, it actually can make you quite sane. We are all constantly pushed and changed, broken down and then reconstructed. If you're the same person you were yesterday you haven't really learned anything at all.

I don't know how often I hear people talking like they've already lost. "The government can do whatever it wants, you'll never make a difference in what you do. Cruelty, hatred, murder cannot be stopped." Apathy is the cause of all of this. No one cares enough to vote, to protest or make a change. No one is willing to take up arms and uproot the corruption from within. No one will speak their mind for fear of retaliation. For there are no smart phones in prison, no Facebook or posh blogs.

Defeatism. That is the attitude adapted by the people. Defeatism and apathy. These two are a destructive combination and could very well lead to the downfall of civilization.

Chains

I've been counting the hours, as if waiting for my own execution. Hours, days, weeks... biding my time, dreading my fate but awaiting sweet relief. I was never read my rights, I guess I put those behind me awhile ago. A priest never came to my chamber, I wouldn't ask for forgiveness, why should I? My friends? You think they would remember me now? My family offered me their sorrow, their feelings, their blessings but nothing stuck to the empty husk my mind once settled into. My consciousness has long faded, it was beaten, tortured and destroyed by the fear and anxiety of my life.

Those people I call family had chained my mind long before my body. I resisted at first, their attempts to persuade me were shrugged off as disgusting and ridiculous. I fought them tooth and nail, even as a child. I would have spat in my face for becoming what I am now. In grade school I never gave resistance a second though, I would fight any enemy big or small. And the big battles? Ha, those are the ones that really meant something, really made you feel alive.

Alas, the odds were against me, I was fighting a sea of monsters with nothing more than a strong spirit. Even the strongest of spirits, the hottest of fires can eventually be put out by this horrid sea, by the rain of ignorance and the cold touch of death. It wouldn't be a swift death, either, it would be like a plague, slowly creeping to your heart, destroying your mind and body before finally delivering the fatal blow.

So, I gave in, I let go, I admitted defeat. And as that first chain clasped onto my body, I felt it was a serpent, I still fought even realizing my struggle was futile. But as the second one went across my back, and the third around my neck I started to find comfort in them. I almost praised them, wished for them. These chains, they kept me alive, they stropped me from self-destruction! I never thought, I never even begun to think I would find such pleasure and comfort within them.

For ten years, I sat in the dark cold cell and I waited. I welcomed more chains, if not for the chains themselves I would have done so with open arms. But that is a bad thought, the chains saved you! How dare you ask for anything more! What do you expect to gain from thinking like that? Tomorrow was the day, if I remembered what enjoyment felt like, I would have told myself to enjoy the time I have left.

The morning greeted me with a cold sweat.  I wasn't greeted by a jailer, no, I woke up in my own bed. The chains were still wrapped around my skin at every possible crack and crevice. When I was moved out of my room I felt I had died a little inside. They took me in and did the unthinkable, what I had feared most.

They buried a key deep within the lock that kept the chains fastened tight around my legs. I couldn't decipher it, was that fear or excitement I felt? Either way it beats the apathy I have felt for this place for far too long. The cold walls of my room, the ugly scenery and the routine of the chains. I came to realize as the chain fell to the ground. Sure, some of these chains made me happy, maybe even saved my life. But whether the chain holds you up or puts you down, a chain is just that: a chain. It will hold you down one way or another, through pleasure or pain. I think it is far past time to get these chains off me, my mind has been in slumber far too long.

Dead Stars

Greg was a very steady person. He found comfort in having a routine, a schedule and to break away from it caused him some distress. Although he didn't consider himself obsessive over his routine, he preferred to not change it. The unknown made his palms sweat, his breath shallow and tied his stomach in knots. The very idea of traveling, changing jobs or meeting people made him nauseous.

Although Greg considered himself as stable as his schedule he had always suffered from anxiety and depression. When he was younger he would tell himself things he didn't like or didn't want to do were boring. Anything that wasn't fun to him wasn't even dignified as a possibility, a true brat! He lived a life of only things that would entertain him, make him happy or bring him pleasure. However he found, after a year had past, that he found less pleasure in things, his appetite diminished and the nights grew longer.

Greg barely ate, slept, sometimes he felt he couldn't even breathe. His heart was either beating so fast he couldn't hear it or it had stopped all together. This wasn't working, this fun life he was living. His shadow was growing longer and when he looked at the stars he felt the darkness of the night sky was consuming them. “Perhaps...” he thought to himself, “living a fun life doesn't mean living a happy one.” With this thought he decided to seek help and get rid of the fun in his life. Entirely.

As the years went by he slowly became more and more afraid of fun. Fun was too unpredictable, unstable, volatile. His routine was easy and safe. He worked, cleaned, cooked and ran errands for himself to keep busy. It was simple and there were no surprises with the right amount of planning. He convinced himself he would live a bubble of contentment for the next few years, maybe even the rest of his life.

But there are some things you cannot plan for, that you cannot control. And while some people call this destiny or fate the reality is that you have a lack of power over your environment. Even with this in mind Greg was shocked when he got a call from the hospital. His sister, Alex, must have also seen the stars being engulfed in shadow. When Greg saw them he wanted to run and hide but to continue his life. Alex found the darkness too hopeless, it overpowered her sanity and very will to live.

Greg could live without the stars but could he live without his sister? And even then, could he allow the darkness into his memories, his mind again? By the time he hung up the phone he already felt his body being poisoned by his own shadow. He felt insane movements from his heart, he felt sick and started gasping for air. It took all his willpower to force himself to sleep that night.

Shortly after that night he found himself walking down a cobblestone path lit by dim lampposts. He couldn't remember how he got there but he remembered he was on his way to see his sister. He wondered if the hospital was even open this late at night. He checked the digital watch on his wrist but the battery had died. Had he forgot to replace the battery? Why didn't he plan for this? He decided to look up at the sky to see if he could find a sign of what time it was in the moon. The second his eyes focused onto it it shuddered and faded into the sky with a puff of black smoke.

Now he was starting to feel it, the darkness was coming. His palms were sweating and his mouth went dry. Greg swore he felt someone glaring at him and as he looked over his shoulder he saw a silhouette standing just out of range of the lamppost. The body was too dark to see, all Greg noticed was bright yet cold eyes of the character. They looked like orbs floating in the night surrounded by blue rims. Just as he looked into its eyes it took a step toward him. Once it stepped into the light of the lamppost the bulb burst and he could hear glass hit the stone. The silhouette didn't even flinch and just continued to approach him.

He felt an aura of dread loom over him and before he had time to process what was happening he turned around and ran. That glare had pieced his consciousness and hit his innate sense of fear. He ran faster than he had ever run, he was running for his life. There were many lampposts along the path and he could hear them shattering, and then exploding behind him as he ran. At first it sounded like a glass cup breaking on a tile floor but after a minutes (or had it been seconds?) it sounded like artillery shells hitting the ground behind him. It was following him, no it was chasing him and it was gaining speed!

He saw the hospital before him less than 100 yards away. He knew if he turned to look at the figure it would catch him so instead he put all his energy into sprinting toward the door. He felt that the presence of others would help him defeat the shadow or perhaps the shadow couldn't destroy the light of a whole building. As he reached for the handle and burst down the door he nearly fainted when he saw the silhouette towering above him.

“This is the end” he thought. He slumped to the ground and was ready to accept his fate. “This is the end...” He repeated, “It's going to take me!” He took this into consideration but rather than weeping he frowned. Rage was swelling up inside him. Why should this shadow take his life? It had already destroyed his happiness, nearly killed his sister and took away the stars. Just as the shadow lunged forward to strike Greg he noticed a fuse box on the wall. Channeling his anger he reached for the fuse box and flipped the switches in an instant. The lights came on slowly at first but then shot down like bullets piercing the shadow's body.

He gasped and jolted forward in his bed smacking the back of his head on the bed frame on the way back down. “A dream... It was... a dream?” he asked himself in shock. Maybe it was the bump on his head but he felt it wasn't any mere dream. He thought to himself quietly for the next few minutes.

Greg soon realized this was indeed a dream but it taught him something very important, something life changing. All the time he spent running from the darkness had only fed it and made it stronger. In the dream, the silhouette couldn't exist in the light so it destroyed the lampposts to continue chasing him. Through pure instinct Greg realized that light could defeat the silhouette.

He knew he couldn't simply point a light at his problems and watch them vanish but he understood what the dream was trying to teach him. It was trying to teach him two things. First, he couldn't just outrun his problems whether it be by changing his life, disabling triggers or physically running. Second, he had to fight the darkness not by drudging through it but by actually attacking it.

Greg knew exactly what he had to do and he wouldn't have to do it alone. A week later his sister was discharged from the hospital. He packed his things, quit his job, got his sister and flew off to New York. Maybe this was irresponsible but sometimes your needs outweigh your responsibilities. The darkness had taken fun from him and hope from his sister but it could have very well taken their lives. The purpose of the trip was to bring some joy to them and to help his sister realize there is someone you can always look to, always talk to.

They were terrified when they arrived in New York but when Greg looked up at the sky he had never seen brighter stars. And when he looked at Alex he had never seen a brighter smile. They had both become as radiant as the stars fighting the darkness in the sky.