Austen's Journal

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 8

2008-05-04T22:45:13Z

“‘Bout damn time you came to see me.” I said with a smirk as Jill helped me into a wheelchair so Callista and I could go for a walk. Callista took charge of pushing me through the halls, never saying a word until we reached the little enclosed back patio for the patients to use. “Please tell me you have a fucking cigarette.” I said, looking up at my friend hopefully.

“Hmm...well I dunno about a fucking cigarette, but I do have this nice little pack of non-fucking cigarettes if that’s ok with you. Want one?” Callista replied, mocking me with a playful smirk. Ignoring her sarcasm for the moment, I graciously accepted the cigarette she had lit and was holding out for me. I took a drag, and closed my eyes, savoring the feeling that I’d been unable to experience in what seemed like ages. I wasn’t a regular smoker, just occasionally if I was feeling really stressed.

“So, what’s the story on that really cute guy all tied down in your room?” Callista questioned mischievously, blowing smoke out her nose. “Honestly? I have absolutely no fucking idea. He just barely told me his name. Haven’t gotten the story on him yet. I will eventually. So how are my dearest mother and wonderful baby sister doing?” I asked, my voice seeming very far away from my body.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this shit, Jae. It isn’t fair. You’re mother is in jail, in that nice little padded room they keep for psychos. I doubt she’ll be going anywhere anytime soon. Your sister, well they really had no choice. They put her in a foster home. Your step-dad kind of just...dissapeared. There was no one to take care of her. It’s no so bad though. I mean, look at me, I came out just fine,” Callista said, giving me a forced smile, obviously trying to make me feel better. It wasn’t working.

I took the last drag off my cigarette and flicked it onto the cement. Callista shot me a mock-glare and promptly put it out for me.
It was so cold. The kind of cold that cuts right through your coat and into your bones. The rain really wasn’t helping much. But none of it mattered. My body was so numb that I couldn’t even feel the tears running down my face. I stood there alone, everyone else already gone, thinking it best to give me “privacy”. I stared at my father’s grave, the smell of rain, fresh dug earth, and death strong in my nose. He was gone. They’d packed his ashes into a tiny metal container and put him in the ground.

I looked down at my hands through blurry eyes, not believing that they were the hands that set my father down into that hole. He was so big in life, to me he’d been the strongest man I’d known. And now he was reduced to dust, nothing more, nothing less. If there was a heaven, surely he was in it, right? Looking down on me and smiling, just like they always say in those stupid chick flicks.
Thoughts all jumbled together in my mind. My brain was going too fast for me to keep up. Or maybe it wasn’t going at all. At this moment I didn’t care. The one person who cared for me was gone. And he could never come back...

I awoke in my bed, dazed, and a little confused. How did I get back in bed? Exactly how much drugs are they feeding me? When can I leave this fucking place? And then, I looked to my left to see Connor staring at me, his eyes filled with warmth and a tiny smile on his face. “It was the dream again, wasn’t it Jae?” he asked softly. I nodded, fighting back the tears already forming in my eyes. It was those eyes, those beautiful, sparkling, grey-green eyes that made me forget my pride and spill everything to him. My addiction, my mother, the death of my father, the dreams. Everything. And when I was done, he just smiled and it felt like his eyes were burning into my soul.

“You know Jae, you have to be one of the strongest people I’ve met. You’re amazing, and, I’ll uh...um..always be here for you,” Connor whispered in a voice so small I could barely hear it, and then promptly turned pink in the face. And that’s when I knew that I could trust Connor, and I decided to help him. That night, when Jill came in to check my vitals and dope me up some more, I stole the keys to Connor’s restraints from her pocket. After Jill left, I stared long and hard at those shiny keys in my hand. I could free Connor, if I wanted to. But first, I had to find out why he was here.

My version of a Children's story...

2008-01-07T04:33:18Z

Once upon a time, in a land called Wisconsin, there were two spoiled children named Gertrude and Fred Bobbin. Gertrude was 10 years old, winner of the “Little Miss Perfect” pageant, and Daddy’s Little Princess who got whatever she wanted with a tantrum. Fred was her 8 year old little brother, the kind of boy who rips the heads off toys, and cooks ants with a magnifying glass for fun. Neither child had ever received a spanking in their lives. No one dared tell the Bobbin children that they couldn’t have what they want or do as they please.

Gertrude and Fred lived with their mother Angela, and father George in a mansion in a valley. Angela couldn’t cook, clean house, or do the laundry. “That’s what the maid is for.” was always her motto. George was the wealthy owner of a cheese factory who spent his free time in his study smoking cigars, enjoying a nice whiskey, and watching tv. You see, even though Angela and George had been married for 11 years, they really didn’t like each other all that much. And it was all because of those spoiled children.

Then, one fateful day, a series of loud knocks came at the front door or the Bobbin’s huge mansion. William the Butler dutifully answered the door and allowed in a swarm of snobby looking people in suits. Politely, William led the suited people to the Master’s study. If only William had known who he’d just let in...

It seems that our friends the Bobbins hadn’t paid a single cent of taxes for the last 8 years. Which meant that the state now owned every possession the Bobbins had; Gertrude’s “Pretty Pretty Princess” dresses, Fred’s collection of BB guns and slingshots, Angela’s tanning booth, George’s most expensive and fine whiskey, EVERYTHING! Now the Bobbins were homeless and had only the clothes they wore and whatever they could smuggle out of their former home in their pockets.

Gertrude and Angela cried all the way to the little town of Ashland. There was no way they’d survive without weekly manicures and someone to cook and clean for them. George managed to get a little 1 bedroom apartment, with the promise that he’d pay the landlord back on his first paycheck after he found a job. The next day, George got hired on as a worker at his old cheese factory, and Angela went for an interview at the local Supermarket. Gertrude and Fred had to start *GASP* public school. What a horrible nightmare this had become.

After about a week or so, the Bobbins started to adjust to their new lives. Fred made his own slingshots and killed pigeons from atop the apartment roof. Gertrude became quite the pickpocket, and every once in a while scored big enough to treat herself to a manicure. Angela began having an affair with the butcher, who treated her like the goddess she had once thought she was. And George found out that a bottle of $7 vodka had the same effect as a couple whiskeys, even if it did lack the smoothness and taste.

Even though they all had all become accustomed to living in the lap of luxury, they seemed to be adjusting to their new lives as best they could. So I suppose the moral of the story is, PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES, DON'T TAKE WHAT YOU HAVE FOR GRANTED, and MAKE THE BEST OUT OF A SITUATION.

Prompt about my life.

2007-12-31T03:42:17Z

I just found this written in a notebook from a while back and thought it was interesting...so I'm posting it.

My life is worth...a precious stone, waiting to be found and polished.

More than...most people realize.

More than...the tunnel vision will let me see.

Because...I am ignored, my voice goes unheard no matter how much I scream. They'll never know how numb they make me feel.

My life is like...a marionette with broken strings. Nothing goes right, and it's never what it seems.

I struggle...against the barless cage entrapping my strength, trying to find a purpose.

My life sounds like...a beautiful note that's been held too long.

I dream about...finding happiness and breaking the chains that hold me.

My life is as...adverse as a bag of jelly beans. You never know what you're gonna get, and what you do get usually sucks.

Tidbit of the Day....

2007-12-25T02:40:57Z

Cross my heart.
I hope you die.
All you ever do is lie.
So fuck the world.
Say your goodbye.
I’m done with you.
No more will I cry.

Random Poem Type Thing

2007-08-11T21:06:03Z

Death, sickness, hurt, and pain.
Fairydust, cookies, and candycanes.
Bad things and good things, yes?
But really, who’s to decide what’s good or bad?
Wrong or right?
Nothing’s pure, nothing’s fair.
There could be three year olds bleeding in gutters and no one would care.
Take a step back.
Rub the sleep from your eyes.
In this world...
There is no right.
There is no wrong.
Yet you all follow “the righteous” blindly without question, singing cheerful songs.
Those you don’t see eye to eye with are constantly ridiculed.
“Purify” yourselves, purge away your “sins”.
When all you’re really doing is going against human nature.
We all make mistakes, we all live in so-called sin.
But I’d much rather take my “good” with my “bad”.
My “wrong” with my “right”.
My sickness with my health.
The perfect match.
Just like daffodils and viscera.

Untitled Short Story

2007-08-10T03:05:13Z

“Is it really possible?” Gina Shadows asked Dr. Newbury with a surprised and hopeful look on her face as she placed a loving hand on her growing belly. Her husband, Heath, remained absent from this meeting with the doctor, as he did not approve of the matter being discussed. “You shouldn’t be able to choose what your child is like! It’s just not the way things are meant to be,” he insisted.

“Oh yes, very possible, Mrs. Shadows. But considering you’re already three months into your pregnancy, there may be some additional risks. So if you we are to design your ideal child, we should start now. Hopefully your husband will be kind enough to join us next time.” Dr. Newbury said, holding out a small stack of forms for her and Heath to fill out. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Gina accepted the forms and filled out what she could.

After searching for a few minutes, Gina finally found her car and started on her way home. She felt excited and worried all at the same time. The only problem was getting Heath to agree. Heath’s little brother had been genetically engineered, which left Heath feeling close to useless as a child, since he hadn’t been made in his parent’s image of “perfect”. He certainly didn’t want their older son, Thad, to go through the same thing. Gina was sure convincing Heath to go along with it would be near impossible, but she could always get her way, even if it took a while.

Heath sat next to Gina in Dr. Newbury’s office, looking extremely cross. After hours of arguing, he’d finally given in, realizing that Gina was far too strong willed to give up on something she really wanted to do. “So, shall we begin? I’ll leave you two alone to make your choices,” the doctor said before standing and leaving the room. “Where do you want to start, dear?” Gina asked, trying to keep the quivering sound of nerves out of her voice. Heath looked at her with a cold stare, and said he would have nothing to do with this. He was only going along with it to keep her happy. Gina took a deep breath to calm her nerves, gently patted her belly, and went to work.

A little less than 6 months later, Dominic Trey Shadows was born. The labor had been very hard on Gina, so she was required to stay at the hospital a few days longer than Dominic. Even though Heath had been against the designing of his child, he couldn’t be happier with his beautiful baby boy. Heath, Thad, and Dominic came to visit Gina everyday until she was well enough to leave the hospital.

Dominic’s first birthday rolls around and Gina and Heath couldn’t be more proud of him. He had straight dark brunette hair(just like his daddy), and piercing green eyes. Just by looking at him, you could tell he was far too smart for his age, and would do something to change the world when he got older. In the middle of his birthday party, Dominic disappeared. After a frantic 15 minute search, Thad found him sitting in the backyard by the mutilated family dog, smiling.

At the age of five, Dominic is determined too smart for kindergarten, and sent straight to 1st grade. At times, Dominic even stunned Gina with his amazing vocabulary and overall knowledge of the world around him. Even though he was so smart, everyone sensed that something wasn’t quite right with him. He had the ability to lie convincingly without a second thought, and seemed to feel no remorse when he did something wrong. Even though this troubled Gina somewhat, she never thought too hard on it, since Dominic was such a bright, well-liked, and attractive boy.

Dominic started making new friends as soon as Gina dropped him off at morning recess on his first day of school. By the end of the day, Dominic had invited 3 friends to come over and play after school. Heath was so pleased to see that his son was so accepted, and watched proudly as the boys played. At around 5:30, Dominic walked his new friends home (they all lived in the same neighborhood). Dominic came home about 10 or 15 minutes later, his cute little face flushed with excitement. Gina asked what he was so happy about, but all he did was smile.

Gina was in the kitchen making dinner when the phone rang at 6:30. Heath came in with a puzzled look on his face, saying that Jimmy Hanson’s mother was on the phone, asking if they knew where he was, since he should have been home an hour ago. “He’s not at home? I thought Dominic walked them all home to see where they lived. I don’t know where he is, but tell Mrs. Hanson that I will keep an eye out for him and let her know if I hear or see anything. Within seconds of hanging up with Mrs. Hanson, the phone rang again. Finally after being on the phone with all three boys’ mothers, Gina decided to question Dominic. “I don’t know where they are, mommy. I walked them home, just like you told me to. I promise,” Dominic said, with big innocent eyes. The next day all three boys were reported missing. They were never found.

Dominic is now ten-years-old and in 5th grade. Still the top of his class, Dominic is finally in a grade where Honor Roll is given out. And with his absolutely adorable looks, he’s starred in commercials, and appeared in a few T.V. shows. With all of his success at such a young age, Heath’s fears of Thad being left out had come true. But luckily for Thad, he was now a senior in high school, and would soon be moving out and living on his own. One night, Gina and Heath went out for a well deserved night on the town, and left Thad in charge of Dominic. When they arrived home late that night, they found Dominic alone sitting in front of the T.V. “Where’s Thad?” Gina asked. Dominic turned around smiled, and said that Thad got mad at him and just left. Worried and very angry, Gina quickly dialed Thad’s cell phone number, only to get his voice mail. Thad never came home, and didn’t show up at school. Gina and Heath made themselves believe that Thad had run away due to the lack of attention they paid him. Gina was depressed for months, and Heath could do nothing to console her, since he felt that the whole situation was his fault somehow.

Dominic is now 15 years old, and is now, for the first time in his life, having problems in school. Now a Freshman in high school, instead of undergoing Freshman hazing, Dominic seems to be the one doing the hazing. He’s been in multiple fights, and is close to being suspended for the rest of the year. But somehow, he always gets out of it. Gina is upset, and can’t figure out where she went wrong with Dominic. She’d known for years that there was something wrong with him...perhaps Heath had been right. Things like that are better left untempered with.

One night, when Dominic comes home from hanging out with his friends(he’s pretty much allowed to come and go as he pleases), Gina decided to confront him on his behavior. What she didn’t expect was for Dominic to reach for a kitchen knife out of the drawer and hold it to her throat. She screamed for Heath, who came running and arrived just in time to see his son slash a knife savagely across his wife’s neck. Enraged, Heath started towards his son, but with one swing to his dad’s face, Dominic had laid him out on the floor. Placing one foot on his dad’s shoulder, and the other on the side of his head, Dominic pushed in opposite directions with his feet until he heard a sickening snap, and his dad stopped fighting back. The Shadows family was never heard from again.

The Shadows family house fell into extreme disrepair after the mysterious disappearance of the family. Deciding to tear the old house down, and build a new one, startling discoveries were made underneath the house. The bones of the three boys, Thad, Gina, and Heath were all found.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 7

2007-08-10T02:53:02Z

“Come on. Just tell me what the fuck your name is, alright? I’ll give you three questions that I promise to answer without problem. Just tell me your name!” I groaned, desperately trying to get an answer out of my now silent “roommate”. He stared at me, those gorgeous eyes seeing right through me.

“Fine, for fuck’s sake. You just don’t give up, do you? My name is Connor Rowan. There, are you satisfied? Now....I think you mentioned something about a few questions I get to ask?” He replied, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. Oh shit, what in the hell did I get myself into? I wondered, now regretting the promise I had made to him. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I said, preparing myself for some very personal questions.

“Uhhh....shit I dunno. What’s your....biggest fear?” Connor asked dully, as if not really interested.

“Honestly? Falling in love.”

“Really? Umm...let’s see. What’s your life’s dream?”

“Shit, I don’t think I have one. I just hope to make it through another day, then I go from there. Why are you asking me questions like you honestly care about my life? What about the classics like ‘Are you a virgin?’ or ‘What’s your bra size?’ ”

“Ok, I’m ignoring that for now. So...last question. One thing that’s happened in your life that you wish you could go back in time and change.”

“I’d save my dad. Make sure he didn’t die. Hell, I’d gladly switch places with him. He deserved life more than me,” I practically whispered, feeling tears welling up behind my eyes.

I turned to look into connor’s eyes, hoping, praying, that the sparkling colors could save me from a breakdown. Could save me from feeling anything. He must have sensed my pain, since he forced a smile and casually asked, “So...are you and what is it anyways?” I shook my head, pulling myself away from my trance-like state. “Huh? What the fuck are you talking about, man?”

This time he cracked a real smile and sighed, “Are you a virgin and what’s your bra size?” I couldn’t help but laugh even as the tears started to fall. “Yeah, that’s more like it. Why didn’t you ask stupid shit like that in the first place? Well, technically I’m not, but I really don’t count it...and it’s 34C.”

“Oh, well that’s good to know...I guess. I didn’t ask stupid shit ‘cause well, I’ve been stuck in this fucking room, on this fucking bed, for what seems like fucking years. And all of the sudden, I’ve got this chick, who I think has to be a really cool and kick ass person sharing a room with me, and I’d really like to get to know her. So, I’m thinking, hey, she gave me three free questions. Why waste ‘em?” He said simply with a shrug.

“Alright then, I think it’s only fair that you answer some of my questions now....or I dunno, perhaps we could have a normal conversation for once? That sound okay to you?” I said. Just as Connor opened his mouth to reply, someone knocked on the door. Jill, the nurse that usually comes to check up on me cracked the door the room open just enough to peek her head in and say, “Miss Carson? You have a visitor.” She then opened the door all the way, and in walked a very nervous looking Callista.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 6

2007-08-10T02:47:33Z

The nurse didn't wait for a response, but instead left me alone with my thoughts. So apparently, my mother had finally lost it. 'Bout damn time. I thought sarcastically. I lay in my hospital bed, once again taking in the room around me and enjoying the sensation of the morphine kicking in.

Before drifting back into sleep, I noticed something. A bed, on the other side of my room. In that bed lay a boy around my age, restrained to the bed. His eyes were open and he stared straight up at the ceiling, never blinking once. He finally seemed to notice me staring at him, and turned his head as best he could. Long black hair cascaded down to cover one eye, but I was still able to see his eyes were the most peculiar shade of sparkling grey-green I'd ever seen. I was about to ask his name when sleep overtook me.

I stared in horror at that heart monitor. Move! Please just move! My mind screamed at it. But nothing happened. I ran to my father’s side and began shaking him violently. "No, no you can’t die! Please dad, I need you. Wake up, come on!” I screamed as I smacked him across the face, hoping it would help somehow. Just as I was about to strike him again, someone grabbed my arm and stopped me. I spun around to see my mother, smiling. A doctor came in as I tried to tell me mom what had happened. The doctor ordered my mother and I out of the room and called for a few nurses. I watched through the glass with blurry vision as they tried to revive my father.

My heart felt like it was going to explode. Finally all of the nurses and the doctor backed off. The doctor looked at the clock on the wall, and wrote something down on a clipboard. Instead of exploding, my heart dropped. It felt as if it had left my body and at any moment I would hear it hit the floor. Every fiber of my being ached and screamed that it wasn’t possible. It just couldn’t be true. But deep down I knew it was. He was gone. I could hear my mother laughing hysterically as all feeling was drained from my body and my mind went numb...

I awoke with tears in my eyes. I let out a growl of anger, pain, and frustration, hoping it would clear my mind of that fucking horrible dream. “Bad dream?” a voice from across the room asked. “No shit,” I mumbled and turned to see the boy staring at me with those amazing eyes. He looked away and said, “I was watching you sleep. You were crying and talking. It was...strange. What were you dreaming about?”

“None of your fucking business.” I snapped. A hurt expression crossed his face and he murmured an apology before turning away from me. I felt guilty for hurting him when he was only trying to be nice, but I’ve never been one to apologize. I laid there in silence for only a few minutes, but those minutes seemed like hours. Finally a nurse came in and gave me a tray of food. She went back into the hallway and brought in another tray, identical to mine, except for the little paper cup full of pills. She gave him the tray, and lingered in the room only long enough to make sure he took the pills. After the nurse was gone, I ate and hummed “House of Chains” by Future Leaders of the World.

“I like that song,” the boy said in a dazed voice, like he was talking to himself more than he was to me. I was stunned. “Really? Wow, most people haven’t even heard of Future Leaders. I’m impressed. What else you into?” I asked, not really caring, but trying to make up for being a bitch earlier in my own twisted way. “Marilyn Manson, Cradle of Filth, System of a Down, Dimmu Borgir, and Slipknot just to name a few. I used to be in a band. I played guitar. That was about four months ago. Before they put me in this fucking place.” He replied with a sigh, as if the memory was painful.

“What the hell are you here for anyways, man?”

“Well, to quote you earlier, that’s none of your fucking business.” he said coldly.

“Oh, right then,” I mumbled and went back to eating.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 5

2007-07-28T02:31:18Z

It was so quiet. A few times I wondered if I had gone deaf due to the lack of sound in the hallway outside the room Daniella was put in. Daniella had taken six OxyCodone, and five Ritalin. It hadn't set in enough to kill her, they said. We were told that they had flushed her veins, and had pumped her stomach. My mother and I were also informed that there may be brain damage, because of the two minutes she spent without oxygen.

My mother broke the silence when she finally sobered up enough to realize what the doctors had told us. She stood up and slammed her fist into the wall outside Daniella's room. She collapsed into hysterical sobs against the wall with her back facing me. I felt like I should be comforting her, but could't bring myself to do it. After a few minutes, and several cries of, "Oh, my poor baby girl!", Mom spun around and stared in my direction, her eyes burning with rage. "You! You did this to her, Jaedan. You're such a stupid, filthy little cunt! Those were your pills weren't they? My baby could die because of you!" She screamed as grabbed my shoulders and shoved me to the floor.

I felt my head impact with the floor, and a jolt of pain shot through my body. My vision stared to blur, but I could still make out the silhouette of my mother sitting on my chest and pounding her fist into my face. I heard the sound of every sickening blow and tasted blood in my mouth as it started to flow freely from my nose. Then I felt the pressure on my chest letting up as my mother was pulled off of me. There were people talking to me, but I couldn't really understand them. I felt my body being lifted up from the floor, and the room started spinning...

My feet pounded down the hallway as I ran for the Front Desk. I didn't know where to go. All I knew and cared about was that my dad was awake, and he hadn't died. The receptionist looked up at me with wide eyes. "What's wrong dear?" she asked when I reached the front desk, her voice filled with concern. All I could do was grin at her as I tried to catch my breath. "He's awake." I finally managed to tell her. She nodded and muttered, "I'll go find a doctor." With that, I ran back down the hall to my father's room. I hurriedly pushed open the door and sat back down next to him. He turned his head slowly and looked at me with a face that was somewhere between a smile and a cringe. "The doctor will be here any minute, Dad. Is there anything I can get you?" I asked as I took his hand in mine once more. Then he started coughing. I don't think I've ever heard anyone cough like that before. With each cough, the look of pain on my father's face grew more intense, and when the coughing stopped, so did the beeping of the heart monitor...

I opened my eyes, instantly regretting the action. Where the fuck am I? And why does that horrible dream keep coming back to me? I asked myself, trying to ignore the fact that I hurt in places I didn’t know existed. The first thing I noticed, other than the blinding pain, was a set of buttons on the rail on the right-hand side of the bed I was in. I pressed the red button, and waited for something to happen, but nothing did.

I looked about, taking in my surroundings. The walls were an off-white color, the floors marbled cream and gray linoleum. There were machines beeping everywhere, and an IV was in my left hand. But the thing that gave it all away was the smell. You know the smell I'm talking about; the smell of cleaning solutions and pain in the air. The smell all hospitals have. Then I remembered my sister had overdosed...on my pills. But that didn't explain why I was in this room.

"Ok, would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?" I shouted, beginning to get extremely pissed off. No more than a few seconds later, an expressionless nurse, who appeared to be in her early thirties, strode into my room. Without a word or glance towards me, she injected something into my IV. "Morphine, to help with the pain," she said, finally looking at me, sympathy now written all over her face.

"Lady, could you please tell me why I am the one in a hospital bed. I didn’t overdose, my sister did. And why the hell do I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck?" I asked impatiently, feeling that I had waited long enough for answers. She continued to stare down at me for what seemed like hours, before taking a deep breath and saying, "I'm actually surprised you don't remember, honey. That mother of yours snapped. She threw you to the floor and started beating on you. Hell, it took three nurses and a doctor to get her off of you. Never in my life have I heard anyone scream such horrible things at their own child. She kept saying that you had killed her baby. She was talking about your sister, right? The one that O.D.ed? Those pills she took, they were yours, weren't they?"

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 4

2007-07-28T02:18:51Z

"Where are they?" I demanded as I stepped in front of the t.v., interrupting Mom's favorite program. She was lounging back on the sofa, still wearing her work clothes and already had out a bottle of Biccardi and her third pack of smokes for the day. "Where are what? What the hell are you talking about, Jaedan?" she replied with an annoyed and drunken slur to her words. "Come on, Mom. Don't pretend; you know exactly what I'm talking about. Now what the fuck did you do with my pills?" I shouted, losing any patience I had.

Anger flashed in my mother's eyes as she stood, a little shaky on her feet, but threatening all the same. "Watch your language, you nasty little whore. For the final time, I don't know what you're talking about. Get out of here, Jaedan. I can't stand to look at your hideous, worthless face anymore. You sicken me." she hissed as she blew smoke in my face. And as if she hadn't demeaned me enough already, she spat at my feet. I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes, but I was determined not to shed a single one. My mother would feel like she had won if she saw me cry, and I couldn't allow her that satisfaction. So swallowing my fighting words and my pride, I left.

I was about to fling open my bedroom door, when I heard a loud thump coming from my sister's room down the hall. Normally I would have ignored it, or prayed that the little bitch had knocked herself unconscious in a fall off of her bed. But not tonight; I guess my curiosity got the best of me. And never. Never will I be able to forget what I saw when I opened the door.

Daniella was laying face down on the floor. I felt the urge to laugh, until I notice the empty pill bottle in her hand. My pill bottle. I kneeled down beside her, shaking her shoulders violently in an attempt to wake her. I felt for a pulse, and found one, but it was very faint. I turned her over, and smacked her hard in the face. "Come on, it's not funny Dani. Wake up!" I growled, even though I knew she wasn't messing with me. Her breathing was becoming slower, and each breath sounded more labored. She was going to die if I didn't do something. "Mom! It's Dani, she isn't breathing!" I shouted.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 3

2007-07-28T02:10:29Z

"Is anyone home?" I shouted as I opened the door and stepped into the hell that I call home. I kicked off my shoes, and left them by the door, just to piss my mother off. When I received no answer, I walked up the stairs to my room, and slammed the door behind me. Dropping my bag carelessly onto the floor, I walked over to my stereo and turned it on. "Let Me Out" by Future Leaders of the World began blasting out of the speakers. I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to forget what happened last night. That's why I do the OxyCodone; it numbs your feelings. It keeps all the horrible memories away, makes you blind to the pain. It allows me to find an artificial...peace, I guess. I lied there like that for hours, thinking, not thinking.

Around five o'clock, I heard the front door slam and my mother yell, "Jaedan Angela Carson, how many fucking times do I have to tell you not to leave your goddamn shoes in front of the door!" I smirked to myself, ignored my mother's shouts, and continued to stare at the ceiling.

I was sitting at my computer, chatting on MSN messenger with my friends. My mother stumbled into the room, already clutching a bottle of Jack, and shut off the monitor. "Mom! I was talking to my friends." I whined. She looked at me with her bloodshot eyes, and laughed. I decided it wasn't a good idea to argue with her. I learned long ago not to piss off a drunk person. "Your wonderful father is in the hospital. The stupid motherfucker got in a car crash. The hospital just called, he wants to see you. Doesn't want to see me, of course. I'm only his wife, why the hell should he care about me? He's always loved you more than me, and I can't imagine why. You're nothing special. You're just a dumb little bitch that never does what she's told. Get the fuck out of here, Jaedan. Go see your father one last time. With any luck, he'll be dead by morning!" she shouted, and started laughing again. I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief.

And I ran. Out the door, down the street, and all the way to Brendon County General Hospital. I reached the front desk out of breath and hurriedly asked what room Travis Carson was in. "He's still in the ER, honey. Visitors are usually not allowed. What is you're relation to Mr. Carson?" she said. "Please. I need to see him. I'm his daughter, Jaedan Carson. My mother said the hospital called and said he was asking to see me," I replied all in one breath. The receptionist shook her head, and told me to have a seat, and she would be right back. I could sit, so I paced around the lobby.

"Jaedan? You can see him now." the receptionist told me after she checked with the doctors. I practically ran to her side, and she let the way to the ER. My father was laying there, both legs and one arm in casts. The other arm had an IV in it, and he had a tube down his throat, making sure he kept breathing. He was unconscious. "Dad!" I shouted and threw my arms around him, sobbing into his chest. One of the doctors told me that he was in critical condition. The crash had broken both legs, an arm, and six ribs. One of the ribs had punctured his left lung, and he could be bleeding internally. They had him stabilized, but there was no guarantee that he would live through the night.

They moved my father to a room close to the ER. And I stayed with him, holding his hand and talking to him. The hospital had called my mother numerous times, trying to get her to come down. Every time she either told them that she would see him in Hell one day. The only noise that could be heard was the beeping of the heart monitor, and my father's slow breathing. "Come on, dad. Please wake up. I don't know what I'll do without you. Please don't die." I whispered to him over and over again. After what seemed like forever, I felt his grip on my hand tighten, and he opened his eyes slowly. "Jaedan?" he choked out. "Dad! You're awake. Oh, I was so worried. I thought you were going to die." I said, and I was crying again. I gave him a tight hug, and sat back down next to his bed. "I'll go get a doctor, ok." I shouted as I ran for the door....

I bolted up in bed, and realized that I had fallen asleep. I wiped at my eyes, and threw myself back down onto the bed. "Why do I relive that every time I dream? Goddamn it, I've suffered enough!" I screamed and threw my alarm clock at my vanity, leaving a big crack in the mirror. And then I noticed. My pills weren't there. I know I left them there last night. I thought, as I forced myself to my feet, and began searching for them. After half an hour of looking, I still couldn’t find them. All my belongings were strung across the floor, and still no pills. Mom. I suddenly realized, and marched downstairs to find my mother.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 2

2007-07-28T01:56:38Z

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Groaning, I smacked the off button on my alarm clock, and saw that it was 7:15. School started at 8:10. I reluctantly put my bare feet on the cool wood floor and stood up. I gasped and grabbed my head, which started throbbing as soon as I stood. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; my dyed cherry red hair was ratted and messed up; my eye makeup was smeared from tears, and my dark red lipstick was pretty much gone, all rubbed off onto my pillow. I hated the girl that stared back at me; I hated her with all the passion I had. I tore a blanket off of my bed, threw it over the mirror in disgust, and entered the bathroom that adjoined to my room.

I opened the medicine cabinet, and picked up my little sister Daniella's Ritalin. She was thirteen, a popular little bitch at Brendon Junior High. Insisting that she was completely normal, she refused to take the Ritalin, but I wasn't complaining. I needed them to get rid of the crash my OxyCodone causes. We were complete opposites; as the baby of the family, mum showered her in anything her greedy heart desired. Mum hated me, I was your typical fuck-up. And she made sure I knew; she told me how worthless I was every morning after my daily smack in the face. I finally got the top off, damn those child-proof lids. I took out two, and popped them into my mouth.

Sighing, I went back to my room to pick out clothes. I picked a short red plaid skirt, a black top that had Misfits written on the front, black fishnets, and a pair of black Vans with little red skulls on them. I threw the clean clothes onto the bathroom floor, flung off my clothes from the night before, and took a quick shower. After my shower, I applied my makeup. Heavy black eyeliner, black eyeshadow, and dark red lipstick. I put on my clothes, and combed my shoulder length hair until it was straight.

Why do you try, Jaedan? You're always gonna be an addict; an ugly goth/emo chick. Just kill yourself already. A voice in the back of my head told me. I shook my head violently, hoping to rid myself of that thought. I glared at the girl in the mirror, and tried hard not to punch the glass. Instead, I left the bathroom for a final time, grabbed my backpack, purposely leaving my math book on the floor. I picked up the binder that held my CDs, my CD player, and a notebook full of lyrics and poems I had written.

"Miss Carson? Miss Carson!" My old bat of an English teacher shouted. Due to Mrs. Hunter's boring lectures, I had fallen asleep, as usual. Everyone knew she hated me. She sent me that evil grin of hers, and attempting a civil tone, asked, "Would you like to share your writing assignment, Jaedan? We haven't heard from you in a while." I rolled my eyes, knowing she wasn't asking me to read my paper, she was telling me to. I dug through my binder, and pulled out my latest poem. "No, I don't think I want to share, Mrs. Hunter. But I did the assignment. Here,” I said as I shoved my paper into her aged hands half-heartedly. Her grin disappeared, and her brows furrowed in annoyance. "Detention. After school. Today." Mrs. Hunter stated sternly. I gave her a salute and shouted, "Yes Ma'am!", at which point she turned her back on me and went to her desk. I then resumed my nap.

"Jesus Christ, Jae! You gotta stop doing that shit. You're gonna overdose or something one of these days." My best friend Callista said. I laughed dryly and grabbed her arm. I pushed up her sleeve, revealing many thin, white scars, and some fresh cuts that were bleeding through the scabs starting to form. "Jesus Christ yourself, Calli. If I overdose, I think I die pretty much instantly. You cut too deep, you'll bleed to death, slow and painfully. So stop preaching. You're just as fucked up as I am." Callista jerked her arm from my grasp, and pulled her sleeve back down, covering up the numerous scars her forearm bore. Knowing that the discussion was dropped, I reached into my bag, took out my CD player, picked out Cradle of Filth's Midian CD, and began eating my sandwich.

If Living Was the Hardest Part...Chapter 1

2007-07-28T01:48:43Z

"I want to hear you scream it, you fucking whore! What do you need?" Kade hissed in my ear. I had been forced to a kneeling position on the dirty kitchen floor of my Dealer's apartment. I was terrified to stand or even move, as it was obvious Kade was drunk, and he gets violent when he drinks. So I stayed on my knees, my heavy eyeliner starting to smear even through my efforts not to cry, my head starting to hurt due to the fact that Kade had my hair grasped tightly in his fist. He knew what I wanted; he knew what I NEEDED. He just liked the power trip it gave him when I beg. "I'm only gonna ask one more time, bitch. What do you need?" He shouted and gave my hair a fierce tug. "I need the pills, Kade. I need the fucking pills! Why the hell else would I be here?" I screamed, willing my voice to be strong.

With that, Kade let go of my hair, and stumbled over to the cabinets. Pills. Rows and rows of different pills. Of course, he had other drugs on hand, not just pills. Basically if you could name it, Kade had it. He picked up the Oxycodone, and tipped about 10 into his palm. "Anything else for you tonight, Jae?" He asked. "No, no. Just the pills," I replied quickly, hoping to leave Kade's as soon as possible.

"Ten pills, ten bucks a pill. That's a hundred dollars isn't it, Jae," he stated as I stood up and he dropped the pills into my waiting hands. Oh, shit. I thought, feeling a brief moment of panic. "One hundred dollars? What the hell, Kade! You usually charge five bucks a pill. I only have fifty bucks"” I said, exasperated. Kade flashed me a nasty smirk, and shoved me back to my knees. He pulled his belt off, and started to unzip his pants. This is exactly how he planned for me to pay.

I climbed carefully up the trellis on the side of our two story house, and pushed open my bedroom window. Mom was no doubt passed out drunk on the couch already; my step dad was probably off screwing some random slut. My father, the only person who gave a damn about me, died five years ago. This was how I dealt. Dealt with the pain, the numbness, the hate, the gaping hole in my heart. I took out two pills, my precious ambrosia, and placed them gingerly on a large spoon. I picked up another spoon, pressed the two together and crushed the pills into a fine powder. I took out a small mirror and laid it on my desk. I tapped to powder onto the mirror, making a straight line of white. I snorted it, I snorted all of it. Grinning like a maniac, I then collapsed onto my bed. And everything melted away...

Drown

2007-06-18T04:18:22Z

Everything always stays the same.
I don't think you'll ever change.
Put on an act and just keep smiling.
Wake up every night screaming from the guilt.
But you'll never show your true self.
I hope you drown in your lies.

Whispered "I love you's" that you never meant.
Thanks for saying it all the same.
Sometimes I can't help but wonder;
Would you kill me as I sleep?
Why did I ever trust you?
Honey, the reasons are far beyond me.
I hope you drown in your lies.

I know I shouldn't stay.
But I can't make myself go.
Guess the break in my heart forced me to submission.
Taking the abuse time after time.
Have me believing things will get better.
I hope you drown in your lies.

No Turning Back...

2006-12-21T22:13:17Z

This beating in my chest is killing me!
Give me closure and set me free.
You broke me down and bled me dry.
How do you get such pleasure from the tears I cry?

Break into a cold sweat.
No turning back, so much to fucking regret.
What's done is done; given up the only thing that I can bet.
So why'd you have to go and forget it?

Flames of pain and anger burning my eyes.
Finger on the trigger, staring down a 45.
Smoke clears away, blood drips down your face.
Oh god, what have I done? You're the only thing I can't replace.

Break into a cold sweat.
No turning back; so much to fucking regret.
What's done is done; given up the only thing that I can bet.
So why'd you have to go and forget it?

And since we're all dead now, what's left to do?
I've been proven wrong on all the shit I thought I knew.
So go on seeing your world in twelve shades of grey.
Just hoping you'll make it day by day.

Just Keep Believing...... (short story)

2006-11-01T04:48:46Z

Tears were streaming down my face as I sat motionless on the bathroom floor, gritting my teeth and willing myself to not make a sound. Grasping the razorblade tightly in my left hand, I stared at the blood dripping slowly from my right wrist, seemingly hypnotized by the sight.

It's useless to ask why I cut. I've never figured it out myself. Perhaps I use it as an escape, a savior from this nightmarish reality called life. Or maybe it's just the delicious pain I feel, letting me know I can still bleed, that I'm still human, and still alive. Either way, I suppose it makes me a sadist, because cutting brings me such comfort. Such a rush that I can't possibly find words to describe it.

Reality came crashing back down as I suddenly became dizzy and light-headed. I had lost just a little too much blood. Still overwhelmed by the bliss I was experiencing, despite the tiredness that was beginning to set in, I looked down at the slowly forming pool of my own blood on the floor. I smirked and laughed dryly to myself, enjoying the fact that I had bloodied the white tile floor that Amy prides herself in keeping spotless. After some difficulty, I pulled myself to a standing position with help from the counter and ran cold water over my bleeding wrist. I got a wash cloth wet and pressed it hard against my wound. When the bleeding was suppressed to almost nothing, I cleaned up the floor, and went to my room.

I slammed the door to my tiny bedroom closed, turned on my stereo, and flopped down onto my bed, feeling exhausted. I pulled a notebook and a pen out from under my pillow, then began to jot down random song lyrics that had been running through my head all day. I was writing everything down furiously, my hand flying across the page, and singing along with Liv Kristine's part in "Nymphetamine Fix" by Cradle of Filth, when I heard two loud knocks on my door. Before I was even able to shout a reply, my door flew open, and their stood my foster mother, Amy, looking very agitated.

"Do you ever fucking listen, Callista? I thought I told you to keep your damn music turned down. I don't want to hear it," she snapped as she turned the volume down on my stereo and grabbed a pack of cigarettes sitting on my dresser. "Lighter,"she mumbled. I found my lighter in the cluttered mess of clothes, papers, and various other items on my floor and tossed it to her. I waited until she lit her cigarette and had taken a drag before smirking at her, and saying, "Well, it seems as though I'm not the only one that has a problem with doing what she's told. Michael is going to freak if he finds out you're still smoking. It would be a shame for you guys to start fighting again, wouldn't it? Yeah, let's hope I can remember to keep your secret. Oh, and by the way, I'll need you to get me another pack of cigs when you run me to work tonight. I'll give you the money, even if it was you that smoked most of them."

Amy laughed and shook her head, bringing her cigarette up to her lips, but froze before taking a drag, her eyes suddenly glued to me. Oh shit. I cursed myself as I realized I had been scratching my forearm, my right forearm, and had re-opened my newest cut, which began leaking warm, crimson liquid once again. "What in the hell is that?" she demanded, her voice icy cold and angry. I returned her glare and tone as I sighed, "Hmm....I dunno. What's it look like, Amy?"

"I thought you quit doing that shit."

"Keep believing, you're only raping yourself of the truth."

"Why, Calli?"

"Why not?"

Amy stood there, her hand still suspended in mid-air and cigarette still burning. She crossed to room with a sneer plastered to her face, and snatched up my right arm. She looked my arm over, tracing the cut with her long, delicate fingers, and finally took the last remaining drag off of her cigarette. She blew the smoke in my face, then promptly stubbed her cigarette out, on my cut. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you psychotic bitch?" I screamed, then jerked my arm away from her grasp and assessed the new damage. My foster mother stared at me for only a few seconds before throwing her head back and laughing coldly. "I thought you liked the pain, Callista." she remarked sarcastically, as if that explained her actions perfectly. I felt tears forming behind my eyes, and knew I couldn't hold them back for very long.

Sure enough, within minutes tears were running down my face, and I fought relentlessly to hold back sobs. I'd done it again. I'd let this woman see me cry, I let her win. I felt like a pathetic little child crying over an ice cream cone that had fallen on the ground. Amy shook her head, and gave me a look of disgust before she turned sharply on her heel, and left my room, slamming the door behind her.

Demons Within.......

2006-11-01T04:34:51Z

Hmmm....yeah I'm not sure if this one makes sense...but oh well. I'mma post it anyways!

Eyes closed tight,
Enjoying the twisted pleasure from the pain.
Held tight in your arms,
Everything bleeds together and begins to fade.

Pulled deep into this tragedy,
Our bestial lusts gone insane.
Licking blood from our fingers, and stealing kisses.
Never daring to say those "three little words".

Love is just the slowest form of suicide;
A drawn out death, only pain with no bliss.
Save yourself; kill those emotions early on.
And keep savoring your sins.

Playing with a fixed deck and your heart's never gonna win.
So we'll just keep fucking;
No commitment, only addiction.
Baby, you're my cocaine, and I can never get enough of you.

So hold me down and make me scream.
You know what I like, you know what I need.
I'll pull you deep into this tragedy.
The demons within us still clawing their way out.......

Thank You....

2006-10-07T01:08:23Z

Love me.
Make me feel wanted.
Take away all my doubt, worries, and pain.
Give me your heart, and forever treasure mine.
Thank you for making me have hope again.

Hate me.
Make it clear that I'm nothing to you, and I never meant a thing.
Take the heart you shattered, the tears I've shed, and the dreams you set ablaze.
Give me closure; turn me away and slam the door in my face.
Thank you for making me see the truth.

Kiss me.
Make me weak in the knees.
Take my breath away, and leave me gasping for more.
Give me a reason to believe that things do get better.
Thank you for making the pain melt away.

Rape me.
Make me scream, make me bleed.
Take my body, bound, broken, and tear it apart.
Give me what I deserve.
Thank you for putting me in my place.

Red...

2006-09-29T01:45:54Z

Red. The color of the warm, sticky liquid that covered the hand I held as she died on the cold, white tile bathroom floor. The dark beauty of it being the only splash of color on that same floor. The color of the phone she insisted I not use, and the roses on her coffin door. Red. The same color of her hand print left on the bathroom counter, the one I see in my dreams every now and then. Her favorite color.
Red. The color of the shirt I was wearing when I first kissed him. The name of the song playing in his car when he brought me home, "The Red" by Chevelle. The way this same color reminds me of the love I felt for him, and just the lust he felt for me. The color of the scratches down his back, and the marks his teeth left on my neck. Red. The color of the two shirts tossed carelessly into the corner and the color of the light that filled the room and allowed me to see his face as he took what little innocence I still had. The color I bled afterwards, and the color of the heart he ripped from my chest and stomped on 2 months later.
Red. The color that makes me think of the horrible things my mother screams at me, and the anger, angst, and frustration I felt for years when she would make me cry. The color of the cuts on my arms and legs caused by this angst and frustration, and a strange numbness. The same color of those cuts that are now scars, self-inflicted to make sure I could still feel. Red. The color of the scratch left on my face from her ring.
Red. A color that brings up painful memories from my past. It's strange how it reminds me of these things. Red. The color that makes me think of angst, anger, loss and blood. But also love, lust, and roses. Red. My favorite color.

Fading...

2006-09-27T00:54:21Z

My happiness was stolen;
Replaced with a venom gaping hole.
So deep, it numbs me to the bone.
No one knows who robbed me, and I don't want to fix it.
My soul is torn apart, and I'm sick of this shit.

I close my eyes, seeking shelter from this world of pain.
I see sadistic grins on angelic faces;
They're holding me back, they're dragging me down.
Down into the icy black waters of my own hell.
No one can make the nightmares better, and I don't want to fix it.
My mind is drowning, and I'm sick of this shit.

A glint of light in a pitch black room;
I'm drawn to the beauty of the cool blade before me.
It tears through my flesh, gorgeous crimson pooling at my feet.
No one can help me, and I don't want to fix it.
My body is bleeding, and I'm sick of this shit.

My sanity slips away into the darkest of nights.
My strength has been drained, like the blood from a vampire's victim.
I have nothing left, so why should I fight?
The sweet red roses have turned to black; the photographs have begun to fade.
No one can make the pain go away, and I don't want to fix it.
I'm dying, and I'm sick of this shit.

I Hate Myself...For Loving You

2006-09-27T00:50:26Z

Ok...yeah this is a really old one. I wrote it when I was like...12, I think. But I'm still gonna post it.

How do you make me feel like this?
You make suicide sound like such bliss.
Oh, whoa, you know it's true,
I hate myself for loving you.

You make the blood run cold in my veins,
Every time you shout my name.
You make death sound so sweet,
As you knock me off my feet.
I lay bleeding on the floor,
As I beg you to stop, you think I'm asking for more.
Oh, yeah, you know it's true,
I hate myself for loving you.
I hate myself... for loving you.

You get such pleasure from my pain.
How do I lose when you just gain?
You're the gun in my hand;
You're the knife at my throat.
You're every lie that you ever wrote.
You're the blade at my wrist;
You're the blood that flows,
From the wounds caused by my woes.
Oh, yeah, you know it's true,
I hate myself for loving you.
I hate myself... for loving you.

How do you make me feel like this?
You make suicide seem like such bliss.
Oh, whoa, you know it's true,
I hate myself for loving you.

Broken

2006-09-26T02:55:13Z

This one is really recent. I wrote it for Creative Writing class.

Dancing endless circles on a bloody ballroom floor.
Never stopping, never thinking, always numb inside.
Simple adhesives can't fix what you left fucked.

Never missing a step, you ripped the heart from my chest.
Emotions suppressed and the bleeding just won't stop.
Dancing endless circles on a bloody ballroom floor.

Overdosed on novocaine.
Blind to everything but the pain.
Simple adhesives can't fix what you left fucked.

The music fades away, leaving silence and heartbreak.
Tears stream down my face; I'm stuck in this place.
Dancing endless circles on a bloody ballroom floor.

Sadistic angel with a beautiful face.
I realize now, my faith I misplaced.
Simple adhesives can't fix what you left fucked.

Constantly pulling at my puppet strings.
Unable to stop, you're breaking me slowly.
Dancing endless circles on a bloody ballroom floor.
Simple adhesives can't fix what you left fucked.