datcrwrkid-blog

[datcrwrkid-blog]

Dear Hero

Dear Hero,

Are you ever afraid - not of the dangers you face, but the consequences of your actions? Do you believe there are things that even you can’t prevent? No, that’s impossible! Your superhuman strength, your lightning speed, your brilliant white smile – you are the embodiment of perfection, aren’t you?

I’m nothing more than a simple cleaning lady while you are the face of justice, wiping down the city of its villainy and filth. You invest every fiber in your body to dedicate almost every minute of your life to helping others.

Almost.

If you don’t mind my asking, where were you on that day three years ago when the building on 44th and Billington caught fire? Where were you when its flames claimed every soul for itself?

I remember where I was. I was standing on that very street, watching the inferno roast my son alive. I desperately tried to push past firefighters to rush inside, but they held back my frail body. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to find my boy and bring him back to safety.

When the building collapsed, so did my heart.

There’s no feeling more devastating than lacking the power to do something no matter how desperately you want it.

But you, hero, you have that power! So, I ask again, where were you on that day? Perhaps you spent the hour slicking back that impeccable head of hair. Perhaps you were preoccupied taking selfies with your fanclub. When the dust settles and the bodies are pulled from the rubble, are your hands covered in red?

No husband to love, no son to care for. I’m alone now.

You must be lonely too. It must be quiet when you’re at the top, gazing down on those who expect you to carry all their hopes and dreams. 

Under that flashy suit, those iron muscles, that bulletproof skin, your heart must be the same as everyone else’s.

Vulnerable.  

When you sleep, the dead get restless. 

You try wholeheartedly to save as many people as you can, but when you look in the mirror at the end of the day, it must be impossible to tell yourself that. All you’d see in your reflection are the disappointed faces of those you couldn’t help in time.

Hero, you use your powers to change society not because humanity beckons you, but because your heart believes there is good that’s worth fighting for.

I don’t know if I hate you. 

I want to blame you for Tony’s death because it would convince me that I wasn’t the one to blame. If I didn’t yell at him that day, maybe he wouldn’t have run away from home and just maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in that ill-fated building.

I’m only human. On the inside you must be too. Perhaps that’s a good enough reason to forgive – but not now. Not quite yet.

Maybe when the stars share your secrets.

  Sincerely,

Your conscience.

Credit:

Gif 1 - https://tenor.com/view/heart-fire-love-gif-5434748

Pic 1 - https://tinybuddha.com/blog/hang-up-the-superhero-cape-we-dont-have-to-do-it-all-alone/

[datcrwrkid-blog]

For the short story “Eating Me Up”.

[datcrwrkid-blog]

Eating Me Up

My body erupted from its tender slumber to a burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. I clenched my jaw, trying to subdue the fireworks exploding in my gut as I raced downstairs.

This feeling, it was all too familiar.

Hunger.

Making the journey to the kitchen, I dived for the fridge handle and whipped it open. The blinding white glare from the fridge’s empty cavity made me hiss like Miss Sanchez’s cat. Slamming it shut, I ripped open the freezer door revealing a single tub of Edaleen Dairy mango ice cream.

Saliva began flooding my mouth instantaneously. My stomach buzzed with desire. No, how is it still here? I thought I threw it away!

I’ve been clean from eating this stuff for three whole days. I’ve come too far to lose what little dignity I still brandish.

However, my hands still gravitated toward the beautiful curves of the tub. Even with the wave of hunger drowning me, I mustered the scraps of my willpower together and made a declaration.

“Mango, I love you, but we’re done with. You’ve shattered my body image, vaporized my self esteem, and made me ashamed of standing on a scale.”

Mango remained silent. Typical.

It stared longingly back at me, coaxing me to just tease its top off.

Everyone thinks they know pain. A concussion, a fractured arm; anyone can heal from that. Not everyone can recover from an acute addiction to Edaleen Dairy mango ice cream resulting in lasting self-identity issues.

For once in my life, it feels like I’ve finally climbed out of the rut I’ve been stuck in for seventeen years. The thought of relapsing finally shattered the delicious façade of the sweetened, mango flavoured ice cream in front of me.

My frustration converted into anger towards Mango. I didn't want to make it feel pain. No, pain wasn't good enough. I wanted to make it suffer. Inconceivable, unimaginable suffering. Like it did to me.

A surge of energy surged through my soul and crushed Mango’s flimsy body in a vice grip, throwing it into the abyss of the garbage bin.  

Yet, the ice cream tub remained in my hands. Huh? I tried throwing it again, but I couldn’t let go.

“STUPID MANGO! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” I screamed as I wrestled the tub to the floor.

“Walter?” My mom stood in the entrance of the kitchen, confusion written all over her face.

“Who are you talking to?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Why are you naked on the floor?”

A string of nonexistent words spewed out of my mouth. She rolled her eyes and walked away.

“Heh, now it’s just you and me again, Walter.” Mango said with a raspy voice.

“Not this again, please!” I begged.

Mango’s lid popped off and globs of ice cream entered my mouth. The subtle yet overwhelmingly smooth texture of mango swept my taste buds away in ecstasy. Dopamine numbed my system with pure, raw pleasure. Mango shook its body again and pushed another clump of ice cream into my mouth, triggering another explosion of deliciousness. Soon, I was shoveling scoop after scoop of this frozen delicacy down my gullet. 

Here I was, a tubby naked dude rolling on the floor and uncontrollably devouring a tub of ice cream. This is who I really am. I was happy.

One little cheat day can’t hurt, am I right?

Credit:

Pic 2 - http://www.alphr.com/science/1008459/depression-language-signs-machine-learning

[datcrwrkid-blog]

Joey

Clockwork.

Every night at 11 pm, the front door would burst open and a hunkering silhouette would stagger in its frame. She would stumble into the house with lazy locomotion.

Heavy steps, heavier heart.

She would heave her purse at the living room wall and its force would rock the house and my core to its foundation. Tonight, just like all the others, all I could do was watch silently as her eyes shifted from each corner of the room until they locked onto me. I could read her eyes like a book and I knew this evening was going to have a bad ending.

She inspected my household handiwork. Every night I would try my best to put away my toys, do the dishes, and cook something to her standards, but every night she would find something wrong. Tonight, I forgot to take out the garbage, so as predicted she treated me like it.

She made her way to the closet which held her arsenal of “child corrective” equipment. Despite the heavy vacuum, wooden plank, and metal dust pan at her disposal, her hand always gravitated towards Joey. Joey had a slim yet strong build. He also had an impressive head of fluffy hair. 

As soon as I saw Mother raise Joey in the air, it signaled an automatic response for me to silently bring myself to the ground. Running away was never something that existed in my mind simply because that was never an option.

I was too familiar with the sensation of Joey against my back. He came down with thundering force, disintegrating every living cell his sturdy frame contacted. My face contorted, my mouth gaped open, yet nothing audible came out from it. The very breath from my lungs was ejected as Joey rained down like a meteor shower against my back. A flurry of Joey's hair flew into the air and floated down - peacefully.

With every impact, I felt less of it. Soon the burning sensation turned to warmth. Embrace.

Tears tumbled down my cheeks. Happy or sad? A smile had formed on my face.

Was this pain?

Joey didn't want to hurt me. I know that. But if this was the only way we could be together, then this was how we would become stronger.

I only ever spent time with Joey when Mother needed him. I'm grateful for Mother. If it weren't for her, I would have never met someone like Joey.

Whack!

A distorted cry escaped my mouth.

Whack!

Blood began to blossom from my skin.

Whack!

A gift.

Credit:

Pic 1 - https://www.livescience.com/17031-penn-state-child-abuse-eyewitness-psychology.html

Pic 2 - http://www.laurelleaffarm.com/item-pages/antique-turkey-feather-duster-old-wooden-handle-early-1900s-vintage-Laurel-Leaf-Farm-item-no-u102878.htm