scribo-ergo-sum

[scribo-ergo-sum]

If My Mother Only Knew

You are the man my mother warned me of when I opened my first Aim account.

The one who would tell me only pretty things

who would want something that I should not give

who would tell me I was pretty-

but would not mean it.

You are the man my mother said would only want to hurt me.

You would come with black duffel bags, and duct tape

She would have to identify my cold lifeless body-

Wolves lurk on the web, not just in the woods

And they all dress like “nice guys.”

You are the man my mother warned me about-

Yet like little red riding hood, I told you were I was going

I told you grandma lived just up the road

I told you-

Everything.

You are the man my mother warned me about-

And yet, I am surprised

And yet, my heart loved

And yet, I allowed myself to smile

And yet, I believed you when you said I was pretty.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Soulmate AU, Fated Failure 2/2

No one understood why you wanted to be a teacher, except other teachers. There was something wonderful about watching students’ eyes light up when they finally understood something. Being there to aid students as they grow and learn about the world was something magical you could never give up. You especially wouldn't give up your favorite day of the first semester, Career Day. Today was the day, for your senior students to realize that life didn't end after high school and that there were a million options out there beyond just going to college. Many of your students were on career, or tech tracks so this day was even more important for them. During your free period you made your rounds of the stuffy gymnasium making sure to give reassuring smiles to your students as they plucked up the courage to visit the different tables. The table for the welding, and construction groups were always the biggest attraction. You made your way down the center isle curving towards the tables set up for the military tracks. They were always the most imposing, and you typically found that if you chatted with some of the officers your students were more likely to approach. The recruiter standing alone at the Army table looked like your best bet. He was tall, and built just like the army men in the old war propaganda posters. You plastered on your best parent night smile and he smiled back.

“Good Morning ma’am. Looking to switch careers?

“Good Morning.” You laughed once his question registered. “I'm afraid my principal would die before he let me leave the building. I'm one of the teachers on the Senior team, just checking in. Everything going ok? You were looking a little lonely over here.”

Captain Rogers Ma’am.” He stated holding out his hand for you to shake “We’re doing just fine.”

“Well I was hoping if I broke the ice some students might wander over" you glanced around noticing a couple students make a wide loop hopefully in your direction. “Captain. I believe you said we? Are there more of you? I hope they’re not too young or some of my students may skip class to hang out here all day. I believe last year we had some lovely older gentlemen, and did not have to worry.” You laughed at the thought of your students harassing the last year’s recruiters as you’re sure they would someone as attractive as Captain Rogers. He smiled at your joke, and shook his head.

“Just Sergeant Barnes is with me today. I’m sure you’d like to meet him.” The Captain smiled wide as he looked around, hoping to grab his partner, he looked like he had something funny he wanted to tell you but needed to wait for the Sergeant. “We’re filling in for the usual recruiters but he seems to have wandered off.”

“Ms. Y/L/N?” a small voice broke into the conversation. You turned to see a student from your third period. “Sorry to interrupt-"

“Not at all.” you assured her, giving a side glance to Cpt. Rogers. “Captain Rogers was just mentioning the awesome opportunities to work with advancing Technologies through the Army. You know a lot more about that than me, perhaps you could take my place?” Your student beamed. “It was wonderful meeting you Cpt. Rogers. I'm Y/F/N Y/L/N if you or your partner find yourselves needing anything.”

You made a few more loops around the cafeteria before your planning ended and you needed to return to your other classes. You caught a few glances from Captain Rogers and gave an amicable wave as your eyes caught the hard stare from the man he had mentioned earlier. Sergeant Barnes was not the same clean-cut army officer as Captain Rogers, but both men did the uniform proud. You're fairly positive a few girls from your A.P course were considering signing up just to upgrade their boyfriends versus their resume. He stared liked he was trying to see into you versus catch your attention. You felt a slight blush, and hoped it wasn't over something embarrassing like your skirt being tucked in your underwear. You broke the staring contest and casually ran your hands along your skirt. Everything seemed fine, and you had worn stackable bracelets so you knew it wasn't your two favorite words that had caught the eagle-eyed Sargent’s attention. Finishing your last goodbyes to a few doe-eyed students all dreaming of bright futures, you decided it was time to return to your classroom. You thought you heard someone shouting after you from the gymnasium, but when you turned no one was there. You figured the student could find you later.

The rest of that week, and the next passed with a lackluster routine. Midterms were coming up. and if the students wanted follow any of those careers they needed to graduate high school as well as your class, first. You found yourself sitting on a stool at the island in your kitchen thinking over the last essay question you needed to write for the midterm exam. You fingered the stem of your wine glass letting your eyes trail around the living room of your apartment. Your life always walked the fine line between cozy clutter and utter disaster. You couldn't quite decide where it fell today. Your work pants were hanging off the back of the couch. but you could see the floor throughout the apartment. That counted as a win, but the dishes mocking you from the sink said otherwise. The bookshelf you put together from IKEA was almost full enough to buy another, maybe you needed to take more books to your classroom versus leaving so many in your apartment. A knock at the door broke into your musings. You looked at the door waiting for it to yawn like the doorknob in Alice in Wonderland and explain to you why anyone was at the door when you had made yourself cook for once instead of ordering take out. You slipped off your bar stool, and snagged the pants off the sofa shuffling them back on as you moved toward the door.

You pulled the button through the loop as you squinted through the peephole. While your door may not have yawned, your evening was getting curiouser and curiouser. Sergeant Barnes was standing, well shuffling, on the other side of your door with a bundle of sunflowers. The bright yellow flowers stood out against the dark hues of his uniform. His hat was tucked under his right arm, hair longer than you what you imagined was regulation. Your brain ran through every scenario that could have landed him at your door. None of the good, and most of them made zero sense. The nervous biting of his lip is what finally did you in, and you decided to open the door. Furrowing your eyebrows, you tried to find a pleasant reaction to wear as you opened the door. His reaction when the door swung open told you that your face had opted for the high school tested and approved “what shenanigans are you up to now" expression over the “friendly welcome.”

“Hello...Can I help you?” you asked slowly, realizing he wanted you to speak first.

“Hi. Ma’am. Umm. I'm Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes. I don't know if you remember me -but uh.” He stammered like a freshman trying to piece together a presentation in front of their class that they had forgotten to memorize.

“Yes. You were at the Career fair at the high school, but I don't believe we had the chance to be introduced.” You realize you should have been more concerned by the entire exchange. There was a man you hadn’t spoken a word to, standing outside your door like you had a date that you had forgotten about. However, despite being very confused, you felt completely safe. Despite the at least 6ft tall wall of muscle in front of you, you felt less stressed than you had all week. You allowed a small smile to drift across your face and leaned against the door frame in a more relaxed position. “Captain Rogers passed along your name, but I can't imagine I made enough of an impression on him to have him sending a Sergeant to my door with flowers.” You hoped a joke would cause him to stop looking like your door was the entryway to a firing squad. However, he didn’t appear to like the insinuation that the flowers were from the captain if his hands tightening around them were any indication.

“No. Well, yes we did not meet officially at the fair- the uh flowers are from me- you see" the Sergeant ran his hand over his face and wrapped it around his neck pulling at his collar as it moved back to its home squeezing the life out of the sunflower stems. “God why is this so hard"

You smiled again, waiting for him to continue. You were starting to think this was going to be the beginning of your hallmark movie, and this man you barely knew was going to profess love at first sight. You told the thought to stop right there. Attractive as he was, you weren't his soulmate. You let the cloud of sadness pass you by and tried to look reassuring to the poor man still hunting for the elusive English Language.

“You see Ma’am. We actually met before the fair.” You allowed the shock to show on your face. “We met at the park, I believe I uh told you to fuck off?”

Your eyebrows joined the rest of your hair at the top of your forehead. If you hadn't spent the last several years fine tuning your temper control with hordes of high school students you would have slammed the door in his face and never looked back. Hell, temper aside you still wanted to slam it. You also wanted to push him, and tell him to fuck. Off. You knew the steam leaving your ears must be visible. The army man stiffened and tried to finish his speech.

“I came to apologize. I thought- I thought you were my friend Steve. Captain Rogers who you met at the school. He threw the Frisbee. I was mad- I didn't realize- I thought it was him coming to chide me for running into a damn tree like an idiot. God, Doll. I am sorry. I was an ass. I promise I am not always an ass. Please give me a chance to prove to my soulmate that she's paired with a fuck up, not a complete and total dick.”  A nervous smile moved across his features, he tried so hard to look remorseful and apologetic.

You huffed. He was your soulmate, you had to let him try. You'd spent your entire life with the F word tattooed on your wrist. You could handle anything at this point. You needed to give him a chance, but that didn't mean you couldn't make him work for it.

“How exactly did you get my address Sergeant?” You used your best disappointed voice. “Who at my school is getting fired over your chivalry?”

“Shit. Um. I promised I'd keep the name to myself. But I did promise to lead some safety assembly in exchange? It’ll be the worst hour of my life, especially since Steve will have to come. Who the hell knows what it'll take to make that happen. But I figured, well I hope a chance to fix things with you will make it all worth it?”

Barnes gave a shit eating grin after the last thought, hoping his suffering for the children would get him on your good side, or at least out of the penalty box. You let out a disgruntled sound.

“Let me try to fix this,” he continued. “Let me buy you a coffee, let you see the guy behind the shoving and the swearing.” Crossing your arms, you decided for one more jab before you let it go.

“I don’t drink coffee.” You allowed his face to fall for a few seconds before you continued. “But I know a place that makes great hot chocolate down the road. Let me out these in some water before we go.”

           He passed you the flowers, and you heard him let out a deep breath. You turned your back but he stayed in the doorway. You looked at him smiling the first real smile he had the privilege of experiencing. You thought for a second he may have stopped breathing.

“That's as close to an invitation to come inside as you’re going to get Sergeant. Better grab it while it lasts.” The smile you received in return was worth every bruise on your heart.

“Please call me Bucky.”

“Feel free to call me Y/N.” You leaned under the sink to grab a vase. “Well. Bucy. We are going to need to work on that mouth of yours. I am an English teacher I'm sure we can find some less colorful phrases for you to try.” He laughed and mumbled something your ears didn't quite catch. You shot him a look waiting for him to try again.

“What kind of teacher doesn't like coffee?” He said smirking. Realizing your opportunity, you let the widest grin move across your face as you grabbed your keys to move toward the door.

“Oh fuck off Bucky.”

After years of hating your soulmate tattoo, you finally let yourself laugh it off, and the melody of your soulmate laughing with you made it that much easier.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Soulmate AU, Fated Failure

The trees rustled in the September breeze, reaching like children for the last bits of summer before everyone returned to school on Monday. The city’s inhabitants were out in droves with dogs, footballs, Frisbee, and picnic baskets. Even the introverts, and shut-ins put on their masks of ‘people watching’ to taste the last dregs of summer air. The end of Summer meant to rainy season, and days like today needed to grasped fully.  So you, despite your usual Sunday routine, found yourself walking the edge of the park. An intense game of Ultimate Frisbee caught your eye on the soccer field to your left.

Your grandmother used to always say, “great change comes in the smallest moments.” In the brief silence between two songs on your playlist, the entire park could hear a deep gasp and the sound of a truck hitting a tree near you. Except it wasn’t a truck, and you ran full speed towards the truck of a man now laying flat on the ground.

“Are you okay? Oh my god.” You crouched down at his side, and brushed hair off his forehead, looking for a wound or a bump. The man was big, visibly taller than you by almost a foot. He had long dark hair, and well trimmed scuff hugging his chin. You had a feeling that the eyes behind the squeezed shut eyelids had to be beautiful. Your heart did something it doesn’t usually do in your chest, and you gained the courage to try again. “Hey are you-” Suddenly a hand shot out pushing you away, and knocking you off your balance to the ground.

“Fuck off.” While the voice was lovely the words were not. You stared, and picked your jaw up off the ground. Ready to give the man a piece of your mind, you noticed the tattoo on the wrist of the offending hand. This moment was worse than you had ever imagined. Next, the thrower of the frisbee came running to your side. He was tall, blond and matched the man on the ground for size.

“Buck- you okay?” The man on the ground eyes shot open, there was a flicker of what you figured was realization. You stood up and brushed yourself off.

“Well meeting my soulmate was definitely the fairytale everyone says it is.” the brunette on the ground struggled to a sitting position. “Maybe the damn words will finally fade, and I can give up on the expensive makeup.”

You weren’t the type to run from your problems, but that’s exactly what you did. Ignoring the shouts of protest from both the blond and the man called Bucky.  

Your mother Mother always took pride in how quickly and smoothly her daughter had matured. Grandmother liked to boast that it was the good genes from her side of the family, that had made your mother’s child rearing so easy. However, the early maturity had more to do with your Soulmate tattoo than with the wonders of genetics. Along the wrist of almost every child born after the turn of the century was a tattoo, usually only a word or two. These words were the first words that their soulmate would ever speak to them. Typically the tattoos were mundane, a hello or good morning that did nothing to aide the wearer in finding their soulmate. Your best friend growing up boasted that her tattoo was the word wow, and she swore up and down that her soulmate would be so awestruck by her beauty that ‘wow’ would be the first thing he said to her. Grandmother’s tattoo had also been one of the more unique, her tattoo read Sunflowers. Turns out her soulmate, your grandfather, sold flowers in a roadside stand. Taking the wrong turn in a bustling marketplace in east New Delhi had changed Grandmother’s life forever.

The tattoo on your wrist was something different entirely; Fuck Off had been written in your soulmate’s messy scrawl for as long as you could remember. You could also remember the reaction of every teacher when they noticed your hand shoot into the air with that written on your wrist. You could also remember the first time your mother took you to the makeup counter to buy the best cover up you could find. Most of your early life was spend telling people that you didn’t have a tattoo. The likelihood of anyone saying those words to you before high school seemed slim. However, you made your way all through college and into adulthood before the fated meeting occurred. Walking into your apartment you toed off your sneakers and leaned against your closed front door. Running your hands through your hair, you fisted clumps of your hair resting your forehead on your knees. You had thought that maybe the words would be said in jest, or maybe the words weren’t said at you. You had thought a lot of things. Getting shoved, and told to fuck off by your soulmate wasn’t one of them.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

We cannot know which story is correct because we were not there… This is the problem of history. We cannot know that which we were not there to see and hear and experience for ourselves. We must rely upon the words of others…But now we come upon the problem of conflicting stories…Whose stories do we believe, then?…We believe the one who has the power. He is the one who gets to write the story. So when you study history, you must always ask yourself, Whose story am I missing? Whose voice was suppressed so that this voice could come forth? Once you have figured that out, you must find that story too. From there, you begin to get a clearer, yet still imperfect, picture.

Yaa Gyasi, Homegoming

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Like honey slipping through crack

Realizations dawn

Freedom isn't sudden

When trapped by sorrow.

Sorrow invades dreams

In flashes of your laughter

Parading around as happiness

All wrapped up in the knowledge

That it is gone.

That I

That We

Broke it.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

"It was in the moment I realized that you never knew me that the sting went away. Your power faded when I understood, that while I gave up months ago, you had been somewhere else for years. I was admonished for my failures and my inability to meet a bar that I alone was reaching for. I asked myself; what is the point of struggling to win a game when someone else won't even waste the time to play? You lost your power over me when I realized I had been afraid of a shadow and that its person had not been standing at my side for years. All at once I could breathe again."

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Are you ever afraid to turn out the lights? Not because of the dark, no what is truly feared is the mind. Where will the mind go once the music stops, and the work is put away? Will it play that day's mistakes on repeat? Or will it pull out the knives it finds stabbed into the heart to see where else they may fit? No I don't fear the darkness. I fear myself.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Islanders

Inspired by the wonderful artwork of @gretlusky, this piece in particular.

Their meeting was unexpected, but what remarkable event ever is? True one can try to make something amazing happen, but one can never pick the moment.This is not the story of the act or the attempt, but the story of a moment. Mateo stood in what some would call the comforting blanket of silence. Mateo however, was not a number in that sum. This sound was what he called boredom. He should have known this would happen. The island had been marked as the war zone for the incoming hurricane, everyone that could had mounted the last tall ship headed north for a safer harbor. Since the English moved in, this town just wasn’t as brave as it used to be. Mateo placed his drink back on the bar, he had been riding out the storms with alcohol since he was old enough to reach the counter. The most notable of those being the hurricane that rocked the Caribbean in 1772, the island had missed the worst of it, at least that’s how everyone remembered it. When the whole island spends a week swimming in old whiskey history can get rewritten. Alone in this bar Mateo didn’t feel brave anymore, he was starting to feel a little stupid.

Outside  the wind filled its lungs to breath a night of howls and roars. The rain joined the thunder in destroying the peaceful silence, and thus the storm began. Trees took their final rest upon the ground, roofs joined the canopy of sky, and just as swiftly as it all began the storm passed. The blanket of silence that can fill a room is nothing compared to the silence that follows a storm. Mateo walked out of the bar the next morning, the storm having passed as nothing more than a summer breeze. The younger trees had taken out the older houses, but it could all be rebuilt in a matter of days. Mateo walked to the beach to check on his boat.

She was a thing of captivating beauty, and for once Mateo didn’t mean the boat. Her hair was long and red slicked back behind finned ears. Her tail like freshly polished sea glass captured between bits of stars. She stared for a long while as he approached the boat when he was within throwing distance she reached into the water pulled out a bottle and suddenly it was in the air.  Her upturned nose sniffed with indignation as Mateo clasped the bottle, working the cork from its mouth.

“They’re everywhere. I can ignore the occasional love letter, but these, Well they’re something different all together and I don’t want them anymore. “

Mateo smiled unwrapping the rolled up paper.

“I heard sirens lured fishermen to their graves, but bringing me love notes? Why red you only needed to ask.” His smile faded as he began to skim the paper. Her eyes rested on his face, she wasn’t laughing. Fisherman’s tales told of a siren’s smile as they lead good men to worse graves. This wasn’t one of those tales. Mateo swallowed hard, realizing what rested in his hands.

I want to tell you my truth, someone needs to know before this storm claims us all.

“You said there are more?”

“Hundreds. The hurricane paused over the mainland for days before it tapped this island.”

Mateo climbed into his boat and sat next to the siren unfolding the large paper. She slid onto her back, her hair covering the space around her. The small boat rocked with weight of ink.

“I thought someone from this Island should know the fate of their people.” The siren handed Mateo another bottle.

The silence after a storm is nothing compared to the silence of death.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Chance encounters are the spark to so many epic adventures that they have become cliche. However, I still find myself opening every door hoping that this will be the one to change my life.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

"Sometimes friendship can warm the heart and the soul, and sometimes when its cold outside, that is just enough to get you through."

[scribo-ergo-sum]

I am starting to see my own mortality etched in the lines of my face. Is this what it means to live?

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Fear has trapped me in this life for so long I have forgotten how to be free.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Demons Part II

The sound of the dial tone echoed in the cramped space of the silver car. The bluetooth played its tune uncaring towards the result of its labor. The full moon kept the road visible, and street lights flickered as they always do in the older parts of town that arise at the outskirts the city. The road began to shrink from its urban lanes to that of a two lane highway. The dial tone paused and the air in the car stopped. “Hello?” “Hey. Kori. I just wanted to tell you that you may not hear from me for a while.” There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, accompanied by the sound of rustling as the receiver of the call roused. “You're running again.” The car was weighed down by the sigh that followed. “Raven you can't keep doing this-” “All throughout history man has had this obsession with bottling things. Beautiful butterflies are pinned behind glass in macabre excuses for science. Animals and beasts are locked away, poked and prodded. Things are put behind glass to be observed, not allowed to live. Humans are the ones who killed magic, and continue to strip the earth of the remnants that were left behind. I refuse to be another specimen in some man's jar.” “Rae. You've never even seen this man. You have only heard whispers, and rumors. I wish you would tell me what has you so scared.” “He came to my office Kori. He was in my lecture.” The silence again reigned, along with an air of defeat. “Where will you go?” “I can't tell you.” “When will I hear from you?” “I don't know.” “Please be safe.” “Goodbye Kori.” Raven clicked the button on the steering wheel, thinking how unfair this all was. Not only to Kori, but- she shook her head and began to plan. That's what she did best, send her feelings far away, and make a plan. She hadn't been in this town long enough to establish her escape route, she was flying blind. Hopefully he didn't know that. The sky was as clear as the roadway. At least the weather held fast to clarity. Four years ago it had been snowing. The temperature was well below freezing, all the schools in the area cancelled giving everyone a much needed reprieve from the day to day grind. Raven was living with her foster brother Victor while attending an accelerated studies program. Victor was in the garage tinkering with the generator just in case, and an unmarked package arrived at the door. No mailman could have made it in that storm, just a simple package wrapped in brown paper with Raven scrawled across its top. Every child finds something appealing about Greek myths, fairytales, and folklore. They are drawn to the fantasy that one day just like Hercules one can find their calling, go the distance and discover where they belong. That package was what brought myths to life, making a legend into a waking nightmare. Throughout her studies Raven had been pulled toward the classics. Their myths and legends held comfort in the supposed order of things. Victor had always believed her parents must have been Greek scholars, or students of the classics, logically accounting from the pull toward the often macabre Greek tales. It was that gravitational like force that lured Raven to open her own personal Pandora's box. The details, and papers inside were both preposterous and undeniable. When a strange man in a suit arrived at Ravens school a few days later, that was when Raven started running. A presence like thunder pulled the car from its groove in the long inky road. The black tires pulled at the gravel for a life line, a release from perpetual motion. Raven’s body in firm adherence to Newton's first law sent her head into the steering wheel. Standing in the middle of the road was a man in a suit. His eyes were green like emeralds, and his hair possessed a streak of white. He smiled at Raven as her world moved to a much darker shade.

[scribo-ergo-sum]

RaeX Weekend ‘16 Day 1-Demons

People say myths and Legends are based in truth. They believe legends are little pieces of forgotten history. History that overtime people lost their ability to believe. Their new history rejected the things that people could not, or did not want to understand. These lies slowly made their way out of history books and into story books. There are those however, who know the truth. Myths aren’t forgotten history, myths are based on the things we fear. Myths are how we explain what goes bump in the night. Fear does not need to be in a history book to be as real as the shadows that follow you.

           The lecture hall was dimmed, with pictures flashing across the screen. Their doomed glow glinted in the glazed over eyes of the few faces still seated. Every few pictures from the slide real would catch the face of the lecturer in its halo. She was small but her voice filled the room. A few scattered graduate students watch her with rapt attention. She paused using a laser pointer to emphasize a point on a specific picture.

           “This is a lead sculpture from 1756 by John Cheere which currently resides in Hyde Park Corner in London England.  Interestingly enough, the sculpture was originally placed in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles. The sculpture is titled “The abduction of Proserpina by Pluto.” I want to draw attention to the changes in names, this sculpture draws on the Greek Myth of Persephone and Hades. Persephone the daughter of the goddess of spring is kidnapped by the God of the underworld, Hades, and forced to be his wife. We will discuss the importance of this particular myth to Renaissance art next week. Please remember that there is a test at the end of the month. Have a good weekend.”

           The woman flipped a switch on the wall near the door and the room began to fill with the clamor of books, and bags making their escape into the late evening air. She gathered her own materials and walked towards the opposite door. Making her way down the long hallway that led to the adjunct office, the woman pulled off her name tag Rachle Roth. The college cared as much about accuracy as the students did about attendance. Rachel opened the door to her office to find a man leaned against her desk. He was tall with lean muscles, and deep green eyes. He looked young but the grey streaked through his black hair suggested he had seen more years then those that showed on his skin. His dark suit suggested he was there for business. Rachel left her bag on her shoulder and moved toward her desk.

           “Can I help you Sir?”

           “The supposed Myth of Persephone and Hades is an interesting one wouldn’t you say?”

           “You sat in on my lecture?” Rachel raised an eyebrow “You are welcome to return next week, and participate in discussion. The undergraduates don’t usually feel a need to.”

           “Don’t you find the notion of the myth to be rather captivating, Professor Roth?” The man in the suit gave a small smirk. “The devilish bad boy whisking away the young maiden to a life of immortality as a Queen?”

           Raven was pulling some supplies from her desk and placing them into her bag. The man in the suit moved from where he had been standing, with the desk between them. Rachel did not look up from her desk, keeping a deadpan expression.

           “Most modern women don’t see as much chivalry in what many paintings depict as the abduction of Persephone.”

           The man chuckled taking again taking steps closer to Rachel.

“It’s all in perspective wouldn’t you say?” He moved behind Rachel and placed his hands on opposite sides of her, clasping the edge of the desk. He towered over her small frame, and smelled of cigarette smoke, and something thicker. “How would you feel if someone took you away to the underworld Raven- I mean Professor Roth.”

           Raven twisted around and looked into the deep eyes of the man who had her pinned to the desk. She returned his smirk, and leaned her face towards his.

“Not in this life time” she quipped. Raven clicked the button and the Taser hummed to life finding its target in the man’s upper abdomen. The man hit the floor with a painful groan.

           When he awoke the office was empty and the early twilight had turned to night. The Man stood up and dusted off his clothes. There was a note sitting on Raven’s misspelled name tag. The man smiled slipping both into his suit jacket pocket.

           “This is shaping up to be more fun than I thought.”

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Run Away Love Part 2

Raven stared at the ground. This was Jason giving her one last chance. This was him holding onto an ounce of hope that maybe there was a reason she left. A good reason, something that would allow him to forgive not only her but himself. Raven just had to find the words for a reason, she didn’t even fully understand.

“When I turned sixteen everything was supposed to be over. That was what I was prepared for. I was going to be used as a tool, and thrown away. Then I wasn’t. My world didn’t end. Suddenly, I had all these options. Everything I had been raised to believe, the hopelessness and the passivity to my fate, was gone. I didn’t know what to do. My existence in this world was unlimited. My time on the team no longer had an expiration date. I was limitless, but in reality I was purposeless. I panicked.” Raven paused trying to think of the words to say next. Jason resumed his pacing moving a few steps away from her. “Running seemed like the only option. I was suffocating, there were too many questions. I was drowning in this never ending grey area of uncertainty. I’m sorry Jason I never meant to hurt you. I just- needed to take care of me.”

“You never meant to hurt me? Did you think about maybe talking to me? I know you’re not the sharing type, but damn it Raven I- we could’ve worked it out. When you have an identity crisis; you get a tramp stamp, take up yoga, dye your hair, or hell sleep your way around jump city. You don’t up and leave town. You don’t throw away-“

“I was suicidal Jason!” Raven gripped her hands into fists at her sides. The moment the words left her mouth she regretted it, but she knew it needed to be said. She had never really said it out loud. “A few days before I left Jump, I was flying home after a battle with Control Freak. Everything had gone smoothly, nothing out of the ordinary. I was looking at the cars passing on the street below. For more than a few seconds I thought about falling. How easy it would be to go, the quiet, and how it would be over so quickly. I started dropping just as my communicator went off. Starfire wanted me to pick something up at the store. Mustard was all that kept me alive that day Jason. I stopped flying home after that.” Until now she had never said it out loud. She crossed her arms over herself her hands gripped uncomfortably at her sides. Jason needed to hear it, and he needed to understand. Raven could tell by the deafening silence that Jason had stopped his pacing again. “I felt like I had over stayed my welcome. That if I didn’t run some higher power was going to catch up with me and end it. My days were always numbered, and I started to wonder if someone else didn’t end it. Maybe I was supposed to.” Raven took a breath, her eyes moved slowly to find Jason’s. There was a glassy coating to them, the tears were pooling behind the glass wall he had built around himself and his heart.

“I could’ve—after what happened at the Pits. Raven I-“Jason took a few steps forward “Rae. I would have, no, I am here for you.”

“I’m so sorry Jason.” Tears moved freely down Raven’s face and her hands rose to meet them. “I didn’t know what else to do-“ Her voice caught in her throat.

Jason pulled Raven into his arms “Shh Rae. It’s okay. You’re never as alone as you feel. I am not going anywhere.”

[scribo-ergo-sum]

“Dying is often compared to being an exploding grenade, something catastrophic that takes out everyone and everything around you. Like all things in life, dying isn’t the same for everyone. Often times you feel like a faulty firecracker. You’re fuse is burning, you’re set to explode, and poised over the water careful of casualties. Everyone is watching, waiting, counting down, the spectators to your glorious explosion are ready. The peanut gallery has their cameras, ready for the loud fiery explosion. When it doesn’t come, people just start to walk away. You’re left to fizzle out alone and, some would even argue,  in peace.”

[scribo-ergo-sum]

Waiting

Just a little prequel to @xaphrin drabble she posted yesterday. All due credit is hers. The original is found here.

Books often talk about the place between sleep and awake. The place where one will always be loved, always remember, and live forever. Many more books spend time dealing with that horrible place of being forever awake, the place where one spends most of their lives, or its opposite the place of final lasting sleep.

Raven was currently sitting in none of those places. There was no romance in her boredom. She sat in what could best be called limbo. Her limbo was looked like a tea and coffee shop. Raven would sit in the same chair drinking her tea. Everyday it would be the same Earl Grey served in a white mug. Her hair didn’t grow any longer, and she never really felt tired. She was dressed in the uniform she put on the last time she was in the tower, with no memory of when that was. There was no way to tell how the days passed, or a difference in time. Raven was consumed by this feeling of incompleteness like she was waiting for something, or someone.

Raven liked to sit by the window. The window looked out onto an old street she didn’t really recognize, but the it felt familiar to her in a way. People would pass by the window on occasion. Often one by one, or in twos or threes, sometimes there would be a large group. Many of these people were old, the big groups would have scattered ages and rarely Raven would see a small child walking alone. However they were never rushed always seeming to be at peace. No one ever looked into the tea shop, the window may have been a one way portal. Everyone that passed seemed to know where they were going. Raven felt that those outside had a purpose that the tea shop lacked. Still she felt she had to stay, and wait.