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Showing posts from July, 2015

My Daughter Can’t Sleep

It’s always two in the morning when I would usually wake up because of my blanket shifting beside me. I would open my lamp to check but before I could, her little arms would start to hug me. ”Mommy, I can’t sleep again.” , her voice was so scared and sleepy at the same time that I hug her back and hum her favourite tune until she would finally fall back to deep slumber. This has been happening for a few weeks and I actually got used to it. I would open the lamp then and check if everything was okay with her, like I did every night. I’d caress her face, kiss her on the forehead and then she’d wake up.  ”Something wrong, honey?”  I’d ask her and she would gently shake her head and stand up. She would walk out, stop at my door and wave goodbye with her golden hair, still braided with red ribbons and that pink flowery dress she was buried in, last month. — Credits to: faindyvargas

Strange Fruit

The fruits are everywhere. On every tree; every branch even. I stick my hand into one nearby and pull out a soft seed. I massage the mushy and decaying mass in my hand. The squishy substance slips out of my fingers. Red juices stream out of the fresh hole in the skin. I cut the thin stem fibers and heft one over my back. Perhaps this is a new species. — Credits to: IntoTheCosmo

Please Come Home

Martha (1:03): I need you to come home right now please David (1:05): What? Martha (1:05): Please, please, I’m begging David (1:06): I’m at work, what’s wrong? Martha (1:06): I can’t find her anywhere David (1:07): Who? Lily? Martha (1:07): YES! She was on the couch watching Sesame Street. I was on the sofa across form her. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up she wasn’t there David (1:07): Are the doors locked? Are any windows broken? Martha (1:08): NO! That’s the thing. Everything seems fine. I feel sick to my stomach. Please come home, I can’t deal with things like this without you. David (1:08): Check her closet. She likes to hide there sometimes, when she doesn’t want to put away her toys. Martha (1:08): Right the closet. Ok. Hold on. Martha (1:10): She’s not there… David please just come home now, please. David (1:13): Are you sure you’ve checked absolutely everywhere? Martha (1:13): YES! I have. Please just come home. I can’t deal with this alone. David (1:14): Alr

Coulrophobia

Do you know what it’s like to be scared? No I mean  really  scared? To have a completely irrational fear, a fear that should not belong in your everyday life, a fear that others would ridicule you for having? Something so deeply disturbing that you feel forced to seek professional help? It’s that type of fear that haunts my dreams, screaming myself awake drenched in cold sweat. I have a fear of those red-nosed, white faced, ridiculously clothed, goofy haired, demons which the rest of the world calls clowns. Others giggle and laugh at their antics while I tremble in fear, trying to put on a brave face to hide my secret shame. Seltzer bottles, tiny cars, huge shoes, little dogs, boisterously loud laughter; all tricks of their trade that I envision as sinister implements of torture. I think it’s the eyes; windows to the soul as I remember from some old proverb. No matter how you dress up these creatures in silly outfits and comical makeup, the eyes never lie. Those painted-on smiles neve