JeffxFangirl 7Your Point of View
He's been gone for what, three or four hours? In the meantime, I have rested and eat. But,
I can't help but wonder if he's killing.
Suddenly he casually opens the door and steps in, a few spots of blood on his hoodie.
"You were killing, weren't you?" I confront him instantly.
"It's a feeling-" Jeff tries to explain, but I cut him off.
"Don't kill. Not while you're with me. Ever."
Anger flushes over his face. "Don't talk to me like that, little girl." That hurt. More
than any kind of physical pain my mother could cause.
He storms to his room and slams the door shut, leaving me alone in the living room.
Before I realize it, I'm crying. My body is violently shaking from the sobbing. I run out
the door and onto the porch and shed heavy tears. Eventually, I cry myself to sleep.
Jeff's Point of View
I wake up the next day with guilt coursing through my veins. I wish I had never yelled
at *insert your name*.
JeffxFangirl 6Your Point of View
I woke up later, tired and sore. I'm still holding Jeff's hand, who still sits beside me.
"Time to go, sleepy-head," he says calmly.
The nurse eventually comes, removes the IV from my arm, and gives me my clothes to change
back into. I put back on my *&insert favorite color* shirt and black skinny jeans.
As Jeff walks me out of the hospital, I ask, "What about my mom? Where will we go next?"
"You aren't going home," he says, grabbing my hand unexpectedly. "I see how you are being
abused. You're coming with me."
I decide not to object. After all, I'm tired of being hit and slapped by my mom. Maybe
going with Jeff is the best thing for me. Maybe.
He silently leads me, hand in hand, deep into the woods. It's getting dark, and I'm
still weak. I don't think I can go on.
"Jeff," I say quietly. "Will you carry me?"
Jeff's Point of View
I don't answer, I just pick her up. I cradle her like a baby, and as we are walking, she
JeffxFangirl 4Your Point of View
I'm accepting a killer's kiss. A part of me wants to pull away, to run away. But... deep
down inside... likes it. Craves it. Do I really love Jeff?
He finally pulls away and says, "Now will you tell me what happened to your eye?"
I sigh in defeat. He obviously isn't going to give up. In fact, I have no choice but to
tell him since I am still locked in his grip.
"My mom," I mutter. "She doesn't love me..."
"Your mom, eh?" he smirks while whispering this. Strange enough, i swear my heart begins
to melt. Oh no... I must be falling in love. I am.
As soon as Jeff says that, the four girls I hate from school walk through the trees. How
did they know we were back here? The sound is muffled here from the park.
I hate those girls. They are the snobby, preppy type. Ugh.
"Dammit," I mutter.
"So," the leader of the pack, *insert a snobby name*, says. "Who's your little lover
boy, *insert your name*?"
How to Let Go"How deep is a lake
If it goes on forever?"
You ask me as
We tire swing over
Our feet painting the waters
A crisscross of ripples,
Too afraid to let go,
Release our hold and dive
For fear of never resurfacing.
I do not know
And I wish to never
The answer to such questions,
So I keep quiet
And speculate as
You loosen your grip
And fall back,
Letting the depthless
Catch your fall
To find out for
SlippingWhat happens if I go mad?
I do ordinary things. I type essays on steadily crowding Word documents. I visit friends' houses, wait until they leave the room, and then down a glass of vodka--pour myself another glass while they're away. I pet my cat. I watch TV and surf Wikipedia. I say hello to people on the street and thank clerks when they give me my bags and blush when I visit the gynecologist and apologize when I bump into people.
But at the same time, I don't know if I'm sane. Am I the appropriate person to gauge my sanity? Perhaps there has to be a second party, a person to examine me and bop me on the nose and tell me it's all right, there's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with me.
Or someone who smiles and then frowns and drifts into uncertainty, tilting their head and furrowing their brow and saying, "Perhaps you should visit me again tomorrow...."
I don't want there to be a second party.
If I lose my mind, will they let me still do my ordinary things? My pleasant things. M
TrainThe walls have faces.
They are blank faces; they are muddled and aged, wholly expressionless. They reflect their emptiness back into our eyes, scarring us.
They are alarmingly clear. It is alarmingly bright in here.
The light shudders out in dots and dashes from the windows, the windows that reveal nothing. The light scatters and bounces off the walls. Here, then there.
And now it is dark. The shadows claw their way up the faces in the walls, revealing a twisted countenance, a new vacancy.
The lights are shining once again.
They are spotlights, glaring down from above and behind and everywhere. It hurts. I can hardly see the walls in their astonishing sheen. I can hardly see the ghastly contortions amassing on my fellow passengers' faces.
The dark smothers us, mercilessly.
I shut my eyes. I can feel the wheels reverberating beneath us. It is undeniably a phantom sensation. We are still.
An abrupt and miniscule sound comes to my attention, and I open my eyes. A silhouetted man stands be
MothI'm caught up in the funny
accent, and the rugged
A smile wide and
White, straight teeth,
Illuminated dully in the
School is dull.
And yet, again, I find myself
Frowning, in something like
embarrassment at the
glare of your green eyes
on me, your face
too close for comfort,
There is something like
In your eyes, taunting
subtly, as you laugh
Such charm is
Enough to draw the
Am I a moth?
I hope not.