The Devil's Tears

"He said I am the Devil Boy
Come with me and we'll make many storms
He offered me the universe but inside my heart there's a picture of a girl
Some call love a curse some call love a thief but she's my home
And she's as much a part of this broken heart see broken bones always seem to mend

I'll taste the Devil's tears
Drink from his soul but I'll never give up you
I'll taste the Devil's tears
Drink from his soul but I'll never give up you"

Angus and Julia Stone.

Me, I'm a thief.

A man extends his coarse and age-battered hand to me, while I walk the filthy streets of my hometown. The filth has been masked with flower beds, long legs, and youth. "Please," he begs but has not the heart to push me further. Shame crawls across his brow as he lowers his hand and eyes with a heaviness that I have never known. The man assumes a cowering stances as I slowly reach out my hand to him, entranced I take a few steps forward, bringing my hungry hand closer to him. His "please.." turn into pleas as his tattered feet begin to stagger back, one after the other, drawing him back against a brick wall. There is something in his eyes, far beyond pain and desperation, something that I've never known, I crave. This man is far from innocent and has seen many years of suffering, but also a love for something..

My pale eyes glaze as my arm stiffens, extended, my fingers glide across his trembling chin, through scruff and dirt-- skin upon skin that ignites a spark. I creep forward bringing my face just inches from his. His stench of grime and gutters fills my senses and tickles my nose.

"Please.. Please.. No more.."

I feel his hot, sticky breath brush gentle gusts against my lips. My fingers curl through knots of hair on the back of his head. I bring his pleading lips to mine, hungry, aroused, unforgiving.. A kiss. His body relaxes after a fit of tense convulsions. His skin begins to wither and turns to ash before me, gently flaking away as the wind blows. Five more seconds and he is reduced to fragments floating in the wind. My hand falls to my side as my fingers restlessly drum a tune against my thigh.

A surge of agony hits me; a despair so profound that is aimed at the human race; the strongest feeling of pride and wealth; a love for the smallest gestures; shame for the things I've done; blessings for the warmth of the sun; a venomous guilt for the pain that I've caused.. I sink to my knees as his emotions flow through me; the most human of us all, I have become..

Tongues and needles.

Silently wandering.
This place could be heaven.

Stepping stones littered upon a burning land, casting shadows where there is no sun. The burnt limbs of dead trees creek eerie tunes in a poisonous wind. Boulders placed upon boulders, laugh at me from the other side. Grime encrusted mouths flap with disdain, telling me that I'll never find paradise with those heavy feet of yours. Everything around me shakes and breaks, unwinding at its fragile seams, unfolding like a budding seed.

Cry, cry, cry, whine, whine, whine.
One day I will die and leave nothing behind..

Into The Dark.

Confusion lingers and mottles my thoughts.
I'm not sure that I like this anymore.
I'm not sure that I want anyone to know me.

What if I walk into the mountains and never come back?

Speculation.

I'm sitting in a chair that is too big for me. Its blood red, vinyl skin feels cold against my exposed legs. I throw my arms onto the table as my fingers search the surface for something to play with. This is weird. This situation that I'm in. I don't know if I want to explain, but considering why I'm here, I feel that an explanation is needed. Things like this should not happen, I think to myself as he walks through the front door, slinking into the bar and making his way to my table. I'm not happy to see him so my face produces a half-ass smile. Good evening, he says with a smirk, tilting his head slightly. Good evening. Yeah, this place is hip.. If you're forty-five, which he is and that's when I feel the wave of nausea bubbling through my veins. He sits in my booth taking the chair across from me. He seems to fit the chair. Damn. At this, I seem to slouch, sinking further into my chair, looking like a frail little girl. Well, it's good to see you, did you find the place alright? He chirps in a soothing way, his tone wavering slightly as if he can't tell which mood to convey. I found it alright. I say, peeking above a menu at him, trying to distract myself from looking his way. But I can't look at this menu forever and I already know what I want. So, I suck up my nausea and unease and release the curiosity within me. With narrowed, cautious eyes I lower the menu and confront him with my full attention. He's resting his chin in his hand, pushing up his cheek in an unattractive way. His hand is littered with freckles as they spill down his wrist and onto his forearm. Holy shit, he has a lot of freckles, they keep going and going up his arm and to his -okay, I really don't want to continue this so I throw my gaze around the room. My mouth mumbles something that fills the silence between us, but you know, means absolutely nothing and I couldn't give less of a shit about. Yeah, so what do you like to do when you're not working? He mumbles through his hand awkwardly. I have to think for a moment, because I don't know what I like to do. I just do whatever pleases me at the time. I could enjoy something one day, in one type of mood and hate it the next. So I ponder while I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. click, click, click. I notice his eyes as they read hunger. All my friends were right about his intentions. I know this. Don't think I don't fucking know this. I roll my eyes as I shake off an unwanted thought. I like to write, I say in a voice that's much too low to be my normal voice. Ahem. I swallow and clear my throat. Oh, cool. What kind of writing? He throws back instantly, trying to sound very interested. I don't know. I say as I shrug. It always changes nor have I given it too much thought. I write what I feel and I write what I see. -How are you two doing today? The waitress butts in with a bubbly demeanor. Hello. I sink lower in my chair. Doing well, doing well, you? He says lifting his face from his hand to give the bubblegum drop, lemon head waitress a warming welcome. Doing well thank you, now what will you two be drinking tonight? Her shadowed eyes pierce mine searching for a friendly fire. I sit up, slightly warmed by her presence, hoping she won't go away. I'll have a Coke, please. I lace my fingers together and look up into his eyes. For a second they look confused. The waitress turns her head. And you? I'll have a rusty nail, please and thank you. She smiles and hops off to fulfill my wishes and desires, hopefully not his. So, that sounds interesting. Are you any good? He asks, making me aware that he's not an artist and most likely not someone I'd get along with. I'm awful. I say with a smirk, laughing at everything for a second. A Coke is placed in front of me. My hands hastily pull it closer, straw in mouth, sucking down carbonated corn syrup and artificial coloring. I look up as he chuckles at my answer, clearly amused. Sure you are. He continues with his awkward chuckling.

Mt. Shasta Summit!

A 360 view of Mt. Shasta's summit, 14,162 feet.



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Summer Project:

The Human Story Project: A collective of short, detailed biographical information on various strangers, friends, and family.
Questions to be answered: from basic, creative, historical, character analysis, philosophical.

I've realized that I want to get to know the world; I want to see what people live for..
My goal is one story a week.

:) Stay tuned..