ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
There's a serial killer in my neighborhood and it has targeted my family.
It went after my sister first. She knew it would win. It stalked her from the shadows, dripping its poison into her soul. Not pretty enough, it whispered. Not smart enough. Not worthy. Not loved. Her smiles turned into grimaces, her eyes darkened into those of an animal's glaring from within its burrow. Cynicism became a lifestyle and she wore headphones like IVs in her ears.
When the bus pulled up to my stop three blocks from home after school, I would run home to her like my life depended on it. Since she was a high school student and I was still in middle school, she got home an hour before I did and my parents usually came home from work late. I would crash through the door, my heart in my throat and voice and pounding feet, terrified it had gotten her while she was home alone, while there was no one there to keep her safe. Usually by the time I got there she was curled up on the couch, lights off, TV off, clutching her iPod to her chest the way a little kid clutches a stuffed animal. Her eyes would meet mine when I came in and I'd go to her, hold her, her heart beating against mine, slow and languid, one beat to my two. If I got home any later, I feared it would finally get her. I didn't know what to do. I ran home and I hugged her, but I couldn't stop it if it wanted her.
A month later, I stepped off the bus. It was waiting for me in the bushes.
It went after my sister first. She knew it would win. It stalked her from the shadows, dripping its poison into her soul. Not pretty enough, it whispered. Not smart enough. Not worthy. Not loved. Her smiles turned into grimaces, her eyes darkened into those of an animal's glaring from within its burrow. Cynicism became a lifestyle and she wore headphones like IVs in her ears.
When the bus pulled up to my stop three blocks from home after school, I would run home to her like my life depended on it. Since she was a high school student and I was still in middle school, she got home an hour before I did and my parents usually came home from work late. I would crash through the door, my heart in my throat and voice and pounding feet, terrified it had gotten her while she was home alone, while there was no one there to keep her safe. Usually by the time I got there she was curled up on the couch, lights off, TV off, clutching her iPod to her chest the way a little kid clutches a stuffed animal. Her eyes would meet mine when I came in and I'd go to her, hold her, her heart beating against mine, slow and languid, one beat to my two. If I got home any later, I feared it would finally get her. I didn't know what to do. I ran home and I hugged her, but I couldn't stop it if it wanted her.
A month later, I stepped off the bus. It was waiting for me in the bushes.
Literature
Hometown
I dream of you, love of my life, most in the fall
When rain falls soft on red brick
And a crisp breeze flirts with the nape of my neck.
You have seen me leave far too soon
For far too long,
But you are still the breath that soothes
The months-long cramp in my lungs,
And my smile finds you.
In spite of that old grief in the harsh lights,
You still hold me safe and sure and real.
So I ride six hours north,
Back to you, back home
To find you once more.
Literature
Walking These Halls
Sitting in class in the middle of Fall,
I can't wait to roll the ball.
Pretty soon I'll be away from this place,
Finally get the teachers off my case.
In a flash, the months rolled by.
Suddenly it's the first of June.
Teachers smile and Mom starts to cry.
I can't believe it came so soon.
Walking these halls,
Laughing with my friends,
Skipping classes where I should've been,
Not worrying about all my loose ends.
Years on down the road,
So much has changed from what I thought.
I'm not where I thought I'd go.
It all came so fast, I don't know what happened;
I've got a wife, kids, a brand-new house.
One night, the old days came knocking on th
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
I wrote this on a bus one day when I was moody and I remembered it when my friend told me her mother was mad at her for "not making the decision to get over depression."
<rant> Depression isn't a "character trait." It's a chemical imbalance. It's not something that people choose to experience. It's an illness. No one deserves to be thought less of because they're fighting something they could not prevent. Do you think less of someone when they get the flu? </rant>
Oh, also, critique welcome. I haven't edited this because I'm too busy being angry, but I probably will eventually.
<rant> Depression isn't a "character trait." It's a chemical imbalance. It's not something that people choose to experience. It's an illness. No one deserves to be thought less of because they're fighting something they could not prevent. Do you think less of someone when they get the flu? </rant>
Oh, also, critique welcome. I haven't edited this because I'm too busy being angry, but I probably will eventually.
© 2013 - 2024 cherrichan13
Comments6
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I wish there had been someone who did this for me.
I get that a lot. "Why can't you just choose to get over it?"
I think this piece captures a lot of things about depression: the darkness, the solitude, the feeling of desolate inevitability.
I get that a lot. "Why can't you just choose to get over it?"
I think this piece captures a lot of things about depression: the darkness, the solitude, the feeling of desolate inevitability.