littlewonder2

Little wonder we stumble in life.


Leave a comment

Public Nightmare

Inspired by: Tasha Receno – “Just Another Rape Poem”

Trigger Warning: rape mentions

I see a sea of faces, bright lights, and look down for just a moment. I have performed before, but in most cases I focus less on the audience and more on the stage. But I am alone out here, so I peer through the light like its a mirror, and begin to speak.

“When I used to imagine sex, I imagined pain
Pictured a force tearing me apart
Me, with no choice
Him, with no mercy
Tearing me apart even when I screamed for mercy
Or a break
Or it was too much sensation
Or I was too dry

I have the vague memory of a penis entering me –”

I am cut off by a voice, detached at first, coming from nowhere. Then I begin to see the audience, scanning it, when the invisible voice comes again. Now I’m able to pinpoint it, find his face, hear his words.

“You should stop whining about rape and learn to defend yourself,” he says.

He doesn’t know, none of them do. This is why, after all, I’m up here. Because people don’t know what I know, because I’m tired of being misunderstood, because people need to understand. Because I know someone will, and fuck the rest.

But this man’s still talking, still interrupting me, even while he calls me the interruption. He doesn’t see the hypocrisy. And as he continues to challenge me, I become the monster on stage, curling my fists hard, imagine launching myself at him.

But I don’t. I stand still, frozen as I force myself to remain frozen, imagine physically holding myself back. I take a few deep breaths, stop imagining my fist in his face, and start imagining yelling at him instead.

“You know what?” I say, “Fuck this. You think it’s so simple? I’ll write another slam poem, just for you.”

I wander downstage, then return to the mic upstage, preparing myself. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and when I begin, my voice is screaming.

“I won’t be silent!
Men like you
Have been silencing women like me for centuries!
I was raped!
And I deny it pretty often in my own head, but I won’t anymore!

You think you know me?
You have silenced me.
I spend every minute of every day bowing to your whims.
I don’t speak about it, I am afraid!
Afraid of offending someone,
of provoking someone,
of embarrassing myself,
of crossing some line.
But it’s all a lie!
I don’t owe you shit!

I was raped!
And men like you defend those rapists.
You degrade me,
as if I’m to blame.
I don’t have anything to do with it.
No matter what, they will still rape,
no matter who you blame.

You ask why I don’t defend myself.
Why,
day in and day out,
why don’t I defend myself against violence that is everywhere?
I take beatings, don’t get me wrong
I get abused
invalidated
denied
I take this abuse in my body just as if you had punched me in the face
But I take it
because I don’t want to be a bitch,
don’t want to complain,
am told I deserve it.

I don’t deserve it.
But everyday, my fear and my anger grows
My body corrupt
my mind twisted
so that I lose my compass
and lose myself in the forest of right and wrong
a forest of my own emotions
a forest of my inner selves
I search, decade by decade, for myself
I’m searching for how I feel,
I’m searching for -” I burst into song, “when will my reflection show
who I am inside -” and back,
“I’m searching for who I am,
and I’m searching for the bravery to wear my heart on my sleeve.
I doubt even you’re man enough to do that. Most men aren’t.
Men are balls of fear wrapped up in bravery,
a paradox men like you are completely blind to.

Many men are bullies
That’s why many men rape
Because they need to take in order to feel whole
To feel powerful in order to feel in control
To control others rather than yourself
To violate someone else’s rights in order to feel your own.
It’s been happening for centuries,
so you must be afraid, ‘why stop now?’
End of an era.
And it’s coming
And that terrifies you, doesn’t it?
So much you have to condemn us to ‘just a distraction’ in order to convince yourself we’re not a threat
Yeah, keep thinking that, because before you know it
we won’t be
just a distraction
We will change the world.”

I take a breath, thinking back on everything I just said, while looking him the eye again.

“You know, I should really thank you
By standing in as my muse
You only fuel my power.
Critics like you
remind me how much hate there still is in the world

Hate versus hate, there should really be art
Because hate plus art equals heart
And that’s really what we could use more of.”

And with that, I spin from him and exit the stage, invited into the fold of my fellow performers, and I’m awash with praise once again.


Leave a comment

Defying Magnetism

To say his skin itched wasn’t quite accurate. There was something going on beneath his skin, but it wasn’t quite like that, nothing so obvious or sharp as itching. It was a growing urge, a painful lack of pressure that lifted his skin from its proper place, leaving him… unsatisfied, hungry in his own skin. He needed contact, and he quit caring where or how.

He let go, breathing out into the hot mouth he was pressing into. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing off his mind, trying to forget who he was kissing. But suddenly his whole body was alive with sick ripples, spreading disgust and fear to his privates.

He gripped the shoulders tighter, trying to hold onto the image in his mind of a beautiful blonde bombshell, hair flowing past smooth shoulders, round pink breasts bare before him…

His hands softened, drifting down… to a bare chest. The fantasy shattered, he opened his eyes, pulling away to meet Eric’s kind, seduced gaze. He held his body tight, trying not to give himself away.

The fear that came over in Eric’s eyes gave him away. He was busted.

“We’re best mates,” he said, cutting off Eric before he could humiliate him further. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Eric, averting his eyes, suppressing a smile.

Oh god, he liked it. His heart sank.

“I’m not,” said Eric.

“What?”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Stop it.”

“What, you are?” said Eric. “Have some pride.”

“I… can’t,” he growled out, rumbling from her throat. He felt it deep, deep, squeezing his heart harder, squeezing the life out of him.

Disgust, fear, anguish, breaking him apart. Falling, that’s what it felt like. No amount of sunny optimism could save him. He wiped savagely at his mouth, legs wobbling under him as he stood up, glaring down at his friend with a hatred he’d never shown before. All he saw was desire reflected back, and it just made him angrier.

“Forget it,” he spat.

“Wait!” cried Eric, getting up as he made for the door. He caught his shoulder just before the doorframe. He jerked out from Eric’s touch, turning to him with a disgust crawling in his skin, shivering with a fear that pervaded his entire body, making him a stranger in his skin.

“I hate you.”

Eric’s eyes watered, as if a needle pierced the centre. He dropped his hand. “Please.”

“Never again.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because… I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed of your sexuality.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Sure. That’s why you kissed me.” He stepped closer, grabbing his sweater. “Please,” he repeated.

“No.”

Eric kissed him, pulling him closer. “Please,” he said. “Don’t leave me this way. You don’t need to be ashamed anymore.”

“I’m not sure I know how. I mean, I’m straight.”

“No, you’re not.” Eric kissed him again, and this time he pulled him deeper and deeper. He remained stiff, following blindly as Eric led him to the bedroom.

He felt everything. That thing inside him haunted him. Led him to the bridge, led him over.

He couldn’t live this way.


Leave a comment

The Symptom of Individuality

The lobotomy was created in the 30s and later gained popularity for patients displaying things like anxiety, among other things. This was the part that hit me hard; I’ve suffered from anxiety from a young age, and imagining being giving a lobotomy for such a minor problem in comparison to its solution is horrifying. If I had gotten one before I turned 14 (I sincerely hope they didn’t give lobotomies to children), I’d have never become a writer, because it would’ve cut me off from all kinds of creativity or even identity. Lobotomised victims even lost interest in their own lives, not surprising since they were also cut off from being itself.

Lobotomies were used for depressed patients, but it’s little wonder that the treatment didn’t make that problem worse, since both depressed and lobotomised people perceive no point in functioning. It’s likely that the times the treatment was popular in reflected attitudes of behaviour; instead of embracing individuality, it seems as though people prized good behaviour and civility. Anybody who didn’t conform had to be fixed.

This is a terrible attitude to have. I personally find it horrific that people would go to such extremes to control others. It seems to glorify ignorance (seen but not heard) and punish rather than treat those who struggle to fit into society. I personally prefer the idea of shaking the world up and promoting open-mindedness.

That’s why I’m a writer. I want people to understand people, which is the exact opposite of the effect the lobotomy had.


Leave a comment

Twisted Nightmare

She was closed in doors, closed in by trees. Her feet echoed off the empty hallway, creeping in at her. She felt alone, but she knew she wasn’t. She could sense someone there. 

He came towards her at the corner of the hallway like a gasping breath, knocking her into the wall and attacking her mouth. Not content at that, Alex began to touch her body, grabbing her as if he owned her. He pressed hard into her, frontal against her, ready to rape her —

Then his face changed, and she was staring back at her father, older, lighter, white scar under his left eye, wicked grin full of teeth —

Dawn woke up.


7 Comments

BlogFestivus #2 – Dancer

She watched him dance from bushes that reminded her of holly and mistletoe. A perfect holiday image, paired with the dancing reindeer.

It’s movements with its front legs raptured her imagination, as if that was the most graceful of movements rather than just skittering around in the snow. It’s back legs kicked up snow playfully.

Alone in the clearing, he danced as if no one was watching. He probably thought they weren’t.

She had seen how mad he could get amongst people, how he would charge with no seeming purpose or motivation. He would be different with his own kind, she thought.

He just distrusted humans.

She’d seen him mow down bystanders in her town. They’d capture him and send him back out into the wild. He’d always come back, which is why this time, she’d followed him.

He was so happy out here. So why didn’t he stay here?

He sniffed the air, jumping back and forth on his front and back legs in response, running off through the trees. She chased after him, determined…

She almost lost it when she saw the city boys luring the reindeer out from the forest, berries in their hands. She felt so angry at their deception. How dare they endanger her town just for their own entertainment?

“Hey,” she cried. “Stop that!”

They ran as soon as they spotted her, and Dancer ran them down.

She smiled. That should teach them.

This time, Dancer returned.

Second entry for BlogFestivus

blogfestivus-2012.png

BlogFestivus Participants:

Blogdramedy

Steve Betz – the holiday mixer.

Rewind Revise – newly married and on her very own joy train.

Lenore Diane — thoughts from the Elf Queen herself.

Shouts from the Abyss – Tom’s on a mission to blighten your holiday season.

FiX It or Deal — Amy Severson bringing it robot-style.

Lynn Schneider Books — Lynn, the BlogFestivus newbie.

1 Point Perspective — the Bruce Willis of WordPress.

So I Went Undercover — she’s undercover and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Joe Owen’s Blog — he’s got forty-something eyes. Not Betty Davis eyes.

MC’s Whispers – Maria-Christina works in PR. What kind of “spin” will she put on this writing challenge?

LittleWonder2  – a musical surfing vampire lover. I know.

Blog It or Lose It! – One word. Minecraft.

Voice in Me — Reena’s from India…where reindeer go on vacation.

Apprentice, never master – Gwendolyn, the fearless.

A Year of Daily Posts — Sarah, the paperback writer (three manuscripts but they count.)

Diary of a Sensitive Soul — Immie, blogging from the U.K. (Why am I feeling Bruce Springsteen?)

Dot Knows! — Liz, the life changer.

k8edid — oh, yes. She did.

The Day After – A musing wannabe.

A Spoonful of Suga – Making reality sexy.

Random Says – in the moment. At the moment.


4 Comments

Trifecta – Crush

He crushed the contents in his stone bowl into a fine powder, using his grinder as a knife and stabbing at the grains.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, buddy. We’re not trying to stab here, we’re trying to grind,” said the teacher. “Just,” she grabbed his wrist, holding firm to the grinder, “slide the grains into the stone. It’ll do the job for you,” she said as she moved the grinder gently towards him, once, twice, three times…

She let go. His heart, still hammering his chest from the before the attack, pounded more steadily, mocking him.

He knew the teacher was trying to calm him. But not even the close vacinity her boobs had been to his head could pierce his stubborn mood. He was angry. This was just a good excuse to take out his frustrations… Couldn’t she let him have that?

He returned to stabbing. “Woah, woah, woah –”

“No!” he snapped at her. “I’m mad! That fucking bitch –” He stopped himself. He wanted to get his frustrations out, but not if it meant shouting out his fucking feelings to the world.

“Okay, you’re obviously mad about something. Why don’t you take a break outside. You can come back in in five minutes,” she said.

This was an embarrassment. He hated her for this. He stalked slowly from the room.

Trifecta prompt.