Confessions of a Teardrop on the Floor

Sister, why hold me in this cage?
I wither and I wilt
Your bitter heart has smothered me
Do you feel no guilt?

My Twin, you do not understand
The perils that you'd face
The otherworlds are fearsome
You're safer in this place

But Sister, in this casket
I cannot breathe or see
Without soon my freedom
Little will be left of me

Dear Twin, it is my love
That has hidden you away
On this side your sweetness
Cannot be made to stay

Sister you must free me
Else I will disappear
You cannot hold me prisoner
Because of your own fear

Twin, you do not understand
You can never be paroled
The remains of my riven heart
Are all left in your fragile hold

"What the fuck is your problem, lady?" the Santa shouted at me. My breath came in ragged rushes as the policeman pinned me to the floor. I must've been a sight for the festive crowds to see as they pushed by, a mess of shiny gold curls, my sapphire eyeliner smeared, my shimmery blouse covered in dust as the policeman pressed me into the filthy linoleum. I wasn't the least bit concerned to think of what my skirt wasn't covering anymore, and one of my sparkling heels had managed to get knocked across to the other end of the aisle. Instead; I was thinking about just how much I hated Christmas.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I suppose I'd have been scared
If I had known where I stood
Instead I plowed on boldly
Like any dreamer would

The path, it seems to shake
My imagination, I suppose
You call to me, "Onward!"
My anticipation grows...

I never really had a chance
The reporters will decree
No hope to catch a fading dream
For a blind girl, like me.

A blossom fell
From high above
She tried to reach
The sun, her love

And on the ground
To which she fell
A blade of grass
Did to her tell:

"The sun is hot
It burns and sears
It's in the earth
You'll lose your fears"

A raindrop fell
Down from the sky
Into the ground
And there he lie

The pool in which
He soon became
From small to big
His loss was gain

And in the ground
The raindrops went
And to the seed
Their virtue lent

A teardrop fell
Along his cheek
So new to him
To feel so weak

And next to him
A sapling grew
So small and frail
Yet fresh and new

And when he rose
With mind now sound
A blossom fell
Unto the ground

Ode to a Liar

Your words pour out a filmy smoke
This incense calms my heart
You smile at your imprisoned one
I grin and play my part

My mind, she knows of all your sins
She shrieks as you draw near
I steel myself against her blows
My heart, still knows no fear

But even now I start to break
My pretense cannot hold.
A fool alone could make this trade
Deceit, bought with our gold

You'll feed your lies to her now
My eyes will grow no wetter
Despite my chains, I hold the key
It's I who chose this fetter

Milk Carton Child

Huddled under the table, she stared at the faces around the room. Her brother, younger by only a bit over a year, laughed and giggled as he opened his presents. There were a few other children there, but they were of no consequence to her. It was the adults who commanded her gaze.

Her grandmother bustled about cleaning up, cooking, caring for anything she could. She wore her trademark mask of concentration, but Emily had learned to see the frustration and exhaustion under the façade. Her grandfather quietly nursed a drink on the sofa in the other room, the television flickering against a toneless countenance.

Her father was there, somewhere. She could hear his deep chuckle in the distance. Had she any premonition of the future, she would have sought him out, entreating upon him to sing and dance and throw her in the air, just once more. Instead she looked toward the living room, where her aunt was bustling towards her. "What are you doing down there? You're going to make your brother sad with that sour face!" She chided, pulling Emily up from the floor. Emily mumbled her apologies, and walked towards the backyard, where her mother was setting up the piñata, an elaborate racecar swerving down a murky paper road. She had spared no expense in making this party perfect for her sweet little boy.

Emily's eyes drifted back to her brother. How she envied that he could be content in his artificial world, oblivious to the hurt in the people who had created it. If only she could be like him. All the lies, custom cut, just to give this boy enough security to be himself.

Her vision flooded with tears.

*drip* strawberry milk mustaches
*drip* go fish, candy land
*drip* saturday morning cartoons
*drip* christmas tree ornaments
*drip* swingsets, treehouses
*drip* stuffed animals and dolls
*drip* laughter….

Her grandmother saw her go into the bedroom, and observed a few minutes later, when she reappeared. Emily had put a bow in her hair, and her smile was constant and generous. But her eyes hinted at the sad reality. Emily the little girl is long gone, never to be found again.

The cocoa steamed as she stared into it. "Merry Christmas, Jane", she half-sighed to herself. She'd always done everything in her power to avoid spending holidays companionless. Yet here she was, 25 years old and suddenly alone, the impact almost as fresh as the snow outside her filmy apartment's window.

Why had she fought so hard not to be alone? This was natural to her, comfortable. She was awkward around others, found small talk difficult, and felt like she simply blended in. Yet for years she had struggled to maintain her marriage to her high school sweetheart. Now he was spending Christmas with his new wife, blissfully unaware of the rest of the world, while she was alone with her whirring thoughts. So much work, just to end up standing amongst the ruins of a life she'd wanted so badly.

Yes, this was how it should be.

**********************************************************

The road was barely lit by the sliver of a moon. He longed for a warm blanket and bed already. Rubbing his face, he winced at the image that popped into his head. She was laughing, her bewitching eyes and pouty mouth turned up in a slight smirk. The subject of her amusement was his favorite blanket, chewed to bits by her little rat dog. He should have known the first time he saw her dog to run for the hills. Who dresses a dog in brand name doggie-apparel? Only Mara. He remembered the first time he met her, glossy black hair, smooth dark olive skin and perfectly toned body. Her clothes were immaculate, her make-up blatantly natural, like a painted Barbie doll. Fake. Mara: bitter. It seemed fitting now, since bitter was the taste she'd left in his mind.

He shook the image out of his head. Focusing on the road, he saw his turn and notice a light on in the window of his new house. As he approached, he could make out it was in the kitchen. He stopped a bit short of the house and got out of the car quietly. A car he didn't recognize stood in his drive. Sneaking around to the kitchen window, he peered in. No one. Silently, he walked over to the back door and cautiously opened it. A slim woman's silhouette showed in the lamplight.

"Antonio" she purred.

He bit his tongue. "What makes you feel like you're welcome to come in my home without asking me? And how did you get in anyhow?"

"You're so predictable. Spare key under the doormat, really darling, I'd think you could be more creative than that."

"What do you want, Mara?

Her face scrunched. He'd never seen that look before. She looked almost confused. But not Mara, she knew exactly what to do with everything and everyone. She didn't keep people around that she couldn't use. And now she wanted something from him again.

"Something came for you in the mail. I didn't know the exact address of this new house, so I just figured I'd stop by and check in on you." She said.

Taking the parcel from her outstretched hand, he examined it. Golden calligraphy marked the destination address, but there was no return address. Instead, seal was imprinted on the backside, a golden hawk soaring.

"Peculiar, isn't it?" she marveled.

So that's why she was here: to satiate her curiosity. Well, he was a bit puzzled himself. Although he was dying to open it; it was none of her business, and he didn't want to have to deal with her and whatever was inside.

"Well, I appreciate the mail. Do me a favor and leave it in the mailbox next time, and don't violate my home again." He said. "Shall I walk you to the door?"

"Don't bother," she sulked. "I can show myself out."

He followed her to the door anyhow. "Goodbye." She flung her hand in a half-wave as she made her way out to her car.

Sitting on the hardwood floor of his living room, he broke the seal. Inside was a matching hawk letterhead, on a thick sheet of stationery.


Dear Mr. Anthony Martin,

I would like to invite you and a guest to my estate in Italy for a short friendly stay. Have you any questions about why, they will be answered upon your arrival. Your tickets are enclosed, and a driver will meet you at the airport. I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,
Gregory Payne


Two tickets were in the package, marked for December 31st. He tossed the envelope on the table and sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have sent Mara off like that. After all, it was Christmas. No, the farther away she was from him the better. He did not like the man she had made him. He walked in the kitchen and put a cold cup of coffee in the microwave and sat down on the couch while it warmed. He was asleep before the timer even went off though, dreaming of an radiant angel decorating a Christmas tree. "Merry Christmas, Anthony." She had whispered, and smiled a smile of pure genuine joy. "Merry Christmas, sweet angel" he muttered…


----------------------Part 2------------------------

Jane awoke with a start. Something was wrong.

It was pitch black in the apartment, but she could hear a soft scuffling noise coming from the living area. She rolled her eyes- just what she needed. Sliding out of the blankets she'd piled on the floor, she slunk over to her tool belt in the corner of the room. Wielding a pry bar, she edged over to the doorway. The scuffling still continued in the corner of the room. Peering around she saw a tall man with his back to her, examining a painting she'd bought from a street vendor a week before. The painting was flat on the ground, and the man appeared to have a small switchblade out, attempting to cut at the frame in the back. As soon as she reached him, she swung the pry bar straight at the back of his head, and before he knew she was there, he was laying on the floor motionless. Immediately remorse filled her, and she rushed over to the phone, called the police dispatch and requested a patrol and an ambulance. Had she had checked his pulse? Yes, he seemed fine, he could recover any moment though and she'd appreciate someone else there when he did. After hanging up the phone, she stared at him for a few seconds, holding her pry bar ready. Soon the doorbell rang and she breathed a sigh of relief.

After hours and many questions later, everyone had departed from her apartment. Light had broken in through the windows now; she'd never be able to sleep. She sat in her sole folding chair and thought back over the events of the night. The Italian police had dismissed him as a common burglar. But why had the man chosen to break into her scantily furnished apartment? Surely any experienced robber would have picked a home that seemed more inhabited. And what of the painting…?

Walking over to the painting, she picked it up and examined it. The painting was a portrait, of no one of note. Still, something in the giant blue eyes had captivated and called to her. And at the price it had been marked, she couldn't resist buying it to add some character to her new living space. But was there something more than just a young man with soulful eyes?

Turning it over revealed a few nicks where the intruder had attempted to dig into the frame. Staring at the grain long enough revealed a break in the pattern. So there was something more to this frame. Someone had gone to great lengths to conceal this panel, matching the wood almost precisely. She could have stared right at it and never seen the difference.

Grabbing a small chisel and mallet, she tapped out the thin block and pulled it out. Despite expecting something remarkable, what she saw made her breathless.

There, packed in the small panel, were five large brilliantly colored diamonds.