Tuesday, 30 August 2011

This post is a poem

The day before I die

The day before I die

The clock strikes ten.
Clasp my hands and with upturned eyes,
How many times do I forsake these skies?
Look back down, see the summer frost,
Big bad sins come at such a cost.
The day before I die, I sit on the dirty ground,
Head turned thoughtfully and eyes cast down.
Why did I have to be so stupid?
Why did I have to kill him, small Cupid?
Because of rash and undecided actions,
I find myself here with my meager rations.
Find myself in a very dark, dank lair,
Where mice dart in and out of my hair.
Now my hands are shackled, they pull me out,
Their taunting words echoing about.
Poor girl, they sneer. Poor poor girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
And the clock strikes eleven.
Shuffle to your cell, they say.
They push, and on the ground I lay.
Struggling to sit back upright now,
I feel as helpless as a pregnant mother sow.
The guards laugh and close the door,
Leaving me staring at the darkening floor.
Stare, girl, I say. Stare all you like.
In the next one hour your head’ll be on a spike.
Stupid, foolish, idiotic girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
The day before I die, almost over,
And I pick up my last clover.
Help me, I pray. My only hope, help me.
My eyes, upturned to God for him to see.
And the clock strikes twelve.

Wednesday, 10 August 2011


Butterflies sighed and stared at her Baby-G watch, willing the second hand to move faster. She was in an unusually silent Geography class. Their teacher had gone on maternity leave and they were stuck with this boring relief teacher their lousy school had assigned to them. “Okay, class, now let’s draw a table on the problems and solutions to an ageing population,” the relief teacher said without strength or conviction, oblivious to the fact that almost half the class was asleep, and the others were soon on their way. Butterflies sighed again. It was then that she felt someone looking at her. It was as obvious as it was unsettling. Why would anyone stare at her?
She turned in the direction of the gaze and saw the class jock, Jefferson, staring at her. She met his lovestruck gaze with a withering glare which he impressively held for three whole seconds, before crumbling and looking back to his desk. Butterflies turned back to her desk, disgusted. And he already has a girlfriend. A typical Prom Queen: slim, an oval face, narrow shoulders and an even narrower waist, and blonde. If there was one thing Butterflies couldn’t understand about teenage boys, it was their obsessions with this kind of girls.
* * *
Jefferson’s feet crunched on the dead autumn leaves. He followed Butterflies everywhere she went, and she was beginning to think of luring him to a dark alley and killing him there, but she decided it would attract too much attention. She stopped, and said, “I can hear you.”

Jefferson looked down at his feet. She was right. He did make a lot of noise. She turned and she saw a maniac fire in his eyes that she only knew Bristol to have. He saw that pale face of hers, that dark hair with white streaks that fell perfectly beside her face. To just see that face was heaven for him. He said, “I… I love you.”

Butterflies shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“I do. You don’t understand my feelings for you. You’re not alone in this world. I’m… here, for y—“

Butterflies smiled knowingly. “I’ll give you a couple of reasons why we shouldn’t be together. One, you already have a girlfriend.”

“I already ditche—“

“Two, I’m too old for you.”

He frowned at this. “But we’re in the same class.”

“And lastly, I already have a boyfriend. So shut up. You’re never going to get me.”

His face fell. “Anyone… I know?”

“He beat you at the soccer team tryouts.”

“It’s…. it’s not that goof with the spiky hair and that weird name, right?”

“His name’s not weird. And his hair is nice.”

“It’s him! I mean, I may have lost, but that’s only because I was sick that day! If I were the top in the tryouts, would you be with me?”

Butterflies laughed this time, shook her head again and said, “No.”

Then his face fell. Quite literally. Butterflies barely had time to avoid the big form coming for her, and she had barely heard the quiet crack of bone. She had hardly seen the big man behind Jefferson.

She turned on her heels to see a giant man, whose thick bones were obviously well-set in hard muscle. He was like a male model—all buffed up and ready for the girls to faint at the sight of him. The only thing unusual was that he wore a mask. A metal mask. Her eyes narrowed to red slits. “You’re Tesseract, the Russian.”

His breathing was heavy through the hole at his mouth. “Right the first time.”

“And you’ve been assigned to kill me, haven’t you?”

He nodded silently and lunged suddenly, reaching for her, but she already wasn’t there. She dived between his legs and turned on the spot, running up his back. He pivoted, but she had already grabbed his hood. Instinctively he threw his hands up in a desperate attempt to knock her off balance, but his sight was cut off by the pitch black hood that was quickly pulled over his face. He felt a push to his chest and he stumbled, tripping over a head stone and landing on anoher.

Butterflies blurred into the maze of tombstones that led directly to the Temple. She glanced behind and saw him stumble but he had already undone his hood. He looked up and saw her, quickly giving chase. Catching up via a less cluttered path to her left, Tesseract reached for her once more. This time he caught onto her left forearm. Butterflies twisted and turned, trying all ways and means that her in her vampirism have been taught, but it was no use. She struggled with inhuman strength, and finally he transmitted magic and her bone snapped. She tore away from him, her left arm hanging. Tears edged her eyes as the pain worked its way through her body.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself together and waved her hand. Her black bracelet buzzed as it took hold of the shadows which lurked in the graveyard—it was their playground. She brought it under his legs and turned around, their points sharp. A wall of shadow rose infront of Tesseract and he turned, expecting an attack. Instead, he came point to eye with the shadow, and the fight froze where it was.

Then, slowly, Butterflies walked into his vision. “If you don’t want to die,” she said, her sweet tones doing nothing to calm Tesseract’s nerves, “I suggest you and I part ways now.”

Tesseract said nothing, but nodded his head. The shadows went back to whence they came, and he went, a dog with its tail in between its legs at the failure of an assignment.

Target Acquired

Butterflies stood watching her target -- a short, curly-haired boy named Jonathan, the self-proclaimed king-of-the-club, swing a terrified blonde around him in a tight circle and abruptly released her. She staggered face first into the flopping belly of one of his goons. The poor girl dragged herself up, and at the merciful nod of Jonathan’s head, she staggered out the door and the trio laughed drunkenly. Jonathan propped his legs up on the table and rapped it with one knuckle. The waiter hurried over to take his order.

Butterflies rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully, thinking what the best way was to get rid of him. An up close and personal method works. She preferred it anyway. She also got to eliminate the two goons. Which, in her opinion, would be a good riddance.
She heard Jonathan shout out, to the newbies in the club perhaps, “So anyone else wanna take me on?”
Butterflies made sure her jade knife and bow were at the ready, then she turned around, her long, dark hair that streaked white swishing behind her. She looked him straight in his green eyes, and said, “I’ll take you on.”

Jonathan sipped his vodka, raised a brown eyebrow and said, “Come on.”
Then she was in front of him. He was so startled that he tipped back over his chair and spilled his drink. The goons had tried to reach for her, but they ended catching thin air and slammed chin first into each other. They slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Jonathan fell to the floor and tumbled. All at once, Butterflies was at his side, helping him up with a vicious wrench to the arm. Then she backed off and Jonathan growled, looked for her. She was so damned fast, she didn’t feel human.

Then there was a whish of movement to his right. He turned and brought his fist upon nothing but an afterimage.
“Where are you looking?” A sweet, mellow voice asked from behind him, and he turned, only to slam his chin into a granite fist. Butterflies’ fists accelerated and she hit him repeatedly in the gut. All air left Jonathan and he could feel his ribs breaking. Before he had a chance to draw another breath, an elbow was whipped to his face, a knee to his stomach and a foot to the small of his back. He bounced back up and backed off, wincing in pain, gasping. He saw her and he smiled.

“How old are you anyway? You don’t even look a legal age to be here.” He asked with great difficulty.

She arched an eyebrow. “I may look this age, but I’m way older than it. I’m way older than you too.”

“Oh really. Let me guess. You’re…. 14.”

She smiled, her teeth sharp. “Wrong.”

“How can you be older than me? I’m 23.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I’m 274 years old. I’m a necrotic vampire. I’ve been assigned to kill you. And now that you’ve heard this, I’m pretty sure you have to die.”

He gasped again as he was immediately hit from behind. “Can’t follow me now can you?” her sugary voice breathed into his ear. He whirled, but she somehow wasn’t there. He tried to remember what he had learned about vampires…. They change form…. They move really fast… He was hit again on the middle of his spine and he felt it pop. “What are you thinking of?” Her voice smiled, and he knew she was right behind him. “It’s dangerous to stall in a fight. That’s the first rule during a fight.” She caught his wrists and twisted them behind him with inhumane force. He dropped to his knees to ease the pain. “Now. My moment.” She withdrew a dark green knife from within her shimmering black coat. “Time to die.” She raised the knife up and plunged it. It went into his spine and separated the segments. She twisted it savagely and Jonathan’s vision turned black.