Kryptonite Addicted Doll

Kryptonite Addicted Doll

I was a broken toy collecting dust in the furthest corner of the room.

You put me there and promised to fix me.

But I just sat there watching you play with everyone else.

Every time someone would knock the dust off and try to play with me,

You'd get angry and take me back.

You would play with me just for a little while,

A brief moment of joy for me,

But then you would put me back in the corner

When you remembered that I was broken.

One day someone else found me in the corner,

They mended me where I was tattered.

You tried to take me back,

And I finally decided I didn't want to belong to you.

Again, I fell apart,

Because I am broken.

And still they helped stitch me back together.

So I was happy even though I was away from you.

You found someone who looks so shiny and new,

But what do I know?

Maybe they are broken too.

It hurt a little,

Still does too,

But I was glad to know you were happy.

Finally, I let your name fade from the bottom of my shoe.

But if I'm honest with myself,

I'll always be in love with you,

Because when I said my love was unconditional,

It was true.

That's why I still peak in

Through a digital window.

Because I need to know you're okay.

I need to know you're happy.

Even on days I'm not,

Days when my someones can't put me back together.

Even on those day,

I am still glad for your happiness.

Love Is A Very Dangerous Thing

I may write more on the character of Kayla later, this story didn't go the way I wanted. She seems like a very interesting character to get to know better. Plus she still needs to get her revenge, doesn't she? This is my Friday Flash guys, sorry its not better:

I’m commonly asked, admittedly usually by someone I’m about to kill, what it was that made me into the best female assassin alive. My response is always pretty much the same, a lot of hard work, always willing to learn a new and usually fucked up way to end someone’s life, and a really fucked up childhood.

My mother died when I was 6. I know that isn’t too particularly fucked up, but my father was the one who killed her. In front of me… in fact he told me if I didn’t watch he was going to kill me too. Then after CPS picked me up, he disappeared. I started training then, to kill without any emotion, so that I could one day kill him, and get away with it. I haven’t found him yet, but I will one day. I’m only 27 after all.

Before my mother died, she told me once what it was like to be in love (for she truly loved my father). She told me that she never wanted to take anything away from him but to give him more. She never wanted anything for herself, everything was devoted to him. She told me something that at the time I found entirely profound (I worshipped the ground my mother walked on, just so you know). She told me: “This is what you look for Kayla, look for a man who doesn’t say that you’re everything to him, just that you’re something to him. Don’t expect to be his inspiration but pray that he’s yours.”

Even after my father killed her I still believed that, but I could never bring myself to fall in love. Love was definitely not my plan. Until I got this assignment… His name was Michael Swanson, and I could tell even from the blurry picture I got of him that he was beautiful. I know that’s not usually a word associated with men, but it’s true. Perfect jaw, straight teeth that are pure ivory, and piercing, burning gray eyes. I was given a location to find him. Some tiny coffee shop, you know the type of place, mismatched mugs, happy smiling owners that always seem to be working, and a usual crowd that knows everyone.

As an assassin, it’s my job to blend in. We don’t wear all black, that’s a myth, and only trendy wannabes who get killed their first assignment do that. So I sat at a simple dark metal table in possibly the most uncomfortable chair I’ve ever sat in, waiting for this perfect specimen to show up. He caught me by surprise by pulling up a chair and sitting right next to me.

“So they want me dead, huh?” That’s all he said. I was so shocked that I almost fell over.

I composed myself, “Yes, and they’re paying me very well to do it. Are you going to try to convince me not to? Because that would take a pretty penny, sir.”

He laughed, “No, I deserve it, at least from their point of view. You can kill me right here if you want. I won’t try to stop you.”

I think that was the moment I fell in love with him, my heart stopped. A man not afraid to die… A man who wanted to make my job easier. Not that killing was all that difficult. “So tell me, who are these people who want you dead, and why do they want you dead? Be honest with me and I may just reconsider.”

“My former in-laws. They’re loaded, unlike me, so I can’t afford to pay you. I killed my wife. I’ll admit that. She tried to take my life, so I took hers.”

“Can I ask you how you knew what I was?” I must have had the most perplexed look on my face.

He laughed again, “Well that’s pretty simple actually. We’ve met before, but you don’t remember, do you?”

I shook my head, “I don’t believe you though, I would remember you for sure.”

“No, I was just your geeky foster brother, why would you remember me?”

I remembered him now. All legs and braces, no wonder his teeth were so perfect. He was my first kiss, and then I broke his heart by running away the next day. “But your name isn’t Michael!”

“It is now. Jonathan is long dead, I suppose it’s time for Michael to die too.” He kissed me hard, “Kill me, Kayla, because I died the day you left. The day after you killed our foster mother, I followed your career after that. I knew all the right people, or in this case, the wrong people. You should have taken me with you.” Then he left. He just walked away, and I felt the heart break he must have felt the day I ran away.

So now I’m standing in his bedroom watching him sleep. Do I kill the one man who can inspire me? Or do I crawl in next to him?

“Have you made your decision Kayla?” His eyes aren’t open but he knows I’m here.

“Yes, I have.”

Comic Shop Junkies

It was just a dusty old comic book shop. Some place you didn’t notice unless you were looking for it specifically. It was your typical comic book store with D&D geeks and Magic players. It was the place Sarah most felt at home. She’d worked there for a little over 6 months, you’re stereotypical geek girl, far too skinny to be considered sexy, glasses as thick as triple paned glass. But she did well here, because she knew more about comics then perhaps anyone else in this dead end town.
Sarah was closing up shop, shooing the last of the Magic group out. “Ceasar, go! I gotta close up shop, and do inventory tonight!”
“Oh, come on Sarah, I can help you do inventory! I’d love to help you! We can talk about that date you owe me. Or it could be the date you owe me.”
“I never agreed to go out with you, Ceasar! Come on, you know Simon doesn’t like me to have anyone in here after closing.”
“Ok, Sarah, I’ll see you later!” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and ran out the door. She locked it after him and shook her head slowly. That boy just did not give up.
She worked her way to the back, careful not to knock over any of Simon’s haphazardly thrown together stacks of comics. It was strange that inventory was her favorite thing to do, most employees complained to high heaven about it. The idea of restocking comics bored them to tears. But not Sarah, she enjoyed the silence, the freedom of it. She had three sisters at home, so she never got any time to herself at home.
Sarah worked diligently but not quite as quickly as she could. And finally when the last comic was put away, a rare edition of Superman which cost about 200 dollars, she wandered into the back to make sure she didn’t miss anything.
Sitting in the bottom of the box that she could have sworn she had just empty was a comic covered in black plastic. “Well where do I put this? I guess I have to open it.” She took out her pocket knife to cut the plastic open.
The comic itself was old and dusty, and printed on the front in careful letters were the words: Comic Shop Junkies. Sarah giggled, it looked like a comic about the shop! This was fantastic, Simon must of wrote it. She had seen old pictures of former employees and these characters looked just the same. She sat in the comfy chair in the break room and opened up the comic. This was beautifully done, Simon should really try to get this published.
Sarah became completely engrossed in the stories of employees of old. Laughing about the Magic competitions they would hold in the back of the store on Saturday nights, 10 dollar buy in, winner takes all, plus a pick of a card from each of the competitors. She longed to know them, to laugh with them about how meticulous Simon was.
Sarah looked at her watch and realized it was almost 1 a.m., she had realized that she had been reading for so long. In fact, how had she been reading for so long, the comic looked fairly short but seemed to go on forever. Sarah stood up to place the comic back in its black plastic but couldn’t close it. Not that she didn’t want to, she physically couldn’t close it. As she struggled with the offending comic the pages blew by as if possessed with a strong wind. Finally it stopped on the very last page, a blank page. The page began to sketch Sarah’s body, and as she looked down, Sarah realized that she was fading. Eventually Sarah was gone and all that was left was the comic, sitting open in the seat where she had once sat reading it.
Simon came by to open up the next morning, he looked at the inventory that Sarah had put away for him. He was pleased, glad to have such an attentive employee. Hopefully this one would last. He liked her, she was a smart girl, she would do well at anything she applied herself to. He traveled his way to the back of the store, going into the break room to start up some coffee. He spotted the open comic in the soft recliner that he knew was Sarah’s favorite spot. He sighed loudly, “Well, there goes another employee.” He grumbled loudly as he walked to the front of the store and hung a much used “Now Hiring” sign in the window.

How Perfect You Feel

How safe I feel,
Lying next to you.
Quiet secrets shared,
Stories told,
Love made,
And life lived.
How safe I feel,
In your quiet company,
Surrounded by the smell of you,
The smell that intoxicates me.
When I am weak,
When I break,
When the world becomes too much,
It’s the silence that I crave,
And your warm embrace.
You’re not perfect,
But you’re mine,
And that’s enough for me.
As much as I crave you,
I can do without.
I don’t want all of you,
Not if it would dry you out.
Take what you will of me,
I will give it all.
I know that you won’t take it,
Because you’re afraid to fall.
I love you
And that’s enough for me,
Because maybe, just maybe,
One day you’ll love me.

Glass Hearts

Glass hearts break,
Shatter as glass objects do.
And still we walk away,
Because it is nothing new.
What do we do
If that heart will not heal?
What do we do
If that pain is all too real?
A piece that shall never be returned.
A piece of me.
A piece of me....
Why do we love,
If it hurts so?
Why can't I forget?
Why can't I let go?
My glass heart
Breaks in two.
My glass heart
Breaks for you.

A Pixie Ghost Story

A lone campfire lit up a small alcove of trees. Well, not exactly a campfire, more of a tiny burning match, but to Troop 7631, it was a giant bonfire. Most likely because Troop 7631 was a pixie Troop. Grinelda, the Troop’s leader, looked at the tiny yawning faces of the pixie girls left in her care for the week.

“Ok guys, just one more story, then it’s off to your tents. Who wants to go next?” She asked.

“It’s my turn Neldie!” Wendlyn called out. She was the tiniest of all the pixies, most of the other girls called her Runt, and she was the victim of constant ridicule.

Many of the other pixies laughed. “What would you know about ghost stories Runt! You’ll probably piss yourself because of your own story!” one called out.

Wendlyn ruffled her wings, “I said it’s my turn! And I’m taking it, so shut your pollen-filled mouth! Now, this is the story of a haunted fly swatter!
There was a small human child who knew of the existence of pixies, but no one believed him. So he bought himself a flyswatter and would sit all the daylong on his front porch with his little flyswatter trying to smack the pixies that would come to mock him.

One day the rains came, and the little boy’s mother called for him to go inside, but he refused, sitting still with his little flyswatter, in hopes that this would be the day that he got himself a pixie. Because of the cold of the rain the boy quickly grew sick, but he still refused to go inside with his mother. As the boy’s illness grew, he would grip his flyswatter tighter and smack at anything that came close to him. But the pixies were still too quick for him to swat.

Finally the boy’s illness took him, and the local pixies felt that they were safe from the flyswatter, though they felt very sad for the boy’s mother who cried the whole day long because of her lost child. She would not throw the flyswatter away because of how precious it was to her son, so she left it sitting on his favorite chair on the front porch. Some of the younger pixies thought it would be funny to come and sit on the flyswatter. Three little pixies, about our age, went to sit on the flyswatter that the little boy used to try and swat at them with. As soon as they landed the flyswatter flip over and squished them all!

Pretty soon they’re parents became worried about their little ones and decided to go and check at the flyswatter. As soon as they got close enough to see their little squished children, the flyswatter rose and squished them all. The last thing that they heard was a child’s gleeful giggle.”

Some of the young pixies shivered (death by flyswatter was rumored to be very painful) as Wendlyn grinned widely. “So the moral of this story is, be careful who you pick on.”

As Wendlyn finished her sentence, a flyswatter landed on top of the three meanest pixies, and she giggled with glee.