Some Stuff I Wrote at Camp

I find it difficult to kill mosquitoes.
By this I don't mean that the thought of their tiny, mangled corpses upsets me. If I ever did find such images to be bothersome, the time has long since passed. Instead, my hand simply seems ill-suited to killing the flying parasites. Something about its shape or the way it curves allows the mosquitoes to slip beneath my palm or between my knuckles. If I do make contact, it will be with a fingertip to knock them harmlessly to one side. It's only when they actually land on my bare skin that I get an occasional lucky blow. For whatever reason the mosquitoes have decided that this means I am a friend to them, albeit one who does not appreciate being bitten, and will maintain a respectful distance (about an inch) from me while I flail my arms ineffectually to get their whining drone away from my head.

Giant's Eyes

She's young, about fifteen. Her hair is long and brown and a little shiny. Her clothes are dark with comical skulls stitched on to them, as close to "goth" as her parents will let her dress. Her black and studded bag is full of brightly-coloured binders and half-eaten ham sandwiches made by her mother this morning. Around her friends she acted aloof, sullen, what she thought of as cool. Alone, she practically skips down the street. She hums to herself cheerily. She'll be home soon. I know. I've been following her for the past week.
I step out into the road.
The girl tenses up. She doesn't see me yet, she doesn't dare turn around yet, but she can feel me plain as day. My eyes burn into her pale, slender neck. She slows, perhaps telling herself she's imagining things, berating herself for being silly. Eventually she stops and hesitantly glances over her shoulder.
She sees me. I walk towards her.
The girl is frightened. She won't admit it but she is. She faces forward and walks faster. I quickly catch up with her. She's muttering to herself silently, saying things she knows she doesn't believe. I get a little closer. She feels the tremors of my footsteps and breaks into a shambling run. Her backpack bounces against her side.
She's nearly home. She's not out of shape. But I'm so much bigger than her. She just might make it, though, if she only dropped her bag. She can't run with it. She knows this. But...
But what then? She'd arrive home with no books, no homework, no half-eaten sandwich. Her parents would want to know why. They'd be angry. She's not a good enough liar to come up with an excuse, but she can't tell them the truth. She doesn't want any more sad, understanding looks. She doesn't want her mother to call her crazy or fucked up the way she did the last time she got drunk. Bad things happen to crazy people in this world. Her friends still think she's normal, and she doesn't want to let go of that.
I pick her up in one lumpy hand. She doesn't even have time to scream.
Someone will find her soon, a neighbor perhaps. She'll wake up in a hospital bed in a few hours. Or maybe not. Some of them never wake up. Some of them can't bear to save themselves. They're not strong enough to let go.

Emily the Island Girl

We stopped for lunch one tripping day
On island big and round,
I found a girl beneath some branches
Laid upon the ground.

Her dress was blue, her hair was white,
Her skin was sickly grey,
So I knelt down beside her
And I asked, "Are you okay?"

She said, "My name is Emily,
I've been here ninety years.
My father left me on this rock
To drown in my own tears.

Emily the island girl
No need to be alone,
Don't make this tiny piece of rock
The only place you've known.

Emily, sweet Emily
With eyes of ocean blue,
This may not be a love song
But my heart goes out to you.

I heard some howls from further on,
She called, "Don't go that way.
I'm not the only lonely soul
Who's living here today."

I said to her, "Sweet Emily,
Why don't you come with me?
There must be somewhere better
Than this place for you to be."

She said, "I can't thank you enough,
You really are too kind.
No, no one else can see me
But I don't think that you mind."

Emily the island girl
No need to be alone,
Don't make this tiny piece of rock
The only place you've known.

Emily, sweet Emily
With eyes of river blue,
This may not be a love song
But my heart goes out to you.

I took her hand, (twas cold as ice,)
And led her to the lake,
But as we neared the water
Her small legs began to quake.

She said, "I'll never leave this place,
I'm too afraid I'll drown,
For if I touch that water
Then those waves will drag me down."

I stared at her, she stared at me,
Then she began to cry.
She wrapped her arms around me
And the girl kissed me goodbye.

Emily the island girl
Don't have to be alone,
Don't make that tiny piece of rock
The only place you've known.

I never saw that girl again,
I hope I never do
But wherever you are, Emily,
My heart goes out to you.

Emily, sweet Emily
With eyes of shining blue,
My Emily the island girl,
My heart goes out to
you.

Vertical Dreams

The sun comes up.

There's no one here. They've left me all alone. This annoys me. I find some little red berries growing on some trees nearby. I'm starving so I eat them. I don't think much of it.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

I find a life jacket tangled in the branches of a tree. This is convenient as the one I'm wearing has become torn. There's a rash growing on my foot but I try to ignore it.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

I find a man sleeping standing straight up in the middle of the forest. No amount of poking or hollering can wake up him. Then an ant crawls out of his nose. I don't think I've run that fast in a long time.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

I find it difficult to wake up. It takes several minutes for me to peel my eyes open, and it's even longer before I can take a step. The rash on my foot is spreading up my leg. The skin is rough and peeling, but it doesn't itch. Not at all.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

It's particularly sunny today. I stay rooted to the spot all day to enjoy it.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

I try to wash my hair. It's growing stiff and crusty. The water does next to nothing but the mud soothes my legs and feet. The rash keeps spreading. I'm afraid to look at it.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

It's very pretty out here. I never noticed that before.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

I don't feel hungry any more.

The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.

There are some little red bumps growing on my arms. I don't think much of it.

The sun goes down.
I dream vertical dreams.