I've decided to diverge from my usual writing style to try my hand at thriller writing. So, I'm working with the story called "The Messenger". It's centered around a fantasy i had.

The Messenger - Crafting

    The message was heavy. He had crafted it for hours... days... weeks. He wanted them to know the truth. He wanted it written loud. he constructed his letters with ammonium nitrate, accented his words with a few blocks of Trinitrotoluene. he wrapped them in velcro around a surplus bulletproof vest, all connected to a homemade deadman's switch. He caringly altered surplus body armor onto a custom body suit, enabling him to move naturally but with added protection underneath a workman's uniform. he weaved hidden pockets into the seams of the shirt and pants, laboring for hours and then days with only determination and dedication as his fuel. He even got a part time job playing the part, working on his demeanor and body language along with some slang and work speak. He changed the company he kept, all to play the role to deliver his message safe and sound.

 Spidey learns. When I got off clozapine, my perception changed. It skewed my judgement for a while. But I've seen a lot of improvement. I'm healing.

In the hospital they got into this thing. Ashes has trauma? He's faking. PTSD? Insurance fraud. Drug addict. As if they know me. These mental patients. 

 

Ashes got carried away again? What do we tell the fire marshal?

Dear Leaves,

Molly taking good care of Spidey. Ebbyday. Tell Gryps Spidey says hi. Ebbyting berry gnice. Di internist got di blood all bedder. Groovy. Spidey's women take good care. 

Spidey

The primary disagreement i have with some of the doctors is over how clozaril has affected my life. I feel like it was detrimental, that it buried emotions by suppressing them and those emotions lay latent beneath the surface, bubbling up from time to time.

The side effects such as weight gain and sedation were just the icing on the cake for me. I only hope I am able to find a balance in my life post clozaril. I refuse to believe that I am an addict just because such a label is convenient for others and I was miseducated on what medications can do. I know the limits of these medications more clearly now. 

The Messenger

    Rain was threatening. Footsteps fell on hard stone. Lightning flickered in the sky above as he contemplated the task before him. Eyes of a woman across the way came towards, then away. Retreat marked her movements. Wise was she. 

    His fingers moved independently as he eyed the walkway, stepping forward. Determination echoed with his footfalls. He would not be deterred. His mind played with the shadows. A bird came fluttering down, hopped a few paces forward, then away as well. He worried his mood bled to his demeanor. 

    Today he was the messenger. Tomorrow, he would be silent. The words must be well picked, well played, he reminded himself. He suppressed a smile, tugged the tag at his breast and lingered the workman's belt. He must not linger. Attracting attention would not benefit him. He stepped forward, pretending to know a different path. 

    Eyes meeting another passerby, a curt nod given. Nervous eyes met him. He was not doing well. He needed to separate from his anger. Draw out his amiable side. Or there would not be time. The message was clear, the recipient closer by the footstep. But would they hear? Would they heed? Or would they turn away? When the response came, how would he greet it? 

    Voices across the way. He fell into a crouch, ready to tie the laces he left loose on purpose. Every cue, every action, every reaction must be carefully chosen. Too much time and grief had gone into planning to see this message left unsent. Light was fading faster. Passerby were becoming shadows. He took a breath. He could not afford hesitation. 

    His watch beeped the hour, and the doors opened, letting out the end of days. It was time.

Tigre

Lithe and orange and furry beyond measure

kitnip and scratching posts among his pleasures

with stripes and whiskers to mark his feline form

playful and pestering is simply the norm.

agile and swift but vigilant too

loyal and willing to always stay true

cunning and graceful but patient as time

always remembering that he is only mine.

Blank

She called my heart the other day

And I knew not the words to say.

I tried honesty 

I told her about the yearning inside

All of the things that I'd tried to hide

The games that I played to enter her soul

So many games with only one goal.

Then I tried humor

I laughed about my helpless delight

At the moment she came into my sight

The way that she lit up that light in my eyes

The way that I hated each and every goodbye

Then I tried pleasing

I spoke of her beauty beyond all the others

The joy that her presence always uncovers

The smiles that I held in my heart just for her

The lies that I told as I held her in wonder

Then I tried pleading

Reminding that hearts cannot hold out forever

That sometimes they are meant to be together

That fading comes fast in the breath of denial

That falling becomes its own bitter trial.

In the end there was nothing but nothing to say

And after some time the time washed away.

The Good Eggs

    I really am glad I met some of the people I met at Lost and Rigged, MIP, and even Springbrook, though I wasn't there as long. I feel like I did learn. I'm still learning. Maybe I need to experience more of life outside the hospitals. But trust isn't easy. There is danger in the world. I need to stop being so hypervigilant. I need to open myself to experience and strengthen that mind-body connection. I find it so bizarre how sometimes I give away trust so easily and other times it's like pulling teeth. I need to be careful with expectations. I need to understand more about who is right for me, who to let in, when, and how far. 

 

Perhaps we should lock the gates.

 

VLAD! SPIDEY JUST CLEANED DIS FLOOR!

That's it Vlad! Keep flapping! The Hospital is just obber di next hill!