"Howl" Response Poem

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by the alienated light cast in the crimson blood of unfed elation,

they fought hard, dirty, in the darkest of all hours, watching in their bright lit eyes until the impending slimy mass of their own destruction overtook them,

and every footstep passing in unequal assumption alters left to right, avoiding all others for why should they stop to understand and read the other’s stories     ?

large, hanging heads downturned, seeking selfish sorrows perceived into existence, as the umbrellas sway in silent dissatisfaction,

that is where they find them, they were never there until secret minds decided nothing was more wonderful and galvanizing than a metaphorical slap to the face,

and yet the calls—the calls and begging of those minds that had wanted such deep, cutting thorns in the first place wailed because of what they never realized

they went to the bridge once for a dare—who would throw the dog over first     ? And then soon after, who would throw themselves over     ?

someone came too late, and their wrists were covered with shackles of cat bites and scratches—or were they     ?

and then in the rat-filled nighttime street, a girl came from the show, and soon after came the wolf whistles under the flickering street lamps—then the scream

ghosts gliding along the streets, honking, laughing, yelling, cursing, wandering, meandering, lost—what meaning could there ever be to this putrid existence.

II

I want to run and never hide, for why should I follow in the distorted sand tracks of this depressed, sulking, kvetching humanity     ?

to scrape up all the dried blood from my bone and rip at the marrow with my teeth as my useless creating hand is cast away on the floor

but even putrid existence will not help now, will it, as it acts repulsed at my very being every turn     ?

scrape up my words, I will carry on without puking out the last of my blood clot lies and I will slip away then, through the meaningful yet meaningless crowd of minds and spirits

I want to rip out their eyes, for they could never care, and never should for they do not understand whatever meaning they chose not to see in the first place

to throw out the bomb projection on the side of the old concrete building to make them wonder why ancestors wasted their lives on the past wars for their sake

to scream louder than a thousand gunshots what keeps the miserable people living,

to shake their shoulders violently and tell them they are beautiful,

to crush every jaded brain that spilt out any sort of self-inflicted misery,

no, let me take away their razor blades and broken wrists and scream at them with blood-filled rivers running from the ice defrosting in my eyes,

and let me pull them off the wind-swept bridges and punch them to the ground until their faces become unclouded of their selfish miseries.

III

Never watch your step, yet never slip, and see yourself fearful yet fearless in the eyes of the ones who have sacrificed their nothing and everything,

and every fear you gain enough to slip and tumble down, I will catch you far and wide

I will take your hand if that building is too high up and you are blinded with the dark tendrils of pain you internally harvested all those years you have lived

I will take your hand if that universal meaning you have been groping for in your dark world never finds you

I will take your hand if the infernal pit is too deep and chock-full of so many coils of metal vines that grew with every good thing you took for granted

I will take your hand, even after punching you in the face with my mind a thousand times for mentally or physically injuring your beautiful being

I will take your hand and tell you that there is nothing more meaningful than wondering, even within a seemingly meaningless existence,

And that the things that do not make sense, which you have rejected for so long, are the things that have made you most full of nutritious sunshine and bright-eyed laughter

And yet we have taken those confusing things as if they were unimportant to our frail beings

I want to take your hand and tell you,

I want nothing to make sense, as I would never dare to fear wonder.

I feel as though I should
fade
Static dust on winter's edge
I cannot just wait
still ever
Or the freeze will hurt from
within
To my outer layer.
Just go if you have no
knowledge
Whatsoever of the state I am in
That freeze will just
blow
You in
And let the
Petrified trees engulf
The night thoughts of
impending
wicked ignorant things,
assumptive--
Let me be in this
cold
Of your arms
If you will not know me
so
Find me, and not
The shrouding frost.




~Aberswythe

The Two Angels (not a religious tale)

The two angels, Orlandis (in a pink robe) and Vivien (in a blue robe) were very good friends, and often called each other brother and sister (even though they had no gender). They each had a trumpet in which they loved to play while flying high in the sky, through the clouds of the planet below them. Orlandis mostly loved to sing and do visual arts while his “sister” Vivien loved to write poetry and stories and play musical instruments. But both of them had a strong curiosity for other places.

One extraordinary day, the two angels were caught in a storm when they went below the clouds to explore, which the leaders of their otherworldly land told them not to do! Bewildered, the two friends were separated by lightning, thunder, wind, and rain, and both of them crashed into the planet below. Not knowing where to go, they wandered this new land, slowly getting farther and farther apart as they searched for each other.

The two angels discovered new things they never knew existed, meeting strange new people and going on perilous adventures, while hiding their wings so that no one would know where they came from.

Meanwhile in their land, the leaders sent a search party to scrutinize every known place for Orlandis and Vivien. Distraught, the leaders found no trace of them. “I’m afraid they must have gone below the clouds,” said the leader Amaris. The other leader Kalin agreed. They could only hope that the two lost angels would turn up soon.

On the angels’ search for each other, Orlandis’ wings were discovered. Worried, he ran from people who tried to capture him. Luckily, he had other friends from the planet who helped him escape, and Vivien came to the rescue as well when she heard that an angel had been discovered. When the angels met at last, they were overjoyed, and they hugged each other so tight, both of their wings glowed. The friends they had made during their adventures watched in fascination and happiness.

The angels were ready to return home. When they did return, the leaders met them at the gates along with many other angels, and were disappointed that Orlandis and Vivien had gone below the clouds, but relieved they were finally safe at home. Orlandis and Vivien told them all about their wonderful adventures, and that the planet was not a bad place. The leaders considered. “Very well,” said Kalin. “But you both must always remember to know who to trust when you are down there. I have a gift to grant, but I can only grant it to one of you. It can be a burdensome gift at times, but I know one of you can handle it. This is the gift of being able to read minds and emotions, and I give it to Vivien, since you have always protected Orlandis. To Orlandis, I give you another gift, which is the gift of a positive spirit. It will be useful for all of the dire times you will go through, and you will keep Vivien, yourself, and many others uplifted.” 

The two friends smiled to the leaders and then to each other in acceptance. The other angels of the land clapped and cheered as Orlandis and Vivien were granted the gifts in a bright shade of golden light. From then on, the two angels were allowed to go to the planet whenever they wished, as well as other angels who would be under their passive protection. People of the planet and the other angels considered them the most wonderful guardians.

Photo shoot

Because I had nothing better to do.

Spiraling, Tumbling, Drowning

After 

    The                 

Long run over the hill,                        

I barely was able to hold my breath.                                                       

                                       

I

Couldn't

Even 

Stand.

It

was 

very    

hard to think.     

I only had the chance to hold my head up,

And listen to the music the wind created.

It was a happy sound,

A creative piece that pranced in my ears.

I

then

had

to 

run

again.

I 

  galloped

               like a horse in his grazed field

                                                           in pursuit for his master.

This is how I realized that someone made me repeat my past,

Made me run across banks of rivers,

To the mountains of sand,

And through pathways that trees made.

It felt like steps.

It was natural to keep following this direction.

I had no destination in mind,

But a pure goal of being able to be free,

To go anywhere that I'm pleased.

This made me feel free.                 

But everything 

has

   its perks.

That was the day I wasn't able to move. I couldn't even make my fingers cringe. I only was able to make my eyes close on itself and open again to the world that spat at me in the face. It laughed. I heard the wind play its musical tune again. It mocked me now more than ever. Making me want to run again. Sadly now I'm cold as stone planted to the earthy floor. I was back on that hill again. The first hill I managed to climb. The one that made me started my journey  Now it seemed, it forced me to end my journey here. The warm hand from the sun was placed on my forehead as it could only nod towards me. The way nature presented it self to me made me want to cry all of my tears. I then cried on. And on. And on. Till my heart was filled with those pure emotions. I then couldn't stop. I sat there crying forever. 

It 

  was 

        that 

             I

              could

                      had 

                           done. 
                                    .
                                      .    

This is how a pure life ends.

In misery.

And pure with irony;

                                                                           Spiraling,

Tumbling,

And now

Drowning.

  

Does one actually know how lucky they are
To have someone so different
And one who is so unafraid to be
Their own spirit,
and not let the masses kill their vulnerable aura?
We met for a reason.
I, being unaccommodating to the larger picture of humanity
And you, being so open and not jaded.
Surely one would love you
For a similar reason
on a different part of this web of connections.
Surely there will be more leaves to grow
On this complex olive tree, that is
Your love in its many forms.
And if your faith continues to water this sturdy tree
The leaves will grow
And perhaps even new branches touch the light.

-aberswythe

The Balcony

Sophie’s hands were searing, gripping white against the cold of the rail, a silhouette against the blue cold of the sky, with grey forces--the clouds connecting the golden lining of the last of the sun’s breath.  Her arms were red--bleeding--not by right of her own commandment over her hurting body and self, but from hands of her drunken stepfather.  She somehow found her tears to be red; she could not see through them and they blotted out the dreary sky in crimson.  But perhaps it was her imagination.  Whatever did happen to the sunny days in this suburban place?

She imagined spitting blood into the shower where senile lay the last living remains of her grandfather, fully clothed, laying there cold, smiling and blinking back tears, bleeding in the back of the head, the shower pipe spewing after being undone from its clogged-ness by the doing of his wizened hands and capable mind.  Surely her stepfather would cry--at least once in his life.  He would cry just as much as she did.  Maybe it would cure him from whatever plague caused him to be so purblind.

“Did grandfather have to die?” she seethed.  “Did he have to?  Damn, at least he was sensible enough not to get so drunk as this father--this stranger in my house, cutting my skin, making me look as if I were doing the harm to myself, causing all of these other strangers to coo at me.  ‘Aw, poor little Sophie.  She needs a therapist!’ and says my stepfather, ‘She certainly does.  She is always so depressed!’ Hah, depressed indeed.  At least I still have wonder and hope in me.”

She looked with intense blue-grey eyes down at her arm.  She wanted to speak to the cold railing more, but she was afraid someone might hear her.  On the other hand, who would care?  Carefully, she stepped out of the balcony and back into her room, taking a clean rag and some antibiotics.  She slowly applied it to her arm.  The cut was not too deep this time.  She had been able to defend herself from her stepfather considerably more effectively.  She attempted to quell the cold memory of the attack, and at the same time wished desperately she had a phone to call the police, but her stepfather never let her use the phone.  He did not even let her use a computer.

“Control,” she mumbled.  “All he wants is control.  Is that all people want?  What force keeps troubled people like him surviving?”  She spoke to herself between shattered, sobbing breaths.  “Under all of these circumstances, even being more experienced in his depression than I, what makes him keep on going, while I somehow keep my thoughts consoled and full of this deep wonder I have regarding other dimensions of reality, which others call fantasy?  I don’t even know why I talk like this, as if I am in some Shakespearian play during a monologue.”  She clutched her head in her hands, confused.  “I wish I could write it all down, but my voice and lips seem to be moving only.  My wrist hurts.”

Looking out her window, she remembered the times she had with her grandfather, and all the stories he told her about dragons and faeries and night sprites.  She closed her eyes and imagined she was flying with untainted wings, over mountains and forests, her stepfather left behind.  The world in her head, which all of the jaded, wonder-ridden strangers called childish unrealism, would be reality, and her stepfather would be the unreal one.  He would be the other world Sophie could not reach, since she would never want to reach it.

From another room came a loud crash of silverware and a scream from the drunk man.  “Sophie!” was the word exploding from the cracked hearth of his lungs.  Sophie’s eyes widened, but only for a few seconds, before she picked up her bravery and walked slowly towards her closet.  Opening the door to her closet, she breathed and picked up her journal of writings and thoughts, her pen, a little pewter dragon, her stash of money, and her long dagger.  Would anyone believe her if she said her stepfather was drunk so she ran away?  Who knows.  Nonetheless she whispered, “I need to get the hell out of here.”

The crash of feet edged frighteningly closer to Sophie’s closed and locked room.  She listened as the man boomed, “Sophie, unlock your fucking door!”  He slammed on it with his hands and feet, and she could tell how clumsy he was, but she knew he was strong enough to break through.  So she turned towards her window without hesitation.  She exhaled.  “I will be off now.  Perhaps I’ll go to my friend’s place miles away in the forest.”

Quickly, she changed her clothes as the banging on the door continued.  She changed into clothes her stepfather had never seen, which were her baggy jeans and a plain red tee-shirt.  Over that, she put on a dark hoodie and a dark green, almost black army coat.  She grabbed scissors and quickly, without another thought, took up her long light brown hair and cut it off until it was only to the length of the top of her neck.  She did not look in the mirror once, and instead wrapped a scarf around the bottom half of her face.  The banging got louder, and her entire room shook violently.

“Open the fucking door you little moron!  I’m gonna beat your ass hard if you don’t,” yelled the man again.  The banging on the door turned into cracking, and Sophie could see it splinter.  Quickly, she ran to the balcony under her window.  She jumped through the window and onto the stable metal.  She then shut the curtains and closed the window as much as she could.  With relief, she jumped all the way to the ground from there, not caring that it hurt her feet, and she ran like wind.

Unjaded

I want to slip from the searing wrench, slowly turning, and breathe not while I speak, for the words become so worthless.

To scrape up all the dried blood from my bone and rip at the marrow with my teeth as my hand is cast away on the floor.

To look up in wonderment while all the heads look jadedly down at selfish sorrows perceived into existence.

But even putrid existence will not help now, will it, as it acts repulsed at my very being every turn?

Scrape up my words, I will carry on without puking out the last of my blood clot lies and I will slip away then, through the meaningful yet meaningless crowd of minds and spirits.

I want to run and never hide, but rather continue this meaningful, meaningless wandering in the glen by the sea to the plateau of what the crazed ones call fear of a blank life chock-full of solitude.

To never watch my step, yet never slip on the rocks freshly coated in oil-- or is that the blood of the whale where I can see myself fearful yet fearless in its eyes?

Living, what would the intelligent, genderless creature do and seek? Does it dream?

Would it create a meaning to every thing given meaning and leave all to become one mind and entity?

I want nothing to make sense as I would never dare to fear wonder.




~aberswythe

Karin-chan and her appreciation to the new blog!

Hello hello hello!

Greetings people of the internet abroad!

I'm just giving a quick post to say my joys to this wonderful blog since
I love the new decor + title + new name of the owner + everything else!

I hope I'll be able to post more on this blog!

It's been awhile since I have :)

Now before ending it, here's a short poem of the day!

Good day,
Good time.

Good evening,
And good night.

The time of goodness and greatness,
Is in the eyes of the beholder.

But don't let the sun,
Be the dreaded rain on your parade.
Let you be that and more!
Let you be able to decide.

Like the stars that shine beautifully in the sky,
This shall be my alibi.

Adieu world.

Adieu dreams.

Adieu this tiny poem,
That can't be compared,
To nothing.

I know it's quite random and quite confusing since I have been quite rusty. Hope I can get some more writing done in the future!

Karin-chan out! >>w<< 

Inspiration from "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis" by Vaughan Williams

So for a project for orchestra class, I decided to do a poem inspired by Ralph Vaughan Williams' piece "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis." I did this piece because the first time I ever heard it, a few years ago, the first thing I could imagine was a heroic scene about the returning of the race of dragons.  I imagined them flying above the sea where there were I think four islands, and under the sea was glowing golden grass.  It was sunset and I imagined myself as a character watching as hundreds of dragons passed overhead.

When I played this piece of music a couple years later as the viola soloist, I was afraid I would ruin this wonderful, lush scene, but when me and the orchestra performed it, I found myself within this scene again, and it was quite a nice throwback into the past, and one of the most inspiring pieces all year.

--Aberswythe

gangsta chiiiild

yo

New pen name

Well this has been a little off.

Names are rather dumb, but I suppose they suffice for regarding others in social situations.

On this blawg though... I shall accumulate the new pen name....

*drum roll*

...
...
...
...

Aberswythe!

There. Not the best for many of yew out dere, but psh, it's all fine with me. It is good 'nuff.

~~Aberswythe out <>.<>~

This is the new Wandering One! -yours truly, Aberswyth

So I did change the URL and title, but alas this is the same blog with all the old things from "World of the Wandering One" or "Wandering One." Sorry for the changes, but some spammers came and commented on things and I do not want that, thus the reason for these changes

-out, Aberswyth

A poem untitled

The gentle embrace of the light. 

The stars twitch. 

Envious, the sky of the moon's winding riddle through the night. 

Lips of night and day caress once more before they part until eve.  

The eyes watching, hoping, loving, and whispering their passion.

the character making hobby came back

anon, there shall be more to come

la chat in the snow..

SO INTENSE

The Love, the Organ

I was a musician once. Organ, harp and viola were my loves, and every day I spent practicing, slaving, tortured over them. Organ was the ruler of them though, and every day after I finished my classes in the afternoon, I would go to the lonely church where hardly any people went and silently walk up the marble steps to the indoor balcony where there were beautiful stained glass windows and also some windows looking over a beautiful view of the suburban town and the sea, and where my friend waited. I did the usual--take out my key, unlock the organ, open the old wooden covering, and let the wonderful musty smell of it rise to my face. Then I would turn on the power switch and change my shoes, or not have shoes at all. And so, I would play for hours, all the way until eleven at night (with breaks for homework and meals of course), nothing to hinder me--no friends, no family, no lovers.

I was a very young girl of about four years when I began playing piano, and when I was tall enough at the age of twelve, I played organ and also began the harp, (because I always thought it was graceful), and the viola, (because it was different to me and I liked the tone). My parents had passed away when I was eleven, and I was on my own with my aunt who was mostly away from home from six in the morning until midnight for her job. I was now seventeen, and this was still happening, and I had no friends at school whom I could connect, which was fine with me since I was also caught up in my studies.

But something changed when I was going through my normal routine at the lonely church. I walked up the marble steps and stared the floor as usual to watch the dancing stained glass reflections. But when I looked up at the windows, there was another person there, leaned against the rail, faced away from me, watching the view as I always did when I took a break from practicing. I was a little frightened at first. I was not used to another person with me, but I opened the organ and began to play anyway, since the person did not move or go away. As I played, I watched him cautiously.

When the person finally turned around after I finished my first piece, an organ concerto I had written recently, I saw he was kind and beautiful looking. His eyes were shimmering almost gold, and he was smiling at me. "I hear you play every day," he said. "I hear from outside and I wondered who was playing, and so I came in here to listen. I hope you do not mind."
"I do not," I said, trying to be polite. "Who are you?"
"Kent Greenwane. I go to your school."
"Marion Auswith. I might have seen you," I said calmly even though I felt not.
"I play organ as well," Kent told me. "At the other church at the other side of town, but I do not play nearly as much as you. Perhaps about two times a week, and hour each day, and a lesson. Do you have lessons?"
"I do," I said, looking down and blushing. "I get them from Albert Smith."
"Same as I," Kent said with a small hint of surprise in his tone. "He talks a lot about you and that you are a good example of a good musician."
I blushed even more.
"Do you mind if I stay here and do homework?" he asked. "I have nothing else to do. My mother is gone to work and I do not have anyone else. My father is away in Finland."
"Yes, you may," I said nodding. "You are kind of like me. I only have my aunt with me."
He gave a slight expression of sympathy. He hardly showed any expression otherwise. "We are alike in that way then," he said, and this made warmth run through me.

So I had met Kent that day. He began to come every afternoon and do homework as I practiced, except for the days he practiced and had his lessons. At first I was not used to it, but I began to like it more and more. I enjoyed his presence and on the days he was not there, I felt for some reason, lonely.

One day, about three weeks after I met Kent, I was walking along a trail that ran through the local woods near the town, pondering thoughts. What was wrong with me? I was so used to being alone, but now I was suddenly feeling lonely since Kent appeared? I slapped my own head as if that would take him off my mind. It obviously did not work. I suddenly heard a voice behind me. "Hey, you're Marion, right?"
I abruptly turned around to see a girl my own age following me down the trail. It was a relief that she thrusted me out of my own thoughts, yet I was annoyed that someone was talking to me.
"Yes," I answered in a murmur.
"You go to my school. You are in biology with me, I think? My name is Helena Trent by the way."
I nodded. My mind was furiously activated, trying to look for words, but I could not find any in time. Instead, I looked enamored at her pretty face and her heavenly blue-green eyes. She was smiling at me. I was taken aback not only by her, but also by myself since I was beginning to feel the same way about her as I felt for Kent--this feeling of shyness, longing.

I began to speak with Helena as we strode down the trail--more like, she spoke at me--though not terribly fast and annoyingly as so many of the girls in my school. I liked it. She was quite kind as Kent was, and she had a certain wisdom about her that showed every time she looked directly into her eyes, and yet I also saw how nervous she was around me, as if she might have been feeling similar to me. Obviously, I was wondering myself what I was feeling around her, and Kent as well. I was a little intimidated as well. Perhaps this was "falling in love" as people called it, but with two people, and now I found myself torn between them. I knew Kent and had grown to love him and his presence, yet somehow Helena attracted me.

Stop thinking about it! End this!

I was brought back to reality when I slapped my own head again, and when I did Helena looked shocked. "What in the world Marion," she said. "Are things well with you?"
I ran my fingers through my hair like the boys in my school. "Yes, I am fine actually," I said, and it was the truth. "I tend to slap my head at things."

The weekend was over. I hardly even realized there had been a weekend for I had been so lost in my thoughts. My organ teacher Albert Smith had even noticed my lack of improvement during the organ lesson. He told me I looked distract. "Hardly," I had said to him calmly and with a forced smile, but obviously that did not suffice and he told me I should take a days break away from my instruments, especially the organ, so I could collect my thoughts. I suppose he had wise advice in this case. 

I was at school, and somehow I noticed the people there more. I found myself looking for Kent, then for Helena, then for Kent, then for Helena again. I did see Helena during biology. She sat at the back of the classroom, always fooling around. No wonder she recognized me from behind. I also saw Kent at lunch, speaking with a bunch of girls. Somehow I remembered always seeing him with girls, but he did not look like he cared for any of them. He turned around and saw me. We watched each other for a while.

"So I hear you practice organ at the church?" Helena asked me when school was finished. "Where do you go?"
I was about to answer, but I caught sight of Kent getting onto his bike. He then caught sight of us. He somehow tensed, and I could see it in his face muscles and eyes. Helena also noticed, and promptly forgot her question. She seemed to look back and forth at both of us. I did as well. They were both people whom I had these strange romantic feelings for, yet being with both of them something was horribly knotted up. Kent got off his bike and walked to us. 
"Helena," he said, regarding her with a nod. Then to me, "Marion." 
I was confused and wanted to run away and hide in the church again. Had I started something negative between them? Surely not, perhaps they were just as confused as I was. In their eyes I saw both longing yet hate. Kent did not just look at me in such a way, but also to Helena. And also for Helena, to both of us she looked torn. For me, I knew that I was in love with both of them, and therefore I was torn. I could not be sure about them of course, but something was hiding.
"I must go," I said, taking out my hat from my bag, twisting up my hair, and tucking it under the hat. "I must practice. I have already skipped one day.

But when I arrived at the organ that afternoon, I found that my fingers were shaking and I seemingly forgot how to play, even a scale. I watched my feet for a long while, pondering my new, unwelcome feelings. After an hour of trying to play at least a decent scale, I found that tears were seeping through the spaces between the organ keys.

The next few weeks at school, I found myself getting jealous every time I saw Kent and Helena together, not because I only wanted Kent, or because I only wanted Helena, but because I wanted both of them, yet I could not choose since I only wanted one. But when I found myself with either Kent or Helena, I noticed how jealous both of them looked from afar. My theory of them must have been correct. Surely they felt the same as I did. But I also noticed the rumors people in our grade were spreading. "Helena's going out with Kent," "Kent is going out with Marion," "Helena is bisexual. She told me," "Marion is trying to break Kent and Helena apart," so on, so on, so on, I hated it all, I was scared of it all, I wanted to hide in my music again. But I could not.

Once, a boy in my grade came up to me and asked if I "liked" Helena in a romantic way. I was torn about what to say. I almost wanted to say the truth, that was "yes," but fortunately Kent interfered and told him to leave me alone. 
"Who do you 'like'?" I asked Kent as we walked down the hall to where we ate lunch. I could not believe that I had asked, and I immediately felt like a fool. I wanted to hit my head again, this time against a wall, but instead I stayed calm. Kent had an incredibly emotionless stare, and it scared me. 
"Perhaps I am the same as you," he said stiffly. "If I am analyzing you correctly."

I wanted to scream. I was unable to play music well, now that I was so torn, and I could not stand all of these rumors and hidden feelings snaking about between me, Kent and Helena. I regretted that Kent had ever come to the church. I almost thought twice that things might have been better if Kent and Helena had not even been born. When I arrived at the church in the afternoon, I took my organ music and slammed it against my head over and over again. "You fool! You worthless fool!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the empty church. "How could you think like that, you are such a selfish person! You don't deserve to speak. You don't even deserve to think!"
And I whipped out my scissors and held them to my throat, wheezing and sobbing. I held them there for a long time, brawling with myself. I thought of all the things I could do and how simple it would be. I slowly came to my senses as I calmed down. 
"It is just a phase," I whispered. I put down the scissors and picked up my ruined organ music, my hair messy and covering my face. I slowly stood up. "What is wrong with you," I murmured. "Don't start feeling sorry for yourself. At least your situation is not as bad as other people in the world."

That day, I headed home early without playing a note.


At school over the next few days, I watched Kent and Helena warily. I wanted to tell them how I was faring with them and that I had been torn between them, but would they understand? Would the feel the same way? And most of all, would they use my confessions against me or to help all of us? I wished I never had the ability to fall in love with both sexes.

Somehow I wished my aunt were home more often so I could talk to her about all of these newly rising problems, but obviously that would not happen because I only got to see her once during the weekends, or briefly in the morning if I woke early enough. Instead, I had to fight these new problems on my own.
"They cannot be that bad, these problems," I said to myself, shrugging as I walked down the hall to my biology class. "I mean, I have seen these kind of things in books, and I have written my own stories about them too."

I sat down in my chair, lower than usual. I heard Helena laughing in the back, but her laugh did not sound real. I sensed her looking at me. I saw how confused she looked in my mind--anger, longing, love, all of that. I suddenly heard another voice behind me.
"Hey Marion, you know you are a bitch, right?" the voice said. 
I turned around, shocked. 
"You stole Helena's boyfriend. Why the hell would you do that?" she continued. It was an old friend of Helena's speaking, who did not often hang out with her.
"What do you mean?" I said. I looked around for the teacher, but he was absent at the moment.
The whole class went silent, except for the few who did not care.
"Come on bitch, why would you steal Helena's boyfriend? He says you took him and now you are messing around with Helena too," she said.
"I am not," I said simply. "Find out who your source is before you tell me these things." I suppose I was feeling brave at that moment.
"Well guess what? Helena and Kent told me themselves," the girl replied. She stood up and approached, moving a desk aside.
At that moment, Helena stood up as well. "Hey, why are you saying that?" she said defensively. "First of all, you are over exaggerating my words to you, which I told you to never let out to anyone, so therefore you are a liar, and secondly, Kent never told you anything. He doesn't even know you."
The girl smirked, and I saw her throat shaking faster, that was her heart. 
"Well what if he does know me? Besides, why are you even talking about me? I am just saying what I hear from many people."
I watched as Helena shook furiously, her fingers twitching. I could not take the anger. In my life since my parent's death, I never bothered to notice other people anymore other than for intellectual reasons. But now that I started feeling them it was hard to take.
"You have no right to talk to Marion. She never took Kent away," Helena yelled. She paused as if she were about to say something else, but she did not say it. Instead, she stormed out of the room. I clenched my jaw. I somehow heard the organ at full volume, screaming and echoing in my head.

Lunch was worse. I caught Kent being verbally harassed by his and Helena's "friends," who were not really their friends since Kent and Helena barely had any friends but each other. They were mostly girls; the kinds that enjoy experiencing drama and causing drama.
"I thought you were with Helena."
"Why are you so hostile?"
"Helena is not telling you things because you are not doing anything with her!"
"Marion just wants to have you so she can have your money for all her stupid music lessons. She is a freak!"
There was a horrible buzzing in my ears, like a dissonant chord pressing on all registers of the organ. I saw Helena being pulled into the crowd as well, her face scared yet furious.
"What are you guys talking about? Stop harassing him, won't you?"
"I thought you cared for Kent. Why are you letting Marion in? It's like you want polygamy!" a girl said.
"What?" Kent said.
The crowd yelled out things as he finally spoke after standing there without a word. He stepped toward Helena. "What?" he asked again. Helena stepped back.
I felt the final thread of this tension about to burst. I still heard the buzzing as the girls yelled in a mix of triumph and excitement. I clenched my fists. Forward, I stepped, and before anyone could explode, I exploded, perhaps selfishly, but I still did. 
"Quiet!" I screamed. Everyone stopped talking, surprised that the calm girl who barely speaks was suddenly bursting. "Stop all of this! I can't take it. We can't just solve problems by saying all of these things that are not true all at once, creating this mess of sound that grows and grows until it becomes some large, buzzing cacophony of ignorance. Are you all blind? Instead of calling out lies, why can't we just listen to the people speak and say what they truly think and feel?" 
I panted in fear, but I continued to speak anyway. My words were like my fingers running across the organ keys, letting out the last of the finale of a piece. "I fell in love with both Kent and Helena when I met them. Yes, I am bisexual. I love them both, and I cannot decide between them because I care for both of them. I do not care what anyone else thinks, I just want to tell the truth and I want to stop this mess before it goes out of hand!"
The crowd surrounding looked of shock. I could not describe the feeling for I could only feel my own anger, yet relief. 
Helena stepped towards me. She was almost crying. "You stole the words right from me," she said. "I have been hiding this too long and I am so glad you understand. I was also torn between you and Kent, but I did not know how to express my feelings, since usually being bisexual is complicated, at least for me." She laughed slightly.
Kent was lost in thought, but he did end up looking to us and speaking. "I was also torn between you two," he said. "But I had a feeling it was more complicated than just a war between you both trying to get me for your prize. I suppose I am glad I understand where you guys are coming from." He looked back at the staring crowd of acquaintances, then turned to me and Helena and nodded slightly. "I would tell you that you can have each other, but I do not know that you want."
"I get it," Helena said. "I suppose we will remain friends. You are the only friends I have."
"Really?" I asked. "I find that you both are the only friends I have as well. That is why I wanted to end the secrets in the first place."
"I believe you were right to," Kent said.
We became silent, and the crowd was walking away, whispering to each other.
"And probably more rumors will spread about us," Helena said and she scowled. "But curse them, they are not really my friends. As long as we don't get stabbed because of it."
And of course, I laughed stupidly, which I had never done in front of anyone in my life.
"I cannot really afford to go through jealously troubles with you both, since you both are the only ones who understand me, therefore I cannot take you for granted," I continued. 
"Does it have to do with your parents?" Kent asked.
"There are gone forever, so I suppose I understand what it is like to only have a few people in my life whom I keep for a long time rather than many people for short periods of time." I looked around the campus. Lunch was almost over.
"I am sorry," Helena told me. "Being bisexual is kind of complicated, isn't it. Did you just discover this about yourself or had you known?"
"I just found out," I said.
I smiled at Kent and Helena. "I will see you guys later," I said. "I promised to be early to set up for a show. I will tell you after school where the church is so you may come if you desire, Helena. You too Kent."
The two of them nodded to me and we dispersed.

That afternoon, Helena and Kent did homework on the church benches as I finally opened my organ after weeks of hardly playing. It was wonderful smelling as always and it felt nice to the touch. My first love. I composed a new piece that day, consisting of three movements. I found that I played them rather well after not keeping in practice. The piece would be about Helena and Kent, since they had been my first true friends and the first to pull me into the harsh reality of high school drama. Of course, I felt strongly emotional about the piece at the time since I was so inexperienced with social living. I do not "live" the piece now, but it reminds me of the times when I had true friends, and that I cannot take them for granted when they are the only ones there for me.

End